University of California Berkeley 
 
MEGDA 
 
/r// 
 
MEGDA 
 
 BY 
 "FORGET-ME-NOT" 
 
 (EMMA DUNHAM KELLEY) 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 JAMES H. EARLE 
 
 178 WASHINGTON STREET 
 
COYPRIGHT, 1891 
 
 BY JAMES H. EARLE 
 BOSTON 
 
WITH 
 
 DEEPEST JOY AND THANKFULNESS 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME 
 TO 
 
 MY WIDOWED MOTHER 
 
 TO WHOSE PATIENT LOVE AND UNWEARIED DEVOTION 
 
 DURING YEARS OF HARD STRUGGLE AND SELF-SACRIFICE I OWE ALL 
 
 THAT I AM AND ALL THAT HOPE HOLDS BEFORE 
 
 ME IN THE FUTURE 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
 9 
 
 II 
 
 
 .M 
 
 16 
 
 g 
 
 27 
 
 IV 
 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 V 
 
 
 *** 
 
 5 1 
 
 VI 
 
 
 s 
 
 63 
 
 VII 
 
 
 
 
 72 
 
 VIII 
 
 
 
 
 89 
 
 A SURPRISE 
 OUT IN THE STORM 
 MEG AT HOME 
 ETHEL'S ABSENCE 
 
 A MEMENTO 
 COMPARING NOTES 
 THE LOST ESSAY 
 A DISCOVERY 
 
 IX 
 
 BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS 
 
 X 
 
 IN THE VESTRY 
 
 V 
 
vi 
 
 CONTENTS' 
 
 
 
 XI 
 
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 t 
 
 . . 146 
 
 
 XII 
 
 
 
 
 166 
 
 
 XIII 
 
 
 THE SENIOR CLASS 
 
 
 . . 185 
 
 
 XIV 
 
 
 A NEW HAPPINESS 
 
 
 197 
 
 
 XV 
 
 
 AN ANNOUNCEMENT 
 
 
 215 
 
 
 XVI 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 XVII 
 
 
 MEG'S TROUBLE 
 
 
 236 
 
 
 XVIII 
 
 
 COMMENCEMENT DAY 
 
 
 251 
 
 
 XIX 
 
 
 
 
 262 
 
 
 XX 
 
 
 A. VISIT 
 
 
 277 
 
 
 XXI 
 
 
 A. WEDDING 
 
 
 299 
 
 
 XXII 
 
 
 FOY AND SORROW 
 
 
 . . 316 
 
 
 XXIII 
 
 
 V REST 
 
 
 342 
 
 
 XXIV 
 
 
 tfRS. STANLEY 
 
 
 359 
 
 
 XXV 
 
 
 VFTER YEARS 
 
 
 
 376 
 
MEGDA. 
 
 A SURPRISE. 
 
 HAVE you heard the news, Meg?" 
 What news?" 
 
 "Why, of Ethel Lawton rising for prayers at the 
 meeting last Thursday night." 
 
 Meg Randal opened wide a pair of lovely dark eyes, 
 and raised two small, white hands in surprise. 
 
 "Do my ears deceive me, or do I hear aright?" she 
 murmured, in hollow tones. "Tell me once again, 
 that there may be no mistake." 
 
 Laurie Ray laughed and nodded her sunny head. 
 " Yes, Meg, she did; apd so did some one else ; guess 
 who." 
 
 "Impossible ! Keep me not in suspense, but reveal 
 it to me instantly." 
 
 "Well, then, prepare yourself for the shock, Meg 
 Maude Leonard ! " 
 
10 MEGDA. 
 
 It was really comical to see the mischievous look 
 on Meg's face change to one of astonishment, incre- 
 dulity, contempt and laughter intermingled. Laurie 
 threw her head back, and a merry peal broke the quiet 
 of the large school-room. A group of girls standing 
 at one of the windows on the opposite side of the 
 room conversing together in low tones, turned their 
 heads for a moment toward the place from which the 
 merry sound came, then looked at each other and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Meg is getting off some of her nonsense," said a 
 tall, fair-haired girl, who was none other than Ethel 
 Lawton. "What a happy girl she is, and so lovable." 
 
 The other girls murmured assent, and continued 
 their talking. 
 
 " I would give considerable for your picture, Meg," 
 said Laurie, still laughing. "Such a combination of 
 expressions was never before seen on a human coun- 
 tenance, I verily believe. One might call it a mixed- 
 pickles expression, if you only looked sour." 
 
 Meg shrugged her shoulders and made a little out- 
 ward motion with her hands a habit she had when 
 she could not find words to express her feelings. 
 
 " You do not mean for me to understand that you 
 are utterly at a loss for words, Meg?" said Laurie. 
 "Such an idea is not conceivable." 
 
A SURPRISE. 11 
 
 "Don't, Laurie," said Meg, the shade of contempt 
 spreading itself over her face, covering over and hid- 
 ing all the other shades of expression. " The idea of 
 Maude Leonard well there! I'll say no more; only 
 if she is a specimen of a Christian, all I can say is, 
 deliver me from the misfortune of being one," and 
 Meg gave another shrug of her shapely shoulders and 
 walked up the aisle to her desk. 
 
 Laurie hastened after her. "But what do you say 
 of Ethel, Meg?" 
 
 "I have nothing to say of Ethel," replied Meg, 
 her voice softening. " She is good enough for all I 
 know; she has never copied definitions in her note- 
 book and gotten a hundred per cent in consequence, 
 or given out ten in deportment when she should have 
 said 4 imperfect.' The only thing I wonder at in her 
 case is, that a girl whose parents are as wealthy as 
 hers, and who has only to open her lips, and the 
 world, or a good part of it, is hers, should care about 
 religion. Dear me ! only give me all the money I 
 want to spend, and I would be quite well satisfied 
 with a thousand a year, and I would guarantee perfect 
 happiness for myself" and Meg took up her book 
 of "John Halifax, Gentleman," but started when she 
 felt a light hand laid on her arm. A fair, sweet face 
 bent over her own. 
 
12 MEGDA. 
 
 "There is something more than money necessary 
 to true happiness, Girlie," said a low, quiet voice. 
 
 Meg's cheek, usually so pale, grew quite pink, but 
 she laughed lightly. 
 
 "That is all very well for you to say, Ethel," she 
 replied, clasping the hand that rested on her shoulder. 
 "But methinks you would be of the same opinion as 
 myself, if you were obliged to count every penny and 
 turn it over and over again before making up your 
 mind whether you could spend it or not. I tell you, 
 Ethel, when I get through this school of education I 
 am going to enter the one of matrimony, just about 
 as quickly as I can, and you may be very sure that 
 the all-important man will be a rich one." 
 
 Meg's laughing face was lifted to her friend's grave 
 one, but although she was laughing there was a cer- 
 tain earnestness in her voice that convinced Ethel that 
 she meant every word she said for the time, at least. 
 
 " I do not like to hear you talk in this way, Girlie. 
 You are capable of great things. Madam has often 
 told you so, you know, and although you say things a 
 great many times just to hear yourself talk, yet I do 
 not like to hear you say such a thing as that, evea in 
 fun." 
 
 "Oh, but I am not in fun, Ethel; I am in dead 
 earnest, Ask Laurie." 
 
A SURPRISE. 13 
 
 "Ask Laurie nothing," exclaimed that young lady, 
 elegantly. " I have known this young lady," she con- 
 tinued, pointing her finger at Meg, with a comical 
 look of despair, "for five and ten years, as the old sea- 
 captain says, and I do not know her yet. I would 
 advise you, Ethel, not to undertake the task of reading 
 her, for you will find it a difficult, if not a hopeless 
 one." 
 
 Ethel sat down and took one of Meg's perfect little 
 hands in her own. Meg's hand was her one source of 
 pride, and it would almost seem as if she were justi- 
 fied in this pride. Such a delicate, white, slender, 
 dimpled hand as it was ! Meg looked on smilingly 
 while Ethel turned it over, palm upward. 
 
 " Shall I read your fortune, Girlie?" asked Ethel. 
 
 "If it pleases you, fair Sibyl," returned Meg. 
 
 Laurie leaned over with a look of deep interest on 
 her pretty face; she always enjoyed anything of 
 this nature. "Don't faint, Laurie," murmured Meg, 
 concernedly. 
 
 "I see," began Ethel in a low, earnest voice, that 
 belied the smile on her face, "a happy, merry, laugh- 
 ing girl. She is happy, she is merry, she is laughing ; 
 but under all the happiness, all the merriment, all the 
 laughter, runs a vein of deep, earnest feeling ; a wish 
 to be good, to be true, to be noble. A vague, unde- 
 
14 MEGDA. 
 
 finable feeling it may be just now when she is so 
 young and light-hearted and careless, but it is there 
 and some day it will make itself known to her and fill 
 her whole being so that she will know no peace and 
 happiness until the longing is satisfied, and she proves 
 herself worthy of the noble feelings and lofty desires 
 that her nature has been endowed with. I see she 
 is a girl beloved by everybody. She is the darling 
 of a widowed mother's heart, the pride of a loving 
 brother and sister, the comfort and never-ending 
 source of delight to all who know her. She has a 
 great capability for making friends ; all who know her 
 love her. 
 
 " For this reason, and also because it is her nature 
 to be light-hearted and gay, she is apt to forget that 
 the good Father who has endowed her with these 
 blessings this bright, happy nature, this faculty for 
 making friends, the rare accomplishments of mind and 
 body will one day demand them all from her hands 
 with the question, 'What have you done with the 
 talents I gave you ? ' She does not mean to be care- 
 less, she is never irreverant, she has great respect for 
 old age. She is only a little thoughtless, a little car- 
 ried away by her own light-heartedness. She has yet 
 to learn the sad lesson of Life, perhaps she will learn 
 it with many tears and bitter heart-aches; perhaps 
 
A SURPRISE. 15 
 
 her soul will be drawn to its Maker through a deep 
 appreciation of His mercies to her. But whether by 
 smiles or by tears, by sorrow or by happiness, this 
 dear heart will be laid at the feet of the crucified 
 One. It must be given to the Father of all mercies." 
 
 Ethel stopped and looked up into the girlish faces. 
 Laurie's was very sober and thoughtful. Meg's lips 
 were parted, and there was an earnest, troubled look 
 in her dark eyes; only for a moment, though; the 
 instant she caught Ethel's gaze she laughed and drew 
 away her hand. 
 
 "Quite a palmist, Ethel," she said, lightly. "You 
 ought to make a profession of your talent, and send 
 all the money it brings you out to the poor heathen ; 
 or, better still, give it to some poor heathen of your 
 own country and color. I would take it and thank 
 you kindly." Then seeing how grave and pained 
 Ethel really looked, she laid her willful head against 
 her friend's shoulder, and patted her cheek with her 
 little hand. 
 
 "Don't look so curious, Ethel mine; I am not 
 worth troubling this dear head of yours about." 
 
 Before Ethel could answer, the bell rang for les- 
 sons, and in a few moments, thoughts both trivial and 
 serious, were swallowed up in the process of translat- 
 ing, transposing and analyzing. 
 
16 MEGDA. 
 
 II. 
 
 OUT IN THE STORM. 
 
 A WINDY, rainy, October night. Meg, hurrying 
 along on her way home from Laurie's, where 
 she had been since school closed, now laughed and 
 now scolded to herself, as the wind blew her umbrella, 
 first to one side, then to the other. 
 
 "Well, I may as well put the poor old thing down," 
 she said, at last, half aloud; "the wind proves too 
 much for it, and my temper, too. How it does blow ! 
 I'll pull my gossamer hood over my hat, and then I'll 
 bid defiance to both wind and rain. Oh, dear, I sup- 
 pose I must go down to the hall to-night, if it does 
 rain pitchforks and blow enough to take one's head 
 off. Being accomplished may have its advantages, 
 but it also has its disadvantages. One is expected to 
 do everything, and go everywhere, and then if one 
 protests, why, the terrible question is asked, 'For 
 what were your talents given to you ? ' I declare, 
 sometimes I almost feel that I would willingly change 
 
OUT IN THE STORM. 17 
 
 places with old Betty Burnside. She says, 'The 
 women say I don't know nothin', the men say I don't 
 know nothin', but I say I do know nothin'.' Well, if 
 she knows nothing, then nothing can be expected of 
 her; that must be one consolation. I beg your 
 pardon ! " 
 
 Meg, hurrying along with her head down, the better 
 to fight her way against the wind as well as to pro- 
 tect her face from the heavy drops of rain, ran against 
 somebody as she turned the corner to the street on 
 which she lived. 
 
 A pleasant, manly voice answered: "The fault was 
 entirely mine I beg your pardon. Why, Miss Ran- 
 dal, is it possible you are out on such a night as 
 this!" 
 
 The gentleman had stopped in his surprise, and 
 Meg also stood still; that is, as still as she could, 
 considering how hard the wind was trying to propel 
 her onward. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Stanley. Yes, I am out, but 
 the wind seems to know that it is time I was at 
 home, and is doing its best to send me there." 
 
 The gentleman laughed. "Allow me to offer my 
 services in helping you to get the better of this 
 troublesome wind. Will you accept my arm ? " 
 
 Meg smiled slyly to herself as she tucked her little 
 
JTEGItJL 
 
 s tf:r-i ~ ket; 
 ~_ ~ . '.~'i s ~i Ai7~t~ nir 
 off, fiQgrf op the tittle 
 
 .* i. n i *"- i .1 "^ 
 ^ ^" ~~ 
 
 t ""- 7-'-:."I ". .".; '.'. 51 :^LT11 ~^1. 1 1 I J 1_111IL 1 1 1.5 -'--i 1-- - 
 
 street length together. Then Mr. Stanley preyed 
 sncfa a meny rM|ianM^ "not a tit KVg 2 minister,* 1 ' 
 thought Meg; lie had such at pl^"nf f genial 
 5." i " ; -r.v;r. "it"." 7i.55ti _iitr lit :i i"r rt""-' 
 posts with which the street was honored and she 
 looked up into his face with her laughing eyes, the 
 .eyes that looked down into her own had such a kind, 
 meny light in diem that Meg was reaHy charmed. 
 
 " His eyes are dark blue and I thought they were 
 black. He isn't at all handsome, hut he has a strong, 
 good face, and I like him I really da Somehow or 
 other I fed that I shaD never forget this walk. Oh, 
 de-a-r!" 
 
 Her foot had caught in her long, wind-blown gossa- 
 
orr iy THE STORM. 
 
 rner, but before she could fall a strong arm 
 
 itr liiiti itr sifelv :: i.tr :: in :r. . Lit:: :i.nt i 
 
 S:i-".ty 5 iiinz v.-iiirlei :: rr.ii'.y nun- in. ::^i. 
 blew it up and blew it down, blew it on one side; blew 
 
 ".t^ :: i-siit : .: 7'r 
 passed over Mr. Stanley's 
 
 face, while watching and trying to prevent die 
 
 fesirj ::::- ::' his ir:;zr:; n- : T i-erier 
 
 riian described. He night have saved the 
 
 had he had the free use of both hands, but he stffl 
 
 held Meg firmly with one arm. 
 
 a, Mr. Stanley!" said Meg, stifling her desire 
 to laugh by a strong effort, "how sorry I am; your 
 _rr. iTr-i -i r-iir.ti 
 
 H- :_e iis :i:t r.usr.ti .: v :... t:-:tr:::- : _: 
 langhin ^ ffrpil, to her. 
 
 - Yoa need not be sorry, Miss Randal; the umbreDa 
 can easily be replaced, and the 
 afforded both of us more than 
 loss. It looks thoroughly beaten, 
 
 "_i 
 
 But just then the wind and it seemed as if it 
 
 i~- r_s: ::.^. r.ii -.v::kt_ s_;- fzs:r_::::i 
 bad hovered around and above them to listen to 
 
20 MEGDA. 
 
 they had to say about it, and having heard and been 
 made angry at the light way in which its work had 
 been spoken of now came back with renewed force 
 to show its displeasure of such treatment. It seized 
 Mr. Stanley's " Derby," lifted it lightly from his head, 
 whirled it provokingly before his face for a moment 
 as if challenging him for a race, and then sent it on 
 its way down the street. 
 
 Mr. Stanley stood, irresolute, for a moment, then 
 looked uncertainly at Meg. She was literally con- 
 vulsed with laughter, but she pointed with her hand 
 to the dancing hat and gasped out, " Run after it, do ; 
 never mind me." 
 
 Mr. Stanley needed no second bidding, but dropped 
 his umbrella and ran. And what a chase that hat 
 gave him ! Only those who have indulged in the 
 same exercise can have any idea of the " pleasures of 
 the chase." Now on this side of the road, now on 
 that, now rolling over and over in front of him, mak- 
 ing him feel sure that he has but to put his hand 
 down and the victory, in the shape of the hat, is his, 
 then suddenly taking a new course and flying along 
 at a great speed, then changing its mind again and 
 turning back, at which time Mr. Stanley coming up, 
 panting, close behind, puts his foot squarely into it 
 and almost measures his length on the ground. 
 
OUT IN THE STORM. 21 
 
 When he straightens himself and turns "to pick 
 the hat up," lo and behold, it is a dozen yards or so 
 up the street in the direction from which it started. 
 As Mr. Stanley, breathless but eager and determined, 
 turned to pursue the hat, he collided with Meg, who, 
 still laughing convulsively, had also joined in the 
 chase. The result was, they threw each other down, 
 Meg having the added humiliation of knowing that 
 she was sitting squarely on the hat. 
 
 Mr. Stanley was upon his feet in an instant, profuse 
 apologies on his lips, his hands stretched out to help 
 her. Alas, proud Meg ! not noticing the proffered 
 hands, buried her face in her own and did not move. 
 
 Mr. Stanley grew frightened. " Are you hurt, Miss 
 Randal ? Have you sprained your ankle ? " 
 
 "Not my ankle, Mr. Stanley," replied Meg, hyster- 
 ically; "but I am much afraid ,1 have sprained 
 your hat," and she rose slowly to her feet, not 
 daring to lift her face from her hands. 
 
 The next moment she was undecided whether to 
 feel indignant, or to join in the hearty burst of laugh- 
 ter that Mr. Stanley, after one hard struggle to con- 
 trol, indulged in ; but when she, too, looked at the 
 crushed, misshapen thing which he picked from the 
 ground and held up before them, the comicality of the 
 whole thing burst upon her, and her clear, light laugh, 
 
22 MEGDA. 
 
 rang out on the air ; and so these two very dignified 
 young people stood there in the dark street, with the 
 rain beating down upon them and the wind howling 
 around them, and laughed until they were both fain 
 to stop for very lack of breath. 
 
 That one little mishap did more toward drawing 
 these two young people together, and making them 
 feel indeed like friends, than weeks and months of 
 ordinary intercourse could have done. Mr. Stanley's 
 easy way of making Meg feel that the whole thing 
 had afforded him pleasure, put her completely at her 
 ease and added much to the respect she already had 
 for him; while he on his part, was most favorably 
 impressed with the laughing, light-hearted girl, who, 
 however much she laughed and chattered, never once 
 went beyond the bounds of propriety, but proved her- 
 self to be as lady-like in behavior as she was in 
 appearance. 
 
 Mr. Stanley poked the hat here and smoothed it 
 there, but for all his efforts, in which he was assisted 
 by brilliant suggestions from Meg, the hat still 
 refused to go back to its former shape, or indeed, to 
 any shape whatever. He put it on his head, but it 
 was determined not to stay there unless it could rest 
 itself on his ear; this of course it could not be 
 allowed to do. 
 
OUT IN THE STORM. 23 
 
 "I think," said Mr. Stanley gravely, "it will have 
 to be tied on. Do you happen to have a ribbon 
 about your neck, Miss Randal? Young ladies do 
 wear ribbon about their necks sometimes," he added 
 confidently. 
 
 Meg laughed merrily. "Yes, I have one," she 
 answered, fully alive to the enjoyment of the whole 
 thing, "and I will loan it to you with the greatest of 
 pleasure ; I will even tie it on for you, if you would 
 like to have me." 
 
 " Oh, will you ? You are very kind. I woul,d like to 
 have you, for I can't tie a bow-knot, and if I tie it in a 
 hard one I might have to appear with it -on at the tea- 
 table, and that might cause remarks." 
 
 Meg standing on tip-toe, passed the band of delicate 
 pink ribbon over his hat, which Mr. Stanley held on 
 with both hands, and tied it in a very pretty bow 
 under his chin. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Randal." 
 
 "You are entirely welcome." 
 
 Mr. Stanley gravely offered his arm, Meg as gravely 
 took it, and they commenced their homeward walk 
 once more. 
 
 "Suppose we should meet some one," said Meg. 
 
 " I must confess I am not desirous of meeting one 
 of my deacons, or indeed, any of my parishioners," 
 
24 MEGDA. 
 
 replied Mr. Stanley with a laughing gleam in his blue 
 eyes. "If we only had an umbrella." 
 
 "Why, we have," exclaimed Meg, holding up her 
 own. 
 
 " A very brilliant thought, Miss Randal. Suppose 
 we raise it; it will be some protection if we should 
 happen to meet any one." 
 
 The umbrella was raised and they continued their 
 walk without any further interruption. As they 
 entered Meg's gate Mr. Stanley said rather hesitat- 
 ingly as if fearing that what he was about to ask 
 might be denied him : 
 
 "Miss Randal, I am very certain that this enjoya- 
 ble walk I have had with you will never be forgotten 
 by me, but I would like to have some little souvenir 
 to make the memory of it doubly sure and pleasant. 
 Will you allow me to keep this band of ribbon ? " 
 
 Meg looked up with laughing eyes. "I should 
 think your hat would be entirely sufficient to keep 
 your memory green," she said slyly. 
 
 Mr. Stanley laughed. "I will make a fair exchange 
 with you, Miss Randal. I will give you the hat if 
 you will give me the ribbon." 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 "I will send it down to-morrow morning." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
OUT IN THE STORM. 25 
 
 "And now, good-night, Miss Randal, and many 
 thanks for a most enjoyable half-hour." 
 
 "Good-night, Mr. Stanley. I thank you for your 
 protection." 
 
 Mr. Stanley bowed in lieu of raising his hat. Meg 
 turned as if to enter the house, but stopped under the 
 piazza and watched the manly form going down the 
 dimly-lighted street. 
 
 "A perfect gentleman," she said to herself, "but 
 then, he is a minister, and therefore must be a gentle- 
 man. I like him. He is so kind and pleasant, so 
 full of life and vigor. He is strong, too, and I admire 
 strength in a man physical strength as well as 
 intellectual. I would almost as soon a man be defi- 
 cient in one as the other. He had me on my feet 
 that time I stumbled almost before I knew what I 
 had done. But," and Meg's laughing face assumed a 
 most determined expression, "the greatest reason of 
 all why I like him is because he did not ask me, the 
 moment I took his arm, if I had ever given myself to 
 the Saviour, and if I had not, if I would not do so, 
 now, before it was too late. That is the way most 
 ministers begin and some who are not ministers. I 
 am tired of hearing it. Just as if I should not know 
 whether I wanted to join a church or not without 
 being told to do so. Such people may mean well, 
 
26 MEGDA. 
 
 undoubtedly they do, but it is my private opinion 
 that they are apt, very apt, to do more harm than 
 good." And ending her soliloquy with a little stamp 
 of her umbrella on the floor of the piazza, this girl with 
 the laughing face and light, merry heart, who thought 
 herself sufficient for her own perfect happiness, and 
 who was beloved by man, woman and child for her 
 own lovable, wayward, charming self this girl, lack- 
 ing only the one thing to make her one of God's most 
 perfect creations, not because of her beautiful face, 
 for it was not beautiful, only fair and sweet and girl- 
 ish but because of her great capability of loving 
 and of making all people love her this girl, I say, 
 opened the door and went into her home with this 
 feeling filling her heart. Did the mother and sister 
 and brother, watching and waiting with impatient, lov- 
 ing hearts for the first sound of the sweet voice, the 
 first sight of the laughing face, miss the inexpressi- 
 ble something in her voice and face, and, looking for 
 it, find it not ? 
 
 The mother, perhaps, nay surely did ; but her love 
 for her darling was so deep that she could not bear to 
 trouble or displease her. To the sister and brother 
 she was all they asked for their pride and joy. 
 
MEG AT HOME. 27 
 
 III. 
 
 MEG A T HOME. 
 
 MEG'S appearance in the small, cosy kitchen was 
 welcomed in the usual way. The mother had 
 a fond, loving smile for her ; Elsie a kiss and soft lit- 
 tle pat for each cheek; Hal a boyish hug and pinch 
 of the pretty ear ; and Meg received the welcome in 
 her usual way. To the mother an answering smile ; 
 to Elsie a loving but careless kiss ; to Hal a playful 
 box on the ear and a laughing 
 
 "Now, Tease, behave," then she tossed her gossa- 
 mer on one chair, her hat and jacket on another, and 
 her umbrella she stood up in the corner; she then 
 accepted Hal's invitation to a seat upon his knee and 
 smoothed his curly hair with her white hand, while 
 she told over to her admiring audience the events of 
 the day, not noticing or, if noticing, not saying any- 
 thing, that Elsie was going about quietly and putting 
 away the scattered things. 
 
 The only reason why she did not say anything 
 
28 MEGDA. 
 
 about it was, that she had been so accustomed to 
 being waited upon that she took it all as a " matter of 
 course." But Meg would have done anything in the 
 world for her three dear ones ; if it had become nec- 
 essary for her to work day after day to care for them, 
 she would have done it, and done it cheerfully, too. 
 
 As the family seated themselves around the tea- 
 table in the long, narrow dining-room Meg suddenly 
 said : 
 
 "Oh, I must tell you of the adventure I had to- 
 night on my way home from Laurie's ! " and then fol- 
 lowed a description such as only Meg could give 
 of her rather wild walk with Mr. Stanley. She told 
 them everything, even the request that Mr. Stanley 
 had made that she should exchange her ribbon for 
 his hat; and they laughed at her, as they always 
 did. 
 
 " One would hardly judge Mr. Stanley to be so 
 lively, from his appearance," observed Elsie in her 
 quiet way. 
 
 "No, indeed," returned Meg. "I was very much 
 surprised. I have never had any conversation with 
 him before, you know, and I have heard him preach 
 but how many times, Elsie?" 
 
 "Three times." 
 
 "Yes, three times. He is so very dignified in 
 
MEG AT HOME. 29 
 
 appearance and and well, / called him a very 
 stern-featured young man for one of his tender years, 
 don't you, sister? He can't be more than twenty- 
 four." 
 
 " He is twenty-five," said Elsie. 
 
 Meg opened her dark eyes. Hal laughed teasingly. 
 " Sister is ahead of you, Girlie ; you had better look 
 out." - 
 
 "How did you know that, Elsie Randal?" asked 
 the astonished Meg. 
 
 Elsie laughed softly. "Mrs. Lawton told me on 
 the cars yesterday coming out from the city. He took 
 dinner at their house last Sunday." 
 
 "Oh, and that reminds me," said Meg with a care- 
 lessness that was a trifle assumed. "Ethel has come 
 out and joined the good ones; she rose for prayers 
 last Thursday night." 
 
 Elsie looked up quickly a glad light shining in 
 her gray eyes, but she did not speak. 
 
 Mrs. Randal sighed. "What a happy mother Mrs. 
 Lawton must be," she said. 
 
 Meg laughed lightly. "Yes, don't you envy her, 
 mother ? And see what a wicked sinner your young- 
 est female is. But I have even still more joyful news 
 for you. The wandering sheep has been brought back 
 to the fold or else she goes in for the first time I 
 
30 MEGDA. 
 
 am not prepared to say which. Guess who else rose 
 for prayers. Hal, you guess." 
 
 Hal stopped a piece of cake on its way to his mouth. 
 " Laurie," he said quickly. 
 
 Meg laughed. "Laurie! The idea! Why, she 
 would never think of rising unless some one took hold 
 of her and pulled her up by main force. No; you 
 guess, sister." 
 
 "Dell." 
 
 " No, not Dell. You are almost as brilliant as Hal, 
 sister. Dell Manton will remain Dell Manton to the 
 end of the chapter ; that girl is true blue no deceit 
 about her. She is no angel and doesn't pretend to be 
 one; she would no more pretend to be what she is 
 not than" here Meg cast about in her mind for a 
 good comparison and lighted upon herself " than I 
 would." 
 
 "Do you call it being 'true blue' to keep from 
 making a profession of religion, Girlie?" 
 
 It was Elsie who spoke. 
 
 "Yes, I do," answered Meg boldly, "unless you 
 back your profession up with noble actions. I call 
 Dell true blue, myself true blue and everybody else 
 true blue who will not lower themselves in their own 
 or anyone else's estimation, by making false profes- 
 sions of religion." 
 
MEG AT HOME. 31 
 
 Meg looked very proud and her lips were curled 
 scornfully. 
 
 "But, Girlie," said Elsie, "are such professions 
 necessarily false ? Anyone who would make such a 
 false profession would be very wicked indeed ; every 
 one must know that. I am certain that there are no 
 truer girls on the earth than you and Dell, but 
 but " - 
 
 Elsie stopped, confused, before the laughing face 
 turned toward her. She had tried so many times 
 before to talk seriously to Meg about religion, and 
 every time she had found herself unable to get only 
 just so far. Meg would turn that laughing face of 
 hers, with the little scornful curve of the red lips, 
 toward her, and she would stop confused, ashamed, 
 and almost ready to beg Meg's pardon for presuming 
 to preach to her. 
 
 "But but oh, sister, don't you try to assume 
 the role of preacher it would never suit you. Well, 
 I see you are not going to guess the riddle, so I will 
 tell you. Brace yourself for the shock Maude 
 Leonard. " 
 
 Meg spoke the name contemptuously and looked 
 around the table to see what effect the name would 
 have on the three. Hal gave a low whistle, Mrs. 
 Randal looked surprised, and even Elsie, who was 
 
32 MEGDA. 
 
 always so quick to see one's virtues before she saw 
 their faults, looked incredulous. 
 
 Meg was satisfied. "You are not more surprised 
 than I was," she said, rising from the table. "I 
 must confess my nervous system received quite a 
 shock when Laurie told me. Indeed, I am so nervous 
 even now, Hal, that I am not in a fit condition to go 
 to the hall alone; so put on your overcoat and hat 
 and come with me do, that is a dear brother." 
 
 Very few could resist Meg when she spoke in that 
 sweet, coaxing way certainly her brother could not. 
 
 "You know how to get around a fellow about as 
 well as anyone I know of," he said, with assumed 
 gruffness. " I don't believe the person has yet been 
 born whom you could not twist around your little 
 finger." 
 
 Meg laughed. " I hope you do not mean to insult 
 me, or is that only a figure of speech ? My little 
 finger looks scarcely large enough to twist such a tall 
 young giant as you around," and she held up her hand 
 and looked at it thoughtfully. Hal took it in his own 
 strong, brown one. 
 
 " Oh, what a hand ! " he said, tenderly stroking it. 
 
 "What objections have you to that hand," asked 
 Meg, rather conceitedly. "It is generally considered 
 a rather pretty one." 
 
MEG AT HOME. 33 
 
 "Pretty is no name for it," returned Hal. "It is a 
 regular little beauty." 
 
 " Don't make her any vainer than she is already, 
 brother," said Elsie smilingly, on her way to the sink 
 with a pile of dishes. 
 
 "Do you think it is really necessary to go to the 
 hall to-night, Meg?" asked Mrs. Randal. "It is still 
 raining hard and the wind blows badly." 
 
 "Oh, dear, mother, what a question for you to ask," 
 replied Meg. "What do you suppose would be 
 accomplished if I didn't go ? " 
 
 "What an important personage our Megda is," said 
 Hal mischievously. "She'll be supplying the pulpit 
 for Mr. Stanley some Sunday." 
 
 "Not much," replied Meg, tossing her head proudly. 
 "I'll leave that for some of our converts to do. But, 
 about to-night's meeting, mother. You know that if I 
 should stay at home there would be nothing done, and 
 we should have to pay two dollars just the same. I 
 really think they might let us have the hall for noth- 
 ing. I have to play for the singing and be Secretary 
 and Treasurer in one. It may be nice to be accom- 
 plished, but it has its drawbacks and this is one of 
 them : being obliged to go out in all kinds of weather." 
 
 Although Meg scolded she was proud at the same 
 time to think that she was of so much importance. 
 
34 MEGDA. 
 
 "You should not be so capable, my sweet sister," 
 said Hal, taking up the umbrella. 
 
 "I'll be at home soon after nine o'clock, mother," 
 said Meg. 
 
 "Take good care of her, Hal." And the mother 
 left her dish-washing, and Elsie her dish-wiping, and 
 both went to the door to see them off. 
 
 "You may trust me," said Hal pompously; and 
 Meg laughed as she tucked her hand under his arm 
 and went with him out into the dark, wild, stormy 
 night. 
 
 They stopped for Laurie on their way; she was 
 ready and waiting for them. 
 
 "Take Hal's other arm, Laurie," said Meg. 
 
 "I second the motion," said Hal, looking down on 
 Laurie with admiring eyes. 
 
 Laurie accepted the proffered arm with a flushing 
 "Thank you." Meg commenced her usual lively 
 chatter, very seldom waiting for any reply to her 
 questions, and not getting any when she did wait, for 
 Hal's head was turned from her and he and Laurie 
 were engaged in "silent conversation." Anyone who 
 has been in their situation will understand what I 
 mean by that rather vague expression. 
 
 Meg excused their impoliteness, only saying to her- 
 self as she had said a good many times before, that 
 
MEG AT HOME. 35 
 
 she didn't know what Hal could see in Laurie to like 
 so well ; she was very pretty, and a good little thing 
 enough, but there was no depth to her. She never 
 asked herself why she should care so much for her, 
 for she certainly did think a great deal of Laurie ; if 
 she had, she would probably have answered the ques- 
 tion in her own easy, laughing manner, " Oh, extremes 
 sometimes meet." 
 
 Meg was so careless in her conceit that nobody 
 ever thought of finding fault with her for it. 
 
 When they reached the hall, Hal excused himself 
 from going in on the plea "that it was important 
 that he should see his barber." 
 
 " It won't take you more than five minutes, will it, 
 Hal?" asked Meg, mischievously. 
 
 "I'll be through in time to see you home," he 
 retorted. "You may tell Duncan so." 
 
 Meg laughed and led the way into the reading- 
 room. A group of young ladies and gentlemen 
 standing around one of the radiators, turned as Meg 
 and Laurie entered, and upon catching sight of their 
 "leader" made a rush for her. 
 
 " Just the one we have been waiting for, Miss Ran- 
 dal," said a tall, slender young man, with a compli- 
 ment in every word. 
 
 Meg answered him with a smile and a nod and 
 
36 MEGDA. 
 
 turned to a girl who had a mass of golden hair braided 
 loosely and wound round and round her head, large 
 gray eyes and a red, smiling mouth, with small, white 
 teeth. Her skin was dazzling white, without one 
 tinge of pink in it. This was Dell Manton, the 
 beauty of the town. 
 
 "I am more than surprised to see you here, Miss 
 Manton," said Meg, ceremoniously. "I had hardly 
 dared to hope for such a pleasure. How did you get 
 here?" 
 
 Dell was no adept in witty repartee; she always 
 put plain questions and gave plain answers. "Joe 
 brought me here," she answered. 
 
 "Happy Joe," murmured Ed Holmes sentimentally. 
 
 Dell acknowledged this compliment with a wither- 
 ing glance, and the young man immediately withdrew. 
 
 "But where is Ethel? She isn't here and it is time 
 to begin," said Meg. 
 
 No one answered, but each looked at the other. 
 Meg, feeling at once by that fine intuition of hers 
 that something was wrong, drew herself up proudly 
 and surveyed them all with sparkling dark eyes. 
 
ETHEL'S ABSENCE. 37 
 
 IV. 
 
 ETHEVS ABSENCE. 
 
 WHO knows why Ethel is not here?" asked Meg. 
 Still no answer. Meg's lip commenced its 
 scornful curve. "Does no one know, or are you 
 afraid to tell?" 
 
 This insinuation was too much for Dell. " I think 
 we all know ; indeed, I am sure we do, for that was 
 the subject of our conversation when you and Laurie 
 entered the room. Ethel has expressed herself as 
 unwilling to go on with the society unless said soci- 
 ety will banish from its entertainments and socials 
 such dissipations as whist, dancing and theatricals." 
 
 Dell spoke with her characteristic plainness. For a 
 moment there was silence all eyes directed toward 
 Meg. There was a slight tinge of pink in her usually 
 pale cheek and her lips were curled scornfully, then a 
 laughing light broke out into her eyes and all over 
 her face, and her voice sounded clear and sweet. 
 
 "Ah, well! we might have expected this. I dare 
 
38 MEGDA. 
 
 say she will change her mind after a more mature 
 deliberation on the subject; until then we must get 
 along without her as best we can. I only hope she 
 will think better of it before we give that scene from 
 'Hamlet'; she would make such an ideal 'Ophelia.' 
 
 "A better 'Desdemona'," murmured Will Duncan. 
 
 That was all Meg said, then she walked proudly 
 up to the front of the room. The rest, ruled and 
 governed by her in this as in everything else, followed 
 her. Had she expressed herself to be of the same 
 mind as Ethel and asked them to give up the things 
 which Dell had mentioned, they would have done it 
 without one murmur of remonstrance such was her 
 influence over them. 
 
 May Bromley ran after Meg and caught her arm. 
 "Maude Leonard has refused to take part in our 
 sociables, too," she whispered. 
 
 " Meg turned her face toward May and smiled ; that 
 was her only answer, . but May had seen that smile 
 before and knew what it meant. She laughed mer- 
 rily and gave the arm she held a squeeze. 
 
 "Oh, Meg," she said, in that tone of voice which 
 suggested a high appreciation of Meg's skepticism. 
 
 Mr. Duncan, as president of the society, called the 
 meeting to order. Meg seated herself at the piano. 
 
 "Suppose we open our meeting by singing that 
 
ETHEL'S ABSENCE. 39 
 
 good old song, 'Forgive and Forget'/' said Mr. 
 Duncan. 
 
 Meg smiled as she turned over the leaves quickly 
 to find the place. "One would think that Will was 
 fifty-one instead of twenty-one, " she said to herself. 
 "He talks like his grandfather. That is the only 
 fault I can find with Will he tries so hard to be 
 older than he is." 
 
 Then she struck the opening chords and the young 
 voices burst forth in melody, Meg's clear, sweet notes 
 ringing out above all the others in the chorus : 
 
 " Then Forgive and Forget, for this life is too fleeting," etc. 
 
 Dell's beautiful, strong alto sounded delightful, and 
 Dell herself seemed to throw her whole soul into the 
 words. But that was the way Dell always sang. 
 Will Duncan's bass and Ed Holmes' tenor added 
 strength and beauty to the lines, while the others did 
 their part well. Meg's voice was the pride of the 
 school; it was so clear and sweet not particularly 
 strong as yet, but what it lacked in strength it made 
 up in expression. 
 
 After the song the president said, " The secretary 
 will please read the report of the last meeting." 
 
 Meg was secretary ; and an excellent one she 
 
40 MEGDA. 
 
 made, too. The minutes were read and approved, 
 and then the meeting was open to the business of the 
 evening. 
 
 The president began: "As is doubtless known by 
 all, the society have decided to give an entertainment 
 in the hall above, consisting of music, both vocal and 
 instrumental, readings and a scene from 'Hamlet.' 
 Perhaps the first thing we had better do will be to 
 decide on the evening. Will someone suggest an 
 evening?" 
 
 Melvin Pierce moved that they fix on Wednesday 
 evening, Nov. 25. 
 
 "Those in favor of this evening," said the presi- 
 dent, "please raise the right hand." 
 
 Every hand was raised. " Not necessary to call for 
 contrary minds it is a vote." 
 
 The president stopped just here as if not knowing 
 exactly how to proceed. Meg, catching his eye and 
 reading its expression aright, rose to her feet and 
 said: 
 
 " Mr. President, I am afraid it will be necessary for 
 us to change the play we were intending to represent. 
 I was not thinking that we would give the entertain- 
 ment at so early a date. Our ' Ophelia ' will probably 
 not have time to change her mind with reference to 
 taking part in our wickedness, and we really have no 
 
ETHEL'S ABSENCE. 41 
 
 one else who is so fitted for the part as Miss Lawton. 
 I move that instead of 'Hamlet' we give 'Macbeth'." 
 
 "I second the motion," said Ed Holmes quickly. 
 
 "The motion has been made and seconded, that we 
 change the play of 'Hamlet' to that of 'Macbeth.' 
 Those in favor of so doing signify in the usual man- 
 ner. Contrary minds. It is a vote." 
 
 The next thing was to choose the Act and assign 
 the characters. Act II, Scene II, was agreed upon, 
 also the latter part of Scene II in Act III. Meg as 
 "Lady Macbeth," Will as "Macbeth." 
 
 "We have commenced at the wrong end of the pro- 
 gramme," said the president with a smile. "The 
 'variety' should come first. Miss Randal, will you 
 favor us with two ' Readings ' ? " 
 
 "With pleasure, Mr. President." 
 
 "Thank you. Miss Manton, will you contribute 
 toward the success of our entertainment by a con- 
 tralto solo ? " 
 
 "I will, Mr. President." 
 
 "Thank you. Mr. Holmes, will you oblige us 
 with a tenor solo ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Thank you. I presume the members of the quar- 
 tette will consent to give one or two selections. Are 
 the ladies agreeable ? " 
 
42 MEGDA. 
 
 Meg and Dell were very " agreeable." 
 
 "Mr. Holmes?" 
 
 Yes, Mr. Holmes was also agreeable. 
 
 "And I am sure Mr. Duncan is," said Will laugh- 
 ingly. "That completes the programme, I believe. 
 The admission fee must next be decided upon. Has 
 anyone any suggestions to make?" 
 
 Melvin Pierce rose. "Mr. President, I think the 
 talent we are to have demands a good price for the 
 tickets. I move the tickets be fifteen, twenty-five 
 and thirty-five cents respectively." 
 
 "You hear the motion ; does anyone second it?" 
 
 Bert Marston opened his lips to do so when Meg 
 rose to her feet. "Mr. President, I, for one, object 
 to having two prices for the whole tickets. The 
 price (fifteen cents) for the half-tickets is very good, 
 but I think we shall find it more successful in doing 
 away with the reserved seats. But comparatively few 
 of the people here prefer the front seats. I move as 
 an amendment that we have but one price, twenty-five 
 cents, thus giving everyone an equal chance." 
 
 "I second the amendment," said Dell promptly, 
 and, as usual, when Meg led there was no resistance. 
 
 The ushers were then appointed Ray Blanding as 
 head usher, to be assisted by Hal Randal, Bert Mars- 
 ton and Melvin Pierce. Ray declined on a plea of 
 
ETHEL'S ABSENCE. 43 
 
 bashfulness ; a burst of laughter greeted this declara- 
 tion. The president rapped for order and reminded 
 the bashful young man that "this is a society that 
 receives no declinations." His objections thus over- 
 ruled, Ray was forced to withdraw them amid many 
 smiles and merry glances. The ticket seller and col- 
 lector were then appointed and the business brought 
 to a close. 
 
 The paper for the evening was then listened to. It 
 was prepared and read by May Bromley, and its sub- 
 ject was: "Moral culture." Rather a deep subject 
 for flighty May to undertake to handle, but it con- 
 tained more sense and more careful knowledge of the 
 subject than any of the members had given her credit 
 for having. 
 
 " We will have to waive the discussion until some 
 future meeting, as it is already within ten minutes of 
 our closing hour," said the president. "For myself, 
 I can say that the paper has proved most interesting. 
 I think Miss Bromley should be congratulated upon 
 her admirable handling of the subject; it certainly 
 showed both careful thought and study. We will 
 bring the meeting to a close by singing, 'Merry 
 hearts'." 
 
 "What a splendid 'Lady Macbeth' Meg will make, 
 won't she?" said faithful little Laurie to May, as 
 
44 MEGDA. 
 
 they stood together for a moment, putting on their 
 gossamers. 
 
 "Beautiful," answered May. "But come to think 
 of it, Laurie, why didn't Meg go on with 'Hamlet,' 
 and give the part of ' Ophelia ' to Dell. She is fair 
 enough, goodness knows." 
 
 "Who is taking my name in vain?" asked Meg, 
 coming up. 
 
 "I am," answered May. "Why didn't you give the 
 part of 'Ophelia' to Dell?" 
 
 Meg smiled a superior smile. . " Look at her now 
 and learn my reason." 
 
 Both girls looked at Dell, who was standing up very 
 straight and dignified, talking earnestly to Bert Mars- 
 ton. There was a most determined expression on her 
 lovely face ; she was evidently " laying the law down " 
 to Bert, and he was listening to her intently. 
 
 " Do you see ? " asked Meg. 
 
 "Yes," answered May, laughing. 
 
 "But I don't," said Laurie, a puzzled expression on 
 her flower-like face. 
 
 "Oh, little goose," said Meg, with affectionate 
 scorn. "Can you imagine Dell saying to her 'Ham- 
 let ' in response to his I did love you once,' < Indeed, 
 my lord, you made me believe so ' ? I think I have 
 my share of imagination, but I have not enough to 
 
ETHEL'S ABSENCE. 45 
 
 imagine such an impossibility as that. She would 
 more probably send him about his business in double- 
 quick time. No, girls, I cannot imagine Dell speaking 
 like that to any man any more than I can imagine 
 myself doing it." 
 
 " What part of the scene from ' Macbeth ' will you 
 take, Meg ? " asked one of the girls. 
 
 " That part where < Lady Macbeth ' and her lord are 
 conferring together after the bloody deed has been 
 accomplished. Then I can relieve myself of some of 
 the scorn I feel for my Macbeth," replied Meg with a 
 laugh. 
 
 "Oh, Meg, you are too bad," said May. 
 
 "Hullo, Randal," suddenly exclaimed Melvin Pierce. 
 "What do you mean by showing yourself at this late 
 hour? The business of the meeting has but just been 
 brought to a close," and he bowed very politely to Hal, 
 who had just entered the room. 
 
 "Very fortunate for me," replied Hal. "I have no 
 doubt everything was as satisfactorily settled without 
 me as it would have been with me." 
 
 "Thanks to your sister, yes," replied Melvin. 
 
 "Does it rain out, Hal?" asked Will, coming up 
 with his umbrella in his hand. 
 
 "It doesn't rain in, sure," said Melvin, looking up to 
 the ceiling as if to find confirmation to his words. 
 
46 MEGDA. 
 
 Will did not deign to notice this foolish remark, and 
 looked at Hal for a reply. 
 
 "Very little," replied Hal; "but enough to warrant 
 the use of an umbrella if a bonnet is in the case." 
 
 " Bonnet ! " exclaimed Meg, indignantly, before the 
 others had a chance to laugh at Hal's rather suggest- 
 ive remark. "Hal calls everything a woman puts 
 on her head a bonnet, if it is nothing but an old 
 cloud." 
 
 " Well, I do not pretend to know the name of every 
 kind of head-gear a woman wears," replied Hal. "I 
 have too much respect for my brains to even try 
 to remember them. Let him who is a man of leisure 
 undertake that task." 
 
 "Amen," said Melvin solemnly. 
 
 Meg turned to him with a laugh. " You heathen," 
 she said. " It is well that our young converts do not 
 hear you ; you would fill them with horror for your 
 wickedness." 
 
 " Meg," said Hal gently. 
 
 She turned to him and opened her eyes wide at the 
 look of pain on his face ; she opened her lips to ask 
 him if his barber had turned preacher and read him a 
 sermon before coming to the hall, but a feeling of 
 shame that was as new as it was unpleasant, stopped 
 her. She bit her lip and turned to Will, who was at 
 
ETHEL'S ABSENCE. 47 
 
 her side asking for the pleasure of seeing her to her 
 home. Instead of answering him with her accus- 
 tomed sweet graciousness, she surprised him beyond 
 measure by saying curtly : 
 
 "Oh, certainly, Mr. Duncan, only I am afraid the 
 pleasure will prove to be a task and a very disagreea- 
 ble one, too. My ! how the wind does blow ! " 
 
 They had reached the door by this time ; Hal, being 
 ahead, opened it and all were greeted by a terrific 
 gust that sent them back into the entry again. 
 
 "Can't you keep the umbrella up, Hal ?" called Bert 
 Marston. 
 
 "I am not going to try," returned Hal, drawing 
 Laurie's hand closely through his arm, and making a 
 determined plunge forward. 
 
 They went crowding out after him, laughing and 
 talking all at once. They seemed to be the only peo- 
 ple out. The streets looked dark and deserted. The 
 girls gathered their skirts up underneath their gos- 
 samers, keeping up their laughing and chattering, 
 and dropping off one at a time with their escorts 
 when they reached the street on which they lived, 
 calling gaily to each other, "See you at school in 
 the morning," until Hal and Laurie, Will and Meg 
 found themselves alone. 
 
 Will was even more dignified than ever, and 
 
48 MEGDA. 
 
 scarcely spoke a word. Meg, as Hal told her after- 
 ward, did talking enough for both, though all the 
 time she was drawing comparisons between poor Will 
 and her escort of the earlier part of the evening. 
 
 " Dear me ! I do believe Will is getting bow-legged ; 
 he does jerk along dreadfully. I am sure it doesn't 
 blow nearly as hard as it did three hours ago, and Mr. 
 Stanley didn't bump up against me and pull me 
 around as he is doing. This is the last time you will 
 torture me, young man. I ought to have gotten my 
 life insured before I left home. Oh, here we are at 
 our gate, thank goodness ! " 
 
 All this was, of course, said to herself ; to Will she 
 said most sweetly : " Thank you very much, Mr. Dun- 
 can. Isn't my prophecy verified ? " 
 
 "What prophecy?" asked Will, in his most digni- 
 fied manner, although he was having great difficulty 
 in keeping on his feet. 
 
 " What prophecy ! Why, Mr. Duncan, you are grow- 
 ing forgetful. I prophesied before we left the hall, 
 that the pleasure would prove but a task, and a most 
 disagreeable one ; was I not right ? " 
 
 Will bowed most gravely and came very near sit- 
 ting down on the doorstep. "It is always a pleasure 
 for me to render you any support, however feeble and 
 ineffectual it may be, Miss Randal. But I beg to 
 
ETHEL'S ABSENCE. 49 
 
 appropriate the pleasure to myself; I have enjoyed the 
 walk home with you very much." 
 
 "Oh, what a fib!" said Meg in her mind. Aloud: 
 "You are too kind, Mr. Duncan, but I will not give 
 you occasion to change your mind in regard to the 
 pleasure by keeping you out in the wind and . rain. 
 Good-night" 
 
 "Good-night, Miss Randal." 
 
 Will was spared the trouble of lifting his hat, as the 
 wind lifted it for him, and he had some difficulty in 
 getting it again. The wind, however, was kinder to 
 him than it had been to Mr. Stanley, and after twirl- 
 ing it around once or twice, drove it into a sheltered 
 nook and left it there. Mr. Duncan gravely picked it 
 up, put it on his head, repeated his good-night to Meg 
 and passed out of the gate. 
 
 Meg went into the house and entertained her 
 Mother and Elsie in her usual manner by relating 
 everything as it had happened at the reading-room, 
 leaving nothing out, not even that Ethel had decided 
 to withdraw from the society. But she told it all in 
 her own light, laughing way, and neither of them had 
 any idea that she was feeling just the least bit sorry 
 about it. Hal came in, but he appeared rather silent 
 and grave, though no one seemed to notice it except 
 Meg. She did not say anything about it, however, and 
 
50 MEGDA. 
 
 after a few minutes they bade each other good-night 
 and went to their respective rooms. 
 
 Meg slept alone she preferred to. Elsie and the 
 mother shared the same room, the one off the sitting- 
 room. Hal used the one off the dining-room, but Meg 
 scorned alike both rooms and went up stairs alone. 
 "She wanted to go up high to sleep," she always said. 
 It seemed to her as if she couldn't breathe when she 
 slept down stairs. She wanted to be alone, too ; with 
 none but her thoughts and her dreams to bear her 
 company. 
 
 To-night she had plenty of thoughts ; they crowded 
 themselves upon her thick and fast, but after half an 
 hour's tolerance of them she banished them from her 
 with the expressive gesture of her hands, and the 
 words, spoken half aloud : 
 
 "Well, I am certain Ethel is slowly losing her 
 mind. As if there could be anything wrong in private 
 theatricals! I shall go on with my sinful pleasures 
 until well, until I begin to lose my mind, too, and 
 then I'll stop." 
 
A MEMENTO. 51 
 
 V. 
 
 A MEMENTO. 
 
 AS Mrs. Randal and her little family were about, 
 finishing their evening meal on the day following 
 the events recorded in our last chapter, the door-bell 
 rang. Hal went to the door. In a moment or two he 
 re-entered the dining-room bearing a large paper par- 
 cel, much resembling a band-box in shape, in his hand. 
 
 "Miss Megda Randal, Presented," he read aloud, 
 and handed the package to Meg with a low bow and 
 the words, "A Jack-in-the-box, Girlie." 
 
 Meg received the package with big, dark eyes. 
 
 "What can it be?" said Elsie, looking vastly inter- 
 ested. Mrs. Randal was almost as curious as her 
 children and all waited impatiently while Meg undid 
 the fastenings and opened the bundle. When she 
 had broken the string and commenced to take off the 
 paper a laugh began to grow in her eyes and around 
 her mouth, while her pale cheek flushed pink. A 
 suspicion of what was in the parcel had flashed across 
 
52 MEGDA. 
 
 her mind, and still she was rather doubtful of the 
 suspicion being correct. 
 
 "He wouldn't do it I know he wouldn't, he was 
 only in fun," she said to herself; and then a burst 
 of laughter from Hal, an exclamation of surprise from 
 the mother and Elsie, and Meg found herself staring 
 at a hat a gentleman's hat a battered, misshapen, 
 tipsy-looking hat in fact, the very hat she had 
 helped to capture, and alas ! to ruin the night before. 
 
 "You look almost as crushed as the hat, Girlie," 
 said Hal teasingly. "But I don't wonder, I should 
 think you would when you look upon your heartless 
 work." 
 
 Meg shook the poor thing at her laughing brother. 
 "Don't you dare, Hal Randal," she said. 
 
 "Dare what?" 
 
 "Remind me of my dreadful mishap." 
 
 "It isn't I who am reminding you of it; it's the 
 hat." 
 
 Meg doubled up her little fist and gave the hat a 
 vicious poke. 
 
 "Don't, Girlie," groaned Hal. "It has suffered 
 sufficiently from your your your fist now. Dear 
 me, little one, how many pounds do you weigh?" 
 Then, very anxiously : " I say, Girlie, has that 
 been sent to you as a gentle hint that a new one 
 
A MEMENTO. 53 
 
 would be very acceptable ? I really think you ought 
 to have offered to make it good. Let me see is the 
 number inside ? " and Hal left his seat and approached 
 Meg with the liveliest interest expressed on his face. 
 
 Meg gave his curly hair a sharp pull as he bent his 
 head over the hat. " Behave, Hal. Haven't you any 
 sense at all ? Oh, dear me, mother, whoever would 
 think that Mr. Stanley would do such a silly thing as 
 this ! " 
 
 "There's a note," said Hal, poking his finger under 
 the lining. 
 
 Meg took it and read aloud : 
 
 "Mr. Stanley presents his compliments to Miss 
 Randal and begs her to accept this reminder of a 
 most pleasant ' adventure ' in the same spirit in which 
 it is given." 
 
 Hal groaned. " And he a minister ! " 
 
 Meg looked up inquiringly. Hal proceeded to 
 explain. 
 
 "That hat didn't cost less than two dollars and fifty 
 cents, and he pretends to call it, in its present state, 
 a pleasant reminder. Well, he may be sincere in 
 what he says, but I doubt it. He must have more of 
 a 'cash supply' than I have." 
 
 "Oh, you let Laurie sit down on your hat your 
 silk one, too and you would keep it in a glass case 
 
54 MEGDA. 
 
 ever after to feast your eyes upon," retorted Meg, a 
 little flushed. 
 
 Elsie took the hat and looked at it thoughtfully. 
 
 "Trying to ascertain its original shape, sister?" 
 asked Hal. 
 
 Elsie smiled. " No, I was thinking what a strange 
 thing it was for Mr. Stanley to do." 
 
 "You mistake," said Hal, gravely. "Mr. Stanley 
 did not do it. Girlie did it." 
 
 "Hal!" 
 
 Hal caught Meg as she flew at him and drew her 
 down on his knee. 
 
 " I did not mean that," said Elsie. " I meant his 
 sending it to Meg. It seems so unlike him ; or 
 rather what I had imagined him to be." 
 
 "Has he gone down in your estimation, sister?" 
 asked Meg, laughing. " I will confess, although I 
 have not made a very minute study of his character as 
 you have appeared to do, that I am somewhat sur- 
 prised at his actions. I did think he was too dignified 
 to have such foolish actions," and Meg turned up her 
 nose scornfully. 
 
 "I do not see that his doing this is necessarily 
 deteriorating to his dignity," replied Elsie, gently. 
 " It has not made me think any the less of him ; it 
 has only surprised me," 
 
A MEMENTO. 55 
 
 " What do you say about it, mother ? " asked Meg. 
 
 "From what I have seen of Mr. Stanley," said Mrs. 
 Randal, "I have been greatly pleased. He impressed 
 me very favorably the first time I heard him preach. 
 I am quite satisfied as to his perfect gentlemanliness, 
 and am sure that he would do nothing in the least way 
 questionable. He has done this from a pure spirit of 
 fun ; you know, Meg, ministers are human as well as 
 the rest of us, and suppose you receive it in the same 
 spirit. Doesn't his note request that ? " 
 
 Meg's eyes were dancing now. " Yes, mother ; but 
 what do you think about his keeping my ribbon ? Do 
 you not object to that ? " 
 
 Mrs. Randal shook her head at Meg. "Oh, you 
 naughty girl, you are going to throw my maxims and 
 theories back to me. I understand you. I have 
 talked to you and sister so many times about what 
 your behavior before young gentlemen should be. I 
 am not going back on my theories at all. My girls 
 know what I wish of them ; they know 'that the desire 
 of their mother's heart is that they shall grow to be 
 good, pure, noble-minded women, respecting them- 
 selves and thus commanding respect from all with 
 whom they come in contact. I trust you both, fully, 
 and am more thankful than I can tell, that I am able 
 to do so." 
 
56 MEGDA. 
 
 The laugh had faded from Meg's eyes and given 
 place to a serious look, while Elsie's filled with tears 
 as she said earnestly : 
 
 "And I think, mother, that that very trust which 
 you place in us, does more toward making us try to 
 become what you would like to have us be than 
 almost anything else would." Elsie wanted to say 
 "except your prayers," but she was afraid Meg 
 would laugh at her. 
 
 "Then I am more glad, if possible, than ever that I 
 can and do trust you," replied Mrs. Randal, lovingly. 
 " I pity any mother from the bottom of my heart who 
 cannot put trust in her children. She must be a 
 most unhappy woman." 
 
 "But don't you think, mother," said Hal, who had 
 been listening very attentively, " that it is often the 
 mother's fault that she cannot trust her child?" 
 
 Meg pulled his ear, and said emphatically, "Not 
 when she is such a mother as ours is." 
 
 "I agree with you there," replied Hal heartily. 
 "But our mother is just a little above the average, 
 as you will agree with me. Everybody is not blessed 
 with as good a mother as we are, and that is why I 
 asked the question that I did, and if I am not greatly 
 mistaken our mother agrees with me. How is it, 
 mother?" 
 
A MEMENTO. 57 
 
 " I do agree with you, Hal, to a certain extent. A 
 mother is sometimes so afraid of trusting her child, 
 and that child, unless she is possessed of more than the 
 usual amount of pride, deceives her mother, sometimes 
 unnecessarily so, for the very reason that she has 
 never been taught any better. Her mother has never 
 trusted her, has never encouraged her to go to her 
 and ask her permission in little things as well as great 
 ones, teaching her and proving to her gradually, that 
 whatever is best for her, the mother will surely do. 
 These mothers have their laws and by-laws, so to 
 speak ; their children are made acquainted with them 
 early in life, and also with the fact that these laws 
 must be obeyed without any questions being asked ; if 
 they are not, then punishment will come quick and 
 sure. Some mothers follow this idea with the very 
 best of intentions ; they really think it is the only way 
 in which a child can be virtually brought up. Others 
 do it through sheer ignorance they do not know any 
 better. But then, it is just as certainly true that 
 some children's natures are such that the "trust 
 method " would be the very worst one for a parent to 
 follow. We cannot judge in a matter of this kind; 
 we do not know what either child or mother has to 
 contend with. Let us be content in knowing that 
 God watches over all with equal love and care ; that, 
 
58 MEGDA. 
 
 when he bestows the blessed crown of motherhood 
 upon any woman he gives with it the power and 
 endurance to keep each little jewel bright and 
 unsullied." 
 
 "Mother," said Meg, " don't you think that God 
 sometimes punishes a mother through her child ? " 
 
 "Yes, Meg, but the punishment is never unjust, it 
 is always deserved. And such cases go to prove to 
 us that, no matter how early in life we commit sin, we 
 shall certainly be punished for it sometime before we 
 die ; the punishment may not come until after many 
 years, but it will certainly come." 
 
 " I know that each sinful action, 
 
 As sure as the night brings shade, 
 Is somewhere, sometime punished, 
 Tho' the hour be long delayed." 
 
 quoted Meg. " You seem to be of the same opinion 
 as our over-effusive poetess, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 
 mother." 
 
 " That each sorrow hath its purpose, 
 By the sorrowing oft unguessed ; 
 But as sure as the sun brings morning 
 Whatever is, is best." 
 
 added Elsie, softly. "Why don't you quote the 
 pleasantest part, Girlie?" 
 
 " Because there was not so much relation between 
 that and what mother said as the part I gave. But 
 
A MEMENTO. 59 
 
 you might know that you would bring in the pleasant- 
 est parts, sister that seems to be your forte." 
 
 "And a most praiseworthy one it is, too," remarked 
 Hal. "I wish there were more of sister's stamp 
 life would be more enjoyable." 
 
 Meg turned and looked closely into Hal's face. 
 
 "I mean it, Girlie," he said, smiling a little at her 
 surprised look. 
 
 Meg clasped her little hands together with a 
 despairing gesture. "Don't tell me you are growing 
 serious, Hal," she said, entreatingly. "Half of my 
 enjoyment in life will be ruined if you do." 
 
 "Why? Can't I be serious and still be pleasant 
 company ?" 
 
 "No, you can't; I dislike serious people." 
 
 " No, you don't, Girlie ; I have heard you say many 
 times that you had no respect for gentlemen, or ladies 
 either, who never had a thought above dress and good 
 times, and who couldn't do anything but giggle and 
 talk silly nonsense. You admired character you 
 respected high ideas and lofty desires and noble pur- 
 suits ; you despised weakness " 
 
 "Hal, do stop being ridiculous," interrupted Meg, 
 rising to her feet, for Hal had repeated the words she 
 so often used in a tone of voice that resembled her 
 own very much, holding his head very high and just 
 
60 MEGDA. 
 
 a little to one side and curling his lips exactly as 
 Meg did. His imitation of her was so good that it 
 made them all laugh. 
 
 Meg stood up in the middle of the floor and struck 
 her hands together ; this action was always considered 
 a sort of prelude to a speech. 
 
 "The curtain rises," said Hal, sotto voice. "Act 
 I, Scene III." 
 
 Meg gave him a withering glance and commenced : 
 "You are right, Hal. I do admire character in a man 
 or woman ; I make no distinction between the two 
 sexes. There is no reason why a woman should not 
 possess character as well as a man. I hold that there 
 is more real moral character in a woman's little finger 
 than in a man's whole body. But we will waive that 
 question for the present ; I will speak of men and 
 women collectively now, not individually, putting 
 woman where she ought always to be put on a 
 basis with man. I say I admire character and con- 
 sider no person worthy of my or any other rational 
 being's notice who does not possess it. Right here 
 let me warn you against confounding character with 
 reputation. Reputation is one thing, character is 
 another. The world may take your reputation from 
 you, but it cannot take your character. I despise 
 a person of little mind one might as well not. 
 
A MEMENTO. 61 
 
 have any. I would not thank anyone to always 
 think as I do; say 'yea' to my yea and 'nay' to 
 my nay. I do not deny that it is very pleasant to 
 have your own way never to meet with opposition 
 but I am quite sure that such an order of things would 
 soon prove monotonous. What is the use of people's 
 living if they do not give an opinion of their own 
 once in a while? They might as well be born deaf- 
 mutes, and be governed entirely by one superior mind 
 the president, for instance; only I am afraid he 
 would be even a more tortured man than he is now 
 I have no patience with these people who never give 
 an original expression to an original idea, but who 
 sit calmly down with folded hands and say, 'Oh, it 
 makes no difference to me do just as you think best 
 and I shall be satisfied.' Satisfied! Do they know 
 what the word means?" Here Meg broke suddenly 
 off to say rather sharply: ''What are you grinning 
 at, Hal ? What have I said that strikes you as so 
 amusing ?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Girlie," replied Hal, a little 
 disconcerted at the unexpected turn Meg's eloquence 
 had taken. "But I was thinking that the people you 
 were then describing, very much resembled those 
 with whom you associate. So much so, in fact, that 
 I should think them the originals of the thought." 
 
62 MEGDA. 
 
 "Yes," parroted Meg, "so much so, that they are 
 the very ones I mean." 
 
 Hal opened his eyes. "But surely you have 
 respect for them, Girlie." 
 
 Meg made her little outward motion with her hands. 
 
 "You mean to say that you have no respect for 
 Dell and Laurie and May and Holmes and Duncan 
 and all the rest of your devoted subjects and humble 
 admirers, Meg Randal ? " 
 
 Again the outward motion of the hands. Hal 
 leaned back in his chair. 
 
 "Then, if you have no respect for them, why are 
 you so intimate with them ? I, myself, can scarcely 
 acknowledge a person whom I do not respect, as an 
 acquaintance, much less could I call him friend." 
 
 Meg looked quickly at her brother ; she could not 
 remember of his ever speaking to her in that way 
 before ; then she braced herself for the battle, determ- 
 ined not to be beaten, even if she had to give expres- 
 sion to some ideas which she had not yet been able 
 to make her mind up to, whether they were right or 
 wrong. She would hold her own and still she would 
 do it more in fun than in earnest, just to find out 
 what Hal's ideas really were; he very seldom gave 
 any of them a chance of finding out. 
 
COMPARING NOTES. 63 
 
 VI. 
 
 COMPARING NOTES. 
 
 F^ERHAPS your ideas of respect and mine differ 
 Hal." 
 
 " Respect is respect and nothing else. There can 
 be but one definition to it." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "To esteem." 
 
 "And esteem is?" 
 
 "To respect." 
 
 Meg laughed. "Very good, Hal. I'll originate 
 another definition, one more suited to my own feeling. 
 Respect is tolerance." 
 
 "It may be it must be with you if you feel 
 toward your your what shall I call them ? your 
 acquaintances ? " 
 
 "No, no, friends; my friends." 
 
 Hal smiled disdainfully. "Your friends, then. 
 Give -me an analysis of your feelings toward them, 
 
64 MEGDA. 
 
 Meg. I must confess you have rather excited my 
 curiosity." 
 
 "And your disgust, too, if one is to judge from the 
 expression of your face. Well, Hal, I shall have to 
 take them individually. I'll begin with Laurie." 
 
 Hal blushed. Meg, not seeming to notice it, 
 proceeded : 
 
 "My 'liking' for my friends will take the three 
 degrees of comparison positive, comparative and 
 superlative. To begin : I like Laurie ; like her very 
 much. I can use no stronger term, for to love any 
 one it is quite necessary for me to find perfect satis- 
 faction in that one. Laurie comes very far from that. 
 She lacks firmness of mind, independence of thought 
 and action ; she is too easily led. She depends too 
 much upon the support of others ; she does not think 
 for herself. She has no mind. She is more like a 
 pretty, soft, white kitten " 
 
 "You have estimated Laurie's value sufficiently, 
 Meg," interrupted Hal, who had grown quite pale. 
 "For your dearest friend, you rate her rather low. 
 Pass on to Dell, please." 
 
 "There is no difference in my liking for Dell and 
 Laurie. I think just as much of one as I do the 
 other ; my liking for them both is of the comparative 
 degree. Yet I respect Dell more than I do Laurie. 
 
COMPARING NOTES. 65 
 
 I admire her spirit ; there is < true grit ' there. She 
 is honest to a fault ; she scorns deceit and despises a 
 liar as much as I do. She makes no pretensions of 
 being better than she is ; she is not ashamed of hav- 
 ing done a thing after she has done it, and if she has 
 done wrong she is not ashamed to acknowledge it. 
 In other words, more forcible than elegant, Dell 
 'never goes back on herself.' She is true blue 
 every time." 
 
 The earnestness with which Meg had spoken, 
 brought a flush to her cheek. 
 
 "Yes," said Hal. "I admire Dell myself; both 
 for her great beauty and for that quality of truthful- 
 ness which she possesses to a remarkable degree ; but 
 I do not think she is one who would inspire deeper 
 feelings in anyone." 
 
 Meg laughed. " No ? She seems to have done so 
 in Ed Holmes." 
 
 Hal pushed his chair back impatiently. "Ed 
 Holmes is a donkey ! " 
 
 - "Amen," replied Meg fervently. "Dell has often 
 expressed her feelings for him in the same compli- 
 mentary manner." 
 
 "How about May?" asked Hal. "Of what degree 
 of comparison is your liking for her?" 
 
 " Positive. I care very little for May. She takes 
 
66 MEGDA. 
 
 the same part in my group of friends as one of the 
 background figures did in that Japanese wedding we 
 had last Winter; she helps 'fill up.' I could get 
 along without her as far as action is concerned, but 
 the group would not be complete without her." 
 
 Meg noticed a look growing gradually in her 
 brother's face, deepening as she talked, that she had 
 never seen there before, and she saw, with her char- 
 acteristic keenness, that it was a look of pained sur- 
 prise and bitter disappointment. She was astonished 
 at her own feelings of regret at seeing it, but what 
 she had commenced in fun she was determined to 
 carry out in earnest. 
 
 "Of course you have no respect and very little 
 liking for any of the gentlemen of your acquaint- 
 ance?" remarked Hal. 
 
 "Of course," replied Meg carelessly. 
 
 "What of Maude Leonard?" 
 
 "Maude Leonard I thoroughly despise." 
 
 Hal looked up at the passionate tone. Something 
 in Meg's face warned him not to question any more in 
 that quarter. 
 
 " And Ethel ? " he asked. " Surely you have always 
 paid her a certain amount of the respect she has 
 always demanded of every one." 
 
 For the first time Meg's eyes fell, and a burning 
 
COMPARING NOTES. 67 
 
 blush suffused her face. Hal was almost startled at 
 the effect his words had upon her. He did not know 
 what a feeling of shame filled the girlish heart at his 
 innocent thrust. But Meg was honor itself; she 
 would not sully her lips with a lie. What she thought, 
 she would say. 
 
 " I honor and respect Ethel Lawton above all my 
 acquaintances. I am proud to think she has called 
 me her friend." 
 
 Hal was completely at a loss to understand his 
 sister. 
 
 "Then why do you not let her continue to call you 
 friend ? She would gladly do it." 
 
 Meg's voice was low and full of feeling, but she 
 held up her head proudly 'and her lips curled them- 
 selves scornfully. " Because I am not worthy," she 
 said. 
 
 Oh, what a pity that someone the right someone 
 had not been there to lead the girl out of the tan- 
 gled path of doubt and dark uncertainty in which she 
 was walking and place her feet in the narrow, shining 
 way. Elsie longed to, but did not dare, and the 
 mother, with all her grand ideas and lofty principles, 
 shrank from wounding her child's feelings in pointing 
 out to her wherein she was wrong. A mistaken love, 
 too often met with in this beautiful world of ours. 
 
MEGDA. 
 
 If Hal had only known how Meg's heart was really 
 beating with its burden of unsatisfied longing; how 
 she was yearning for help and guidance in the great 
 solemn question that is sure to confront us, one and 
 all, sometime in our lives, and was even now present- 
 ing itself to Meg's heart to be settled by her and her 
 only. But Hal, like so many more, judged only by 
 outward signs and was deceived. He saw only the 
 proudly lifted head, and the scornfully smiling face ; 
 he did not see the beating, troubled heart ; if he had, 
 his answer would certainly have been different. 
 
 "You carry your sarcasm too far, Meg," he said 
 sternly. " You certainly ought to respect religion." 
 
 " Oh, Hal ! Girlie does respect religion," said Elsie, 
 reproachfully. " No one can say that she does not." 
 
 Elsie had seen the shade of pain that had passed 
 over Meg's face at Hal's words, and her gentle, loving 
 heart was filled with pity. Meg knew this, but she 
 resented pity almost as much as insult, and now she 
 crushed down the new, inexpressible feeling that was 
 rising in her heart and answered both brother and 
 sister gaily. 
 
 " It seems to me that we are converting the dining- 
 room into a confessional. The subject of confession 
 is proving itself a most tiresome one to me. I move 
 we lay it aside until next prayer-meeting night and 
 
COMPARING NOTES. 69 
 
 let it be brought up and discussed by those more 
 competent to settle it than we; our young converts, 
 for instance, might take it in hand they would cer- 
 tainly go to work on it with all the ardor of youthful 
 Christianity." 
 
 Meg did not mean to say all this, but it seemed as 
 if she had got started and could not stop, urged on as 
 she was by the growing displeasure on Hal's face. 
 
 "Suppose we go back to our former subject there 
 is less danger of our coming to swords points on that. 
 You wonder, Hal, why I can appear to be so friendly 
 with people for whom I have so little respect. I do 
 not see the necessity of my respecting a person in 
 order to like them. I suppose I do respect them in 
 a certain sense of the word they have qualities that 
 one must respect. What I do not like in them is 
 their utter want of spirit. We will except Dell, for 
 she has spirit enough. They are too dependent; 
 they let other people think for them ; they have no 
 settled ideas of their own about anything, or if they 
 have they do not give expression to them." 
 
 "Perhaps if they did," remarked Hal with a smile, 
 "you would not like it any better than the present 
 order of things. You could not queen it over them 
 quite so royally as you do now. Would you like 
 that ? " 
 
70 MEGDA. 
 
 "I might not like it quite so well, but I should 
 respect them a deal more than I do now. I would 
 like to be opposed in something once; there would 
 be the spice of novelty in it, at all events.". 
 
 "Well, you may meet somebody before many years 
 who will oppose you enough in all conscience," replied 
 Hal with a grimace. " I pity the poor fellow, though, 
 with all my heart. He must be possessed of more 
 spirit than any young gentleman I have the pleasure 
 of knowing." 
 
 "Indeed and indeed !" drawled Meg. "Spare your 
 pity, my brother; no poor unfortunate will ever draw 
 upon it through any idiocy of mine I'll promise you 
 that." 
 
 "Girlie," said Hal, rising and putting a hand on 
 each of her shoulders Elsie and the mother had left 
 the room "did you mean what you said about" 
 
 "About Laurie?" interrupted Meg, lifting a laugh- 
 ing face to his. "Yes, I did, Hal, every word." 
 
 He turned away, disappointed and not a little hurt. 
 Meg ran after him and put an arm around his neck. 
 
 "But you know, Hal, you interrupted me before I 
 had finished. May I say the rest of it now ? " 
 
 He nodded, smiling in spite of himself. 
 
 "Well, then, if Laurie is a kitten, she is one of the 
 sweetest, most lovable kittens that ever purred. And 
 
COMPARING NOTES. 71 
 
 it is my firm belief that she is one grand exception in 
 the great family of human kittens ; though she may 
 have claws and I do not deny that she has, there is 
 enough of the human kitten about her for that yet 
 I have never known her to show them to a living 
 creature ; and very few are the kittens you can say 
 that of, Hal." 
 
 Hal stooped down and left a kiss on the white fore- 
 head. " Spoken like my own generous little Girlie," 
 he said lovingly. 
 
 Meg returned the kiss, but in her heart she could 
 not help saying : " Yes, -he calls me generous because 
 I have praised Laurie. Are all men alike, I wonder?" 
 
 To her mother she said lightly : " What about the 
 ribbon, mother ? Shall I allow Mr. Stanley to keep 
 it?" 
 
 "If you have promised it to him, Meg." 
 
 "Then I suppose he must have it. I shall be more 
 careful in the future about making, contracts with 
 young gentlemen." 
 
 "It would be as well," said Hal with a laugh. 
 
72 MEGDA. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE LOST ESSAY. 
 
 MISS RANDAL, why did you not prepare your 
 essay this week?" 
 
 " I did prepare it, madam." 
 
 "Then I have overlooked it. I did not find it 
 among those left on my desk." 
 
 "It was not there, madam." 
 
 Madam de Crando looked very sharply at Meg. 
 "Explain yourself, Miss Randal." 
 
 " I prepared my essay, madam, but instead of tak- 
 ing it home last night as I generally do, I left it in 
 my desk, shut up in my folio and when I looked 
 for it this morning it was gone." 
 
 Madam de Crando had no reason to doubt Meg's 
 word ; she knew her to be perfectly reliable at all 
 times, but she could not help feeling surprised and 
 showing her surprise in her face. 
 
 "That is very strange, Miss Randal; you are per- 
 fectly sure you did not take it home?" 
 
 "Perfectly, madam." 
 
THE LOST ESSAY. 73 
 
 "What young lady is appointed first monitor this 
 week?" 
 
 "Ruth Dean." 
 
 " Whom did you leave in the room last night when 
 you went home ? " 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "Was not Ruth there?" 
 
 " No, madam ; she was in the library, reading." 
 
 "Did you see any of the other girls before you 
 left ? " 
 
 " I passed Maude Leonard in the hall as I went to 
 the dressing-room and Laurie Ray was waiting for me 
 in the < study'." 
 
 Meg could not help noticing how Madam de 
 Crando passed over the mention of Maude's name and 
 seized upon Laurie's. 
 
 "I suppose she is sure that such a high-souled 
 creature as Miss Leonard would never think of such 
 
 A 
 
 a thing as taking what doesn't belong to her; the 
 bare idea would make the pure-minded Maude faint," 
 thought Meg. 
 
 "Did Miss Ray remain in the * study' until you 
 were ready to join her? " 
 
 Meg's blood boiled at the question and the insin- 
 uation it contained, but she answered calmly, "No, 
 madam." 
 
74 MEGDA. 
 
 " Ah ! do you know where she went ? " 
 
 "You think you have the culprit now, don't you?" 
 thought Meg sarcastically. Aloud she said: "Yes, 
 madam, she went to the dressing-room with me and 
 remained there until I was ready ; we passed out of 
 the building together and Laurie did not leave me 
 until we reached her own gate. I am quite positive 
 she did not return to the school again, as my brother 
 called at her home shortly after tea and found her 
 with one of her sick headaches. She had been taken 
 with it a few moments after she had entered the 
 house and had immediately gone to bed." 
 
 Meg gave this very minute explanation with the 
 most innocent of faces. Madam de Crando looked at 
 her closely every minute, but could detect nothing 
 either in Meg's looks or manner that she could object 
 to, and yet she felt almost sure that the girl was 
 laughing at her. 
 
 "Very well, Miss Randal," she said, somewhat 
 stiffly. "I will excuse you for the present. I am 
 very sorry this thing has happened, and if we succeed 
 in finding your essay, as I trust we shall, I shall be 
 more glad than I can say. But wait one moment, 
 please." 
 
 She pressed the electric button beside her desk, 
 and to the girl who responded to the call she said, 
 
THE LOST ESSAY. 75 
 
 "Find Miss Dean and send her to me immediately, 
 please." 
 
 In a few moments the door again opened and a 
 small, slight, dark-faced girl entered the room. Her 
 face had no beauty in it except the beauty of expres- 
 sion which to my mind, is the best kind of beauty 
 and her dress, though wonderfully neat, was undeni- 
 ably shabby and bore in every little shining fold and 
 wrinkle the unmistakable fact that " it was an old one 
 made over." As she came into the room her dark 
 eyes, that always wore such a dreamy, far-away look, 
 as if they saw not the things they rested upon, bright- 
 ened and shone with a pleased light as they fell upon 
 Meg. They were beautiful eyes, though they always 
 had the effect of filling other people's over-sensitive 
 people's, perhaps with tears when they looked at 
 them. 
 
 Meg smiled brightly back to her and put out her 
 little, white hand under cover of madam's desk. Ruth 
 took it in her own dark, work-worn one, and so they 
 stood before their stern-featured preceptress. 
 
 Madam told Ruth in a few words why she had 
 been sent for, and then said, " Can you enlighten us 
 any, Miss Dean? " 
 
 Ruth, who had grown quite pale when madam 
 commenced to talk, but had now regained her self- 
 
76 MEGDA. 
 
 possession probably encouraged by the warm pres- 
 sure of those small, white fingers around hers 
 looked her questioner squarely in the face and said 
 firmly : 
 
 "No, madam, I know nothing of the essay." 
 
 "You have not seen it at all?" 
 
 "No, madam." 
 
 "Very strange," murmured madam. "You were 
 the last in the school-room, were you not?" 
 
 " Yes, madam, last in the school-room, but not last 
 in the building." 
 
 " Indeed ! Whom did you leave here ? " 
 
 "Maude Leonard was in the 'senior's parlor' 
 translating a French exercise." 
 
 Madam frowned, then said shortly, "Miss Leonard, 
 of course, knows nothing about it ; we will not trouble 
 her by speaking to her of it." 
 
 Meg's lip curled, but she said nothing. 
 
 "I will excuse you, Miss Randal, but Miss Dean 
 will remain a few moments." 
 
 Meg gave Ruth's hand a parting pressure and left 
 the room with a very haughty step. Madam looked 
 after her with an approving smile. She admired and 
 respected Meg more than any other young lady in her 
 school. 
 
 Meg collided with some one the instant she opened 
 
THE LOST ESSAY. 77 
 
 the door leading into the hall. She stepped back into 
 the room again and said in a ringing voice : 
 
 " Did you wish to speak with madam, Maude ? " 
 
 Madam left her chair and went to the door. She 
 saw Meg and Maude standing just outside the door. 
 Meg looked downright wicked and Maude very much 
 embarrassed. 
 
 "What is it?" asked madam. 
 
 Before Maude could speak, Meg said: "When I 
 opened the door Maude fell against me. I presume 
 she was waiting for you to be at liberty that she 
 might speak with you, probably about the lost 
 essay." 
 
 Not one of the other girls would have dared to say 
 that. Madam, indeed, looked a trifle displeased. 
 
 " Miss Randal ! " she exclaimed in a reproving tone; 
 but Meg was looking at Maude, who had by this time 
 regained her self-control and was looking with inno- 
 cent, surprised eyes, first at Meg, then at madam. 
 To be sure, the rich color that was always in her dark 
 cheek was deepened somewhat, and her eyes dwelt 
 longer on madam's face than on Meg's, but she looked 
 quite innocent when she said in her low, soft voice : 
 " I beg your pardon, madam, but I do not understand. 
 Has some one lost an essay ? " 
 
 "Miss Randal can not find hers. I did not mean 
 
78 MEGDA. 
 
 to trouble you about it, Miss Leonard. Of course you 
 know nothing of it ? " 
 
 "No, madam." 
 
 "Oh, little Ruth, little Ruth," said Meg to herself, 
 "why could you not have been born rich and wicked, 
 instead of so poor and so good ? " 
 
 "I was quite sure you did not," continued madam. 
 "Would you like to see me about anything ? " 
 
 "Not if you are engaged, madam," replied Maude, 
 sweetly. " A little later will do as well." 
 
 " Yes, after you find something to come to her for, 
 you Christian," thought Meg, fiercely. 
 
 "I can see you now perfectly well, Miss Leonard," 
 said madam. "Miss Dean, you may go into the 
 reception-room until I send for you. Miss Randal, 
 you are excused." 
 
 Meg bowed and passed out, giving Maude the most 
 scornful of all her scornful looks as she did so. 
 Maude, not seeming to notice it, followed madam into 
 her office with her usual soft, sweet smile. 
 
 Meg passed through the hall and up the stairs so 
 quickly that she did not hear Laurie's call, and entered 
 the library. She drew hastily back when she saw 
 who was sitting in one of the great easy chairs drawn 
 up before the open grate. The library and senior's 
 parlor both contained an open grate, and a fire was 
 
THE LOST ESSAY. 79 
 
 kept burning in them three seasons out of the four. 
 Madam thought they made the rooms look more 
 cheerful and inviting, and I am sure she was right. 
 "Come in, Girlie," cried Ethel, rising from her chair 
 with a glad smile on her fair, delicate face. But Meg 
 called back as she hurried away : 
 
 "No, thanks; I made a mistake." 
 
 " And a pretty big mistake, too," she added to her- 
 self, as she ran up another flight of stairs that led to 
 the dressing-rooms. "The biggest mistake I ever 
 made in my life." 
 
 Poor child ! She was, indeed, making a huge mis- 
 take, but it was a different one from the one she had 
 in her mind. 
 
 " To think that Ethel Lawton could leave me and 
 the rest of the girls every one of whom are miles 
 and miles above that that female Judas down stairs 
 because her principles will not allow her to keep 
 such bad company as we are ; we do things that shock 
 her sense of right ; we are not fit for the society of 
 pure-minded, high-souled creatures like her and Maude 
 Leonard. Oh, no, I couldn't think of going into the 
 room where you are, Ethel, for fear my breath would 
 taint the air you breath. Call Maude in when she 
 gets through lying to madam, and her presence will 
 bring peace and happiness to you. Angelic creature ! 
 
80 MEGDA. 
 
 Noble-minded Christian! Oh, that the world, held 
 more like her ! " 
 
 Meg was growing tragic. She walked the long hall 
 with quick, impatient steps, her hands making violent 
 gestures. 
 
 " Oh, dear me, Meg, are you practicing your part of 
 ' Lady Macbeth ' ? You look savage enough to do 
 murder in earnest. * Is the deed done ? Has Duncan 
 drawn his last ? ' I'm not sure that those are the pre- 
 cise words, but then I haven't the immortal William 
 at my tongue's end, as you have," and Laurie came 
 panting up the stairs with something white in her 
 hand. 
 
 Meg turned impatiently, though not the least "put 
 by " at being caught in. her private theatricals. 
 
 "No, the deed is not done, though I wish it were. 
 My fingers do itch to do the bloody deed. But seri- 
 ously, Laurie, I am in a most murderous frame of 
 mind." 
 
 Laurie drew back in mock affright. "Where is the 
 dagger?" she whispered fearfully. 
 
 "In my bosom," laughed Meg. "Don't you see 
 the handle sticking out ? " and she drew a lead pencil 
 from between the buttons of her basque. 
 
 "But seriously, Laurie" for the second time "I 
 feel downright wicked, and when I tell you the circum- 
 
THE LOST ESSAY. 81 
 
 stances of the case, you'll see I have good cause. You 
 know I finished my essay yesterday afternoon about 
 half-past two; my subject was: 'Nature and Art.' 
 I put Nature before Art every time. Well, I did not 
 take the essay home as I generally do, for I was afraid 
 I might forget to bring it this morning. I have done 
 so before and had to send Tommie for it, to say 
 nothing of the private lecture from madam on forget- 
 fulness. When I looked for it this noon it was gone. 
 The question is, ' Who has taken it ? ' Someone 
 beyond a doubt, as it could not walk off by itself. I 
 endeavored to endow it with various superior qualities, 
 but the power of infusing motion into its pages was 
 beyond me." 
 
 Here Laurie opened her lips to speak, but Meg 
 stopped her with a wave of the hand, and again began 
 her excited walk up and down the hall, Laurie trotting 
 along beside her to take her chance of saying a word 
 when it should come. She was " Mr. Dick " to Meg's 
 "Dr. Strong." 
 
 " Laurie, I know Maude Leonard took that essay ! 
 I feel positive of it. She had no motive for doing so 
 it was done out of pure meanness. She knows I 
 have never missed a week since I have been here in 
 sending in my essay, and I am the only one of our 
 class who can say that. But if she thinks to make 
 
82 MEGDA. 
 
 madam suspect me of lying she will get mightily dis- 
 appointed. But affairs have taken a more serious 
 turn than she thought for or at least, an entirely 
 different one. Madam suspects Ruth Dean of know- 
 ing where the essay is. The idea ! I would stake my 
 life on Ruth's honor. The poor child is waiting in 
 the reception-room now until madam is ready 'to 
 pass sentence upon her,' and Maude is in the office 
 * asking madam about some exercise or other.' In 
 reality she is getting off her lies in regular wholesale 
 fashion. Poor little Ruth! If I had known how 
 things were coming out I would have bitten my 
 tongue off rather than have said one word about the 
 essay. I would rather madam would have thought I 
 had not prepared one. Oh, if I could only find it." 
 
 Meg was really very much excited. She clenched 
 her little hands together and stamped her foot as 
 Laurie commenced again to say something. 
 
 " I tell you, Laurie, it is a deadly shame that such 
 things are allowed. Why are such persons as Maude 
 Leonard allowed to exist ? She is a liar, a cheat and 
 a deceiver, and everything else that is bad. She is 
 utterly without principle. This is not the first time 
 by any manner of means that she has done mischief, 
 and every girl in the building knows it. How madam 
 can be so blind passes my understanding ; but I think 
 
THE LOST ESSAY. 83 
 
 the glitter of Maude's gold dollars is what causes part 
 of the blindness it is too much for madam's weak 
 eyes morally weak, you understand. But poor lit- 
 tle Ruth has nothing Laurie, let me alone, I can't 
 
 
 
 stand still, I am too angry." 
 
 "Well, then," cried Laurie, grown quite desperate 
 at not getting a chance to say what she wanted to 
 say, "look at it walking, then; it is certainly worth 
 your attention." 
 
 "Laurie Damon Ray, where in the world did you 
 find it ? " gasped Meg. 
 
 Laurie laughed, she could not help it. Meg's face 
 was a study for a sculptor. 
 
 " That expression would make your fortune for you 
 if you were only on the stage, Meg," she said. 
 "Well, if you have really decided to let me speak, I 
 will tell you. I found it in the dressing-room back 
 of the blind." 
 
 'You darling!" exclaimed Meg, rapturously, giving 
 the delighted Laurie a hug, which was a rare thing for 
 stately Meg to do. "She must have laid it there 
 while she was putting on her things and gone off and 
 forgotten it, or, what is more likely, left it purposely, 
 trusting to luck to keep it there until it was too late 
 to send it in. She was probably intending to take it 
 back to my desk in a day or two, feeling quite sure 
 
84 MEGDA. 
 
 that I would take it to madam and say I had found it 
 where I had left it. I wouldn't have blamed madam 
 if she had felt a little doubtful as to the truth of such 
 a statement. But it was a careless thing for her to 
 do, for the janitor might have found it. She must 
 have been intending to take it away to-night Laurie, 
 come quick." 
 
 Meg had been talking more to herself than to 
 Laurie, and all at once broke off in what she was say- 
 ing, and went running down the hall dragging the 
 surprised Laurie with her. As they ran up the stairs 
 Meg whispered : 
 
 "'Sh, Laurie, don't make a sound. Stand here at 
 the door and don't let anyone come in." 
 
 Meg went into the library, but soon returned. 
 "Come back up stairs again," she said, 
 
 Laurie obeyed without a word ; she was used to 
 doing as Meg told her without asking any questions. 
 Meg seemed to think of this and looked at her with a 
 half-smile. 
 
 "I wouldn't have you any different now for the 
 whole world, you dear little kitten," she said to 
 herself. 
 
 In a few moments they heard the library door close, 
 and voices calling to each other. 
 
 "Going my way, Lill ? " 
 
THE LOST ESSAY. 85 
 
 "Yes, if you'll wait a minute, Lu." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 "Up to the dressing-room after my reticule." 
 
 " Hurry up." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Light feet came tripping up the stairs, the owner 
 humming a gay little song. Laurie and Meg heard 
 her go into the dressing-room, then in a moment 
 come out and run down stairs. They heard Lulu 
 Martin ask carelessly : 
 
 "All the girls gone?" 
 
 "No," answered Lill. "There are half a dozen 
 'belongings' up there Meg's and Laurie's and 
 Ethel's and one or two more." 
 
 The two girls passed down into the lower hall, the 
 great door slammed, and all was still again. 
 
 Meg and Laurie sat down on the stairs and waited. 
 The library door again opened and a slow, tired step 
 ascended the stairs. Meg knew it was Ethel, but she 
 stood up and peeped over the banisters. There was 
 a sad look on the pale face as Meg caught sight of it 
 for a brief moment, and a little pang shot through her 
 heart, but she said to herself : 
 
 "I don't care she has disappointed me fearfully. 
 I trusted her so and thought her so good and noble. 
 Oh, Ethel, how can you be so blind ! " 
 
86 MEGDA. 
 
 She waited until Ethel came out and passed down 
 the stairs. She leaned far over the banisters and 
 caught a glimpse of her as she crossed the lower hall, 
 then the door clanged heavily behind her and Meg sat 
 down on the stairs again beside Laurie. 
 
 Another fifteen minutes passed, then the sound of 
 footsteps coming up the stairs called Meg up from 
 her seat again. 
 
 " Laurie, look," she whispered. 
 
 Laurie stood up and looked down the stairs. Ruth 
 came slowly up the hall ; her face was pale, her eyes 
 red with weeping. The girls could see how her 
 slight form shook with heavy sobs even then, and 
 they looked at each other with indignant faces. 
 
 "What a shame!" said Laurie, in a low tone, but 
 Meg said never a word. 
 
 Ruth ascended the stairs slowly, passed into the 
 dressing-room and presently came out again with her 
 wraps on. She looked so sad and full of trouble that 
 Meg could not bear it, and with a whispered, " Stay 
 here a minute, kitten," she ran down the stairs. 
 
 Ruth turned in surprise, but Meg said carelessly: 
 "I am detained to-night; am not going just yet. 
 'What is the verdict ? " 
 
 Ruth's sobs came thick and fast. "I am sus- 
 pended," she said. 
 
THE LOST ESSAY. 87 
 
 " What ! " Meg almost shrieked the word in her 
 surprise and indignation. 
 
 "I am suspended. I do not know what Maude 
 said to madam I do not know as she said anything, 
 but after she had left the office, madam called me in 
 and I cannot tell what she said, I was so confused 
 and troubled, but she gave me to understand that she 
 was quite sure I had the essay or could tell where it 
 was, and until I was ready to return it to its rightful 
 owner I must remain at home. Oh, Meg, you know I 
 have not gotten it, don't you ? " 
 
 Meg was so white with anger she could scarcely 
 speak. 
 
 "Yes, yes, Ruthie, I know you are innocent, and 
 madam shall know it before many hours. Let me 
 see." 
 
 Meg was almost undecided what to do ; at last she 
 said : " Ruthie, trust me. That is all I can say now. 
 Trust me," and Ruth answered, "I do trust you, 
 Meg." 
 
 Meg leaned over she was much taller than Ruth 
 and left a light kiss on Ruth's forehead. 
 
 " Thank you, Ruthie. Now run home and put all 
 your trouble away. Leave it all with me." 
 
 " I will, and with my Saviour, Meg," and Ruth was 
 gone. 
 
88 MEGDA. 
 
 Those words, "and with my Saviour," seemed 
 to strike Meg dumb. Was Ruthie little, timid, 
 shrinking Ruthie, who always seemed afraid to speak 
 aloud almost, a "professor", too? Meg did not laugh 
 at the idea. The look on the little, patient, dark 
 face, and the tone of the low, earnest voice seemed to 
 fill her with a certain sense of awe. 
 
 "And with my Saviour." Meg said it over to her- 
 self two or three times. 
 
 "Meg," called Laurie, "are you asleep?" 
 
 "'And with my Saviour.' What is there about 
 those four words that makes me feel so ? It can't be 
 the words themselves ; no, it was the way in which 
 they were spoken. I cannot doubt Ruth's goodness, 
 and if she is anything, she is sincere. Both goodness 
 and sincerity will be put to a severe test shortly. 
 Will she prove faithful ? If so, my skepticism will 
 receive a blow. In my heart I pray she may." 
 
 Meg went back to Laurie, quiet, and for her, 
 subdued. 
 
A DISCOVERY. 89 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 HOW much longer are you going to stay here, 
 Meg?" whispered Laurie. "I confess I feel 
 quite like a 'tragedy character/ but at the same 
 time I am human, and like all the rest of humanity, 
 have a stomach. The fact is being pressed upon me 
 in the most ravenous manner." 
 
 Meg smiled. "Only a few minutes longer, kitten," 
 she said. "Run into the dressing-room and get my 
 lunch-basket; there are some 'duchesse crackers' 
 in it." 
 
 Laurie needed no second bidding, and was soon 
 leaning comfortably back against the wall, munching 
 the crackers. 
 
 Fifteen minutes passed, a half hour. It had grown 
 quite dark on the stairs and the two girls felt chilly 
 sitting there. Laurie had finished the crackers and 
 was growing restless, not to say nervous. 
 
90 MEGDA. 
 
 "It is quite like a story, Meg," she whispered, 
 giggling a little. "We are like two avenging spirits 
 hiding here, waiting to pounce upon the guilty one 
 when she shall come forth. Dear me ! I shall see 
 madam's great-grandmother's ghost walking up the 
 hall if I sit here much longer. Goodness ! what is 
 that?" 
 
 Laurie came very near screaming. Meg put her 
 hand out and said, "'Sh, she is coming." 
 
 After that Laurie had all she could do in watching 
 Meg. As she afterward said, " It was as good as any 
 theater she ever went to." I will give what followed 
 as it was seen with Laurie's eyes. 
 
 Meg leaned far over the banisters and watched the 
 figure coming up toward them, with stern, dark eyes. 
 Her face was very white and wore a pitiless look. 
 Maude Leonard for it was she ascended the stairs 
 with quick, light steps. She put her hand on the 
 knob of the dressing-room door, then stopped and 
 looked down. Meg could see by the light that fell 
 from the large window that she was smiling ; then she 
 opened the door and went in. 
 
 In a second Meg had glided down. the stairs and 
 stood in the open door. Laurie, unknown to Meg, 
 was just behind. Maude crossed the room, little 
 thinking she was not alone, and drew aside the blinds. 
 
A DISCOVERY. 91 
 
 A low cry escaped her. "It is gone," she said 
 aloud. 
 
 "It is here," said a voice that made her almost 
 jump from the floor, and Meg stood before her, hold- 
 ing out the stolen essay. 
 
 " Oh, for some red light ! " Laurie could not help 
 thinking. 
 
 The two girls stood and looked at each other 
 steadily for a full minute. Maude with a flushed, 
 guilty face ; Meg with a white, scornful one. It 
 seemed for a second as if Maude tried to look defiant, 
 but it would have been impossible for one more profi- 
 cient in deception than she to have met boldly the 
 steady, accusing light of those dark eyes. Meg was 
 brave because she felt sure she was right. A less 
 courageous girl would have trembled at what was 
 before her; not so Meg. If she trembled at all it 
 was with anger. Maude knew she would receive no 
 mercy at Meg's hands. She knew that to appear 
 sorry would but make Meg more pitiless. She there- 
 fore dropped her assumed manner and put on her 
 original one. 
 
 "Well?" she said haughtily. 
 
 "Not quite as well with you as you thought it was," 
 replied Meg curtly. "Your sin has found you out 
 for once, Miss Leonard. You stole this essay from 
 
92 MEGDA. 
 
 my desk, hid it behind that blind, and have just now 
 been looking for it. You need not deny it it 
 would be useless." 
 
 "I do not intend to deny it." Maude could not 
 help answering as she did the clear, dark eyes com- 
 pelled her to. 
 
 " What do you intend to do about it ? " she asked 
 coolly. 
 
 " You will go to Ruth and acknowledge to her that 
 you took the essay." 
 
 Maude looked relieved. "Is that all?" she asked. 
 
 Meg's lip curled. "No, it is not all. You will 
 also clear Ruth in the eyes of Madam de Crando." 
 
 Maude lifted her head haughtily, her face flushed 
 deeply. " I will not do that, Megda Randal ; I would 
 die first" 
 
 "You will do it." 
 
 "I will not." 
 
 For just a moment they looked at each other, then 
 Meg said, clearly and firmly: "Very well; as you 
 choose. I will clear her myself." 
 
 Maude Leonard laughed scornfully. "Where are 
 your proofs, Miss Randal ? " 
 
 "Here is one of them," said a timid voice. 
 
 Both girls started, and Meg could not repress a joy- 
 ful little cry as Laurie came forward, and stood before 
 
A DISCOVERY. 93 
 
 them. Maude covered her face with her hands, and 
 at the sight Laurie's eyes filled. Not so Meg's. 
 
 "Laurie," she said, "will you go to madam's sit- 
 ting-room and ask her to step up here for a few 
 moments?" 
 
 Laurie turned to obey from mere force of habit, 
 when Maude, with a low cry, sunk down on the floor 
 at Meg's feet. 
 
 "Spare me that, Meg," she cried. "Spare me that 
 for my mother's sake." 
 
 Meg looked down on her, her face full of scornful 
 triumph. Somehow it made Laurie's heart ache to 
 see that look on the face she loved so well. For the 
 first time in her life she felt disappointed in Meg, but 
 she did not say anything. 
 
 "Meg," said Maude, lifting her face, from which all 
 the rich colors had gone, " I know there is no use in 
 my trying to deceive you. I will tell you the truth. 
 I took the essay from your desk last night, intend- 
 ing to keep it until Monday and then put it back. I 
 was going to do this because I was jealous of your 
 always having a paper prepared at the right time, and- 
 of being in such favor with madam. I put it behind 
 the blind, feeling almost sure that no one would find 
 it. Even if there had I should not have cared so very 
 much, as it could not have been proved who put it 
 
94 MEGDA. 
 
 there. I knew if you made known the loss of your 
 essay to madam that her suspicion would rest upon 
 Ruth Dean, as she is the last girl in the school-room 
 every night for this week. But, as you say, my sin 
 has found me out. I ask forgiveness from you with 
 all my heart, and from Ruth, too, but I cannot humble 
 myself in the way of which you speak. Madam would 
 lose all faith in me, would most likely expel me, and 
 the disgrace would kill my mother. She is good, if I 
 am not." 
 
 "Yes," said Meg, "and deserving of a better 
 daughter than you. A pity you did not think of her 
 heart before. What of Ruth's mother? What of her 
 heart ? She has none, I suppose ; poor people cannot 
 afford such luxuries." 
 
 Meg stood still a moment ; Laurie gave her an 
 imploring look which made Meg feel as if she should 
 like to shake her. 
 
 "Will you go with me to Ruth's at once?" she 
 asked. 
 
 Maude lifted her face. " Yes," she said. 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 They put on their wraps and went down the stairs 
 and out of the building without another word. It 
 was dark and cloudy and they walked fast. As they 
 drew near Ruth's poor home, they saw a light burn- 
 
A DISCOVERY. 95 
 
 ing in one of the windows ; the curtain was up and 
 they could see into the room. The tea-table was 
 spread, the fire was burning brightly and everything 
 looked cheerfully pleasant, if very poor. Ruth was 
 nowhere to be seen. Meg went up to the door and 
 rang the bell. In a few moments it was opened by 
 Ruth herself. Meg stared at her in amazement. She 
 had expected to find her almost sick with grief, and 
 here she was, her little dark face perfectly free from 
 all traces of violent sobbing, her large, dark eyes full 
 of a bright, solemn, and to Meg, indescribable light. 
 She smiled when she saw who was standing on the 
 steps, and invited them in in a pretty, shy way. Meg 
 found her tongue it was never lost for long and 
 her easy, graceful manner with it. 
 
 "Tea all ready for us, Ruthie? But why do you 
 put the lamp in the window?" 
 
 Ruth laughed as she placed chairs for her unex- 
 pected callers, and said, " I put it there for mother ; 
 she has not returned from Mrs. Lawton's yet." 
 
 "She has all the sewing she can do, doesn't she? 
 Is she quite well?" 
 
 " Quite well, thank you. I hope she will return 
 early; she would like to see you." 
 
 "I don't hope so," thought Meg, and turned to 
 Maude. " Maude is really your visitor, Ruthie ; 
 
96 MEGDA. 
 
 Laurie and I are only a sort of body-guard," and 
 Meg laughed. 
 
 Maude blushed deeply at Meg's little thrust, but 
 Ruth said innocently : " Oh, are you ? Maude is to 
 be congratulated on having such an agreeable body- 
 guard. Did you wish to speak with me about any- 
 thing in particular, Maude ? " 
 
 Maude was playing nervously with the ends of her 
 rich lace scarf. Meg felt like shaking Ruth for being 
 so gentle with her. "And she knows as well as I 
 what Maude has done," she said to herself. 
 
 Maude opened her lips and then the words came 
 almost faster than she could repeat them. Ruth 
 listened to what she said with a startled face. Meg, 
 watching her, was more than astonished to see a look 
 of pain gradually settle upon it, and the large eyes 
 fill with tears. What did Ruth mean by acting as if 
 she were really sorry to hear what Maude said instead 
 of dancing with joy! Ruth herself explained her 
 meaning when Maude had finished by holding out her 
 hand and saying, " I am truly sorry, Ruth ; will you 
 believe me and forgive me ? " by taking that hand in 
 both her own and saying in a voice that trembled with 
 feeling : 
 
 " Forgive you, Maude ? To be sure I will, with all 
 my heart. And oh, Maude, let us both thank God 
 
A DISCOVERY. 97 
 
 for giving you the courage to acknowledge your 
 wrong before it was too late, and ask Him to ever 
 increase that courage to resist every temptation that 
 may come to you." 
 
 Maude cast down her eyes and was silent. Laurie 
 was crying, but Meg's face wore its most scornful 
 look. 
 
 "Why doesn't the coward tell the truth?" she was 
 thinking. "She doesn't say how she was forced to 
 acknowledge it. Well, if she doesn't, I am very sure 
 I shan't." 
 
 Ruth went on. " I have been praying ever since I 
 came from school, that Jesus would make it all right, 
 and He has so soon answered my prayer." 
 
 "Does that explain the look of peace?" thought 
 Meg. * 
 
 "Let us all kneel down and thank Him," said 
 Ruth, all her shyness swallowed up in her happy 
 thankfulness. 
 
 She drew Maude down beside her, still clasping her 
 hand in hers. Laurie knelt and buried her face in 
 the cushions of her chair. Meg alone remained 
 standing, but she bowed her head. Then Ruth 
 prayed, and oh, how she prayed ! Laurie and Maude 
 both sobbed, and Meg felt the tears coming into her 
 own eyes, but she forced them back. Ruth prayed 
 
98 MEGDA. 
 
 like one inspired, and Meg was forced down upon her 
 knees in spite of herself. 
 
 When they rose to their feet Ruth went up to Meg 
 and kissed her. " My friend/' she said. 
 
 Meg laughed. "Do not think too much of me, 
 Ruthie. I have done nothing." 
 
 "You have only made me unspeakably happy," said 
 Ruth simply. 
 
 Meg turned to Maude. " Have you anything more 
 to say ? " she asked. 
 
 "Nothing," replied Maude; but she did not look at 
 Meg. 
 
 "Then we may as well go," said Meg shortly. 
 
 Ruth looked at Meg sadly. To her, Meg's manner 
 seemed strange. "She has such stern ideas of right 
 and wrong," thought Ruth. "She scorns mean 
 actions; but it seems to me that she is unnecessarily 
 hard with Maude. It is because she has not the love 
 of God in her heart. Dear Meg, how I shall pray for 
 her!" 
 
 " Good-night, Ruthie," said Meg. "We'll see you 
 at church on Sunday ? " 
 
 " Yes, if nothing happens to prevent," replied Ruth. 
 "Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night," they answered, and went out of the 
 yard and down the street. 
 
A DISCOVERY. 99 
 
 At Maude's house they stopped. It was a hand- 
 some dwelling, plainly showing outside the wealth of 
 its owner. 
 
 "Meg," said Maude, but still not looking at her, 
 "are you going to tell Madam de Crando?" 
 
 The words, "Yes, I am going to tell Madam de 
 Crando," rose to Meg's lips, but she did not speak 
 them. 
 
 "Shall I let Ruth get ahead of me in generosity?" 
 she asked herself bitterly. "No, I will be a Chris- 
 tian, too, for once in my life if I never am again, and 
 return good for evil out of the over-abundance of the 
 former quality that is in my heart." 
 
 " I have reserved my forgiveness until now, Maude," 
 she said sweetly. "I grant it to you in the same 
 spirit of earnestness in which it is asked. You are 
 quite safe with me. Good-night." 
 
 She put her hand through Laurie's arm and led her 
 quickly away. "I spoke the truth at all events, 
 kitten," she said. "We know how much earnestness 
 was wasted in both the plea and the pardon." 
 
 "Oh, Meg," said Laurie, "don't you think Maude 
 was really in earnest ? " 
 
 "Certainly," answered Meg. " As earnest as I was." 
 
 Laurie thought it best not to say anything more 
 about that. "What shall you do, Meg ?" 
 
100 MEGDA. 
 
 "Do?" 
 
 "About the essay, I mean. What shall you tell 
 madam ? " 
 
 "Oh, I shall tell her it was left in the dressing- 
 room and found by you." 
 
 Laurie looked at Meg with admiring eyes. Meg 
 laughed lightly. " Well, was it not ? " she asked. 
 
 "But suppose she does not believe you?" 
 
 Meg dropped Laurie's arm, and drew herself up 
 proudly. " Laurie Ray ! " 
 
 "Oh, I didn't mean that exactly, Meg dear," said 
 frightened Laurie. "I meant, suppose she thinks it 
 a little strange; you know she cannot at least help 
 thinking you were just a little careless." 
 
 "Yes, I do not doubt it," replied Meg calmly. 
 
 " But you won't want her to think that, Meg ? " 
 
 "No, but it will be quite necessary. The life of 
 the Christian is often a hard one, Laurie; we have 
 many things to contend with. We are obliged to do 
 things that are hard for us to do, but we shall reap 
 our reward some day." 
 
 "Don't, Meg," said Laurie in a pained voice. 
 
 "Well, I won't, then, kitten ; it isn't nice." 
 
 "And you really will not tell of Maude ? " 
 
 "Laurie RayJ" Again the haughty lifting of the 
 head. 
 
A DISCOVERT. 101 
 
 "Oh, I know you won't, Meg," and Laurie stopped 
 in the street and put both arms around Meg's neck. 
 " You are the dearest, noblest, grandest girl that ever 
 walked the earth ! " 
 
 Meg laughed as she returned the embrace. "What 
 strong language, kitten," she said. "Nobody but a 
 kitten would be guilty of such idiocy. But you are 
 very much mistaken, Laurie. I am a sinner a 
 wicked, wicked sinner; but I have one consolation 
 in being such I have plenty of company. Now, 
 good-night. Be at church on Sunday." 
 
 " Yes ; but are you going in the morning, Meg ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. I am anxious to see if Mr. Stanley will 
 give the 'hat adventure' as an illustration to 'He 
 that ruleth his temper,' etc." 
 
 "Oh, Meg, you sinner! " 
 
 "There! just what I have been trying to impress 
 upon you. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 Meg walked more slowly after she left Laurie. She 
 was thinking deeply. It may appear strange to my 
 readers when I tell them that Meg gave no thought 
 to what she had done for both Ruth and Maude. 
 She might do a kind act for anyone every day of her 
 life and not waste a thought upon it, but it was 
 impossible for her to do an unkind act and not be 
 
102 MEGDA. 
 
 thoroughly ashamed of herself for doing it fifteen 
 minutes after. She was impulsive, and, like most 
 impulsive people, her impulses were not always good 
 ones. Now, as she walked along she felt ashamed of 
 the words she had spoken to Maude at her gate, but 
 almost too proud to acknowledge it even to herself. 
 Pride was Meg's besetting sin ; it often kept her from 
 converting noble thoughts into noble actions. She 
 knew she had been wrong in speaking in the way in 
 which she did, but pride kept her from acknowledg- 
 ing her wrong and saying she was sorry for it. 
 
 Meg had always prided herself on her independent 
 spirit; she had always found herself to be sufficient 
 for her own comfort and happiness ; she had never 
 found it necessary, as the other girls had done, to 
 depend on others to look to others for help; she 
 had always been proudly independent of everybody ; it 
 had made her impatient with others less self-confident. 
 She had laughed at Ethel for saying she would find, 
 some day, that she needed a Saviour's help. 
 
 " Religion will do for those who cannot depend on 
 themselves; they are obliged to ask for help from 
 somewhere but what do I want of it? I am per- 
 fectly happy have always been so and what 
 reason is there that I shall not always be so ? Simple 
 little Laurie thinks me little lower than the angels ; 
 
A DISCOVERY. 103 
 
 what I have done to-day has increased her admiration 
 for me, if that is possible. Would she rate me so 
 high if she knew the real reason for my doing as she 
 did ? The only reason why I promised Maude not to 
 expose her is because I could not bear to think that 
 anyone especially such a timid, weak little thing 
 as Ruthie should get ahead of me in generosity. 
 That is my only reason. Can it be that I am as great 
 a coward as Maude ? Why didn't I tell her and 
 Laurie what my real feelings were ? It can't be it 
 was because I was afraid. No, no, no. I will not 
 think of such a thing. The idea of my being a 
 coward ! Besides, Maude understands me perfectly 
 I meant that she should ; but does Laurie ? 
 Pshaw ! I'll not think of it any longer. But I needn't 
 have lowered myself so much in my own estimation 
 as to pretend what I did not feel, or that is, to allow 
 Laurie to think my motive for doing as I do, was a 
 purely unselfish one. Well, I'll think no more about 
 it now, at any rate. The next question is : ' What 
 shall I say to Madam de Crando on Monday ? ' That is 
 easily answered. I shall take the essay to her and tell 
 her it was found in the dressing-room behind the 
 blind. She will naturally conclude that I put it there 
 while getting ready for home and forgot all about it. 
 It makes no difference to me what she thinks. And 
 
104 MEGDA, 
 
 Maude will be free from all reproach and blame, 
 except that of her conscience, and she will not suffer 
 much from that source ; people of her stamp are not 
 troubled with too much conscience. I haven't a 
 doubt but that Ruth will look up to her with the same 
 amount of admiration that Laurie pays to me as 
 one who has met and wrestled with temptation and 
 come off victorious and Maude will allow her to 
 think so and be delighted. But, am I not nearly as 
 bad myself in allowing Laurie to think oh, misery ! 
 I'll not be tortured with self -accusations any longer. 
 Here is home, sweet home. The homage paid me 
 here is true and heart-felt, if undeserved, and the dear 
 love showered upon my unworthy head is appreciated 
 and returned with full interest by me. Oh, if mother, 
 sister and brother composed the world, what a queen 
 I should be indeed ! Methinks it is as well that they 
 do not, for my conceit would be something terrible ; it 
 is well-nigh insufferable now." And for the very first 
 time, probably, in all the eighteen years of her happy, 
 petted life, Meg felt a slight contempt for herself a 
 strange, unaccountable feeling of dissatisfaction. But 
 her pride kept her from showing in the slightest 
 manner, how she felt. Poor Meg ! She was as sub- 
 missive a victim to the tyrant, pride, as she considered 
 Ethel and Ruth to be to their religion. 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 105 
 
 IX. 
 
 BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 
 
 , Girlie, hurry up if you are going to walk 
 to church with me." 
 
 "Yes, I'm coming, Hal; wait just a minute." 
 
 "Can't you get that crimp to stay in just one par- 
 ticular place ? Sister is ready, and has been for five 
 minutes." 
 
 " Well, tell her and mother to run ahead, and you 
 wait just a second longer, that is a darling." 
 
 "Oh, yes, a dear old darling I am when you want 
 me to wait for you. Well, hurry up or I'll run on 
 
 ahead, too." 
 
 Hal's words were threatening, but he had no idea 
 of carrying the threat into execution. He told his 
 mother and Elsie to start on ahead, and he and Meg 
 would catch up with them perhaps. 
 
 In about five minutes Meg came running down the 
 stairs. Hal heard her coming, and hid behind the 
 parlor door. 
 
106 MEGDA. 
 
 "All ready, Hal; you were a darling to wait for 
 me." 
 
 Hal, in his place of concealment, laughed softly and 
 peeked through the crack of the door. " Lacing her 
 gloves up now, ,by all that is truthful," he said to 
 himself. 
 
 Meg finished lacing her gloves and looked around. 
 "Hal," she called. No answer. 
 
 Meg started for the sitting-room, got as far as the 
 hall glass and stopped to survey herself. She pirou- 
 etted around on her toes, looked over her right shoul- 
 der, over her left, tipped her brown velvet hat a little 
 further back, that more of the bright crimps might 
 show, and then called again. "Hal." Still no 
 answer. 
 
 " I'll just see how long she'll stand and admire that 
 new rig of hers," said Hal to himself. "The little 
 darling ! She does look fine this morning, and no mis- 
 take. She's a sister for any fellow to be proud of." 
 
 But Meg, warned probably by the tolling of the 
 bell, had stopped her examinations for good, and com- 
 menced her search for Hal in earnest. She ran to 
 the door and looked up and down the street, then flew 
 back into the parlor and stood in the middle of the 
 room. "Hal," she called, impatiently, and stamped 
 her little foot upon the floor. Hal stepped softly up 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 107 
 
 behind her and caught her in his arms. What a 
 scream she gave ! 
 
 "'Sh, Girlie," said Hal; "it is Sunday morning." 
 
 "A nice thing for you to remind me of, after teaz- 
 ing me by making me think I had to walk to church 
 alone, and then frightening me half out of my wits, 
 you hateful boy ! " retorted Meg, and gave him a kiss 
 to punish him. 
 
 "Never mind, Girlie, I've left you wits enough to 
 look as pretty as a pink. That is a lovely rig you 
 have on dark red is becoming to you." 
 
 Meg almost screamed. " Dark red, you simpleton ! 
 Why, it is seal brown." 
 
 "Oh, well, what is the difference?" said Hal, as he 
 locked the door and put the key in his pocket. " I 
 said it was becoming, and that is the main point, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Just now it is," replied Meg. "Isn't that Lill 
 Norton and Lulu Martin ahead ? " 
 
 "It looks like them," replied Hal carelessly. 
 "Yes, it is, and there is May Bromley just coming 
 out of her gate. We'll not be the only ones to go in 
 to slow music." 
 
 "May has on her new suit," said Meg. "Her's is 
 a garnet, Hal ; now don't you see the difference 
 between dark red and seal brown ? " 
 
108 MEGDA. 
 
 "Well, there isn't much. Ethel Lawton looked 
 fine this morning, Girlie." 
 
 " Did she ? Where did you see her ? " 
 
 " She drove past with her father while I was wait- 
 ing for you. She had on I think it was black 
 anyway it was velvet, and she had on a large hat with 
 ever so many plumes. She was as white as a snow- 
 drop, and her hair shone like gold." 
 
 "You must have been very observing, Hal; how 
 did you manage to see all that ? " 
 
 "They were driving very slowly. Ethel leaned out 
 of the carriage and looked at every window in hopes 
 of seeing you, I suppose. How much she thinks of 
 you, Girlie." 
 
 Meg's lip curled. 
 
 "But do you think she is strong?" went on Hal, 
 not seeing the curling lip. " She looks very delicate; 
 her skin is almost transparent." 
 
 "Oh, yes, she is strong enough," answered Meg 
 hastily. " She inherits her fair skin ; all her people 
 on her mother's side have very white skin. But her 
 new suit is green, Hal an emerald green velvet, 
 and it is perfectly lovely. I was up to the house 
 when it was brought home from the dressmaker's; 
 but no doubt it looked black to you as it shades on 
 the dark. Her hat is imported. There! they have 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 109 
 
 all disappeared inside the church and the bell has 
 stopped. We shall be the last ones." 
 
 " All your fault, Girlie. I am going to explain my 
 frequent tardiness to Mr. Stanley when I get better 
 acquainted with him. I'll tell him he will never know 
 what it is to be late at church until he is married. 
 The organist will have to look out and get long vol- 
 untaries then. He'll think you came in late pur- 
 posely to-day, Girlie to show your new rig." 
 
 "Who will the organist ?" asked Meg demurely. 
 
 "No, Mr. Stanley." 
 
 "I don't care what he thinks," replied Meg, blush- 
 ing a little. " And don't, for pity's sake, keep calling 
 it a rig, Hal ; call it a suit." 
 
 " Oh, well, I will if it suits you any better." 
 
 Meg gave him a withering glance. " Melvin Pierce 
 got here ? " she said scornfully. 
 
 "Guess what I think, Girlie," asked Hal, as they 
 went up the stairs. Meg looked up, questioningly. 
 
 "I think Mr. Stanley -is setting his cap for Ethel. 
 Be a good thing for him, wouldn't it ? They look fine 
 together, too." 
 
 They had stepped inside the vestibule, and Hal had 
 bent his head close to Meg's as he whispered the last 
 question. He was surprised to see how the fair face 
 flushed, but Meg smiled and gave him a little push. 
 
110 MEGDA. 
 
 " Yes ; now stop whispering and go in before Mr. 
 Lane stops playing." 
 
 They went in and took their seats. Heads were 
 turned and every face smiled a welcome on Meg. 
 Meg's face wore an answering smile. She looked in 
 Laurie's seat so did Hal and both thought her 
 looking prettier than ever in her new suit of navy- 
 blue cashmere trimmed with chinchilla. All the girls 
 had on their new suits and looked very pretty. 
 
 Meg never questioned whether it was right or 
 wrong to think of such things in church. She never 
 turned in her seat to stare at anyone, or did anything 
 else that she considered improper, but she could not 
 keep her thoughts from dwelling, first upon one thing 
 then upon another, instead of keeping them strictly 
 upon the sermon. Elsie always listened attentively 
 to every word that was said, drinking them in eagerly 
 and showing her earnestness and deep interest in her 
 parted lips and softly-shining eyes. But then she 
 was good, dear, quiet little Elsie, thought Meg, and 
 cared for such things. 
 
 This morning Meg did not venture to look at Mr. 
 Stanley until Hal touched her foot softly with his. 
 Looking at him to see what he might want and seeing 
 his eyes fastened earnestly on the pulpit, Meg turned 
 her head quickly and looked, too. The thought flashed 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. Ill 
 
 upon her that Mr. Stanley might possibly have 
 exchanged pulpits, and she should see a stranger 
 occupying the chair. What was her embarrassment 
 to meet Mr. Stanley's dark-blue eyes gazing earnestly 
 at her. There was nothing in that certainly; the 
 look was a very grave, unobtrusive one; but Meg 
 flushed hotly beneath it and dropped her eyes, at the 
 same time feeling deeply angry with herself for doing 
 so. As for Hal, mischievous fellow, he was obliged 
 to turn his head and look out of the window. Laurie, 
 watching him, wondered what he could see in the 
 church-yard to bring such a broad smile on his face. 
 Meg did not venture another look until she was stand- 
 ing with the others singing the "Doxology." 
 
 Mr. Stanley did not sing, but he was passionately 
 fond of music. Now he stood with his hands. clasped 
 behind him and his eyes raised toward Heaven. His 
 face wore a rapt expression as if he had forgotten all 
 earthly things and was thinking only of things spirit- 
 ual, as, indeed, he was. Somehow his face, or the 
 expression it wore, fascinated Meg, and she kept her 
 eyes upon it, even after the singing ceased, and the 
 young minister, lifting his hand, said in a deep, solemn 
 voice, "Let us pray." 
 
 The prayer was short but tenderly impressive. 
 Then followed the hymn : " Come Near Me, O My 
 
112 MEGDA. 
 
 Saviour." Mr. Stanley read the verses through, and 
 Meg's cultivated ear was charmed with the rare 
 elocutionary powers he displayed. "Oh, what a 
 grand ' Macbeth' he would make," she thought. "He 
 is just the style, too ; a handsome face is not neces- 
 sary, and his form is just perfect not short and not 
 tall, but strongly-made and broad-shouldered. And 
 that voice ! deep, thrilling and musical. Oh, if he 
 would only join us ! " 
 
 Mr. Stanley little thought the way in which the 
 beautiful words of the hymn and his manner of ren- 
 dering them were being received by one fair member 
 of his congregation. As he finished, he looked at 
 Meg and noticed the look of deep admiration on her 
 fair, lifted face, but mistook it for one of reverent 
 -feeling for the words he had read. He was pleased, 
 and said to himself : " I was not mistaken when I said 
 there were rare qualities in that girl's nature. She 
 will make a most lovely woman." 
 
 The text Mr. Stanley chose was from the seventh 
 chapter of St. Matthew, the seventh and eighth 
 verses. He confined himself quite closely to his 
 notes. He did not step from behind his desk; he 
 made few gestures, but those he did make were 
 easy, graceful and well-appointed. The words came 
 smoothly from his lips ; his articulation was perfect, 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 113 
 
 every syllable could be distinctly heard in the furthest 
 corner of the large room. His voice in its ordinary 
 tone, was deep, but soft and pleasant. When he said 
 anything in which he wished to be particularly 
 impressive, his voice would ring out strong, clear and 
 thrilling. He caught the attention of the entire con- 
 gregation at the first word he uttered, and held it to 
 the end. Fastidious Meg was thoroughly charmed, 
 though she could not have told his text five minutes 
 after she heard it, nor could she remember one partic- 
 ular thing that he said. He appealed only to her 
 admiration ; he demanded that and received it. 
 
 The rare, cultivated voice, the graceful gestures, 
 the pure, simple language and the rapid change of 
 expression, received her deepest attention and admira- 
 tion, but the beautiful words from God's own book, 
 the grand thoughts he gave expression to, and the sol- 
 emn, comforting assurances held out to his listeners 
 in his earnest, closing words, were all lost upon Meg; 
 she gave no thought to them. 
 
 Mr. Stanley commenced by saying: "Our Heav- 
 enly Father loves all His children with infinite love; 
 that is, He loves everyone, even the feeblest and 
 weakest of His children, with the self-same love with 
 which He loves His only begotten Son. On account 
 of this infinite love knowing how great, how many, 
 
114 MEGDA. 
 
 how varied, nay, how numberless would be their 
 trials, their difficulties, their afflictions, their tempta- 
 tions, while passing through this vale of tears He, 
 in His grace, made abundant provision, in giving most 
 precious and encouraging promises concerning prayer, 
 so that, if they took their trials, difficulties, afflictions 
 and temptations to their Heavenly Father, seeking 
 His strength, His counsel and His guidance, and act- 
 ing according to the loving counsel and advice given 
 in the Scripture, 'Casting all your care upon Him,' 
 the position of most of the children of God would be 
 very different from what it is. Then again, our pre- 
 cious Lord Jesus Christ loves us with the self-same 
 love with which the Father loves Him. Do we all 
 believe it ? The former statement, that the Father 
 loves His children with the self-same love with which 
 He loves His only begotten Son, and what I now 
 state, that the Lord Jesus Christ loves us with the 
 self-same love that is, with infinite love and that 
 with this love He loves the feeblest and weakest of 
 His children, possibly may appear strange to some of 
 you. 
 
 "Yet this is the statement of Holy writ as found 
 in John xv : 9, and in John xvii : 23. Our precious 
 Lord Jesus Christ, who loves us with such love, 
 passed through difficulties, trials and temptations 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOOES. 115 
 
 like unto ours, while He was in the world. He was 
 looked down upon ; He was despised ; that Blessed 
 One 'had not where to lay His head/ and was, while 
 in trie world, ' in all points tempted like as we are, yet 
 without sin.' Knowing the position of His disciples 
 in this world, He has given the precious promise 
 which I have read on the subject of prayer, and if it 
 is made good use of, we may have Him as the burden- 
 bearer, ever ready to help in the time of sorrow, weak- 
 ness and affliction in a word, in all the variety of 
 position and circumstances in which we are found 
 here in the body. 
 
 " Had it been left to us to make promises regarding 
 prayer, I do not know that .you or I could have done 
 more than say, 'Ask, and ye shall receive.' Yet, 
 while the promise is so full, so deep, so broad, so 
 precious in every way, we have here as becomes us 
 with other parts of the Word of God to compare 
 Scripture with Scripture, because in other parts 
 additions are made, or conditions given, which, if we 
 neglect, will hinder our getting the full benefit of 
 prayer. I judge we have not to lose sight of the 
 passage in i John, v : 13-15. 'These things have I 
 written unto you that believe on the name of the Son 
 of God ; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, 
 and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of 
 
116 MEGDA. 
 
 God. And this is the confidence that we have in 
 Him, that, if we ask anything according to His will, 
 He heareth us : And if we know that He heareth us, 
 whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the peti- 
 tions that we desired of Him.' 
 
 "Here is the first point specially to be noticed 
 regarding prayer, ' If we ask anything according to 
 His will He heareth us, and if we know that He hear- 
 eth us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the 
 petitions that we desired of Him.' If, therefore, we 
 pray, and desire to have our petitions granted, it 
 becomes us first to see to it that we ask for things 
 according to His mind and will; for our blessing 
 and happiness are intimately connected with the 
 holiness of God. Suppose there were living here, in 
 our town, a person who had long carried on a business, 
 who was known by those intimately acquainted with 
 him to be an idle person, one who shrinks from work ; 
 or, whenever he can get out of it, seeks to have 
 an easy time of it. Suppose such a person had heard 
 of the promise about prayer, and should say, 'Now 
 I will try if these things are true, and I will ask God 
 to give me $100,000, and then I can give myself easy 
 days; I can travel about and enjoy myself.' Suppose 
 he prays every day for this large sum of money, will 
 he obtain it ? Assuredly not ! Why not ? He does 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 117 
 
 not ask for it that he may help the poor abundantly ; 
 that he may contribute to the work of God more 
 liberally, but he asks that he may spend his life in 
 idleness, and in enjoying the pleasures of the world. 
 He is not asking for things according to the mind of 
 God, -and therefore, however long or earnestly he may 
 pray, he will not get the answer. We are only war- 
 ranted in expecting our prayers to be answered when 
 we ask for things according to the mind of God. 
 
 " The second point we should notice is, that we do 
 not ask on account of our own goodness and merit, 
 but, as the Scripture expresses it, ' In the name of 
 the Lord Jesus Christ.' I refer you to John xiv: 
 13, 14 'And whatsoever ye shall ask in My name, 
 that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the 
 Son. If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do 
 it.' The statement is given twice, in order to show 
 the great importance of this truth; for whenever a 
 saying is given twice in the Word of God, we may be 
 sure a weighty and important subject is brought 
 before us. What does this statement, given twice by 
 the Lord Jesus Christ, mean ? If we desire to go to 
 Heaven, how shall we get there ? On the ground of 
 our own goodness, merit or worthiness ? Because we 
 are not so bad as others ? Because we go regularly 
 to a place of worship ? Because we give a little to 
 
118 MEGDA. 
 
 the poor ? In this way assuredly no one will get to 
 Heaven. It is quite right to go to a place of worship. 
 It is quite right that, of the abundance God gives, we 
 should contribute to the poor. It is quite right that 
 we should act according to morality. But in this way 
 a poor sinner cannot get to Heaven. We must see 
 our lost and ruined condition by nature, and that we 
 deserve nothing but punishment. The best person 
 in this congregation, in this town, in the United 
 States, or in the whole world, is a sinner deserving 
 punishment. Never since the fall of Adam has a 
 single person, by his own goodness, obtained Heaven. 
 Under the old dispensation, there was need to look 
 forward to the Messiah, and since the old covenant 
 dispensation has ceased, there is need to look back 
 upon the Messiah, who, in our stead, suffered the 
 punishment due to us, while hanging on the cross and 
 shedding His blood. All our guilt was transferred 
 to Him, that His righteousness might be transferred 
 to us. And now a sinner though the oldest and 
 the vilest wretch under Heaven, as assuredly as he 
 puts his trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, shall be for- 
 given, shall be cleansed, shall be justified; that is, 
 shall be reckoned righteous and just, through this his 
 trust in the Lord Jesus Christ for the salvation of his 
 soul. In this way the sinner gets to Heaven by 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 119 
 
 faith in Jesus for the salvation of his soul. As by 
 faith in the Lord Jesus Christ we shall stand 
 before God at the last, so it is now in approaching 
 unto God in prayer. If we desire to have our peti- 
 tions answered, we must come to Him, not in our 
 own name, but as sinners who trust in Jesus, who by 
 faith in His name are united to the blessed risen 
 Lord, who have become, through trusting in Him, 
 members of that body of which He is the Head. Let 
 none suppose they are good enough in themselves. I 
 deserve nothing but hell. So precisely with all of 
 you, and the very best and holiest persons that can be 
 found. Therefore on the ground of our goodness we 
 cannot expect to have our prayers answered. But 
 Jesus is worthy, and for His sake we may have our 
 prayers answered. There is nothing too choice, too 
 costly, or too great for God to give to Him. He is 
 worthy. He is the spotless, holy child, who, under 
 all circumstances, acted according to the mind of 
 God. And if we trust in Him, if we bide in Him, if 
 we put Him forward, and ourselves in the background, 
 depend on Him and plead His name, we may expect 
 to have our prayers answered. 
 
 " Some one may say, < I have prayed through long 
 years, for my unconverted children, but they have not 
 yet been converted. I feel I shall not have my pray- 
 
120 MEGDA. 
 
 ers answered. I am so unworthy.' Does this mean, 
 ' I live in sin ? I go on habitually in an evil course ? ' 
 If so, the prayer cannot be answered, for in the Sixty- 
 sixth Psalm we read, 'If I regard iniquity in my 
 heart, the Lord will not hear me.' That is, if I live 
 in sin, and go on in a course hateful to God, I may 
 not expect my prayers to be answered. But what is 
 meant is, ' My love is faint, I am ignorant, therefore 
 I am unworthy.' This is a mistake. The promises 
 are particularly for such for the weak, for the 
 feeble, for the ignorant, for the needy ; and all such 
 who ask for Christ's sake are warranted to expect 
 their prayers to be answered. 
 
 "A third condition is, that we exercise faith in the 
 power and the willingness of God to answer our 
 prayers. This is deeply important. In Mark, xi : 24, 
 we read, * What things soever ye desire, when , ye 
 pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have 
 them.' 'What things soever ye desire' of what- 
 ever kind 'believe that ye receive them and ye shall 
 have them.' I would specially lay this on your heart, 
 that you exercise faith in the power and willingness 
 of God to answer your prayers. We must believe 
 that God is able and willing. To see that He is able, 
 you have only to look at the resurrection of the Lord 
 Jesus Christ ; for having raised Him from the dead, 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 121 
 
 He must have almighty power. As to the love of 
 God, you have only to look to the cross of Christ, and 
 see His love in not sparing His Son, in not with- 
 holding His only-begotten Son from death. With 
 these proofs of the power and love of God assuredly, 
 if we believe, we shall receive we shall obtain. 
 
 "Suppose now we ask, firstly, for such things as 
 are according to the mind of God, and only such 
 things can be good for us ; secondly, that we expect 
 answers on the ground of the merit and righteousness 
 of the Lord Jesus Christ, asking in His name; and 
 thirdly, that we exercise faith in the power and will- 
 ingness of our Heavenly Father to grant our requests ; 
 then, fourthly, we have to continue patiently waiting 
 on God till the blessing we seek is granted. For 
 observe, nothing is said in the text as to the time in 
 which, or the circumstances under which, the prayer 
 is to be answered. * Ask, and it shall be given you.' 
 There is a positive promise, but nothing as to the 
 time. 'Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall 
 be opened unto you.' We have, therefore, patiently 
 and quietly to continue waiting on God till the bless- 
 ing is granted. Someone may say, ' Is it necessary I 
 should bring a matter before God, two, three, five or 
 even twenty times ; is it not enough I tell Him 
 once ? ' We might as well say there is no need to 
 
122 MEGDA. 
 
 tell Him once, for He knows beforehand what our 
 need is. He wants us to prove that we have con- 
 fidence in Him, that we take our place as creatures 
 toward the Creator. Moreover, we are never to lose 
 sight of the fact that there may be particular reasons 
 why prayer may not at once be answered. For the 
 exercise of our faith, for by exercise faith is strength- 
 ened. We all know that if our faith were not 
 exercised it would remain as it was at first. By the 
 trial it is strengthened. Another reason may be that 
 we may glorify God by the manifestation of patience. 
 This is a grace by which God is greatly magnified. 
 Our manifestation of patience glorifies God. There 
 may be another reason. Our heart may not yet be 
 prepared for an answer to our prayer. I will give an 
 illustration : 
 
 " Suppose that three weeks ago a lad of sixteen 
 years of age had been brought to a knowledge of the 
 Lord Jesus Christ, and that with his heart full of love 
 to the Lord he wanted to do something for Hirr*. 
 And suppose he goes to the Sunday-school superin- 
 tendent and says, ' Will you have the kindness to give 
 me a class to teach.' A class of nine children is 
 given him. '-Now this dear boy, whose heart is full of 
 love to the Lord, begins to pray that God would con- 
 vert these nine children. He prays in private and 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 123 
 
 before them, and also exhorts them to seek the Lord. 
 After going home from his class he gives himself 
 earnestly to prayer that God would convert these nine 
 children. On Monday he repeats his request before 
 God, and so day by day during the week and on 
 Sunday again particularly; and then he goes to his 
 class and expects that these nine children will be con- 
 verted. He finds, however, they are not, but that 
 they are just in the same state as before. He again 
 sets the Gospel before them ; he exhorts, beseeches 
 and weeps before them. During the second week 
 his prayers are most earnest; but on the following 
 Sunday he finds that none of the nine children are 
 yet converted. Does it mean that God will not 
 answer these prayers ? It cannot be that this dear 
 boy will have to go on praying and God not regard it. 
 But one reason is that the heart of this boy is not pre- 
 pared for the blessing. If these children had been 
 converted the first week, he would take credit to him- 
 self; he would think what he had been able to do, 
 and would attribute the conversions to his entreaties, 
 instead of to the power of the Holy Ghost. He would 
 take a goodly measure of credit to himself, though he 
 might not be aware of it. But let him patiently go 
 on, and when his heart is prepared, God will, if 
 possible, give it. Thus it is that the child of God 
 
124 MEGDA. 
 
 has to wait until the heart is prepared for the 
 blessing. 
 
 "Many of the dear children of God stagger, 
 because prayer is not at once answered. And 
 because for weeks, months and years, prayer remains 
 unanswered, they cease to ask God, and thus lose the 
 blessing, which, had they persevered, they would 
 assuredly have obtained. It should be especially 
 noticed that all the children of God, who walk in His 
 ways and wait on Him in prayer, have, more or less 
 frequently, answers to prayer. I will illustrate this : 
 
 "All who in any measure walk before God, at the 
 close of the day thank Him for His mercies, and com- 
 mend themselves to Him for protection during the 
 night. In the morning they find no fire has hap- 
 pened, and no wicked hands have molested them. 
 Here is an answer to prayer, and we have to thank 
 God for it. The more we observe these matters, the 
 more we shall find how we get prayer answered. 
 Many that have suffered from sleeplessness have 
 often, in answer to prayer, had sound, refreshing 
 sleep, and have had in the morning to thank God for 
 it. Now all, on the other hand, have sometimes long 
 to wait for answers to prayers. Many of the dear 
 children of God have long to wait for the conversion 
 of their children. While some receive the blessing 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 125 
 
 very soon, others have to wait for many years. But, 
 beloved brethren and sisters, go on waiting upon God, 
 go on praying; only be sure you ask for things 
 according to the mind of God. The conversion of 
 sinners is according to the mind of God, for He does 
 not desire the death of the sinner. This is the reve- 
 lation God has made of Himself 'Not willing that 
 any should perish, but that all should come to repent- 
 ance.' Go on, therefore, praying; expect an answer, 
 look for it, and in the end you will have to praise God 
 for it. 
 
 "There is one point I would especially lay on the 
 hearts of my beloved brethren and sisters, and that 
 is united prayer. In Matthew xviii:i9, the Lord 
 Jesus says, 'If two of you shall agree on earth as 
 touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done 
 for them of My Father which is in heaven.' If, 
 therefore, there are brethren and sisters in Christ who 
 have unconverted relatives, and if they could unite 
 with two or more persons, and unitedly ask God to 
 convert their children, oh, what a blessing might not 
 come in this way ? They should plead this promise 
 before the Lord, read it out when they meet, and put 
 their finger so to speak upon it. If they met 
 once a week for half an hour, or once a fortnight, or 
 as often as they conveniently could, to plead this 
 
126 MEGDA. 
 
 promise before the Lord, after a while a father would 
 have to say, 'My son, who almost broke my heart, 
 has been converted ' ; and a mother, ' I have a letter 
 from my daughter, who fifteen years ago left my 
 home, and has been living in sin, telling me she has 
 found the Lord Jesus Christ.' How their faith would 
 be strengthened by such united prayer and such testi- 
 monies ! After a while, as their faith was strength- 
 ened, they would unitedly pray for their Pastor, that 
 God would more abundantly bless his labors in the 
 conversion of sinners, and in blessings on the Church ; 
 and as they were further enlarged, their prayers would 
 extend to Missions, the circulation of the Scriptures 
 and tracts. They would know the power and blessed- 
 ness of prayer more and more abundantly, and would 
 wait earnestly upon God, asking Him, yet once more, 
 in these days, to grant a mighty revival in the Church 
 of Christ at large. If this were generally so, with 
 what power ministers would set forth the truth of the 
 Gospel, what blessings would come on our Sunday- 
 schools, on the circulation of the Scriptures, on open- 
 air preaching, and other Christian work. God grant 
 we may more earnestly give ourselves to prayer. 
 
 "I find it a great blessing to treasure up in my 
 memory the answers God graciously gives me. I 
 keep a record to strengthen the memory. I advise 
 
BEHIND THE CHURCH DOORS. 127 
 
 the keeping of a little memorandum book. On one 
 side say the left hand side put down the petition 
 and the date when, you began to offer it. Let the 
 opposite page be left blank to put down the answer in 
 each case, and you will soon find how many answers 
 you get, and thus you will be encouraged, more and 
 more your faith will be strengthened ; and especially 
 you will see what a lovely, bountiful and gracious 
 being God is ; your heart will go out more and more 
 in love to God, and you will say ' It is my Heav- 
 enly Father who has been so kind; I will trust in 
 Him, I will confide in Him.' 
 
 "With regard to. any who do not yet know Him, 
 let the first prayer be offered to-day, before you leave 
 this place 'Show me I am a sinner.' When you 
 see this ask the Lord ' Help me to put my trust in 
 the Lord Jesus Christ,' and you will find how ready 
 God is to give blessing. May we all who are the peo- 
 ple of God, receive a blessing, and our dear friends 
 and fellow-sinners be stirred up to seek Him while 
 He is to be found. God grant it for Jesus' sake. 
 Let us pray. 
 
 "Oh, God, grant that the words thus spoken may 
 be like seeds dropped upon fertile ground, to spring 
 up and bear fruit to the glory of Thy holy Name. 
 May all these precious souls here this morning, learn 
 
128 MEGDA. 
 
 what a blessed thing prayer is, if they do not already 
 know it. Teach them to trust Thee ; to take all their 
 trials, their sorrows and their perplexities to the 
 throne of Grace, and receive comfort and rest. 
 Bless the words so poorly spoken by Thy servant, 
 dear Lord. Forgive us all our sins, and save us for 
 Thy blessed Son's sake. Amen." 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 129 
 
 X. 
 
 IN THE VESTRY. 
 
 WASN'T that a good sermon, Meg ? " whispered 
 Laurie, as the two girls stood in the vestibule 
 waiting for the others of their class to join them. 
 
 "The delivery of it was perfect," answered Meg. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Stanley has doubtless made the study of 
 elocution a specialty. But weren't his ideas good, 
 and so simply expressed ! And how comforting he 
 spoke ! " 
 
 Meg looked at Laurie in a little surprise. "He 
 makes a remarkably fine appearance in the pulpit," 
 she said slowly. " I would have liked to see him 
 enter the pulpit. Did you see him, Laurie?" 
 
 "Yes; his manner was all that even you could 
 desire, Meg." 
 
 "Very dignified, but easy, wasn't it, Laurie ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why don't the girls come? It takes them long 
 
130 MEGDA. 
 
 enough this morning. Oh, here they are. What 
 have you been doing, girls, to be so long?" 
 
 "Been waiting for Ethel, but got tired and came 
 away without her," replied Lill Norton. 
 
 "What is she doing," asked Meg, stepping to the 
 swing-door and looking into the church. 
 
 "Thanking Mr. Stanley for his excellent sermon," 
 said May Bromley. "She seems to be completely 
 carried away with him. 'Twill be a good thing for 
 the young man if she is, won't it?" 
 
 Meg turned around with a frown. "What non- 
 sense, May, for a school-girl to talk ! " 
 
 May looked ashamed. "Well, it would; she will 
 be quite an heiress, and Mr. Stanley hasn't any 
 money." 
 
 Meg looked perfectly scandalized. "Well, May 
 Bromley ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 Lill and Lulu laughed outright, and May giggled. 
 
 "Look at her now," said May, anxious to have 
 Meg's scornful eyes leave her face. 
 
 Meg looked. Ethel and Mr. Stanley were standing 
 at the foot of the pulpit steps. Mr. Stanley was hold- 
 ing Ethel's hand tightly in his own as if he had for- 
 gotten to release it, and was looking earnestly into 
 her pale, refined face while she talked to him. It 
 seemed to Meg as if she had never seen Ethel look so 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 131 
 
 lovely. There was a delicate pink flush in her cheek 
 and her gray eyes shone brightly. 
 
 "What can she be saying to him ! " thought Meg. 
 
 Just then another figure left one of the middle 
 pews and swept gracefully down the broad aisle. 
 "Maude Leonard," said Lulu, peeping over Meg's 
 shoulder. " Isn't that suit she has on too lovely for 
 anything ? Such rich black velvet ! and look at those 
 elegant plumes ! Look at me, Meg, and tell me if 
 you cannot see my skin turning green ; I feel envious 
 enough." 
 
 "Oh, come away, girls," said Meg, turning around 
 with a scornfully smiling face. "If Maude hasn't 
 gone up to add her congratulations to those of 
 Ethel's ! Why didn't we think to form in line and 
 march down the center aisle to pay homage to our 
 king. Lill, I am ashamed of you. Have you no 
 heart, or is it so hard that even Mr. Stanley's elo- 
 quence cannot soften it ? You are a lot of heathen, 
 that is what you are. Come down to Sunday-school 
 now, and see if you can say the ' Golden Text '," and 
 the girls obeyed the command of their ' leader ', laugh- 
 ing softly as they went. 
 
 All but Laurie. There was not even a smile on 
 her pretty, flower-like face. One time she would have 
 laughed heartily at her "idol's" sarcastic remarks, 
 
132 MEGDA. 
 
 but now she could not. She could not tell why they 
 hurt her, but they did. She did not feel as she used ; 
 somehow an indescribable feeling had crept into her 
 heart of late at times she felt almost sad. She 
 said nothing about it to anyone, except, to Jesus. 
 Yes, she did tell Him of it, and asked Him "to make 
 it all right." Poor little Laurie was not blessed with 
 particularly brilliant conversational powers, and in her 
 prayers to Him she used the plain, simple language 
 of a child, vaguely wishing that she could express her- 
 self to Him better, and little knowing that she was 
 going to Him in just the way he liked best to have 
 His children come. He was even now answering her 
 prayer for help and filling her heart with a great 
 peace and happiness that she had never known in all 
 her happy young life before. 
 
 Little did Meg think, as she looked laughingly 
 down into the little face beside her, what thoughts 
 were in the girlish heart. What would she have said 
 if she had known ? 
 
 Ethel came in shortly after the girls were seated 
 and leaned over Meg's chair as she passed her. 
 "Wasn't that a comforting sermon, Girlie?" 
 
 " A most finely delivered one," answered Meg, with 
 her most mischievous smile, and Ethel passed on with 
 a look of pain. 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 133 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Randal," said a voice at Meg's 
 side. 
 
 Meg started. Mr. Stanley was standing close 
 beside her. "They say listeners never hear any 
 good of themselves," flashed Meg, forgetting herself 
 in her surprise and vexation. "But you can testify 
 to the contrary, can't you ? " 
 
 Mr. Stanley's face flushed a little, and the smile 
 that had lighted it when he spoke to Meg, vanished. 
 He bowed very gravely. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Randal, but you wrong 
 me. I am not guilty of the charge." Then he turned 
 to the others who had not heard the low-spoken con- 
 versation. "Young ladies," he said pleasantly, "your 
 teacher, Mrs. Langley, was taken suddenly ill this 
 morning and I have been requested by your superin- 
 tendent to supply her place. I fear I shall prove 
 but a poor substitute for so excellent a teacher, but I 
 will do my best." 
 
 All the girls smiled and flushed, and altogether 
 looked so pleased that Mr. Stanley could not but see 
 that he was kindly received. There was a little pause 
 after he had spoken, the girls were waiting for their 
 "leader" to respond, but their "leader," for the first 
 time in their remembrance, was dumb, and so Ethel 
 took her place. 
 
134 MEGDA. 
 
 "You are very kind, indeed, to take our teacher's 
 place, Mr. Stanley," she said in her sweet, calm, lady- 
 like way; "but please allow us to be the best judges 
 of your ability." 
 
 He looked at her admiringly, and made some smil- 
 ing reply; then he commenced the lesson. He did 
 not look at Meg, except when he asked her a ques- 
 tion, and then his eyes rested upon her briefly and 
 carelessly. Meg's proud heart swelled almost to 
 bursting. She was angry with him, with Ethel, with 
 everyone in the class, but most of all, with herself. 
 What had she done? He had told her that she 
 wronged him. She had done worse than that r- she 
 had insulted him. The idea of accusing him of 
 listening. 
 
 She could not put her mind on the lesson; she 
 answered all the questions asked her, correctly Meg 
 always had a good lesson but she felt perfectly 
 miserable. Could Ethel have done what she did, 
 purposely ? 
 
 "She might have known how I would answer her," 
 thought Meg bitterly. " If she did do it purposely, 
 the act was worthy of Maude Leonard herself, and I 
 can say nothing worse about it. What will he think 
 of me? That I am not a tenth part of a lady, no 
 doubt, and I cannot blame him if he does. How he 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 135 
 
 admires Ethel. And I don't blame him for that, 
 either. She looks all that is to be desired good, 
 sweet, tender and, above all, a perfect lady." 
 
 To look and act like a " perfect lady" was Meg's 
 idea of perfection itself. She wanted to be loved, to 
 be admired, to be considered a perfect lady in every 
 sense of the word, and then she was sure of perfect 
 happiness. Thus far in her life, she had had what 
 she had desired, and was perfectly satisfied with her- 
 self; but now pshaw! she wouldn't trouble her 
 head about it. 
 
 After the lesson, Mr. Stanley took the few remain- 
 ing minutes for a general talk. He spoke so easily, 
 yet so earnestly to them, that all were drawn out to 
 say something, even timid little Laurie; but Meg 
 never opened her lips. Mr. Stanley did not appear to 
 notice her silence "He is too much taken up with 
 Ethel for that," thought Meg. " How earnest Laurie 
 looks ; she will be speaking in prayer-meeting the 
 next thing. Even Lill and Lulu appear interested, 
 and Dell has a pink spot on each cheek for the first 
 time in her life, I verily believe. Am I the only 
 heathen in the class ? It seems so. They have all 
 apparently forgotten me thanks to my reverend 
 friend." 
 
 Meg was growing more and more bitter every 
 
136 MEGDA. 
 
 moment; the sensation was an entirely new one to 
 her; she, who had always been so happy, so sweet 
 and so friendly toward everybody. I do not know 
 what state of unhappiness she would have reached, 
 had not the superintendent's bell put a stop to all 
 talking and thinking as well. Mr. Stanley took his 
 chair, and with a low " Pardon me," to Meg, placed it 
 by her side and sat down. She drew her dress care- 
 lessly away with one hand and bent her head haugh- 
 tily. He said nothing to her during the remainder of 
 the exercises, but when the closing hymn was given 
 out, he found the place and offered to share his book 
 with her. She thanked him with another haughty 
 bend of the head. The hymn was "Come," in num- 
 ber three. Meg did not intend to sing when she 
 stood up, but it was as natural for her to sing as it 
 was to breathe, and before the first verse was finished, 
 her sweet, clear voice was ringing out high above the 
 others. She stole a glance at Mr. Stanley to see 
 how her singing was impressing him. The expres- 
 sion of his face caused a little smile to play around 
 her lips, and she threw all the beautiful pathos her 
 voice was possessed of into the remainder of the 
 hymn. 
 
 When it was finished and she stole another look at 
 the strong, earnest face beside her, the smile changed 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 137 
 
 to a look of startled surprise, for the dark-blue eyes 
 were certainly filled with tears. He turned to her 
 after the short prayer, and held out his hand. " Thank 
 you, Miss Randal," he said simply. 
 
 Proud, impulsive Meg put her little hand in his. 
 "Do not thank me, Mr. Stanley; but forgive me for 
 speaking to you as I did." 
 
 A smile lighted up his whole face. "I will forgive 
 it when I recall it," he said. Then the girls came 
 crowding out, and Meg found herself walking down 
 the aisle between Dell and Laurie, yet half doubtful 
 as to whether it were really herself and not some one 
 else. When had she ever asked anyone's forgiveness 
 before ! Never, to her knowledge. And yet, she did 
 not feel ashamed for having done so, but on the con- 
 trary she felt happier than she had felt for a week. 
 Besides, she had only done what was right what she 
 ought to have done so, of course, there was nothing 
 to be ashamed of. 
 
 The next morning, as Meg was on her way to 
 Madam de Crando's, the "essay affair" burst upon 
 her mind for the first time since Friday night. Her 
 resolution was quickly taken. Immediately after tak- 
 ing off her things in the dressing-room, she went to 
 madam's private office. That lady looked a little sur- 
 prised at so early a caller, but Meg soon turned the 
 
138 MEGDA. 
 
 look of surprise into one of pleasure by holding out 
 the lost essay, and saying briefly, "My essay has 
 been found, madam." 
 
 Madam took it with a smile. " Indeed, I am glad 
 to hear it. Where was it found ? " 
 
 "In the dressing-room behind the blind." 
 
 "Ah! You laid it there for safe keeping, I pre- 
 sume, and forgot that you did so." 
 
 Meg made no reply. Madam seated herself in her 
 arm-chair. " I trust you will learn a lesson in careful- 
 ness from this, Miss Randal. Had the essay not been 
 found, an innocent girl would have had to suffer for 
 your carelessness. I am more pleased than I can say, 
 that I shall be able to take Ruth back; it would have 
 been a hard thing for me to lose her, particularly in 
 such a manner." 
 
 Still Meg said never a word. "Who found the 
 essay, Miss Randal?" 
 
 "Laurie." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Friday afternoon after I had seen you." 
 
 "Do you remember of putting it there ? " 
 
 Passionate words rose to Meg's lips, but she forced 
 them bravely back. "No, madam," she said. 
 
 " It is very strange ; you have never been guilty of 
 such carelessness before, that I can remember of. 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 139 
 
 However, I think I may trust to your not being guilty 
 of it again. You are excused." 
 
 Meg left the room, angry, but not the least humili- 
 ated. As she opened the door, Maude Leonard glided 
 quickly away from it. Meg dashed after her and 
 caught her just as she was disappearing into the 
 library. Sorry am I to relate what Meg then did! 
 She seized Maude by both shoulders and shook her 
 until all her heavy black hair tumbled down her back 
 and the pins flew far and wide. 
 
 "There, Jezebel," said Meg, between her shut teeth, 
 and giving her a parting push that almost sent her 
 down upon her knees, Meg ran up stairs to the " sen- 
 ior's parlor," threw herself down upon the lounge, and 
 laughed till she cried. 
 
 In this state Ethel found her, coming in five min- 
 utes later. She went up to the lounge and bent over 
 her. "Why, Girlie, what have you found to laugh 
 at so early in the day? Tell me, so I may laugh, 
 too." 
 
 But the sight of Ethel only made Meg laugh the 
 harder. What would she say if she were to teH her 
 what she had done. The very thought of Ethel's 
 dismay not to say horror, sent Meg off into a per- 
 fect gale, and Ethel was obliged to sink down into 
 one of the easy chairs and laugh, too, though she 
 
140 MEGDA. 
 
 did not know at what. But Meg's laugh was always 
 contageous. 
 
 At last Meg sat up on the lounge and dried her 
 eyes with her handkerchief. "Tell me what it was, 
 Girlie," said Ethel, seating herself beside Meg, and 
 passing her arm lovingly around her waist. 
 
 "Oh, nothing much, Ethel," gasped Meg. "Noth- 
 ing that would please you," and then she went off 
 into another gale. 
 
 "Try me and see," said Ethel smiling.. 
 
 "Oh, it was only well, Ethel, it was nothing, 
 really. I was only indulging in private theatricals, 
 and you don't believe in them, you know." 
 
 Ethel brushed back the bright hair from Meg's hot 
 brow. " No, dear, I have no room in my heart for 
 them; it is already full to overflowing." 
 
 Meg drew herself away from the tender hand. 
 " Full to overflowing, Ethel ? Well, that is not to be 
 wondered at. You have everything to make you 
 happy. A beautiful home, loving, indulgent parents, 
 all the money you want, and consequently, friends 
 ditto a happy, untroubled future before you. Whose 
 heart would not be full to overflowing? Mine would, 
 under those circumstances." 
 
 "The things you have mentioned, Girlie, are not 
 what make me so happy. I am thankful for them 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 141 
 
 deeply and truly thankful ; but they are not what fill 
 my heart to overflowing." 
 
 "No?" said Meg, lifting her eyebrows. "What is 
 it, then?" 
 
 "Jesus." 
 
 The low, solemn voice drove the mocking light out 
 of Meg's eyes, and the laughter from her face. She 
 forgot Maude and everything else, in looking at the 
 pale, lovely face before her lovely, with the sweet, 
 solemn light upon it. 
 
 Meg drew nearer and nestled her head against 
 Ethel's shoulder in her old, caressing way, and 
 Ethel's arms quickly encircled her and held her close 
 and sure. 
 
 "Open your heart to this great love, Girlie. All 
 you have got to do is to say, 'I am a sinner; dear 
 Jesus, forgive me.' Then your heart will be as full 
 of this great happiness as mine is. Oh, Girlie, give 
 yourself to Him ; you will not know what perfect 
 peace and happiness is, until you do." 
 
 Meg's eyes were moist, but she still laughed 
 lightly. "But, Ethel, I have never committed any 
 great sin ; and I am happy I have always been so. 
 I scarcely know what it is to feel sad." 
 
 Ethel looked wistfully into the fair, girlish face on 
 her shoulder so bright, so sunny, so laughing. 
 
142 MEGDA. 
 
 Would she have to taste of sorrow before she could 
 know of this heavenly joy ? Would that be the way 
 in which she would be led to the Saviour ? " God 
 grant not," was the earnest prayer of Ethel's heart. 
 
 " I know you have always been happy, Girlie, but 
 the happiness of which I speak is entirely different 
 from any you have ever felt. It is a peaceful, restful 
 feeling. It makes you loving and forgiving. You 
 not only love your friends, but you love your enemies. 
 You are young now trouble has never come to you 
 but it will come; it must come some day as it 
 comes to all, and then you will need the Father. Oh, 
 Girlie, it is so blessed to know that whenever you call 
 on Him for help, He is ready to give it. When you 
 feel sick, and tired and unhappy, just go to Him and 
 lay your head on His breast, and He will fold His 
 dear loving arms around you, and soothe and comfort 
 you into rest. It is a blessed feeling a blessed 
 feeling." 
 
 Ethel's arms had relaxed their hold of Meg, and she 
 was looking before her with dreamy, happy eyes. 
 Meg was almost afraid to speak, and sat and looked 
 at her. 
 
 As she looked, a feeling crept into her heart 
 a strange, happy, peaceful feeling. It seemed to 
 Meg that her heart must be drawing this feeling 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 143 
 
 from Ethel's face. She had never felt like this 
 before. 
 
 "Do you feel this perfect peace and happiness, 
 Ethel ? " she whispered. 
 
 "Yes, Girlie; and I have felt it ever since I gave 
 my heart to the Saviour." 
 
 " Oh, if I could only feel it as you do, Ethel," cried 
 Meg suddenly. "But I don't know what to do. I 
 have always been so happy, and it seems as if I had 
 always felt satisfied; but I don't just now. Why is 
 it?" 
 
 Ethel drew Meg to her with a low, happy laugh. 
 "Ah, that is just it, Girlie; you have never stopped 
 to think whether you were satisfied or not. Oh, I 
 hope and pray you may never feel satisfied again, 
 until you make a full and complete surrender of this 
 priceless little heart of yours." 
 
 Meg smiled. " But, Ethel, if I do that, then I shall 
 have to surrender other things as well." 
 
 " What other things, Girlie ? " 
 
 "I shall have to give up my social pleasures danc- 
 ing, the theater and, oh, Ethel ! I do love the world 
 and what it gives me I cannot help it." 
 
 "For all these things He will give you a robe of 
 whiteness and a crown of beauty that fadeth not 
 away." 
 
144 MEGDA. 
 
 Meg was clinging to Ethel now. " Oh, Ethel, if I 
 could only feel it ; if I did not love the world and its 
 pleasures so ! " 
 
 "Give yourself to Him, Girlie that is all. Say 
 
 " Just as I am without one plea, 
 But that Thy blood was shed for me; 
 And that thou bidd'st me come to Thee, 
 O, Lamb of God, I come " ; 
 
 and He will fill your heart and life with such divine 
 blessings, that it will have no room for these things 
 that make you happy for but a little while, and then 
 leave you restless and dissatisfied." 
 
 "I will try it, Ethel I will begin at once; and 
 will you pray for me ? " 
 
 Ethel's face was radiant as she answered: "Pray 
 for you, Girlie ? Yes, with all my heart and soul and 
 strength ; every hour of the day and every minute of 
 the hour. And pray for yourself, Girlie; He will 
 certainly hear and answer your prayers." 
 
 One of the doors down stairs closed with a bang, 
 and light feet came running up the stairs. A clear, 
 girlish voice sang : 
 
 " Little Fisher-maiden, 
 Skies with storms are laden ; 
 'Tempt no more across the sea, 
 Dangers waiting there for thee," 
 
IN THE VESTRY. 145 
 
 and in a moment more May Bromley thrust her saucy 
 head into the room. 
 
 " Oh, you are here, are you, Megda ? Been looking 
 high and low for you. We have just ten minutes 
 before that heartless bell rings ; come out here and 
 try the 'Military schottische ' ; the floor is in fine con- 
 dition so is my whistle. Come on, madam will 
 never hear ; I'll do it softly." 
 
 Meg opened her lips to say " No," but just then 
 May picked her skirts up daintily with both hands, 
 and went skimming down the smooth, polished floor, 
 whistling softly the "Nightingale Schottische." 
 
 The sound and the sight made Meg's heart beat 
 quickly. She went to the door and watched May a 
 moment, keeping time to the dance with her hands, 
 then her feet commenced to keep the time, too, and 
 when May came around to where she was standing, 
 Meg slipped her arm around her waist, and down the 
 long hall they went lightly and gracefully. 
 
 Ethel looked after them, but there was a smile on 
 her face. " She loves dancing ; loves it better than 
 anyone I ever knew, but she will give it up; I feel 
 sure she will step over the line before many days. 
 God will claim her as His own in His own good time. 
 I can trust him." 
 
146 MEGDA. 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. 
 
 TUESDAY evening, November 25, 1889. The 
 evening of the first Grand Entertainment given 
 by the "Young People's Literary Society of - ." 
 
 Four weeks of study and practice had brought 
 everything to a successful point; that is, it would 
 prove successful if the young actors and actresses did 
 as well on the evening of the 25th, as they did at the 
 last rehearsal, Nov. 24. Not a word of fault could 
 the exacting young "leader" find with her "troupe" ; 
 each one did his and her part perfectly. Perhaps 
 Margaret Mather would have smiled with superior 
 scorn on Meg's personation of the murderous " Lady 
 Macbeth"; and Miles Levick might have looked 
 upon the efforts of Will Duncan in his representation 
 of the unhappy "Macbeth " as infant's work, but the 
 privileged few who witnessed the rehearsal of this 
 tragedy of Shakespeare, were loud in their praises, 
 and Melvin Pierce even went so far as to say that if 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 147 
 
 Shakespeare had lived to see this hour, his pride 
 would have been so great that it would have killed 
 him. 
 
 " If he could only be here for this one night, Miss 
 Randal," he said to Meg, as they stood together 
 behind the " scenes", "I know he would say, with 
 his last breath, 'Thank heaven for permitting me, at 
 last, to see my ideal " Lady Macbeth " ! ' " 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Pierce," replied Meg gravely. 
 "Then you think it would prove 'sure death' to 
 him?" 
 
 "Joy often kiss," said Melvin with admirable quick- 
 ness of -thought. 
 
 Meg laughed. "There is no getting ahead of you, 
 Melvin. Just let me take a peep, will you, please? 
 I want to see if we are going to have a full house." 
 
 Melvin drew the curtain aside, and Meg peeped 
 out. Yes, the large room was very nearly filled, and 
 it still wanted fifteen minutes to the hour appointed ; 
 but the face she looked particularly for was not there. 
 She experienced a feeling of regret not unmixed with 
 anger, as she scanned the audience closely. No, he 
 was not there. "I suppose he would as soon be 
 guilty of going to the ' Musee ' as of coming here 
 to-night," she thought bitterly. " He looks upon us 
 as a pack of heathen." 
 
148 MEGDA. 
 
 "I say," observed Melvin, craning his neck to look 
 over Meg's head, " we are going to have more than a 
 full house ; we'll clear fifty dollars, if we do a cent. 
 There's Judge and Mrs. Lawton, but Ethel isn't with 
 them. I suppose she is having a private prayer-meet- 
 ing over our sinful actions. Oh, ahem ! there comes 
 Miss Maude Leonard alias 'Miss Nippy-Piety.' Did 
 you ever see such a sanctimonious expression on 
 anyone's face in your life, Meg ? And see how she 
 nips along, as if the floor was hardly good enough for 
 her to walk on. I bet, if the truth were known, she 
 walks that way because her shoes are so plaguey 
 tight. Well, upon my word ! here come Deacons 
 Ray and Fly-Catcher. You've mistaken the evening, 
 my brethren" - this in his most affable tones "it is 
 Tuesday not Thursday evening." 
 
 "Be quiet, Melvin," giggled Meg. "You should 
 respect gray hairs, if nothing more." 
 
 "And don't I?" 
 
 " No. Why don't you call Deacon Huntly by his 
 right name ? " 
 
 "I beg the old gent's pardon; but by jove, Meg, 
 he's at it so soon ! " 
 
 Meg could not help laughing. The young men had 
 given the pseudonym of " Fly-Catcher " to good old 
 Deacon Huntly, for the reason that he invariably sat 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 149 
 
 with his mouth open. The width of the opening 
 depended altogether on the degree of interest he 
 experienced in whatever was passing before him ; the 
 deeper his interest, the wider the opening. 
 
 "Dear old chappie," murmured Melvin, affection- 
 ately; "he is doing it from mere force of habit. 
 Hallo, here comes Brother Norton, Meg ! " 
 
 Meg turned hastily at the horrified tone. 
 
 "The moths have gotten into his hair and laid the 
 corner-stone for a skating-rink! As true as I'm a 
 sinner!" 
 
 Meg came very near betraying herself to the people 
 outside, in the laugh she commenced, but strangled. 
 "You ridiculous boy," she said, choking herself with 
 her handkerchief. " Let me pass ; you will disgrace 
 yourself and me, too." 
 
 "No, don't go; I haven't had so much fun since I 
 was an infant," pleaded Melvin, holding her by the 
 arm. "See, here comes old lady Bently and her brood 
 of little ones ; one, two, three, four, five, six six fair 
 daughters of Ev(e)il ones to be wooed and won. The 
 man that can look on that sight and not be touched 
 must be w65(e)d or stone, or something even harder." 
 
 Meg turned indignantly. "Melvin Pierce, you 
 make any more of your miserable little puns and I'll 
 leave you." 
 
150 MEGDA. 
 
 Melvin's face assumed a frightened expression. 
 "Oh, I won't, Meg, I won't; a pun (upon) my word 
 I won't" 
 
 Meg overlooked this last as being unworthy of 
 notice, and turned to take one more long look. Both 
 were silent for a moment, then Melvin broke the 
 silence by exclaiming, "For the good Lord's sake 
 beg pardon, Meg, I don't mean to be irreverent but 
 if here doesn't come our parson. Let us pray." 
 
 Sure enough, Mr. Stanley was at that moment 
 entering the room. He was alone. The usher 
 showed him to a seat in the center aisle. Mr. Stan- 
 ley stooped to place his hat under the seat in front of 
 him. Meg saw him smile and bow, then he arose and 
 stepped across the aisle, and accepted the chair which 
 was graciously offered him by Mrs. Lawton. Meg 
 saw this, and then she turned to Melvin with a look 
 of displeasure on her fair face. 
 
 " I must ask you to be more particular in your man- 
 ner of expression when you are with me, Melvin," she 
 said, coldly. " Your remark sounded irreverent, if 
 you did not mean for it to be," and she swept away 
 from him with the air of an injured queen. 
 
 Poor Melvin looked after her in dismay. He was 
 not displeased; no one ever felt displeased with Meg, 
 no matter what she might say or do but he was 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 151 
 
 more than surprised. He had not meant to be irrev- 
 erent he had only said it to make her laugh. " And 
 at one time she would have gone into fits over it," he 
 said to himself, as he went to help Will don his 
 "stage attire." "What in the world has come over 
 the spirit of her dreams, I wonder. Is she turning 
 pious ? Come to think of it, she hasn't been quite so 
 lively lately ; she has seemed more thoughtful. Well, 
 all I can say is, that if Meg Randal would become a 
 Christian, there isn't a minister living who could do 
 the good that she could. She has done me a little bit 
 of good so soon. Such expressions are not right, 
 although I have never thought about it before, and 
 I'll quit making them. Many thanks, friend Megda." 
 
 Meg would have laughed if she had known Melvin's 
 thoughts. The moment after she had spoken, she 
 was almost sorry for what she had said. " Whatever 
 made me say it ?" she asked herself. "I am sure he 
 did not mean to be wicked, and I have laughed at 
 worse things than that from him many a time. Poor 
 Melvin ! he is so good-natured ; he will do anything 
 for me. But somehow, his words sent a chill over me 
 to-night. I could not laugh at them but I needn't 
 have taken his head off. I'll run back and tell him 
 how sorry I am." 
 
 " Oh, Meg, here you are ; I've been looking every- 
 
152 MEGDA. 
 
 where for you. Do fasten this spray of lilies-of-the- 
 valley in my hair, will you?" and Dell stood in the 
 door of the temporary dressing-room with a beseech- 
 ing look on her lovely face. 
 
 "Well," thought Meg, "Til tell him later." 
 
 Oh, what a laughing, talking, excited group there 
 was in the small room, and how pretty and girlish 
 they looked, too ! Meg was the calmest one, and she 
 had more to do than all the rest put together. 
 
 Dell looked perfectly lovely in her pale-pink dress 
 with a spray of lilies-of-the-valley on her breast and 
 another in the braids of her golden hair. Laurie 
 wore pale blue and had velvety yellow pansies for her 
 flowers. She looked like a big wax doll. Meg wore 
 her favorite pure white cashmere. A large bunch of 
 exquisite white roses was in her belt. She looked 
 pale, but oh, so girlishly sweet and pure. The girls 
 hovered around her, proud of their queen. 
 
 The first selection on the programme was a piano 
 duet by "Miss Manton " and "Miss Randal." A 
 burst of applause greeted the two young pianists as 
 they appeared on the platform, and such remarks as : 
 "Don't they look lovely!" "What a beautiful con- 
 trast!" "Don't they look too sweet for anything!" 
 went floating through the room. 
 
 Of course Dell and Meg both heard that is, they 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 153 
 
 heard the whispers and knew they were of praise and 
 admiration; but no one looking at them would ever 
 suspect it. Dell went forward and took her seat at 
 the piano with her cool, matter-of-fact air. Meg 
 smiled a little and seated herself with the "slow 
 grace " that came so natural to her. Mr. Stanley, 
 looking at her, thought, "How proud her mother 
 must be of her!" and looked to see if she showed her 
 pride in her face. 
 
 Ah, did she not ? It was impossible for that 
 mother to hide the little, tremulous smile that would 
 hover around her lips as she looked at her darling 
 and heard the murmured words of praise all around 
 her. Elsie, too, forgot everything else, and saw noth- 
 ing but that girlish, white-robed form, while Hal, 
 from his place behind the "scenes" looked out and 
 smiled proudly to himself. Oh, Meg, what a happy, 
 happy girl, and what a thankful girl you ought to be ! 
 
 After the duet came a tenor solo by Mr. Edwin 
 Holmes. Dell played his accompaniment, as Meg's 
 reading came next. The song Mr. Holmes had 
 selected was "My Queen," by "Blumenthal." Ed 
 had a good voice, and his rendering of the difficult 
 piece was good remarkably so; but the effect was 
 somewhat spoiled by his turning his eyes in quite a 
 love-sick fashion on Dell, every time he sang, "Ere I 
 
154 MEGDA. 
 
 cease to love thee, my Queen, my Queen." Dell was 
 supremely unconscious of his rapturous glances, her 
 mind as well as her eyes, being on her music, but 
 they afforded unbounded amusement to Melvin Pierce, 
 Bert Marston and Ha], who were looking at him 
 through a hole in the curtain. They were obliged to 
 go into a corner where they could slap their knees, 
 bend their bodies, draw up their legs and otherwise 
 contort themselves; while Ed, in happy ignorance, 
 ended his passionate cry of " My Qneen, ah, my 
 Queen ! " in one long, lingering wail and a last look at 
 Dell, who struck the closing chords clearly and sharply 
 and then rose to her feet and swept on before him 
 without so much as a glance at him. And there he 
 had been emptying his heart before her and she didn't 
 even dream of it. 
 
 Meg's reading came next. She had chosen for her 
 first selection "The Polish Boy," by "Mrs. Ann S. 
 Stephens." I shall not stop to give an explanation of 
 the piece, except to say that it is one of the grandest 
 things of its kind that was ever written. Those who 
 have heard or read it, I am sure will agree with me. 
 Meg's rendering of it, as an amateur, was exceedingly 
 fine, especially in that part where the poor mother in 
 her agony, love, fear and self-forgetfulness, pleads for 
 the life of her boy in the passionate words : 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 155 
 
 " Take me, and bind these arms, these hands, 
 With Russia's heaviest iron bands, 
 And drag me to Siberia's wild, 
 To perish, if 'twill save my child ! " 
 
 Meg threw all the force she was capable of in her 
 voice and expression. Her gestures were graceful 
 and natural; the audience showed their appreciation 
 of her effort in that truest praise of all complete, 
 breathless silence. At the last gasping cry of the 
 dying boy, as he lay his head on his dead mother's 
 breast : " Great God ! I thank thee ! Mother, I rejoice 
 with thee and thus to die!" a long, quivering 
 sob sounded on the deep stillness of the room. 
 
 It was from Elsie who, with her eyes fastened on 
 her sister, and her lips parted, utterly forgot where 
 she was. 
 
 As Meg bent gracefully before the audience, a 
 storm of applause burst forth ; there was scarcely a 
 dry eye in the whole room ; people looked at one 
 another in astonishment. Everyone knew that Meg 
 had elocutionary talent, but to-night she had sur- 
 passed herself. They gave her a hearty encore ; she 
 was not prepared to respond with a recitation, but 
 she came out and acknowledged their compliment 
 with a low, graceful bow. Mr. Stanley smiled at her 
 girlish triumph or rather at her manner of receiv- 
 ing it. It seemed to him as if she were trying to act 
 
156 MEGDA. 
 
 as she had seen great actresses, and I truly believe 
 she was myself. 
 
 Dell's contralto solo came next. She received her 
 praise in the cool, matter-of-fact way characteristic of 
 her. -Her manner amused Mr. Stanley even more 
 than Meg's had. " Not a girl of the period, at all 
 events," he said to himself. " Her great beauty does 
 not spoil her. I like her." 
 
 Laurie played a duet with Dell, and almost fainted 
 from sheer fright before it was finished, but she 
 looked so bewitchingly pretty that the audience gave 
 her a hearty applause. 
 
 The quartette, "Misses Randal and Manton" and 
 "Messrs. Duncan and Holmes," outdid themselves, 
 and were obliged to respond to two tremendous 
 encores. Meg recited "The Widow's Light," by 
 "Marianne Farmingham," tenderly, and in a subdued 
 manner, which was just what was needed. Dell sang 
 "Calvary," and sung it gloriously. Then came the 
 scene from "Macbeth." 
 
 When I write this, it seems as if I must stop and 
 rest, with my pen in my hand, while my thoughts 
 travel back and dwell upon this part of that night's 
 proceedings. Can anyone imagine it seems as if 
 everyone must that crowd of bright-haired girls 
 hovering around the heroine of the hour their pride 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 157 
 
 and queen ? Oh, how the girlish hearts beat, as their 
 eager, loving fingers smoothed a fold here, and fas- 
 tened a clasp there ! If Meg shared their nervous- 
 ness, she never showed it, except it was a brighter 
 sparkle in the dark eyes, and a firmer setting of the 
 full lips. 
 
 "Goodness ! " exclaimed Dell, "you are the color of 
 marble. It must be because your hair is brushed 
 back from your forehead." 
 
 "She looks just as 'Lady Macbeth' should look," 
 said Laurie, with quick, jealous fondness. "The 
 whiter, the better." 
 
 "I tell you what, Meg," said May, "you look sim- 
 ply immense." 
 
 "You will add another link to the chain you have 
 bound about poor Will, when he sees you in that cos- 
 tume," said Lill Norton sentimentally. She and 
 Lulu and May had slipped behind the "scenes," to 
 see if they could help. 
 
 "Don't you feel nervous, Meg?" asked Lulu. 
 
 "Hurry up, Meg," commanded Dell. "And you 
 stop your nonsense, girls. Just one minute of grace 
 for the ' Lady Macbeth ' to admire herself in " ; and 
 she led "my lady" to the mirror. 
 
 Meg smiled a satisfied smile at what she saw 
 reflected therefrom. A tall, slender form robed in 
 
158 MEGDA. 
 
 heavy brocaded velvet both Meg's and Will's cos- 
 tumes were hired. The petticoat was of yellow 
 quilted satin. The overdress and court-train were of 
 rich dregs-of-wine velvet, brocaded. Her golden- 
 brown hair was rolled back from her forehead, and 
 the head covering of rich, yellow lace, was fastened 
 to her braids with a large star of brilliants. Broad 
 bands of dead gold were around her wrists and a 
 necklace of brilliants were clasped tightly about her 
 throat. Meg was not beautiful never would be 
 but in that costume she looked like a queen. No 
 wonder that the girls held their breath as they looked 
 at her. 
 
 "All ready," came in sepulchral tones from behind 
 the drapery that took the place of a door. 
 
 "Wait just a minute, Meg," whispered Lill. "Let 
 us get out first," and there was an immediate rush for 
 the audience. 
 
 The appearance of the girlish " costumers " was a 
 signal for all whispering and laughing to stop. A 
 deep stillness settled upon the room. Then the 
 green curtain was slowly drawn aside and a very well- 
 furnished drawing-room met the eye. At the left of 
 the front of the stage was a writing-table, and a stu- 
 dent's chair of yellow plush was drawn up beside it. 
 A portiere of green damask separated the drawing- 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 159 
 
 room from a narrow corridor, and as the people 
 looked, a beautiful form came slowly from behind it. 
 In the small, white hands was a sheet of paper, but 
 the queenly head was slightly thrown back, and the 
 large, dark eyes rested not upon the paper, but were 
 gazing earnestly ahead with an anxious, perplexed 
 look in their depths. 
 
 Before Meg could open her lips to speak a storm of 
 applause burst forth, the younger part of the com- 
 pany even stamped with their feet and whistled. It 
 was a proud moment to Meg, but, unfortunately, as 
 she bent her head in silent acknowledgment of their 
 praise, her eyres rested full upon Mr. Stanley. He 
 was not smiling, but on the contrary a look of stern 
 displeasure was on his face. For just a second Meg's 
 heart beat quickly, and then she set her lips firmly 
 and determinedly together, resolved to do her best. 
 
 When she reached the center of the stage, she com- 
 menced to read from the paper she held in her hands, 
 and at the first words every sound ceased. People 
 could hardly believe that that ta!4, queenly woman 
 before them, was really Meg Randal ; they hardly 
 recognized her voice in the full, rich tones in which 
 she read : 
 
 " They met me in the day of success ; and I have 
 learned by the perfected report, they have more in 
 
160 MEGDA. 
 
 them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in 
 desire to question them further, they made themselves 
 air into which they vanished. While I stood rapt in 
 the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who 
 all-hailed me, 'Thane of Cawder'; by which title, 
 before, these wierd sisters saluted me, and referred 
 me to the coming on of time with, 'Hail, king that 
 shalt be ! ' This have I thought good to deliver thee, 
 my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightest 
 not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of 
 what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, 
 and farewell." 
 
 The parts had been slightly changed. At the con- 
 clusion of the reading of the letter, the curtain was 
 drawn together, leaving " Lady Macbeth " leaning 
 wearily back in her chair. 
 
 The next scene was from Act II, Scene II. When 
 the curtain was drawn aside, Meg was standing in the 
 center of the stage, her head thrown back, her hands 
 clinched tightly by her side, a look of desperate cour- 
 age on her fair face. She hurled the words from her, 
 quickly and fiercely : 
 
 " That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold ; 
 What hath quench' d them, hath given me fire. 
 Hark ! Peace ! 
 
 It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman, 
 Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it : 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 161 
 
 The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
 
 Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugged their possets, 
 
 That death and nature do contend about them, 
 
 Whether they live or die." 
 
 "Who's there? What, ho!" sounded from behind 
 the " scenes." 
 Meg went on : 
 
 " Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, 
 And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed 
 Confounds us. Hark ! I laid their daggers ready ; 
 He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept, I had done it." 
 
 Meg's expression as she delivered the last sentence, 
 was really something wonderful. The pleased audi- 
 ence were interrupted in their applauding by " Mac- 
 beth " rushing wildly upon the stage. 
 
 " My husband ! " exclaimed Meg. 
 
 Some small boys on the front seat were wicked 
 enough to giggle most audibly at this, and Will, for- 
 getting himself as an actor for a moment, turned 
 around and glared at them fiercely. Meg looked as if 
 she would like to shake him she did pinch him slyly 
 and the audience laughed unrestrainedly. That 
 was the only unpleasant thing that happened. Will 
 at once came to his senses, and the rest of his part 
 was given in praiseworthy style. 
 
 When the curtain was drawn aside for the last act, 
 
162 MEGDA. 
 
 Meg, so far from showing any signs of fatigue, 
 seemed as fresh and full of vigor nay, even more 
 so than she was at the first and Will, seeming to 
 catch some of her spirit, forgot himself, and everyone 
 else, in his part. Could Booth or Barret have done 
 more ? 
 
 As the curtain was drawn together for the last 
 time, the audience applauded until it seemed as if the 
 walls shook. What spirit of pride and mischief 
 seized Meg as, hearing the loud calls for her reap- 
 pearance, she turned to Will with blazing eyes. 
 
 "Lead me out before the curtain, Will," she said 
 imperiously. 
 
 Will looked at her for a moment in surprise, but 
 her brilliancy overpowered all his discretion he 
 would have done anything she might have asked him. 
 
 He took her hand and did as she commanded. 
 The people fairly rose out of their seats. Truly, 
 Margaret Mather could not have acted her part bet- 
 ter than did Meg. As she bowed low for the second 
 time, retreating as she did so, Dell stepped forward 
 and handed her a magnificent bouquet of roses and 
 pinks. It was from the members of the Y. P. L. 
 S. Meg was thoroughly taken by surprise, but she 
 accepted it with a bright smile, raised it daintily to 
 her lips, and disappeared. 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 163 
 
 But Will, holding her hand, felt the small fingers 
 twitch. Meg, in bowing, had looked at Mr. Stanley 
 again. The look of stern displeasure on his face had 
 deepened into one of sorrow and pain. 
 
 "Oh, Meg, you darling!" The bevy of fair girls 
 crowded around their "queen" and almost smothered 
 her with caresses. 
 
 "Mary Anderson, herself, could have done no 
 better ! " 
 
 " You were simply superb ! " 
 
 " I never, in all my life, saw anyone look so per- 
 fectly lovely ! " 
 
 "You looked just like a queen ! " 
 
 "Judge Lawton almost made a hole in the floor 
 thumping with his gold-headed cane. " 
 
 "Yes, and Deacon Huntly actually cried out 
 ' Superb ! ' The idea ! a Deacon of the church ! 
 There's a conquest for you, Meg." 
 
 "Well, Deacon Norton was pretty well excited, I 
 noticed ; eh, Lill ? " 
 
 Meg listened to all these rhapsodies with a smiling 
 face, but her heart felt strangely heavy. She did not 
 say anything until Dell suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 "Our minister looked as if he were composing his 
 own funeral sermon all the time. He, doubtless, does 
 not appreciate fine acting." 
 
164 MEGDA. 
 
 There were exclamations of dismay, and blank faces 
 at this. 
 
 "I never thought to look at him," said May. "I 
 meant to, but I was so excited all the time that I 
 didn't once think of it." 
 
 "Phooh!" said Lulu Martin, contemptuously. "I'd 
 like to know what harm there is in it." 
 
 " He'd no business to come if he hadn't approved of 
 it," said Dell dryly. 
 
 "That's what I say," said Lill. "What think you, 
 Meg?" 
 
 Meg was just then bending her head for Laurie, 
 who had not spoken, to unfasten her vail. The girls 
 could not see her face, but they were satisfied to hear 
 her mocking little laugh. "I say as Dell says," she 
 replied, and then commenced to talk about something 
 else. 
 
 When Meg reached home, she received Hal's hearty 
 congratulations, Elsie's loving words of praise and the 
 mother's kiss, with the same smiling face with which 
 she had listened to the girls, and with the same 
 strangely-heavy heart, too ; and when she had retired 
 to her room, she blew out the light and sank down in 
 a chair by the window, and looked out at the white- 
 robed earth shining cold and silvery under the rays of 
 the moon. 
 
THE ENTERTAINMENT. 165 
 
 She sat there a long time, thinking. Was Ethel 
 really right after all ? Were the pleasures of the world 
 so fleeting? Did it require something higher and 
 nobler to satisfy ? A few weeks ago, and she would 
 have felt perfectly happy and satisfied with to-night's 
 triumph she would have asked for no greater happi- 
 ness ; but now she felt far from happy almost like 
 crying. "What is it? oh, what is it?" she cried, 
 covering her face with her hands ; but no answer 
 came to her. Then she jumped from her chair, turned 
 down the bed-clothes and sprang into bed. " I know 
 what it will be, if I keep on," she said to herself scorn- 
 fully. "It will be a case of insanity. I act worse 
 than any of the love-sick maidens, sentimental authors 
 write about in their trashy, five-penny novels. I am 
 disgusted with myself." 
 
 And Meg cuddled herself down among her soft pil- 
 lows, and fell asleep. 
 
166 MEGDA. 
 
 XII. 
 
 IN SOCIETY. 
 
 1HEAR loud praises from father of your elocution- 
 ary powers, Girlie," said Ethel, on the morning 
 after the entertainment. 
 
 The two girls were in the senior's parlor. Meg 
 was sitting on the rug before the open fire, holding 
 her hands over the blaze to get them warm. It was 
 a bitterly cold morning. Ethel was sitting in an easy 
 chair close by her with her Physiology in her hand. 
 
 "Was your father pleased, then, Ethel?" asked 
 Meg carelessly. 
 
 "More than pleased," replied Ethel. "He talked 
 about nothing at the breakfast table, but your ' won- 
 derful talent.' He was quite carried away. Mother, 
 too, was very much pleased." 
 
 "I shouldn't think you would tell me of it, Ethel," 
 said Meg, looking into the fire. 
 
 "Why not, Girlie?" 
 
 "Oh, you think it is such a deadly sin. I was 
 
IN SOCIETY. 167 
 
 much surprised to see your father and mother there. 
 Of course, I knew they had always been theatre-going 
 people, but I supposed you had converted them long 
 before this." 
 
 Meg did not say this rudely, and when she had fin- 
 ished, the face she turned to Ethel was rather grave 
 than otherwise. A shadow fell upon Ethel's fair 
 face. 
 
 " No, I have not converted them to the only true 
 way yet, Girlie; but I hope to do so before many 
 days, with God's help." 
 
 Meg was silent, and Ethel went on. " Mother 
 does not care as much for such things as she used. 
 She is commencing to realize that the pleasures the 
 world can give are not lasting ; pleasant they may be 
 for a while, but not worth bartering eternity for, and 
 the unending happiness that eternity will bring." 
 
 "But these things are not wicked," said Meg in a 
 low, determined voice, with a faint pink stealing into 
 her face. " Nothing will ever make me believe that 
 they are. They are only little harmless amusements. 
 Your religion is too severe, Ethel ; it makes moun- 
 tains out of mole-hills. Why can not a person be just 
 as good enjoy his religion just as much, and still 
 enter into the pleasures the social pleasures of the 
 world ? I think one derives many personal advant- 
 
168 MEGDA. 
 
 ages from going out into society. That is, if one 
 looks at it from the right point of observation. There 
 is a certain charm about society people, which cannot 
 be explained. They possess certain qualities which 
 non-society people do not even dream of." 
 
 "Is it your ambition then, to be a 'society woman/ 
 Girlie?" asked Ethel, leaning forward and looking 
 into the earnest face. 
 
 Meg laughed sarcastically. "It would require 
 money, Ethel, and I am not an heiress." 
 
 "No, and I am," replied Ethel quietly; then she 
 went on quickly: "You have said right, Girlie; it 
 does require money to join the society of .worldly 
 pleasure-seekers ; as soon as your money is gone, you 
 can no longer be a member. It is an expensive soci- 
 ety to keep up; poor people are not allowed to join. 
 It is a society, Girlie, that supports its own rich, but 
 the poor need not apply they will not be received. 
 But the society of which I am proud to be a member 
 is one that has no respect of persons ; the poor as 
 well as the rich, are gladly welcomed to it. All can 
 come without money and without price. The poorer, 
 the more broken-down, the more helpless one is, the 
 more gladly is he welcomed. It is a society, the 
 most honored members of which are those who have 
 come to it, soul-sick and weary of sin and strife, and 
 
IN SOCIETY. 169 
 
 have simply cast down their burden at the feet of 
 the great Ruler, and asked Him to take them, poor 
 and needy as they are. No one has ever been 
 turned away, Girlie, but all have been joyfully 
 received." 
 
 "What is the pass-word, Ethel?" asked Meg, smil- 
 ing, but deeply touched. "Jell me, that I may enter 
 if I should so wish." 
 
 "The pass-word is Jesus." 
 
 Meg bowed her head upon Ethel's knee, and 
 pressed her lips to the fair hand she held. "Tell me 
 what it will bring me, Ethel ; what it has brought to 
 you." 
 
 " Rest and perfect peace," was the low-spoken 
 answer. 
 
 Light feet were heard tripping up the stairs. Meg 
 rose and leaned over Ethel. " Pray for me, Ethel," 
 she said, tremulously, then she crossed the room 
 quickly, took up her algebra which she had tossed on 
 to the lounge when she came in, and when the door 
 opened and Maude Leonard entered, both girls were 
 absorbed in their books. 
 
 " Good-morning, girls," said Maude in her sweetest 
 voice. " What a dreadfully cold morning it is, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 Meg just raised her eyes from her book and nod- 
 
170 MEGDA. 
 
 ded, but Ethel wheeled a chair close to the burning 
 logs, and said pleasantly : " Yes, indeed, it is a bit- 
 terly cold morning. Did you drive to school?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Maude, sinking languidly down in 
 the depths of the easy chair, and drawing her fur- 
 trimmed skirts daintily away from the blaze. " James 
 put an extra robe in the sleigh, but I was dreadfully 
 cold, then." 
 
 "Why didn't I tell James to put an extra robe in 
 my sleigh," thought Meg, with grim humor, as she sat 
 in her remote corner, apparently absorbed in "signs 
 and quantities." 
 
 "Come over here, Girlie," said Ethel. 
 
 A curt "No, I thank you," rose to Meg's lips, but, 
 I am happy to say, did not pass them. Instead, she 
 said : " I think I will. A wood fire is the prettiest 
 and cosiest thing, but it suits the Spring and Autumn 
 weather better than the Winter." 
 
 "I agree with you there," said Maude, pushing her 
 chair lazily to one side to make room for Meg ; but 
 Meg preferred to sit beside Ethel. Maude, seeming 
 not to notice this, went on : 
 
 "You two girls must have left early this morning. 
 I should have thought you would have been tired 
 enough to sleep an hour or two longer, Meg. Allow 
 me to congratulate you on your success of last even- 
 
IN SOCIETY. 171 
 
 ing. You have a most wonderful talent. You fairly 
 took your audience by storm." 
 
 "Thank you," said Meg, coldly. To herself she 
 said quite savagely, " Hypocrite ! " 
 
 " By the way, Meg, where is your shadow this morn- 
 ing?" asked Maude suddenly. 
 
 Meg looked around the room in mock surprise. 
 She knew very well that Maude meant Laurie; she 
 had called her that before, with the same veiled sar- 
 casm in her tones. 
 
 " I beg pardon," said Meg innocently, bringing her 
 eyes back to rest upon Maude's face; "but you can 
 hardly expect to see it in this room so early in the 
 morning ; you know the sun doesn't get around here 
 until about two o'clock in the afternoon." 
 
 Ethel laughed softly, she couldn't help it. Maude 
 laughed too, but her large, black eyes glittered angrily. 
 She formed a strong contrast to Ethel and Meg, with 
 her dark, richly-colored face ; large, black eyes and 
 raven hair. It made Ethel's delicate loveliness look 
 almost spiritual, and Meg's white face look whiter 
 still, and her light-brown hair almost golden. 
 
 "Last night's triumph has made you facetious," 
 said Maude sweetly, "or else you do not really under- 
 stand. I meant Laurie. Where is she?" 
 
 " She went to the library after a book/' 
 
172 MEGDA. 
 
 "Oh," said Maude indifferently; then, as if just 
 recalling it, she said : " Ethel, how very kind it was 
 of you this morning, to send your carriage for Ruth 
 Dean. The poor girl looks, sometimes, as if she actu- 
 ally suffered with the cold. She has a long walk." 
 
 Meg looked at Ethel quickly and gratefully. " Did 
 you send your carriage for her, Ethel ? " she asked. 
 
 "Yes," answered Ethel, blushing a lovely pink. 
 "But that was nothing. I was only too glad to be 
 able to do it." 
 
 "It was exceedingly good of you," murmured 
 Maude. "I doubt if the girl ever rode in a sleigh 
 before. She looked like a cat in a strange garret 
 among all the buffalo robes ; all you could see was 
 her big eyes," and Maude laughed immoderately. 
 
 Meg's eyes flashed as she looked at her. "If it 
 were not for such Christians as she, there would be 
 more sinners like me saved," she thought. 
 
 It never entered Meg's head that she was doing a 
 poor, foolish thing in judging all by one, or taking 
 the wrong-doing of one as an excuse for her own 
 "holding back." She would have been very quick to 
 see the foolishness in Laurie or any of the other girls, 
 and would have felt a contempt for their weakness, 
 but we seldom see our own faults. 
 
 "Hullo, girls," cried a merry voice, and May Brom- 
 
IN SOCIETY. 173 
 
 ley bounced into the room. " How cozy you look in 
 here. I declare, I am well-nigh frozen all but my 
 tongue. ; ' 
 
 "That never freezes, does it, May?" asked Maude, 
 in her pleasantest tone. 
 
 "No," answered May, not the least displeased. 
 "Once in a while it becomes paralyzed that is all." 
 
 "When is that?" asked Meg. 
 
 " Oh, for instance, when I get up to read an origi- 
 nal paper before the Y. P. L. S. But, Queen of the 
 Boards, let me pay my heart-felt homage to you this 
 morning," and May dropped on one knee before 
 Meg, raised her little white hand to her lips, and 
 kissed it. 
 
 "What nonsense are you up to now? " said a voice 
 from the door-way. " You ought to be hired out to 
 'Forepaugh' as, 'a girl born without brains.' Think 
 I'll present the idea to your father for his considera- 
 tion, May ; he would make an immense sum of 
 money," and Dell walked into the room, looking, for 
 all the world, like one* of the icicles dressed up as 
 Meg said to herself with her white face and glitter- 
 ing hair. 
 
 " Don't be insulting, Miss Manton," said May, 
 making a face at her. "You have a lovely mouth, 
 don't make it ugly by saying ugly things." 
 
174 MEGDA. 
 
 Dell looked at her with cool amusement. " What 
 a pity it is, May-flower," she said, "that you don't 
 realize your own superior smartness. You have just 
 delivered a whole sermon equal to the divine Tal- 
 mage. What are you all doing in here holding a 
 conference ? " 
 
 "Warming our toes," said Meg dryly. "I wish I 
 could warm my brains as well ; they seem literally 
 frozen this morning." 
 
 " Frost gotten into them ? " asked Dell, leaning on 
 the back of her chair. 
 
 "Yes, the frost of stupidity," answered Meg. "I 
 can't get this example right if it is to save my 
 life; tried half an hour on it this morning before 
 breakfast." 
 
 "Is there room for me?" asked a soft little voice, 
 and Laurie's golden head poked itself around the 
 door. 
 
 "Yes, come right in," they all cried, and drew a 
 little away from each other to make room for her. 
 
 Laurie seized an ottoman on* her way to the fire- 
 place and threw it at Meg's feet. "Room for two, 
 May," she said, gaily; and the two girls seated them- 
 selves on it, and leaned their elbows lightly on Meg's 
 lap. Dell sat on the arm of Meg's chair, with her 
 hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Meg was in 
 
IN SOCIETY. 175 
 
 her " natural state" now that of the queen with her 
 subjects around her. 
 
 " Oh, love, dear love, be true ; 
 This heart is only thine." 
 
 sung a voice in the lower hall. 
 
 " When the war is o'er 
 We'll part no more." 
 
 chimed in another ; then a rush of feet up the stair- 
 case, and Lill and Lulu burst into the room. 
 
 " Still receiving homage, our Queen ? " said Lill. 
 "You deserve it." 
 
 "If you don't study for the stage, you will make 
 the one grand mistake of your life," said Lulu. 
 
 "Amen," said May. 
 
 Meg boxed her ears lightly. "No irreverence, 
 May-flower," she said carelessly, but she did not 
 smile. 
 
 "But seriously, Meg," said Lill, squeezing herself 
 in between the ottoman and Maude's chair, "why do 
 you not study for the stage? Why! everyone says 
 that you are most wonderfully gifted, and that you 
 could make your fortune as an actress." 
 
 "Yes," chimed in Lulu. "Father says he has 
 seen most of the leading actresses of this country, 
 
176 MEGDA. 
 
 and of the other country, too, for that matter, and he 
 prophesies a brilliant future for you, if you will only 
 undertake it. Why don't you, Meg ? " 
 
 "Oh, dear ! " sighed May. " What a grand thing it 
 must be to have the world at your feet. Just think! 
 your simple appearance on the stage to be the signal 
 for a mighty burst of applause, and people holding 
 their breath and waiting impatiently for you to open 
 your lips and just speak one word. Oh, it must be 
 delightful ! " 
 
 Meg listened, and as she did, her breath came 
 quickly, her eyes shone, her cheeks flushed. A thrill 
 went through the girlish heart ; the ambitious part of 
 her cried out in loud tones : " Yes, that is the life for 
 me. There is happiness, triumph, power, and, there- 
 fore, perfect satisfaction." 
 
 Then, all at once, her eyes fell upon Ethel. The 
 pure face, with its clear eyes, and sweet, smiling 
 mouth, seemed a reproach to her. Her own eyes fell 
 beneath the calm, reproachful gaze of the other's ; the 
 color left her cheeks, and the loud beating of her 
 heart ceased, and grew quiet. The revulsion of feel- 
 ing made her cold and trembling; nay, it actually 
 frightened her. 
 
 "What is the matter with me ? " she thought wildly, 
 and the next moment would have sprang to her feet, 
 
IN SOCIETY. 177 
 
 but just then the door quietly opened, and a little, 
 dark face looked in to be quickly withdrawn with a 
 low "Oh, excuse me, please." 
 
 Dell slid off the arm of Meg's chair, and was at the 
 door before it could be closed. 
 
 "Excuse you, Ruthie!" she cried. "And why? 
 Are you not a senior, the same as the rest of us, and 
 have an equal right to the parlor? Come in, 
 immediately." 
 
 She drew the timid, blushing Ruth into the room, 
 and closed the door. Maude's lip curled scornfully; 
 the others looked at Meg to receive their "cue." 
 Meg put out both arms, and drew Ruth down on her 
 lap. 
 
 " Oh, I am too heavy, Meg," remonstrated Ruth. 
 
 "Heavy!" laughed Meg. "So is a kitten." 
 
 There was five minutes more of laughing and chat- 
 tering, and then the loud tones of the bell broke up 
 the pretty, merry group and sent them all to the large 
 hall for prayers. 
 
 During the remainder of the week, Meg received 
 many congratulations on her success of Tuesday even- 
 ing. A month ago, the flattering words would have 
 filled her heart with delight ; now, they only made her 
 feel restlessly unhappy. And why? Because the 
 workings of the Spirit were already going on in her 
 
178 MEGDA. 
 
 heart. The time had come, as Ethel had said it 
 would, and as it comes to all, yet it was coming so 
 gently and gradually that Meg scarcely realized it. 
 She only knew that there was something she wanted 
 that she did not have ; a longing for something that 
 she could not name. It did not change her much, 
 only made her a little more thoughtful, a little more 
 subdued in her manner. 
 
 No one noticed this except Ethel, whose gentle 
 heart was filled with joy and thanksgiving, as she 
 watched, day by day, the change that was gradually 
 stealing over the fair, young life. 
 
 "Oh, what a Christian she will make!" she 
 thought, and felt like proclaiming her glad knowledge 
 from the house-tops. 
 
 She didn't, though; she only prayed silently and 
 waited patiently, content to trust to the Father, 
 knowing He would bring all things to pass in His 
 own good time. 
 
 Saturday night as Meg was walking home from the 
 post-office, she met Mr. Stanley. She had not seen 
 him since the evening of the entertainment, and then 
 she had not seen him to speak with. 
 
 It was a beautiful moonlight evening, although the 
 air was sharp and frosty. Meg was walking quickly, 
 her furs tied closely around her throat, her hands 
 
IN SOCIETY. 179 
 
 tucked snugly in her muff. She was so busy with 
 her .thoughts, that she did not observe Mr. Stanley 
 until he lifted his hat with a pleasant "Good- 
 evening." 
 
 When he turned and walked beside her, Meg did 
 not know whether she were pleased or sorry ; but she 
 did think nervously, "Oh, dear, I hope he will not 
 introduce the subject of religion." 
 
 Mr. Stanley appeared not to have the least idea of 
 doing so when he started out. He spoke on ordinary 
 topics her school, her studies, her music, and lastly, 
 her elocution. Meg hardly knew how it came about, 
 but all at once she found herself talking freely and 
 eagerly about her "hope", as she had always called it. 
 
 " The ambition of my life has always been to be a 
 first-class elocutionist ; first-class, of course ; I could 
 not be satisfied with anything else. And why should 
 I not be ? " she asked with lifted head. 
 
 " I see no reason," said Mr. Stanley, quietly. 
 "You have wonderful powers." 
 
 "Thank you," said Meg a little mockingly. "But 
 
 - but how gravely you speak ; and do you know, Mr. 
 
 Stanley, you are the only one of my friends who has 
 
 not congratulated me on my efforts of last Tuesday 
 
 evening ? " 
 
 Perhaps Meg ought not to have said that, she was 
 
180 MEGDA. 
 
 sorry for it right away. It sounded bold and unmaid- 
 enly to her, and she knew it must to him ; as if she 
 were "fishing for compliments." His answer took her 
 completely by surprise, and made her face burn hotly. 
 
 "I congratulate you on your fine rendering of 'The 
 Polish Boy' and 'The Widow's Light'; they were 
 both admirably given ; but I cannot congratulate you 
 on your 'theatrical attempt'." 
 
 Poor Meg was dumb. Figuratively speaking, she 
 did not know whether to laugh or cry. She felt like 
 turning to him and saying, in her coldest, iciest 
 tones, "You insult me, Mr. Stanley," and then leav- 
 ing him to his own remorseful thoughts in the middle 
 of the snow-covered street ; but he might think that 
 she was indulging in "open-air theatricals" this time, 
 and be more disgusted than ever ; so she did the wis- 
 est thing said nothing and walked quietly by his 
 side. 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Stanley thought he had been a little 
 too abrupt, and had hurt the proud girl's feelings as, 
 indeed, he had for he went on to say in a moment 
 or two : " You must pardon me, if what I say is not, 
 perhaps, what you would like to have me. I have 
 always considered myself quite a judge of character, 
 Miss Randal. Will you allow me to give you the 
 result of my observation of yours ? " 
 
IN SOCIETY. 181 
 
 "Then you have been studying it?" asked Meg 
 with quick resentment. 
 
 " Yes, I have," replied he calmly. 
 
 Meg almost laughed at his imperturbability, though 
 much vexed. " You have aroused my curiosity," she 
 said, "pray, be so kind as to gratify it, now." 
 
 " I will do so with pleasure. You are a girl of noble 
 impulses, although you do not always follow them. 
 Your character is made up of contradictory points. 
 By nature you are trusting, but either because you 
 have come in contact with untruth and deception in 
 one form or another, or because, being of the people 
 of the world, you are determined to do as the people 
 of the world do, you are, at times, suspicious and sar- 
 castic. You are liable to scoff at the wisdom of supe- 
 rior minds ; this tendency will grow upon you, unless 
 you check it at once, until the nature that God made 
 so pure and trusting, capable of noble deeds as well 
 as impulses, will become tarnished, degenerated and 
 ruined. You have great decision of character and 
 strength of intellect. You have little patience with 
 your weaker sisters. You have a keen perception; 
 you are quick to see the faults of others, but are most 
 unnaturally blind to your own. You have an idea 
 that your own strength of character is sufficient to 
 keep you from doing any weak thing. You are proud, 
 
182 MEGDA. 
 
 you have lofty ideas of right, you have little compas- 
 sion for wrong-doers, little realizing, that, in your 
 righteous (?) condemnation of them, you are yourself 
 committing a great wrong. You have a lovable 
 nature, you can make many friends, and, what is still 
 a harder thing to do, you can keep them. You receive 
 their friendship and recognition of your superiority, 
 much as a queen receives the homage of her subjects. 
 All the time you are smiling at their simplicity, and 
 feeling miles above them ; seated on a throne, as it 
 were, and looking down, with smiling pity, upon the 
 'smaller minds.' And yet), the time will come, Miss 
 Randal, when their strength will be your weakness. 
 Your friend, Miss Ray, for instance. You look upon 
 her now, very much as you would look upon a pretty, 
 little pet kitten ; you are fond of her, but, in your 
 heart, you laugh at her ; at times you even pity her 
 for her lack of moral courage. She will one day, it 
 may be near at hand even now, pity you for your lack 
 of the same quality. You have talents ; some day 
 God will ask you to give an account of them. When 
 a person is rich, we expect more from him, where 
 money is concerned, than we do from a poor person. 
 It is just so with God. He does not bestow His gifts 
 upon all His children alike. To one He gives but 
 one talent; to another two; to another three; to 
 
IN SOCIETY. 183 
 
 those He gives the most, He expects the most 
 from." 
 
 They had reached Meg's home by this time. As 
 Mr. Stanley opened the gate for her to pass through, 
 he looked into her face. It was very pale, and the 
 lips were pressed closely together. She did not say 
 one word ^ she could not, if her life had depended on 
 it. Her heart felt ready to burst ; it was filled with a 
 deep, passionate anger. Never had she been talked 
 to in this manner before. She felt mortified, hum- 
 bled in the very dust. Mr. Stanley saw this. 
 
 " I have spoken very plainly to you, Miss Randal, 
 but I have done it with the very best of intentions, 
 believe me. One thing more I want to say, and it is 
 this. You are capable of great things ; you have rare 
 accomplishments ; it is in your power to do a grand 
 work. All you have to do is 'to make yourself 
 worthy of yourself.' You can do this in only one 
 way. Give yourself, just as you are, to the Saviour. 
 Do not try to make yourself better by your own 
 strength you cannot do it. Take the accomplish- 
 ments He has given you and consecrate them and 
 yourself all to His glory, and your life will be one of 
 God's most perfect creations." 
 
 He lifted his hat, Meg bowed her head she could 
 not speak turned and ran into the house. 
 
184 MEGDA. 
 
 She went directly to her room, threw herself on the 
 bed, and cried as if her heart would break. And 
 when had light-hearted Meg shed tears before ? Not 
 for many a long day. She could hardly tell what she 
 was crying for, either. At first she thought it was 
 because she was so angry ; then, because her feelings 
 had been so deeply hurt ; then, because what he had 
 said had startled and dismayed her; and lastly, she 
 knew it was because she realized how sinful she really 
 was, how thoughtless and wicked she had been. 
 
 " Oh, why could he not have left me alone ? " she 
 sobbed. " I was happy, I was contented, and I never 
 shall be so again." 
 
 Ah, Meg, if you had only said then, " God be mer- 
 ciful to me, a sinner," the "peace that passeth all 
 understanding" would surely have been yours. 
 
THE SENIOR CLASS. 185 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE SENIOR CLASS. 
 
 IT would seem as if the members of the senior class 
 of Madam de Crando's excellent establishment, 
 had met by special appointment in the reading-room 
 of the public library, had not each one, as she came 
 in and saw the others sitting there, cried out in a 
 burst of pleased surprise, "What! you here?" At 
 last nearly all the class were there, sitting around one 
 of the long reading-tables covered with views and 
 periodicals. Meg, Laurie, Dell, May, Lulu and Lill. 
 Each one had chosen her book for the ensuing week, 
 and settled herself cosily for a "good look" at it. 
 
 "Madam's establishment is well represented," said 
 Meg. 
 
 "Yes," replied Lill; "all of the senior class here 
 but three Ethel, Maude and Ruth." 
 
 "Wonder where they are," observed Meg absently. 
 She had just made up her mind to begin "Martin 
 Chuzzlewit" ; it was so thick she would not be able to 
 
186 MEGDA. 
 
 finish it before the next week if she didn't. Meg was 
 an ardent admirer of Dickens. 
 
 "Tuesday night, isn't it?" asked May. 
 
 "Of course, goose," laughed Lill, looking up from 
 "Pink and White Tyranny." 
 
 "Then of course, also, they are at the 'Young Peo- 
 ple's Christian Endeavor'." 
 
 Down went all the books on the table, with the 
 exception of Meg's ; she leaned back in her chair 
 smiling at the others' astonishment. 
 
 "Well, if I hadn't forgotten all about it," said Lill. 
 "And it was given out at both services on Sunday, 
 too." 
 
 "Meg doesn't look surprised," said May. 
 
 "Had you thought of it, Meg?" asked Dell. 
 
 "Yes; Elsie was getting ready to go when I left 
 home." 
 
 " Ethel is going to lead," said Laurie musingly. 
 
 "Of course," said Meg a little sharply. "She is 
 the one who organized it." 
 
 "I wouldn't care to be in her shoes," said May, 
 with a shrug. 
 
 "Here comes Ruth; I suppose she is going. 
 Good-evening, Ruth." 
 
 "Good-evening, girls." 
 
 "Are you going to Ethel's meeting?" asked Lill. 
 
THE SENIOR CLASS. 187 
 
 "Yes; won't you all come with me?" 
 
 There was a pause. All looked eagerly at Meg 
 Laurie more eagerly than the rest. 
 
 "Will you come, Meg?" asked Ruth softly. 
 
 "No, I think not," replied Meg slowly, with her 
 eyes on her book. To herself she said, "I would, if 
 that hypocrite wasn't to be there ; she would spoil the 
 meeting for me." 
 
 The girls drew back, disappointed ; yet they did 
 not once think they could go without their "leader." 
 
 "Here come Will Duncan and Ed Holmes," whis- 
 pered Lulu. " Let's ask them if they are going." 
 
 "Will looks solemn enough to be going to some 
 kind of a meeting," said Dell. 
 
 The young men approached the table where the 
 girls were sitting. "Good-evening, ladies. Any- 
 thing special going on this evening, and have you 
 taken the reading-room for- your rendezvous ? " said 
 Ed, with an admiring glance at Dell, who returned it 
 with the coolest smile imaginable. 
 
 Will had bowed gravely to all, and seated himself 
 beside Meg. 
 
 "We didn't meet for anything special," explained 
 Dell. "We were talking over the advisability of 
 attending 'Ethel's meeting' in a body." 
 
 "And have you decided to go?" 
 
188 MEGDA. 
 
 "Meg thinks not." 
 
 There was a little pause; then Ed said suddenly, 
 "Why not all go?" 
 
 Meg laughed. "People would think Bedlam had 
 broken loose, or madam's establishment, at any rate." 
 
 Ruth had risen to leave the room, but at Ed's words 
 had stood still again, trembling and blushing. " I am 
 going," she said; "I wish you would come." 
 
 "Well, don't wait for us, Ruthie," said Dell kindly. 
 "You will be late. Perhaps we will decide to come." 
 
 "Oh, I hope so," replied Ruth, and with a last wist- 
 ful, beseeching look at Meg, passed out. 
 
 "Where is Hal to-night?" asked Will, turning to 
 Meg. 
 
 "I left him at home, deep in the mysteries of 
 stenography." 
 
 "Are they going to introduce it into his office?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Does he like it?" 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 "Seen anything of Pierce or Marston to-night?" 
 asked Ed. 
 
 The girls shook their heads. 
 
 "Here comes Blanding," said Will. "Good-even- 
 ing, Ray," he said to that young gentleman, as he 
 sauntered up to the table. 
 
THE SENIOR CLASS. 189 
 
 Just then Will, happening to look toward the win- 
 dow at the further end of the room, saw a face pressed 
 against the glass. "There is Bert now," he said, and 
 beckoned with his hand for him to come in. 
 
 The invitation was accepted, and in a moment there 
 was a low hum of voices around the table, all talking 
 together, with now and then a subdued burst of laugh- 
 ter. Fifteen minutes passed ; the hands of the clock 
 pointed to a quarter to eight. In the midst of an ani- 
 mated discussion between the young ladies and gen- 
 tlemen as to the rights of woman being equal with 
 those of man, the door opened and Hal came hurrying 
 in. 
 
 He bowed to all at once, then said, eagerly, " I was 
 on my way to the meeting, and happened to look in 
 here as I passed and saw you all, and thought I would 
 stop and ask you to go with me. Will you come?" 
 
 "My faith!" said Ray, tragically. "But there are 
 so many of us." 
 
 "Never mind that," replied Hal. "The more, the 
 better. Come, Meg." 
 
 Meg rose with a little laugh. She had caught the 
 look in her brother's eye and obeyed it. "Well, we 
 might as well, girls ; but we shall be late." 
 
 "Not so very," said Hal. "It isn't two minutes 
 walk to the church, and ten minutes isn't so very bad." 
 
190 MEGDA. 
 
 "Wait a minute," said Bert. "Let's count heads 
 just for the fun of it. By Jove! there are eleven of 
 us. Now if Melvin were only here we would have 
 the whole clique." 
 
 "The idea of Melvin going to a prayer-meeting," 
 said May with a little laugh. "He couldn't keep 
 still long enough." 
 
 "He would have time to think up a dozen new 
 puns for our meeting night," said Ray. "What a 
 fellow he is for puns." 
 
 "Yes, I don't believe he is capable of one serious 
 thought," said Will severely. "A regular rattle- 
 brain." 
 
 " He has one of the kindest hearts that ever beat," 
 flashed out Meg; then the gay party passed out of 
 the door, and hurried to the place of "Ethel's 
 meeting." 
 
 They entered the vestibule quietly, and stole on 
 tip-toe to the half-open door. A low, sweet voice 
 Ethel's voice in prayer fell on their ears. With 
 one quick glance into each others' faces, they silently 
 bowed their heads. Meg's heart beat loud and quick 
 every word that Ethel prayed seemed meant for 
 her. 
 
 "My Father, bless and take care of every one 
 of Thy children Thine absent children to-night. 
 
THE SENIOR CLASS. 191 
 
 Watch over them and lead their straying feet into the 
 path that leads to Thee and Heaven," prayed the 
 sweet young voice, and every heart in the listening 
 group at the door was touched. 
 
 At the close of the prayer, the hymn, " I Hear Thy 
 Welcome Voice" was given out, and during the sing- 
 ing of the first line, our young people walked quietly 
 into the room and took seats together. 
 
 At the sound of so many feet, all heads were 
 turned, and looks of surprise, not unmixed with pleas- 
 ure, appeared on every face. Ethel's delicate face 
 was fairly radiant. In the singing of the second 
 verse their voices rang out, clear and full. The 
 sound sent a thrill through every heart gathered 
 there, and tears filled the eyes of the older people. 
 
 " I am coming, Lord, 
 Coming now to thee ; 
 Wash me, cleanse me in the blood, 
 That flow'd on Calvary." 
 
 Meg's glorious soprano, Dell's rich alto, Ed's 
 clear tenor and Will's deep bass oh, how grand it 
 sounded ! " Mr. Stanley, in his chair beside Ethel, 
 bowed his head upon his hand and listened. 
 
 " Shall we unite in prayer with our pastor?" said 
 Ethel. 
 
 It seemed to Meg as if she had never listened to 
 
192 MEGDA. 
 
 such a prayer in her life, as the one that Mr. Stanley 
 offered. It seemed as if he had caught inspiration 
 from the glorious singing of a moment before. His 
 face was fairly quivering with emotion, and his voice 
 was full of deep, solemn feeling. Meg's whole mind 
 was on the prayer, when all at once she received a 
 sharp nudge from May, who was sitting beside her. 
 She raised her head impatiently. 
 
 May was looking down into her lap, but she turned 
 her eyes slowly toward the left, and Meg followed 
 their glance with her own. What she saw caused her 
 to give a little start. What was it, or who was it ? 
 Only Melvin Pierce, with his head bowed down on 
 his hands and deep reverence expressed in every line 
 of his figure. Meg could not help saying to herself, 
 "Of all astonishing things, this takes the lead ! " 
 
 After the prayer, Ethel said, in a few simple words, 
 that the meeting was open to all ; all were invited to 
 take part by speaking, singing or praying. After 
 this the customary silence reigned for a moment or 
 two, then, to the unbounded astonishment of our 
 young people, Melvin Pierce rose to his feet and said, 
 clearly and firmly : 
 
 " I want to serve the Master. I want to begin to 
 lead a truer, better and nobler life. Will you pray 
 forme?" 
 
THE SENIOR CLASS. 193 
 
 "We will pray for you, earnestly and gladly," said 
 Ethel, her voice quivering with happiness ; then she 
 commenced to sing, " Jesus, Lover of my Soul." 
 The rest joined her on the second line, and the grand 
 old hymn seemed to draw each one nearer to the feet 
 of their Lord. 
 
 Meg heard a soft little sob, and almost before she 
 could turn her head, Laurie was standing in her seat, 
 her pretty, flower-like face quite white, and the tears 
 standing thickly in her blue eyes. How the soft 
 voice shook and trembled, as if her heart were in her 
 mouth, but for all that, it did not falter. 
 
 "I love my Saviour, and I give myself to Him now, 
 to do with as He will. I can trust Him I do trust 
 Him for I know He doeth all things well; but oh, 
 pray for me, that I may not wander from Him, but 
 keep close to Him all the time." 
 
 Someone commenced softly, "Nearer, my God, to 
 Thee ; " the rest took it up, and in a second the room 
 was filled with the divine melody. As the last word 
 died on the stillness, an old, white-haired man arose. 
 His face was shining with a joy unspeakable his 
 right hand was raised to Heaven. 
 
 " I thank God for this supreme hour of my life," he 
 said, in trembling accents. " My prayer has been 
 answered ; the one desire of my heart has been 
 
194 MEGDA. 
 
 granted. Rejoice with me. My little lamb has at 
 last entered the fold. Glory be to God." It was 
 Laurie's father, Deacon Ray. 
 
 Meg thought she was dreaming when she heard 
 Dell's rich contralto voice begin, "There were ninety 
 and nine that safely lay." She tried to join in 
 with her, but the tears came and choked her voice. 
 She swallowed hard, angry with herself for being "so 
 foolish," as she called it. Her heart was filled with a 
 great longing; all the restless, dissatisfied feelings 
 that had been gradually taking possession of it, rose 
 in full force and fairly overflowed it. She felt cold, 
 nervous and frightened; and still, strangely happy. 
 All the time that she was saying to herself, "Oh, why 
 did I come \ I never will be so foolish again," she 
 was still glad she was there. 
 
 Testimony followed testimony fast now, and Meg 
 was scarcely surprised when she saw Elsie rise in her 
 seat and heard her give herself to the Saviour ; ready 
 and willing to consecrate her life to His service. If 
 Dell had gotten up and expressed a desire to become 
 a Christian, it would not have surprised Meg. She 
 was almost feeling as if she would like to do it herself, 
 when Maude Leonard rose and testified for the Mas- 
 ter. She said she was trying with all her heart to 
 become more worthy of His love, and she desired an 
 
THE SENIOR CLASS. 195 
 
 interest in all their prayers that she might prove more 
 faithful. 
 
 Not one change of expression that had passed over 
 Meg's face during the evening, had escaped Ethel's 
 watchful eye, and now when she saw the soft look die 
 away, and a hard, scornful one come in its place, she 
 felt like falling on her knees and crying, "Oh, Jesus, 
 press Thy finger upon her heart and blot out all angry 
 feelings, and fill it full of Thy powerful love and 
 mercy." 
 
 The evening was spoiled for Meg. There was no 
 music in the singing after that ; nothing that was said 
 touched her heart, not even Ruth's pathetic little 
 prayer when she spoke of herself as being "the vilest 
 of those who love Him, and the weakest of those who 
 pray." "And she is as far above that hypocrite as the 
 heavens are above the earth," thought Meg bitterly. 
 
 At the end of the meeting, Ethel asked those who 
 wished to be prayed for, to stand. Hal was the first 
 one to rise. Laurie gave a fleeting little glance at 
 Meg, but Meg looked proudly, scornfully back at her. 
 Laurie hesitated, then rose to her feet. Melvin stood 
 up, then Will, then Lill and Lulu. May kept her 
 eyes on Meg's face, and remained seated. Dell did 
 not rise because she did not truly feel as if she 
 wanted to, and Ed, I am sorry to say, did not rise 
 
196 MEGDA. 
 
 because Dell didn't. "No hypocrite there," thought 
 Meg, looking admiringly at Dell's perfect face. She 
 would not trust herself to meet Ethel's wistful look. 
 Was she growing cowardly ? 
 
 As soon as Mr. Stanley had pronounced the bene- 
 diction, Ethel went to Meg, and held out her hand to 
 her. Meg took it. " I am so glad to see you here, 
 Girlie," said Ethel, and then she turned to Laurie, 
 took both her hands in hers, and kissed her. "Wel- 
 come to the fold, Laurie," she said. 
 
 Meg felt a jealous pang shoot through her heart 
 the first she had ever known. She turned away as 
 Ethel passed on to the others, and came face to face 
 with Mr. Stanley. He saw the trouble in her face, 
 and Meg knew he saw it and understood it, and the 
 knowledge made her ashamed ; it touched her pride. 
 She drew herself up haughtily, bowed coldly and 
 passed out into the aisle to speak with Elsie. Mr. 
 Stanley did not feel hurt; he fully understood the 
 proud girl understood her better than she did 
 herself. 
 
A NEW HAPPINESS. 197 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A NEW HAPPINESS. 
 
 MEG, you will go to meeting to-night, will you 
 not?" asked Laurie, one week later. 
 
 Meg shut up her Ancient History with a snap. 
 "No, I am not going." 
 
 "Oh, Meg, why not?" 
 
 "Because I do not care to go." 
 
 If Meg had spoken the exact truth, she would have 
 said, "Because I do not dare to go." 
 
 Laurie crept closer to her. Meg was sitting in the 
 wide window-sill in the upper hall, trying to study. 
 
 "Meg," said Laurie, with a trembling voice, "I 
 must tell you how happy I have been this week. I 
 feel so peaceful, so restful. You know I have always 
 been happy, and I know that you have ; both of our 
 lives have been particularly bright ; but the old hap- 
 piness is entirely different from this new. Then I 
 was what I might call restlessly happy, and* now I am 
 restf ully happy. And, oh, the difference, Meg ! As 
 
198 MEGDA. 
 
 much difference as there is between the flickering, 
 dazzling gaslight, and the clear, bright, pure daylight. 
 Then every little disappointment, no matter how triv- 
 ial it was, troubled me and made me impatient ; but 
 now Meg, I feel that no matter what comes to me, 
 I shall be able to bear it patiently, knowing that it is 
 His hand that chasteneth, and He only chasteneth 
 whom He loveth." 
 
 . Could this be little timid Laurie that was talking ? 
 Meg looked at her in astonishment, feeling that she 
 should never call her "kitten" again. But what was 
 she saying? Did she really know of what she was 
 talking ? She had never known trouble of any kind 
 she had always had everything she wanted why 
 could she not have been satisfied as she (Meg) was 
 with what she had ? She must have expressed her 
 thoughts very plainly on her face, for Laurie said : 
 
 " I know that I have never known any real trouble, 
 Meg, but when I have to face it some day, as I know 
 I shall for we all do I want some one to help me 
 meet it and bear it, and Jesus is the only one who can 
 do it." Laurie stopped and looked wistfully at Meg. 
 "If you would only take Him for your Saviour, Meg," 
 she said timidly. 
 
 Meg looked out of the window and shook her head 
 slowly. "Not now, Laurie; I am not worthy." 
 
A NEW HAPPINESS. 199 
 
 Laurie threw both arms around Meg with a low cry 
 of joy. The answer had been so different from what 
 she had expected. "But it is just the unworthy ones 
 that He wants to come to Him, Meg. Don't you 
 know He says, 'I came not to call the righteous, but 
 sinners to repentance ' ? Why, Meg, if you really feel 
 that you are not worthy, that is just what He wants 
 of you. Just come to Him in all of your unworthi- 
 ness, and ask Him to forgive you your sins, and help 
 you to be purer and better, and He will be so glad to 
 do it. And oh, Meg, you would make such a grand 
 Christian ! " 
 
 Unselfish Laurie ! Her pride in Meg would show 
 itself in one way or another. It touched Meg more 
 than anything she could have said. She kissed the 
 eager, loving, little face and said : 
 
 "The idea of my kitten preaching to me! Run 
 away now, dear; some day, perhaps, I may think of 
 it, but just now, Ancient History must be attended 
 to." 
 
 She opened her book again with a smile, and com- 
 menced to read, but after Laurie had left her, she 
 stopped reading; leaned her head on her hand, and 
 looked gravely out of the window. Lill and Lulu 
 came up the stairs, singing softly, "I've found a 
 Friend, oh, such a Friend." They did not see the 
 
200 MEGDA. 
 
 bowed form in the window, and went right on to the 
 seniors' parlor, where Laurie and Ruth were, and in a 
 moment Meg heard them talking together. 
 
 "They are all leaving me," she thought, and the 
 tears sprang to her eyes. "They seem so happy; oh, 
 if I only could ! But I can't, and I'll not say and do 
 things I don't mean. Lill and Lulu, too ; the change 
 has come to them." 
 
 And, indeed, it had. They went through the halls 
 and up the stairs now, singing as in former days, only 
 now it was some hymn, instead of a light love-ballad. 
 Their faces wore a more thoughtful look, and it had 
 only been one short week. 
 
 Meg listened to the low hum of voices until she 
 could bear it no longer. She left her seat, and stole 
 softly to the half-open door. 
 
 "Girls, I believe there is only one thing that keeps 
 me from being perfectly happy," Lill was saying. 
 
 " What is that ? " asked Laurie. 
 
 "Meg is not with us." 
 
 There was a short pause. Meg held her breath 
 and listened. 
 
 " Let us all kneel right down and pray for her," 
 said Ruth. "Each one." 
 
 How do you think Meg felt, when she heard her 
 class-mates, one by one, praying for her? "Our pre- 
 
A NEW HAPPINESS. 201 
 
 cious sister," they called her. She felt like rushing 
 into the room, throwing herself on her knees, and 
 praying for herself with all her heart, but she didn't. 
 "It is only because I am excited," she thought. "I 
 must be sure of myself. I should be sorry for it the 
 next minute, and then be ashamed and make others 
 ashamed of me." She wiped the fast falling tears 
 away, and went softly back to her place in the win- 
 dow-seat, and when Ethel came up a few moments 
 later, she was helping " King Alfred drive the Danes 
 out of England." 
 
 "All alone, Girlie?" asked Ethel, pausing beside 
 her. "You look lonely out here. Isn't the * study' 
 more enticing?" 
 
 The girls sometimes called the "senior's parlor" 
 the "study." 
 
 "No. Solitude is the thing I crave," answered 
 Meg, with a smile. 
 
 " Is that a hint for me to leave you to solitude ? 
 Well, I will in just a few moments. Girlie, will you 
 come to the meeting to-night ?" 
 
 "Just what Laurie has been coaxing me to do." 
 
 " And you yielded to her entreaties, I hope ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Oh, Girlie, why not?" 
 
 Meg must have been very tired, or very troubled. 
 
202 MEGDA. 
 
 I do not doubt but that she was both, to say what she 
 did. She slid from the window seat to her feet, and 
 looked at Ethel with stormy, dark eyes. 
 
 "Ethel, I want nothing of a society that harbors 
 such a hypocrite as Maude Leonard." 
 
 Poor Meg. Ethel's delicate face flushed crimson. 
 " Meg ! " was all she said. 
 
 Meg turned wearily away. "I have shocked you 
 now, Ethel ; displeased you, perhaps made you dis- 
 like me ; but I have spoken the truth. You know it 
 is impossible for me to pretend what I do not feel. 
 I am glad that it is. I despise a liar and a deceitful 
 person. If I were to go to your meeting to-night, I 
 should derive no good from it ; on the contrary, it 
 would make me feel wicked. I will confess that I do 
 wish I could feel this happiness that you and Laurie 
 tell of. From the bottom of my heart I wish I could 
 do as Laurie has done ; but to do that, I must take 
 Maude Leonard by the hand, and call her 'sister,' 
 and I will never do that. She is a liar, a cheat and 
 a deceiver." 
 
 " Meg, do you know what you are saying ? " 
 
 "I know well what I am saying," retorted Meg, 
 fairly roused ; and then she did what she would have 
 scorned to do a month ago told Ethel the whole 
 story of the "stolen essay." "Now you know why 
 
A NEW HAPPINESS. 203 
 
 I will not do what you ask, Ethel. Can you blame 
 me ? " 
 
 Ethel was looking out of the window, grieved and 
 shocked. "What you have told me has surprised and 
 pained me, Meg," she said at last. "But there is 
 one thing that I must say to you. If you had the 
 love of God in your heart, you would not feel in this 
 way toward even the meanest of His creatures. 
 You would not take it upon yourself to do what He 
 only has a right to do to judge and condemn. 
 He has said, judge not, and ye shall not be judged ; 
 condemn not and ye shall not be condemned ; forgive, 
 and ye shall be forgiven. If you forgive not oth- 
 ers their trespasses, then God will not forgive your 
 trespasses. We are none of us perfect. There are 
 none that do good no, not one. Maude has done a 
 wicked thing, and she must answer for it one day 
 just as surely as you and I stand here. She may 
 answer for it to you and Ruth and Madam she 
 will, if she truly repents but if not, then she must 
 answer for it when she stands before the judgment 
 bar. And Meg, just so surely will you, if you dare to 
 try to usurp the place of the great Judge of all, by 
 judging and condemning as you are doing, be brought 
 to account for it at the last day." Then Ethel turned 
 and left her, and Meg stood there alone speechless, 
 
204 MEGDA. 
 
 remorseful and dismayed, but, thank God ! no longer 
 blind to her own folly and wickedness. 
 
 Yes, she had been wicked. Where she had thought 
 herself so free from all petty sinfulness; so upright 
 and noble in all her actions; so high-minded and 
 proud of her own spotless character, she had been 
 only miserably self-conceited, and more dreadful 
 than all downright wicked. It was a hard blow to 
 her pride, and she could not just then forgive Ethel 
 for dealing the blow, although she knew full well that 
 it had been done out of the deep love that Ethel felt 
 for her. 
 
 " Some day I may thank her for opening my eyes 
 to my own wretched state," thought Meg, as she sank 
 down in her seat again, still dazed and dismayed.. 
 "Yes, I have done wrong I see that I have but 
 it is just as Ethel said, I have not the love of God in 
 my heart. Is that the 'something' I have felt the 
 need of so much lately ? Does it explain the feeling 
 of longing and unrest ? If it does, then why can't I 
 have it why doesn't it come to me, as it has to the 
 others? Is it because my nature is so totally unlike 
 theirs? Mr. Stanley said the other Sunday evening, 
 that no two persons' Christian experiences were alike. 
 I didn't think much of it then, but perhaps " 
 
 "And a lady I'll surely be," sang a voice. "Oh, 
 
A NEW HAPPINESS. 205 
 
 dear me, Meg, is that you? I wish some old 'Scotch 
 Laird ' would fall in love with me. I'd marry him, if 
 I broke the hearts of a dozen 'Donalds.' Don't you 
 think 'Janet' was foolish?" 
 
 "No. Marriage without love, is a failure, May- 
 flower. Hasn't your experience taught you that ?" 
 
 " He, he," giggled May, throwing her books down 
 on the floor, and her strap after them. "Dell says 
 there's no such thing as love. Now how in the world 
 can she say that, Meg, with such a specimen as Ed 
 Holmes continually before her?" 
 
 "Don't get sentimental, May-flower ; get religious, 
 that is the latest." 
 
 The words were not spoken as lightly as they read. 
 The two girls looked steadily at each other for a 
 moment, then May said : 
 
 "Their religion seems to make them very happy, 
 Meg. Do you think it will last ? " 
 
 At one time Meg would have laughed outright at 
 such a question, and the earnest look on May's chubby 
 face as she asked it, but now she did not even smile. 
 
 "Yes, I do think it will last, May, and I think it is 
 a blessed thing to have. I know that Elsie seems so 
 perfectly happy that I almost envy her." 
 
 "But, Meg," said May wonderingly, "why do you 
 not take the step, then ? " 
 
206 MEGDA. 
 
 "I don't know," answered Meg slowly. "Only, I 
 do not feel it in my heart to do so." 
 
 " I do," said May suddenly, and with a hot blush. 
 
 Meg turned an earnest face toward her. "Then do 
 it, May; do it at once, before it is too late." 
 
 "I will, Meg." 
 
 "Now, let us go to the 'study'; it is half-past 
 four." 
 
 As they crossed the hall, Meg noticed a slip of 
 paper on the floor. She picked it up, and saw it was 
 some poetry. On one side was the name "Ethel" 
 written in pencil. "She must have dropped it from 
 her book," thought Meg, and followed May into the 
 "study." 
 
 Laurie, Lill, Lulu, Dell and Ruth were there, pre- 
 paring next day's lessons, but Ethel was not there. 
 
 "Where is Ethel, girls?" asked Meg. 
 
 "Just gone," answered Dell briefly, her eyes on ner 
 physiology. 
 
 " Her father came for her," explained Laurie, mak- 
 ing room on the jsofa for Meg. " He was going to 
 drive into the city, and wanted Ethel to go with him. 
 How many sentences have you translated, Meg?" 
 
 "None, but it won't take me long to do them all 
 French is so much easier than Latin. I found this 
 piece of poetry on the hall floor; it has Ethel's name 
 
A NEW HAPPINESS. 207 
 
 on it, so I suppose it is hers ; I can give it to her in 
 the morning." 
 
 There was silence in the "study" for half an hour, 
 broken only by the rustling of the leaves as the girls 
 turned them. The wood in the deep fire-place crack- 
 led and sparkled ; the last ray of daylight died linger- 
 ingly away as if loth to leave so pretty a picture. One 
 by one the girls dropped their books into their laps, 
 and watched, with dreamy eyes, the shadows, as they 
 came from their hiding places and commenced their 
 twilight dance on ceiling, walls and doors. It was the 
 happiest time of day for them all, only always before, 
 the dusky silence had been broken by spasmodic 
 "talks" and laughter, or little snatches of low song. 
 Before Meg had commenced her translations, she had 
 read Ethel's piece of poetry, and the beautiful words 
 were what she was thinking of now : 
 
 " He leadeth me. 
 
 In pastures green ? Not always ; sometimes He 
 Who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me 
 In weary ways, where heavy shadows lie. 
 
 " Out of the sunshine warm and soft and bright, 
 Out of the sunshine into darkest night, 
 I oft would faint with sorrow and affright 
 
 " Only for this I know he holds my hand, 
 So whether in green or desert land 
 I trust, although I may not understand, 
 
208 MEGDA. 
 
 " And by still waters ? No, not always so ; 
 Ofttimes the heavy tempests round me blow, 
 And o'er my soul the waves and billows go. 
 
 "But when the storms beat loudest, and I cry 
 Aloud for help, the Master standeth by, 
 And whispers to my soul, ' Lo, it is I.' 
 
 " Above the tempests wild I hear him say, 
 'Beyond this darkness lies the perfect day, 
 In every path of thine I lead the way.' 
 
 " So, whether on the hill-tops high and fair 
 I dwell, or in the sunless valleys where 
 The shadows lie what matter ? He is there. 
 
 "And more than this; where'er the pathway lead, 
 He gives to me no helpless, broken reed, 
 But His own hand, sufficient for my need. 
 
 " So where he leads me I can safely go ; 
 And in the blest hereafter I shall know 
 Why in His wisdom He hath led me so." 
 
 "Out of the sunshine into darkest night," 
 
 repeated Meg to herself. Could it be possible that 
 there were any dark places in Ethel's life ? Rich, 
 lovely, accomplished, admired and respected by all, 
 what more could she ask for? 
 
 " I oft would faint with sorrow and affright 
 Only for this I know he holds my hand." 
 
 Oh, blessed assurance of Divine love and guidance ! 
 "Whatever trouble she may have," thought Meg, 
 
A NEW HAPPINESS. 209 
 
 "she will be able to bear it for she will have His arm 
 to lean upon. And I may have it if I will. That 
 was a sweet thought that Laurie gave me "I came 
 not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." 
 I am a sinner I realize it now. But oh, if the light 
 would only come come as it has to the others ! " 
 
 "Oh, hum," yawned Dell, stretching her arms up 
 over her head, and sitting up straight in her chair. 
 "Are we here for the night, or what?" 
 
 There were long-drawn breaths, and half-smothered 
 sighs at such an abrupt ending of all dreams. 
 
 "Oh, Dell, how could you!" said May, reproach- 
 fully, as she picked up the book that had slipped 
 from her lap to the floor. 
 
 " How could I, May-flower ? Haven't you a stom- 
 ach, child?" 
 
 "Haven't I a stomach?" repeated Meg, astonished 
 at such a strange question. "Of course I have or 
 had this noon, if it hasn't walked off." 
 
 "Yours may have walked off, but mine hasn't; it 
 is clamoring for its rights now. Who is going my 
 way ? " 
 
 "I should hope I wasn't," said Meg, solemnly. 
 " It is the downward road to destruction. Haven't 
 your thoughts of the past half-hour been of a more 
 elevating character than " 
 
210 MEGDA. 
 
 " Haven't had any thoughts," interrupted Dell, 
 beginning on a second yawn. 
 
 " Haven't had any thoughts ! You don't mean to 
 say that your mind has been wandering in space, do 
 you ? " 
 
 "I have been asleep." 
 
 Every one laughed at the confession ; it was so 
 much like Dell. 
 
 "I might have given you something to dream 
 about," said Lill slyly. 
 
 " What w^s that ? " 
 
 " Ed Holmes begins to study medicine with Dr. 
 Duncan to-morrow." 
 
 "Phooh, I knew that weeks ago. That is nothing 
 to dream of." 
 
 "I give you up as a bad job," said Lill rather 
 slangily. 
 
 "And Will is going to study law with Lawyer 
 Holmes," said Meg. "Doesn't that seem strange? 
 Will studying with Ed's father, and Ed studying 
 with Will's father." 
 
 "Well, it would never do for Will to be a doctor," 
 said May. " When he entered the sick-room, the 
 patient would think it was his own tombstone walk- 
 ing in, and would prepare himself for it accordingly." 
 
 "I wonder," said Laurie, after the laughter had 
 
A NEW HAPPINESS. 211 
 
 somewhat subsided, "why the boys have changed 
 around so." 
 
 Meg came very near saying, "Why, goose, I sup- 
 pose each one has chosen the profession he likes 
 best," but she didn't say it ; she felt as if she should 
 never speak contemptuously to Laurie again. Instead 
 she said laughingly : 
 
 "Well, I shouldn't think it would do for Will to 
 study law now." 
 
 " Why not ? " everyone asked. 
 
 "Because he has signified his desire to become a 
 Christian, and, of course, he will not like to be too 
 much of a 'lieyar'." 
 
 There was a little burst of merriment at this, in the 
 midst of which, Dell walked gravely from the room, 
 saying as she went, " It won't do to stay in here any 
 longer. Another effort like that last, and our Meg 
 would be among the missing." 
 
 The rest picked up their books, and followed after. 
 In the dressing-room Lulu said, " Have any of you 
 read Mrs. Humphrey -Ward's new book?" 
 
 "Do you mean Mrs. 'Ellsmere'?" asked Meg. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I haven't read it." 
 
 "Nor I." 
 
 " Nor I." 
 
212 MEGDA. 
 
 "And you don't want to read it," said Ruth, very 
 determinedly. 
 
 "Why not?" asked Lill. "I have read 'Robert 
 Ellsmere'." 
 
 "You have?" 
 
 "Yes; but I skipped over the 'theology' part of it, 
 
 and devoted myself exclusively to the love part. It 
 
 wasn't much, either. That ' Langham ' was an idiot 
 
 didn't know his own mind ten minutes at a time. 
 
 I say that 'Rose' was well rid of him." 
 
 "I have not read it," said Ruth. "But I know 
 what it is, and I have no desire to read it." 
 
 "I have read it," said Meg. "And I agree with 
 you, Lill, that 'Langham', great scholar and philoso- 
 pher though he was, was not worthy of one of the 
 tears that 'Rose' shed over him. He was utterly 
 devoid of that organ commonly called the heart ; but 
 I suppose if he had ever possessed one it had all run 
 to brains before he met 'Rose'. But why do you 
 think one ought not to read it, Ruth?" 
 
 "Because such a book as that could never, by any 
 possibility, do one any good, but might and would do 
 one much harm." 
 
 "Well," replied Meg, drawing on her gloves, "it 
 might not do for every one to read it, that is true, 
 especially if one made a study of it. One had better 
 
.A NEW HAPPINESS. 213 
 
 be sure of his strength of mind. It .wouldn't do for a 
 weak-minded person to undertake it." 
 
 " What kind of a book is ' Mrs. Ellsmere ' ? " asked 
 May. 
 
 " Haven't read it," answered Meg; "but they tell 
 
 me that Mrs. Ward makes ' Mrs. E ' as strong an 
 
 unbeliever in the Divine Christ as her deceased hus- 
 band was when he died, and finally marries her to a 
 skeptic of the first water. Her daughter, too, I 
 believe, marries ditto." 
 
 "What folly!" remarks Lulu, with the air of an 
 old theologian. " Hadn't she any more sense than to 
 do that ? Such a strong-minded woman as she pre- 
 tended to be, too ! She was dreadfully afraid that 
 Rose, silly, weak-minded Rose, would marry a skep- 
 tic, but that is always the way your high-souled, 
 strong-minded women turn out." 
 
 "What do you say about it, Dell?" asked May, as 
 that young lady rose to her feet, after a long but 
 silent struggle with a refractory rubber. 
 
 "I say," replied Dell, flushed but victorious, "that 
 you are a parcel of idiots ; giving your opinion on a 
 subject that you know about as much of as I do 
 .and that is nothing just as if you were so many vet- 
 eran theologians. I advise you to let such subjects 
 alone for those who understand them, or pretend they 
 
214 MEGDA. 
 
 do so, and confine yourselves to matters of every-day 
 life. It would be much more to the purpose/' 
 
 "So say we all of us," commenced Meg, and the 
 others joined in, and went down stairs and through 
 the halls, singing but not too loudly, for fear 
 madam would correct them for being noisy and 
 unladylike. As they closed the hall door, and passed 
 down the steps, laughing and talking, a handsome 
 sleigh drawn by a pair of spirited black horses, came 
 up the street. A lady and gentleman were seated in 
 it, and as the sleigh passed the great iron gates and 
 the group of girls on the stone steps, the lady waved 
 her muff, and the gentleman raised his hat, and then 
 the sleigh dashed out of sight. 
 
 "Ethel and Mr. Stanley," said Dell. 
 
 "Thought she went off with her father," said Lulu. 
 
 "So she did," replied Lill. "But Mr. Stanley 
 must have gone, too." 
 
 "They drove her father into the city and left him 
 there, I suppose," said Dell. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," repeated Meg slowly. 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 215 
 
 XV. 
 
 AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 
 
 T^HERE will be a baptism in this place of worship 
 on Sunday evening next, immediately at the 
 close of the service." 
 
 The young pastor's deep, firm voice trembled a lit- 
 tle, as he gave the announcement, and his grave face 
 was full of a glad, solemn joy. 
 
 It was a bright, beautiful, cold morning, the third 
 Sunday in the month of January. Mr. Stanley went 
 on to speak of the joy such a notice gave him. 
 Eleven young hearts had been touched by the Divine 
 Spirit, and filled with pure, unselfish love for Christ 
 and His children, which is one of the first and surest 
 signs that the great change had come to them. He 
 then read the names of the young candidates : Elsie 
 Randal, Ethel Lawton, Laura Ray, Maude Leonard, 
 May Bromley, Ruth Dean, Lilian Norton, Lulu Mar- 
 tin, Harold Randal, William Duncan and Melvin 
 Pierce. Meg and Dell sat side by side and heard Mr. 
 
216 MEGDA. 
 
 Stanley read the names of their class-mates and 
 friends. Dell's lovely face did not change once in its 
 expression. It was white, cold and perfectly com- 
 posed. She had never felt the least desire to become 
 a Christian. 
 
 "When the change comes to Dell, it will come sud- 
 denly, but it will be for all time. There will be no 
 wondering and doubting on her part. She will feel it 
 and understand it, and do what she is commanded to 
 do, without any questioning and without one look 
 backward," Ethel had said to Mr. Stanley, and he had 
 perfectly agreed with her. 
 
 He and Ethel had decided that nothing was to be 
 gained by trying to persuade either Meg or Dell. 
 Such natures as theirs, were not to be persuaded 
 against themselves. 
 
 "We will leave .them to the all-merciful and all- 
 seeing God, who brings all good things to pass in His 
 own good time," said Mr. Stanley. 
 
 A quiver passed over Meg's face as she listened ; 
 her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears Meg 
 wished with all her heart that her name was on that 
 list of happy ones. She had been hoping and long- 
 ing for the last week that the light would come to 
 her, but it had not come. "And I never will pretend 
 what I do not feel," she had said firmly. No one had 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 217 
 
 tried to persuade her ; a general feeling seemed to 
 prevail that it was best to leave her and Dell alone. 
 Mr. Stanley's sermon that morning was especially 
 good. He preached from Matthew xxviii: 19 "Go 
 ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in 
 the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the 
 Holy Ghost." 
 
 There were not many dry eyes among the congre- 
 gation. Meg sat and looked at Mr. Stanley. She 
 somehow felt a respect for him that she had never 
 felt for another person, and as she listened to the 
 earnest words that came from his lips, she felt her 
 heart throb and beat with a feeling she had never 
 experienced before. Yet, right in the midst of it all 
 when his voice was ringing out its gladsome words, 
 when his face was expressing his deepest emotions, 
 when the congregation were listening with touched 
 hearts and humid eyes, Meg, all at once, commenced 
 to shake in silent but uncontrollable laughter. Dell 
 looked at her in shocked surprise. Meg felt rather 
 than saw her reproachful eyes upon her, and only 
 shook the more. She laughed until the tears rolled- 
 down her cheeks ; she felt as if every eye were fas- 
 tened upon her in stern displeasure ; worse than all 
 she felt that she was committing an unpardonable 
 offense in the house of God, and toward the man of 
 
218 MEGDA. 
 
 God, yet she could no more help it than she could 
 help breathing. And yet, when I tell you the cause 
 of her strange outburst of merriment, I am very much 
 afraid that you will blame her greatly for her want of 
 self-control. 
 
 All at once while she had been looking at and list- 
 ening intently to Mr. Stanley, the "hat adventure" 
 had flashed across her mind. She could not account 
 for it then, nor ever afterward; but she seemed to 
 see him before her eyes as plainly as she had done on 
 that night, with the misshapen hat tied on his head 
 with the broad, pink ribbon, his eyes full of gay laugh- 
 ter, and the broken umbrella turned inside out, in his 
 hands. Then the picture of herself and Mr. Stanley 
 in hot pursuit after the whirling hat, passed before 
 her mental vision, and she felt that she should be 
 obliged to get up and leave the church. She thought 
 of all the solemn things that had ever happened under 
 her observation, but it did no good. Dell did not 
 help matters any by bestowing a warning and most 
 unmerciful pressure of her foot on Meg's toes. At 
 last the paroxysm passed "spent itself," as Dell 
 said afterward, and Meg leaned back in her seat, 
 exhausted, with her handkerchief pressed against her 
 eyes. What the proud girl suffered no one can real- 
 ize, but enough to extenuate herself from all blame 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 219 
 
 and reproach. She did not raise her eyes again dur- 
 ing the remainder of the service. 
 
 Mr. Stanley's voice had not faltered in the least; 
 his face expressed neither pain nor surprise. When 
 he closed his Bible and sat down, there was the same 
 deep joy in his face that had marked it at the opening 
 of the service. 
 
 When it came Meg's turn to shake hands with Mr. 
 Stanley at the door she never spoke did not even 
 lift her eyes to his. She felt as if she could never 
 look into his face again. To her surprise he kept her 
 hand in his firm, warm grasp, as if waiting for her to 
 look at him. Of the two "evils" Meg chose the 
 least. She lifted two large, dark eyes swimming in 
 tears, to his. Meg did not know what a beseeching 
 look there was in their shadowy depths ; it really bor- 
 dered on the pathos. The dark-blue eyes that looked 
 back into hers were full of nothing but kindness and 
 good-feeling. To add to Meg's astonishment and 
 delight, Mr. Stanley said, in a low, thrilling voice, 
 "The happy time can not be far distant for you, my 
 friend." 
 
 She looked at him and knew that either he had not 
 seen her laughing, or else he had mistaken the nature 
 of her emotion. She bowed her head in reply, and 
 followed Dell out into the vestibule. 
 
220 MEGDA. 
 
 "Dell, did he see me, or what?" She knew she 
 could trust Dell she would be sure to tell her 
 right. 
 
 "He saw you," said Dell promptly; "but he 
 thought you were crying." 
 
 Meg drew a long breath of relief. "And he'll 
 never know the difference," she said emphatically. 
 And he did not, until years after. 
 
 " What about the rest, Dell ? What do you think 
 they thought?" 
 
 "Only those right around us saw you, and I am 
 quite sure they thought the same as Mr. Stanley. 
 But, Meg, what in the world was the matter?" 
 
 "Hysterics," replied Meg. 
 
 "Well, I advise you to leave them at home when 
 you go to church," said Dell dryly. "You might 
 have to be carried out, you know." 
 
 " I wonder why Ethel has waited until now to be 
 baptized," said Dell, thoughtfully, as they waited for 
 the rest of the girls to come out. 
 
 "She is not strong, you know," said Meg. "Per- 
 haps that is the reason." 
 
 "Well, she is no stronger now than she has been 
 for a year or more; not so strong, in my opinion." 
 
 "No? Do you think she looks feeble?" asked 
 Meg. 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 221 
 
 "Yes, very. Her skin is like wax." 
 
 "So is yours." 
 
 "There is a great difference between the whiteness 
 .of my skin and that of 'Ethel's," replied Dell, who 
 fully realized how beautiful she was, but didn't con- 
 sider it necessary to be foolish because she was beau- 
 tiful ; therefore, she accepted the fact as a fact, and 
 nothing more. " Mine is a healthy white, and hers a 
 sickly white." 
 
 "Who is sick?" asked May, coming up in time to 
 catch Dell's last words. 
 
 "Dell thinks Ethel looks feeble," said Meg, over 
 whose fair face a shadow had fallen. " What do you 
 think about it, May?" 
 
 "I think she looks decidedly feeble," replied May. 
 "It is my opinion that if she hasn't consumption, she 
 will have it before many years." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense," said Meg sharply. "She 
 is no more consumptive than you or I. Here come 
 the rest; let us go down stairs." 
 
 A vague fear had entered Meg's heart. Could it 
 be possible that Ethel would really be with them for 
 only a little while longer ? Perhaps that was the 
 "dark spot" in her life. Perhaps she knew that she 
 had only a little while longer to live, and that was 
 why she was so sad at times. 
 
000 
 
 MEGDA. 
 
 "Oh, it can't be, it can't be!" thought Meg. 
 "She is too good, too noble. She must live to carry 
 on the grand work she has begun. The world would 
 be so much better for her living. There are others 
 that can be spared a great deal better than she ; some 
 who do more evil than good by their lives." 
 
 The large church was filled to overflowing at an 
 early hour on the following Sunday evening. The 
 young candidates occupied seats in front It had 
 been their wish that Meg, Dell, Will and Ed should 
 sing the hymn each one had chosen. That Will 
 might assist, it was understood that he was to be the 
 last to be baptized. There is no denying that Meg 
 felt decidedly nervous something new for her. " I 
 am so afraid that Elsie will faint, or Laurie cry or May 
 struggle, or something," she whispered to Dell, as 
 Mr. Stanley left the room to prepare for the baptism. 
 
 'Nonsense," replied Dell, finding the first hymn 
 with the calmest face imaginable. " I'll shake them 
 out of their shoes to-morrow, if they dare to do such 
 a thing." 
 
 The candidates now rose from their seats and 
 passed into the class-room at the left of the pulpit. 
 In a few moments Mr. Stanley came out. " I never 
 thought him handsome before," said Meg, to herself, 
 "but to-night his face is fairly beautiful" 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 223 
 
 Mr. Stanley stood with the open Bible in his hand. 
 
 " As it is written in the prophets, behold, I send 
 my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare 
 thy way before thee. The voice of one crying in the 
 wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his 
 paths straight. John did baptize in the wilderness, 
 and preach the baptism of repentance for the remis- 
 sion of sins." 
 
 Perfect stillness settled over the large congre- 
 gation ; the prayer was short but impressive. Then 
 Mr. Stanley descended the steps, and the beautiful 
 voices of the choir rang out, clear, sweet and soul- 
 thrilling, " Nearer my God, to Thee." At the close 
 of the first verse Elsie came forward from the class- 
 room. Mr. Stanley received her at the top of the 
 steps. 
 
 "I hear Thy gentle voice," was the hymn that 
 Elsie had chosen, and very sweetly they sang it ! As 
 Mr. Stanley baptized Elsie, Meg felt like crying out, 
 "Take me with you, sister; oh, take me with you." 
 
 She saw their mother wipe the glad tears away, and 
 thought, "I am glad that two of her children have 
 made her so happy." 
 
 May came next, then Maude ; and Meg looked on at 
 Maude's baptism without one contemptuous thought; 
 the scene was too grandly solemn for that. She 
 
224 MEGDA. 
 
 only said to herself gravely, " God is her Judge, not 
 I." Surely the seed scattered by Ethel had fallen on 
 fertile ground. 
 
 Laurie came next, looking so small, so delicate, so 
 child-like. Laurie had chosen for her hymn, "Take 
 me as I am." 
 
 Ruth followed, then Lill, then Lulu, and then 
 Ethel. Ethel had chosen the beautiful hymn, so old 
 and yet ever new, "Jesus, Lover of my Soul.*' 
 When Meg looked at Ethel as she appeared in the 
 door-way, she looked at her through a mist of tears ; 
 when the mist cleared away, it seemed to her as if 
 she were looking on one of God's angels. All the 
 girls had worn white, but somehow or other it seemed 
 as if there was something about Ethel that the others 
 did not have. The slender, fragile form seemed 
 almost spiritualized. Her skin was as white as the 
 driven snow; her eyes large, blue and shining. But 
 lovelier than anything Meg had ever seen was the 
 expression of the delicate face. I cannot paint it ; 
 only it was just such an expression as Meg had always 
 imagined the angels of Heaven must wear. 
 
 Meg never realized before the grand solemnity of 
 the baptismal service. She thought : 
 
 " If such scenes on earth are so beautiful, what 
 must Heaven be ! " Her heart was filled with joy 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 225 
 
 inexpressible, when she saw Hal come forward in his 
 turn. He looked so good, so earnest, so noble. Mel- 
 vin, too, how thoroughly happy he appeared. Will 
 looked, as Meg knew he would, grave, almost stern, 
 and very determined. 
 
 At the conclusion of the sermon, Mr. Stanley raised 
 his right hand toward Heaven. " Lord, it has been 
 done as Thou hast commanded, and yet there is 
 room." 
 
226 MEGDA. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 EASTER. 
 
 TOASTER, this year, came .cm the thirteenth of 
 ' April. It was a bright, cool, lovely morning. 
 It seemed as if old Mother Nature had decked her 
 matronly form in her most beautiful robe, in honor of 
 the anniversary of our risen Lord. " Our girls," too, 
 seemed determined not to let the old Dame get ahead 
 of them in point of dress. Every one, even Ruth, 
 came out resplendent in new hats and dresses. I do 
 not intend to give a description of each one individu- 
 ally ; collectively, there was nothing that they so much 
 resembled, sitting together as they did, as a bouquet 
 of sweet, delicately-tinted flowers. I must tell about 
 Meg's dress ; it was the prettiest one of all, as perhaps 
 it was the simplest. It was one of those beautiful, 
 delicate shades of " apple green," made very plainly, 
 and fitted her slender form to perfection. She wore 
 a small hat covered entirely with apple blossoms 
 delicate pink and white beauties. But I do not think 
 
EASTER. 227 
 
 it was so much the delicate dress, or the dainty hat 
 that made her look so charming, as it was the soft, 
 dreamy expression of her fair face. Her dark eyes 
 looked wistful and tender, and her red lips were 
 curved in a little, dimpled smile. I am not trying to 
 make Meg out a beauty, nor am I indulging in foolish 
 rhapsodies over a new dress and hat, but to me there 
 is nothing as beautiful and altogether pleasing, as a 
 sweet, fair, pure life at the time when " girl-hood is 
 about to pass through the window, and womanhood 
 stands knocking at the door." It is " the time of all 
 times " to them. With the life stretching before 
 them like a vista, and only the bright, happy, cloud- 
 less experiences of their girlhood to teach them how 
 to enter it. Happy they who " remember their Cre- 
 ator in the days of their youth," and early look to Him 
 as their Guide and Protector through all the dark 
 journey of life. 
 
 Mr. Stanley's text this morning was: "He is not 
 here, but is risen." Luke xxiv : 6. At the close of the 
 sermon he gave the following illustration: "In one 
 of the gloomy prison cells of dark Siberia, sat a poor, 
 hunted, heart-broken prisoner. His face was lined" 
 and seamed with suffering; his eyes were full of a 
 dull, heavy despair. Cruel irons manacled his wrists 
 and ankles. For many weary weeks he had been a 
 
228 MEGDA. 
 
 prisoner in that dreary cell. Wild thoughts of escape 
 had flashed through his mind again and again, but 
 the smallest infant in the hands of a strong man was 
 not less helpless than he in the grasp of a merciless, 
 cold-blooded despotism. Escape was an utter impos- 
 sibility, death a terrible certainty, unless some man 
 would come forward and offer his life for his. Vain 
 hope ! The man had not a friend in the whole wide 
 world. 
 
 " All at once, as he sat there, the door swung open 
 without a sound, and a man entered the room. He 
 was of a most noble, majestic presence ; his face was 
 grand in its calm, noble beauty ; the eyes were deep, 
 and full of a tender pity. The wretched prisoner 
 with the irons on wrists and ankles, fell prostrate on 
 the stone floor, and hid his face in his hands as if 
 blinded by the glorified beauty of the gracious 
 presence. 
 
 "Words cannot express his unbounded astonish- 
 ment when he felt himself lifted from the cold floor 
 by arms that were strong and tender, and heard a 
 matchless voice saying, 'Arise and be not afraid, for 
 I have come to save you.' 
 
 "'To save me?' The poor lips could scarcely 
 form the words, but the man understood. His smile 
 was infinitely sweet as he answered : 
 
EASTER. 229 
 
 " ' Yes, to save you. I will give my life for you, 
 that you may be free. The door is open, pass 
 through, and go forth into the light a free man.' 
 
 " 'But who are you ? ' gasped the bewildered man. 
 
 " I am the Son of your King, and heir to His 
 throne, but I have offered my life that yours might be 
 spared ; the decree is passed, it cannot be recalled. I 
 gladly lay down my life that you may be saved. Go 
 forth, and sin no more.' He stooped and unfastened 
 the chains from about the man's wrists and ankles, 
 and he passed through the open door and went out of 
 the terrible place into the pure, glad sunlight of a 
 bright world, saved ! But at what a price ! " 
 
 There was intense silence in the large room as 
 Mr. Stanley closed his Bible and looked about him. 
 
 "My friends, the Son of the great King of Heaven, 
 Heir to the great white throne, has laid down His 
 life that you might be saved. Will you not accept 
 the sacrifice so freely given ? For you He suffered 
 the shame and agony of the cross. For you that 
 noble head, with its crown of cruel, piercing thorns, 
 was bowed low in the dust. He knew what it was to 
 be hungry and thirsty, and no one offered Him bread 
 to eat or water to drink. He was tired and sick and 
 weary unto death, yet there was no place in which He 
 could ky His head. The agony in the garden what 
 
230 MEGDA. 
 
 must it have been for His bleeding, tortured heart to 
 cry out, 'If it be possible, let this cup pass from 
 me/ and the great drops of blood stood out upon His 
 forehead. The agony of the cross but % who can 
 paint it ? It is beyond all human power. It is 
 enough that we know it was so great as to wring the 
 despairing cry, 'My God, my God, why hast Thou 
 forsaken me ? ' from those dear lips. 
 
 "And all this He suffered for you and for me 
 poor, miserable sinners, not worthy of one drop of 
 that precious blood that flowed from the thorn- 
 crowned head and pierced side. Once more I ask 
 you, will you accept of the sacrifice? I pray God 
 that you may before it is too late." 
 
 Meg had listened, almost breathlessly; her soul 
 had hung upon every word that came from the 
 preacher's lips, and when he said, "All this He suf- 
 fered for you and for me," a great wave of sorrow 
 passed over her. She felt it throb through every 
 vein of her body. It quickened the beating of her 
 heart, and filled her eyes to overflowing. She felt 
 like falling upon her knees then and there, and bow- 
 ing her head before the power of the Omnipotent. 
 She could not do that, but she could and she did pros- 
 trate her soul before Him. In her heart she cried 
 out: "I love Thee, my Saviour. Take me just as I 
 
EASTER. 231 
 
 am, and make me clean." Then how inexpressibly 
 happy she felt ! She could hardly wait for the ser- 
 vice to end, she was in such a hurry to go home and 
 go to her room, and thank God on her knees for His 
 wonderful goodness and mercy. She wanted to tell 
 Him how much she loved Him. 
 
 For the first time the feeling of longing and unrest 
 was made clear. And all this peace and joy would 
 have been hers months ago if she had only opened 
 her heart to Him, surrendered her will to His and 
 believed on Him as ,her Saviour. That is all the 
 secret if secret there is. 
 
 Mr. Stanley did not go down to the door that 
 morning. Meg waited a moment to see if he was not 
 coming; but he stepped down from the pulpit, and 
 went up to the seat on which he had thrown his light 
 overcoat and hat. He had gotten one arm in, and 
 had turned to put the other in, when the coat was 
 lifted gently, and drawn up over his shoulders. He 
 turned with a smile, and a "Thank you" on his lips, 
 not knowing who had done him the kindness. He 
 stopped at sight of a fair, girlish face fairly quivering 
 with happiness, and two large, dark eyes overflowing 
 with a light he had never seen in them before, but 
 which he had long prayed that he might see. 
 
 Meg held out her little hand, and he grasped it 
 
232 MEGDA. 
 
 tightly. " Thank you," was all she said ; and, " God 
 bless you," he answered. 
 
 At a quarter before eight on the following Thurs- 
 day evening, the vestry of the church was nearly 
 filled. As the last stroke of the bell died away, the 
 doors were closed. All of our young people were there 
 and, as usual, sitting together. Elsie and Mrs. Ran- 
 dal sat exactly opposite. The meeting opened in the 
 usual manner, but everyone noticed a something 
 about their pastor which they had never observed 
 before. They could not tell what it was. A deeper 
 joy in the dark-blue eyes, a glad, expectant look on 
 the earnest face, and a little nervous trembling of the 
 strong hands which was something very unusual. 
 Even Ethel noticed and slightly wondered. 
 
 Many testimonies were given, and several hymns 
 sung. It was a grand meeting. At last there was a 
 brief silence; one of the " periods" that come in a 
 prayer-meeting at times and, alas! only too often 
 in some. The clock ticked loudly on the wall. One 
 or two pages turned softly as if some one was seeking 
 a hymn. Mr. Stanley sat in his chair, his elbow rest- 
 ing upon the table, his head leaning on his hand. It 
 seemed as if all were quietly waiting for something, 
 but Mr. Stanley was the only one who knew for what. 
 
 It seemed to Meg as if her heart were trying to 
 
EASTER. 233 
 
 beat above the ticking of the clock. Surely every 
 one must hear it. She had been fully determined to 
 rise and tell of her happiness, and the resolve she had 
 made. It had seemed a comparatively easy thing to 
 do when she had thought of it at home and at school, 
 but now, when the very moment had arrived, she felt 
 as if it were an utter impossibility. She stole a 
 glance at her mother's face to see if she might find 
 encouragement there. It was calm, serene, and wore 
 its habitual patient smile. She looked at Elsie's 
 beside it. For the first time sl*e noticed how much 
 alike the two faces were in feature and expression. 
 She glanced at Ethel sweet, pure and full of a 
 heavenly joy. The sight quieted the rapid beating a 
 little. She looked at Mr. Stanley. She could see 
 but little of his face, for it was hidden by his hand, 
 but his whole attitude expressed a quiet expectancy. 
 "Oh, I must get up!" went like a flash through 
 Meg's mind; then all at once she whispered, "Jesus, 
 help me." The next moment she was on her feet, 
 and then she left all the rest with Him. What she 
 said, how she looked and acted, whether she appeared 
 graceful or awkward all these things which had 
 troubled her a little when she had thought of them, 
 were of no thought to her now. She was before her 
 God, and talking to Him, not to the people there : 
 
234 MEGDA. 
 
 "I love my Saviour, and I put myself, my whole 
 life, into His care and keeping, to do with as He will, 
 trusting, knowing that whatever He may do will be 
 all for my good. I love Him with all my heart, 
 because He first loved me and gave His life for me. 
 I am most unworthy of His love and goodness, but I 
 have done just what He has told us all to do. I have 
 asked Him to forgive me all my sins, and I have 
 faithfully promised Him to trust Him in all things, 
 and to love Him and serve Him while life shall last. 
 Pray for me that the light may grow brighter and 
 brighter before me, and I may follow wherever it may 
 lead through the 'weary ways where heavy shadows 
 lie,' as well as through the 'bright, green meadows 
 where the sunshine is'." 
 
 "Amen." 
 
 The word came from touched, overflowing hearts 
 deeply, earnestly, thankfully ; then Ethel's sweet, low 
 voice commenced : 
 
 " Just as I am, without one plea, 
 But that Thy blood was shed for me , 
 And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee 
 O, Lamb of God, I come, 1 come." 
 
 Before she had sung three words, the whole room 
 took it up, Meg's voice ringing out above all the 
 others. It seemed as if the sound must rise to the 
 
EASTER. 235 
 
 very vault of Heaven, and that the angels gathered 
 about the great white Throne, strike their harps, and 
 ring out their grand "Allelujah" over "the one sin- 
 ner that repenteth." 
 
 To Meg it seemed as if the room were full of 
 angels, and the heavenly melody. It was the happi- 
 est moment of all her happy young life. She received 
 the warm hand-shakes and hearty words of welcome, 
 at the close of the meeting, like one in a dream. 
 
236 MEGDA. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 MEG'S TROUBLE. 
 
 WHEN Laurie broached the subject of "bap- 
 tism " to Meg the next morning, as they 
 walked to school together arm in arm, Meg answered 
 her gently but firmly : 
 
 "No, Laurie, I am not ready to take that step just 
 now, and shall not be for some time to come. I want 
 to be sure of myself first sure of my own worthi- 
 ness, I mean. Suppose I should be baptized say in 
 three week's time and then should meet with some 
 temptation, and should yield to it ! I could never 
 forgive myself. I should be that most contemptible 
 of all contemptible things a backslider. Now you 
 know, the Church thinks it wrong to dance, and play 
 whist, and go to the theater. I like all these pleas- 
 ures, and have always indulged in them. Whist I 
 do not care so much about, I can give that up; but 
 oh, Laurie, I do love to dance, and I do love the thea- 
 ter. I cannot help it. It will be hard for me to 
 
MEG'S TROUBLE. 237 
 
 give them up, and until I feel I can give them up 
 cheerfully and willingly, I shall not unite with the 
 church. If I cannot comply with the requests in 
 every particular if I cannot obey every law, I will 
 wait. I do not think, myself, that such things as 
 dancing and the theater are wicked, but they are 
 against the laws of the Church, and those laws must 
 be recognized by all members. I am going to test 
 myself, Laurie ; in a little while, when I feel that I 
 can withstand the temptations, I am going to put* 
 myself in the way of them, and then I shall know if I 
 am worthy or not. If I yield to them then I shall 
 know I am not worthy ; but if not, then I shall know 
 my strength is sufficient." 
 
 Oh, Meg, sincere and earnest in all you say, yet 
 how mistaken ! The first prize in logic was bestowed 
 upon you at the final examination last month, but the 
 logic you are using now is very poor indeed. You 
 have not yet learned that you can do nothing by your 
 own strength, but with Him all things are possible. 
 Yet Meg was doing what it seemed right for her to 
 do. Besides, she had set a hard task for herself to 
 do, and we must pity, not blame. 
 
 Laurie's pretty face wore a puzzled look. "What 
 you say sounds all right, Meg; and if it is the way 
 you feel, it must be right. I have never felt in that 
 
238 MEGDA. 
 
 way ; but then, I do not go to the bottom of things as 
 you do. And, any way, I have never felt, somehow or 
 other, like doing either of the things you mention, 
 and it seems now as if I never should, I am so 
 happy." 
 
 "But you may, Laurie; and then what will you 
 do?" 
 
 The puzzled look deepened, and the blue eyes filled 
 with tears. "Oh, Meg," she said tremulously, "I 
 shall have to leave it all with Jesus." 
 
 Dear little Laurie, that is just what He would have 
 you do all He asks you to do. And yet, Meg 
 actually pitied Laurie even then, for her lack of 
 strength of character. 
 
 " She did not wait long enough," said Meg to her- 
 self, as they went up the stone steps. " She asked to 
 be forgiven for her sins, and promised to live better 
 in the future, and then she thought she was all ready 
 to join the Church, and take upon herself all its 
 requirements, not asking herself if her strength was 
 sufficient to resist all temptations. She just gave 
 herself up without thinking of all this." 
 
 And all of your logic, Meg, will not do for you 
 what Laurie's simple faith has done, and will do for 
 her. You will say that Meg had not read her Bible, 
 or she would have seen the command, " Believe and 
 
MEG'S TROUBLE. 239 
 
 be baptized," or perhaps you will say that she did 
 what so many do in these days, " read her Bible to 
 suit herself" ; but she did read her Bible, and she did 
 not read it to suit herself. As I have said before 
 she was doing what she thought was right, and, if she 
 had consulted the highest earthly authority, her duty 
 or her idea of duty would have remained unchanged 
 to her. The only thing that seemed likely to teach 
 her better was experience. It is often so. The 
 lesson of obedience is often taught by that stern 
 teacher. So, let us not call this an act of foolishness 
 on Meg's part; we will call it by its right name a 
 mistaken sense of duty. 
 
 " O, row me o'er, 
 O, boat me o'er, 
 O, row me o'er wi' Charlie," 
 
 May Bromley sang at the top of her voice, as she flew 
 along the passages and up three flights of stairs to 
 the "seniors' parlor." 
 
 "Are you crazy, May-flower ?" asked Meg, sitting 
 upright on the sofa, where she had been lying with 
 her hands up over her head for the last half-hour. 
 " Or can't you wait one day longer before leaving this 
 decorous establishment ? A good thing for you that 
 you leave of your own accord to-morrow; such a 
 
240 MEGDA. 
 
 noise as that is enough to warrant madam presenting 
 you with your walking-ticket." 
 
 Dell and Laurie, each lying comfortably back in an 
 easy arm-chair, laughed lazily, while May seated her- 
 self in the window-seat, and opened a package of 
 nougattines. "Don't talk slang, Megda," she said 
 severely; " it isn't pretty." 
 
 But Meg was looking at May with wide, dark eyes, 
 and a look of surprise on her face. May understood, 
 and smiled airily as she put a nougat deliberately 
 between her teeth, and bit it in two with the most 
 aggravating coolness. Meg lifted the sofa pillow, 
 stern determination in her eyes. 
 
 "Your choice, May," she said solemnly. 
 
 May laughed and put her arm up to protect her 
 head, while Lill, who had been lying asleep on the 
 sofa at the other end of the room, came walking 
 slowly up, rubbing her sleepy eyes, and sniffing 
 suspiciously. 
 
 "Does my nose deceive me," she said in hollow 
 tones, "or is it nougattines?" 
 
 "You have named them, they are yours," said May, 
 "or part of them, at least. Put down that feather-bed, 
 Meg, and don't look so wild you shall have one." 
 
 "I am content," murmured Meg, sinking languidly 
 down again. 
 
MUG'S TROUBLE. 241 
 
 "Where did you get them, May?" asked Laurie, 
 as she received her "share." 
 
 "Why, you know," said May, dividing them gener- 
 ously; "or, 'ef you don't know, den I tells you/ I 
 have had a terrible tooth-ache all day, and so I asked 
 permission of madam to go down to 'Lothrops* for 
 some oil of cloves, and" she passed Meg's share to 
 her over that young lady's head as she spoke. 
 
 "You got the nougattines instead," finished Meg, 
 putting her hands up to receive them. "Very good 
 indeed. I find them an excellent remedy for the 
 tooth-ache myself." 
 
 May held the "sweets" just out of reach of the 
 white fingers. "But I eat them with the teeth on 
 the other side of my jaw. Isn't that possible? 
 Answer." 
 
 Meg dropped her hands. "She wants me to 
 answer," she said faintly, appealing to the ceiling, 
 "and holds the delicious aroma over my organ of 
 smell at the same time so near, and yet so far. 
 Have mercy, May, I am but human." 
 
 "And very human where nougattines are con- 
 cerned," laughed May. "Answer me, then." 
 
 "Don't be silly, girls," said Dell, beginning on her 
 third one. "Tell her she can chew on one side of 
 her mouth as well as the other, Meg. You don't 
 
242 MEGDA. 
 
 know what you are missing. These are about the 
 creamiest nougats I ever ate. What did you have to 
 give a pound, May ? " 
 
 "How you do take the poetry out of anything, 
 Dell," said May laughing, as Meg, in mock despera- 
 tion at Dell's words, snatched the little package from 
 her hands. " I only gave sixty cents a pound." 
 
 "Isn't it about time for the rest of us?" asked 
 Laurie. 
 
 "Should think so," answered May. "Their shares 
 are ready for them." 
 
 "Here they come now," said Dell, as voices were 
 heard in the hall below. 
 
 "Oh, I didn't tell you that madam had gone out 
 to drive, did I?" said May. "I met her. She had 
 Miss Tyler and Miss White with her." 
 
 "And Professors Strauss and Weir?" asked Meg. 
 
 "No, of course not. It wouldn't have been setting 
 a good example to 'my young ladies'," said May, in 
 such perfect imitation of madam's precise tones that 
 they all laughed. 
 
 "Well, I should have thought she might have 
 taken the whole establishment while she was about 
 it," said Lill. "Why don't those girls come up! 
 Call them, Laurie." 
 
 "Yes, do, pet," said May, "or there won't be any- 
 
MEG'S TROUBLE. 243 
 
 thing left of their shares. Lill has devoured almost 
 all of them with her eyes now." 
 
 Meg almost choked herself with a nougat at this. 
 Lill smiled supremely. 
 
 "May must say something," she said, not the least 
 displeased. 
 
 Laurie went to the head of the stairs, and called : 
 "Girls, come up here. The days of miracles have 
 not passed May has been treating." 
 
 " What ingratitude ! " groaned May. 
 
 Lulu and Ruth rushed up stairs at this, and entered 
 the room. " All here ? " they asked. 
 
 " All but Ethel and Maude," replied May, sliding 
 from the window-seat, and placing a chair for each 
 with elaborate politeness. Then she gave them their 
 "share" and went back to her perch. 
 
 "Ethel is in the library, but she is coming right 
 up. Don't know where Maude is," said Lulu, begin- 
 ning on hers. 
 
 "I do," said May. "And I was going to tell 
 when I first came in, but those those cannibals 
 caught sight of my candy, and drove the idea out of 
 my head." 
 
 "Poor little head," murmured Meg compassionately. 
 "What a cruel thing to deprive it of its one idea." 
 
 "Tell us now, May-flower," said Lill soothingly. 
 
244 MEGDA. 
 
 " I will ; Meg, please shut your eyes, that you may 
 not hear. Well, I met our fair sister out driving. 
 Her father's coachman was not with her, either." 
 
 " Who was ? " asked Laurie. 
 
 "Mr. Augustus Belmont." 
 
 This information was received in complete silence, 
 and May was somewhat disappointed ; but she could 
 blame her "treat" for that. The girls were enjoying 
 it too much to become excited over Mr. Augustus 
 Belmont. 
 
 " Well, what do you say ? " asked May at last, find- 
 ing that no one had any idea of saying anything 
 voluntarily. 
 
 "Wouldn't change places with her," said Dell, with 
 her mouth full. 
 
 In the midst of the laugh that followed, Ethel came 
 in. She looked very pale and tired. The easiest 
 chair in the room was immediately wheeled forward, 
 and with a sweet smile and a "Thank you" to May 
 for the candy, Ethel sank down in it. 
 
 "How pleasant!" she said, looking around her with 
 pleased eyes. "You don't know what a pretty pic- 
 ture you did make, girls, when I looked at you from 
 the door- way." 
 
 "What must it be now, then?" said Meg with 
 loving flattery. 
 
MEG'S TROUBLE. 245 
 
 It was, indeed, a beautiful picture. The room was 
 partly in shadow, for May had drawn the blind at the 
 window where the June sun would have shone in. 
 May was curled up in the other window-seat, with her 
 head leaning against the dark wood. Meg lay at full 
 length on one sofa, one arm thrown up over her head, 
 the other lying in her lap where the nougattines 
 would be handy. Lill and Lulu occupied the other 
 sofa together, their arms around each other; when 
 one wanted a nougat the other would feed her with 
 one. Dell was buried in the depths of an easy chair, 
 Ruth in another, while Laurie sat on an ottoman and 
 leaned her head against Meg's sofa. Ethel's easy- 
 chair was drawn up beside the fire-place. That 
 had always been, in Summer and Winter, Ethel's 
 acknowledged place. The dark, gaping mouth of the 
 fire-place was filled with ferns and potted plants, until 
 it looked like a little, cool, green glen. 
 
 It was a dear, dear room, whether in Winter, when 
 the firelight gleamed on wainscot and ceiling, or in 
 Summer, when the shadows of the setting sun length- 
 ened on the floor. Dear it was at all times and at all 
 hours, but more especially at the " hour of all hours " 
 to our girls the twilight hour. And this was the 
 last time they would ever sit here as pupils. Never 
 again would it be the same to them as it was now. 
 
246 MEGDA. 
 
 The thought was too sad, and they tried to banish it 
 with light talk and laughter. They were all very 
 careful not to mention "to-morrow". All that 
 talk had been gone over with down in the large 
 hall. 
 
 "Well," said Laurie at last, "I wish some one 
 would tell me who this Mr. Augustus Belmont is ; I 
 have never been able to find out." 
 . "Who is he, Ethel?" asked May. 
 
 "I don't exactly know. A New York gentleman, 
 Maude says, and his father and her father were col- 
 lege chums. That is all I know." 
 
 "College fiddle-sticks," said Dell. "I don't believe 
 it. He looks like a rascal to me." 
 
 Meg laughed. " What do you know about rascals, 
 Dell ? How many have you ever met with in your 
 short life?" 
 
 "Well," said Dell, nothing abashed, "he looks like 
 a very dissipated young man to me. His eyes are 
 red, and his skin is flabby." 
 
 A burst of laughter at this. 
 
 "Maude, is engaged to him," said Ruth. "She 
 told me so, and showed me her ring. A large dia- 
 mond. I hope he is not dissipated." 
 
 "So do I," said Ethel slowly. 
 
 "Maude Leonard engaged!" exclaimed Dell indig- 
 
MEG'S TROUBLE. 247 
 
 nantly. "What can her father and mother be think- 
 ing of ! Just graduating ! " 
 
 "My mother was married when she was nineteen," 
 said Lill. 
 
 "Yes, but people are supposed to be more enlight- 
 ened now," said Dell dryly. 
 
 " Oh, you old maid, you," laughed May ; and then 
 she asked suddenly, "How old is Mr. Stanley, 
 Ethel ? " 
 
 "Twenty-six," answered Ethel, and her pale face 
 flushed pink. 
 
 "Who is the oldest one in our class?" continued 
 May, who seemed to be thirsting for information. 
 
 After comparing notes, it was found that Maude 
 was the oldest, as she had just passed her twentieth 
 birthday, and the others would not be twenty until 
 after the Summer. Ethel would be twenty on the 
 first day of September. 
 
 Meg could not think why May asked Ethel how old 
 Mr. Stanley was. But she explained herself while 
 they were passing up the stairs to the dressing-room. 
 
 "Mr. Stanley is six years older than Ethel, Meg. 
 That is about right, isn't it?" she whispered, and 
 Meg looked at her for a moment, and then said 
 shortly, "Do wait until you get out of school, May, 
 before you talk such nonsense." 
 
248 MEGDA. 
 
 " A remark worthy of our Adella," laughed May. 
 
 Silence reigned in the " study" after the question 
 of age had been settled. Try as hard as each one 
 might, she could not keep the great "to-morrow" out 
 of her mind. Yet it was not with any feeling of 
 pride that she looked forward to graduating day, but, 
 on the contrary, with one of deep sadness. To think 
 that nevermore would the dear old halls resound with 
 their light footsteps, and merry talk and laughter. 
 Nevermore would they assemble in careless, .loving 
 sisterhood in the beloved " study" to talk over their 
 little "plans," or indulge in a little harmless gossip 
 over no one in particular, but the world in general. 
 Perhaps this last half-hour of quiet thinking was the 
 saddest that had ever come into any of their young 
 lives. At last Ethel broke the silence, and all 
 could but feel glad that she did, it had become so 
 painful. 
 
 " I do not want to place myself in the position of 
 speech-maker, girls," she said, with a little laugh ; 
 "but I cannot help saying what has been in my heart 
 to say all day. I feel assured that we all experience 
 the same feeling in regard to our leaving the dear old 
 place. No need to dwell upon that." 
 
 She stopped and wiped the tears away that had 
 gathered on her lashes, and every girl there might 
 
.MEG'S TROUBLE. 249 
 
 have been seen doing the same thing, surreptitiously. 
 Then Ethel went on : 
 
 "Somehow or other, I feel very sad indeed; it is 
 not wholly on account of leaving, but something else 
 which I cannot explain. I have a strange request to 
 make, girls, but you will comply with it, I know. It 
 is this : Let us all gather close together, and clasp 
 hands in a circle, and promise to love and remember 
 each other all our lives long. No matter how far we 
 may stray apart in the years to come, our hearts will 
 always be united ; and if we never meet again on 
 earth, we will try to meet each other in Heaven, 
 where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary 
 are at rest." 
 
 Silently and tearfully, the girls gathered around 
 Ethel, hand clasping hand, and while they sat thus, 
 Ethel prayed in a low sweet voice, that the band of 
 sisterhood, though broken on earth, might be united 
 again in the better world. Then the Class-Song was 
 sung, in low, sweet, girlish voices, and the last, happy, 
 careless school-day that they would ever know, was at 
 an end : 
 
 CLASS-SONG. 
 
 One more song, and then we sever, 
 
 One more touch of hands and then 
 We must part, perhaps forever, 
 
 'Though we hope to meet again* 
 
250 MGEDA. 
 
 Life's great school is now before us 
 'Though our training here may end ; 
 
 May the same kind love be o'er us 
 Wheresoe'er our ways may tend. 
 
 Sweet the mem'ries that shall linger 
 
 'Round this dear, familiar place, 
 Memories of song and singer, 
 
 Thoughts which time cannot efface ; 
 Faithful friends and dear companions, 
 
 All were known and loved so well ; 
 Now has come the hour of parting, 
 
 We must bid you all " Farewell." 
 
COMMENCEMENT DAT. 251 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 COMMENCEMENT DAY. 
 
 LAURIE came over to Meg's house on the morn- 
 ing of the eighteenth, about a week after the 
 events recorded in our last chapter. Meg saw her 
 coming up the street, as she paused in her dusting to 
 take a peep out of the window, at the beauty of the 
 June morning, .and ran out of the house and down the 
 garden-path to meet her. 
 
 "I can't stop but a few minutes, Meg," said 
 Laurie, as Meg opened the gate for her; "I promised 
 to be back by ten o'clock to make some ' velvet 
 cream' for dinner, and you know what a job that is." 
 
 " Yes," answered Meg, dusting the floor of the 
 vine-covered piazza with her duster, and motioning for 
 Laurie to take a seat ; "it takes a long time to make 
 it, and then quite a while for it to cool. But isn't it 
 delicious ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I hope mine will be as good as your last was. 
 
252 MEGDA. 
 
 I will bring some up so we can have it when we get 
 home to-night." 
 
 Laurie took her pretty, flower-trimmed hat off and 
 fanned herself with it. Meg laughed gayly. 
 
 "Velvet-cream and sponge-cake at midnight! Do 
 you suppose we shall sleep after that ? " 
 
 Laurie laughed too a happy laugh. "What a 
 glorious morning, Meg ; if to-night is only half as 
 pleasant !" 
 
 "Oh, it will be," said Meg, confidently. "It won't 
 rain to-day ; the sun set clear last night, and there is 
 a moon, too." 
 
 "Well, I ran up to see if everthing was all right. 
 What time are you going ? " 
 
 "We shall go at about half-past one. I wish you 
 would drive in with us, Laurie." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Laurie, quickly. "I will wait for 
 Hal." 
 
 " He can come with the others," said Meg, just to 
 tease her. 
 
 "No," said Laurie, putting her lips resolutely 
 together, and blushing a pretty pink; "I will wait for 
 him he would rather I would." 
 
 "You little darling ! " said Meg, and gave her a hug. 
 " But it is too bad that Hal could not get away for 
 just a few hours this afternoon ; you would enjoy the 
 
COMMENCEMENT DAY. 253 
 
 exercises so much. Though no one is to graduate 
 that we are acquainted with." 
 
 " No, so I do not care so much. It was very kind 
 in Mr. Stanley to secure so many tickets for us, 
 wasn't it ? " 
 
 "Yes, very." 
 
 They talked a little longer, and then Laurie said : 
 "Well, I must go. You will be at the depot to meet 
 us to-night?" 
 
 "Yes, at half -past seven." 
 
 "All right. Good-by, until then." 
 
 "Good-by." 
 
 Laurie went down the street walking a little more 
 slowly than when she came up, and Meg went back 
 into the house to finish her dusting. 
 
 It was Commencement Day at the college of which 
 Mr. Stanley was a graduate, and he had procured 
 tickets for "our girls" and their gentlemen friends. 
 Will and Meg were going to the afternoon exercises 
 with Mr. Stanley and Ethel. They were to drive in 
 Judge Lawton's handsome carriage. Hal and Laurie, 
 Ed and Dell, Bert and Lill, Ray and Lulu, Melvin 
 and May were all going in on the evening train to the 
 Promenade Concert, and the others were to meet 
 them at the depot when their train came in. A 
 splendid time was anticipated by all. 
 
254 MEGDA. 
 
 Meg had felt very sorry that Ruth had not been 
 invited to go, and after she had finished her dusting, 
 she took off her big apron, put on her shade hat, took 
 her parasol, and started for Ruth's. 
 
 Ruth, herself, met her at the door, and asked her 
 in with her usual sweet smile of welcome. Ruth 
 loved Meg very dearly, and Meg respected and loved 
 Ruth. 
 
 Ruth was about to lead Meg into the sitting-room, 
 when Meg said: "O, let us sit out here, Ruthie; 
 your kitchen is always so deliciously cool. Those 
 vines at the window make it look so pretty and shady, 
 too. And you have gotten all your work done up, 
 and have let your fire go out so soon ; but you were 
 always a smart little thing." 
 
 Meg went rattling on, not noticing that Ruth had 
 tried several times to speak, and that her cheeks 
 were quite red. 
 
 "I came to ask a great favor of you, Ruth," Meg 
 continued ; " I want you to go with us this afternoon. 
 We will all be so glad if you will. I'll take you 
 under my wing, though I think" Meg stopped 
 short as the sound of a man's voice came from the 
 sitting-room. She looked at Ruth inquiringly. 
 
 "I tried to tell you, Meg," whispered Ruth, for the 
 door was ajar, "but you were so busy talking you did 
 
COMMENCEMENT DAY. 255 
 
 not notice. Mother is sick, and is at home to-day. 
 Mr. Stanley called to see her; he came in about five 
 minutes before you." 
 
 Meg looked vexed. 
 
 " Never mind, dear," said Ruth, "you did not say 
 anything but what you would as soon he would hear. 
 Let us go in." 
 
 Meg shook her head emphatically, but just then Mr. 
 Stanley said as if he mistrusted, by the sudden 
 silence that Meg had found out he was there 
 "Good-morning, Miss Randal. Don't let me drive 
 you away." 
 
 Meg was obliged to go in then, but she felt very 
 much like a child that had been coaxed not to be 
 afraid. 
 
 Mrs. Dean was lying on the lounge. She looked 
 very ill. Mr. Stanley sat on a low rocker by her side. 
 Meg went up to the lounge and held out her hand. 
 
 " I heard your kind invitation to Ruthie," said Mrs. 
 Dean, with a grateful smile. " I wish you might pre- 
 vail upon her to go with you ; it would do her good. 
 Mr. Stanley has been trying to persuade her." 
 
 Meg said, " Oh ! " and looked at him. He had 
 gotten ahead of her. She commenced to wish she 
 hadn't come. 
 
 Ruth leaned over her mother, and smoothed back a 
 
256 MEGDA. 
 
 lock of hair that had fallen out of place. " I shall not 
 leave you, mother," she said, with gentle determina- 
 tion ; and Mrs. Dean kissed the loving brown hand. 
 
 "We shall have to try again, Miss Randal," said 
 Mr. Stanley, easily. "And perhaps we shall succeed 
 better next time." 
 
 Meg looked at him questioningly. 
 
 " In our little attempt at giving pleasure, I mean," 
 he said, and Meg knew that he understood and appre- 
 ciated her "motive". 
 
 She was sorry that he did so ; it seemed like being 
 praised for a very little thing. 
 
 Meg waited, hoping that Mr. Stanley would go, but 
 as he seemed to be in no hurry, she rose at last, and 
 said : 
 
 " I hope you will feel better very soon, Mrs. Dean. 
 Don't work too hard, Ruthie ; I'll be down to-morrow 
 afternoon, and tell you all about to-night." 
 
 Mr. Stanley rose at the same time. "I think I 
 will say good-morning, too," he said. "I have made 
 quite a long call," and in a moment or two, Meg 
 found, herself walking down the white, dusty street 
 beside him. 
 
 They talked about commonplace things all the 
 way home, and Meg was very glad that Mr. Stanley 
 did not question her about uniting with the Church ; 
 
COMMENCEMENT DAY. 257 
 
 she was afraid he might. At her gate he said, " You 
 will be ready at half -past one ? " and opened the gate 
 for her to pass through. 
 
 "Yes, I will try to be," she answered. 
 
 He raised his hat, she bowed and went into the 
 house, and before Mr. Stanley reached the corner of 
 the street, he heard her beautiful voice through the 
 open window singing : 
 
 " My God and Father, while I stray 
 
 Far from my home on life's rough way, 
 O, teach me from my heart to say, 
 Thy will be done." 
 
 We will pass over the events of the afternoon, and 
 proceed to that of the evening. 
 
 Mr. Stanley had conducted his guests up to the 
 room that had formerly been his while a student at 
 the college. He had ascertained from the janitor 
 that it had been unoccupied for the last three weeks 
 the young gentleman having been obliged to go 
 home on account of sickness in his family, and Mr. 
 Stanley had received permission from the president to 
 entertain his friends in it. It was a pleasant room, 
 with two large windows facing the front campus. Mr. 
 Stanley procured camp-chairs' enough for all, but Meg 
 and May declared they were going to occupy the win- 
 dow-seats. The band-stand was just far enough away 
 
258 MEGDA. 
 
 for the music to sound delightful, and the electric light 
 flooded the room with its soft, moon-like radiance. 
 Hal, Will, Ed, Melvin, Bert and Ray 'had brought 
 candy, grapes and nuts enough to make the girls ill 
 for a month afterward, and Mr. Stanley had con- 
 tributed a can of iced lemonade. Withal, they were 
 as happy a party as ever brightened a dim, musty, 
 dreary old college-room. 
 
 The girls wore their graduating dresses soft, white 
 cashmeres, and a bunch of the class-flowers white 
 hyacinths. Mr. Stanley thought, as he looked at them, 
 '^Surely there was never a fairer rose-garden of girls." 
 
 Melvin kept them in a perfect gale of laughter over 
 the most miserable little puns that were ever invented. 
 Then his and Meg's " tongue-fencing" as Meg called 
 it delighted them all, especially Mr. Stanley. He 
 sat beside Ethel, attentive to her slightest wish, but 
 he also sat where he could watch Meg's fair, sparkling 
 face, shining pure and white against the dark, old 
 wood of the window-frame, with the soft, moonlike 
 light upon it. She pleased him ; she made him feel 
 as if he would give the world, if he had it, if he 
 could have just such a sweet, pure, lovable girl for 
 his sister. He could have taken her to his heart, 
 with all her faults, and cherished her as only a brother 
 can cherish the sister he loves. 
 
COMMENCEMENT DAY. 259 
 
 He was watching her when the band commenced 
 to play although he could not have told what it was 
 " Flowers of St. Petersburg Waltz." The moment 
 that the first notes struck the air, Meg stopped her 
 gay badinage with Melvin, listened for a moment with 
 parted lips, and then, all unconscious that she was 
 being watched, laid her head back against the window- 
 frame, and listened with dreamy eyes, and a happy, 
 contented smile parting her red lips. 
 
 " How she loves that kind of music," thought Mr. 
 Stanley, still watching her. 
 
 In a few moments he saw her lift her white hands 
 a little from her lap, and commence to keep time with 
 them, slowly and unconsciously. He could not help 
 smiling, yet he sighed at the same time. Then he 
 saw the little foot resting on the floor, commence to 
 go up and down, up and down, in perfect time with 
 the music ; then her head commenced to move slowly 
 backward and forward, and from side to side, and 
 before the delicious music had ceased, Meg was per- 
 forming quite a dance on her own account in the 
 deep, wide window-seat. Mr. Stanley found it hard 
 work to keep from laughing outright. Her utter 
 unconsciousness made it all the more amusing. 
 
 When the last notes died lingeringly away, Meg 
 heaved a soft little sigh, and thus, suddenly brought 
 
260 MEGDA. 
 
 back to earth, looked with frightened eyes around her 
 to see if any one had seen her. Mr. Stanley found it 
 convenient, just then, to offer Ethel a glass of lemon- 
 ade, and the rest were too busily engaged to have 
 noticed it, so Meg leaned back in her comfort- 
 able seat again, and waited breathlessly for the next 
 selection. 
 
 What a perfectly happy evening that was to all ! 
 An evening they would never forget. The intervals 
 between the "selections" were filled up with light 
 talk and happy laughter. Refreshments were passed 
 around with startling regularity, and if one dared to 
 refuse them, he or she was warned that they would 
 never be taken to the Promenade Concert again 
 meaning, of course, the one who refused the refresh- 
 ments, not the refreshments themselves. 
 
 And so the time passed. The concert closed with 
 a beautiful rendering of "Clayton's Grand March", 
 with variations ; there was a general move of the prom- 
 enaders toward the great iron gates, and our young 
 people gathered up their wraps and "debris", and 
 with many lingering, backward glances, passed out of 
 the room they had made cheerful for three hours, and 
 made their way, decorously, to the depot. 
 
 Laurie was to stay with Meg all night. After 
 they had bidden Hal good-night in the sitting-room, 
 
COMMENCEMENT DAY. 261 
 
 and were mounting the stairs to Meg's room, Meg 
 looked over her shoulder at Laurie and said, gravely, 
 " Would you like some of the velvet-cream, Laurie ? " 
 
 " Don't mention it, Meg," was Laurie's answer, 
 accompanied with a shiver of disgust. 
 
 How long the two girls would have lain awake 
 " talking over things," I do not know, had not Hal, 
 who slept up stairs that night, knocked sharply on 
 their wall, and called out in beseeching tones, for them 
 to have some mercy on him, if not on themselves. 
 Conversation then ceased, and the girls bade each 
 other good-night. 
 
 As Meg turned her bright head on her pillow and 
 settled herself for sleep with a happy smile on her 
 fair face, she little thought that never again would 
 the bright world look quite the same to her as it did 
 that night. Never quite the same. 
 
262 MEGDA. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A CALL. 
 
 ARTHUR STANLEY walked up the broad, grav- 
 elled walk that led to the front entrance of 
 Judge Lawton's handsome residence, on the morning 
 after the " Promenade Concert," went up the marble 
 steps, and pressed the electric button. A colored foot- 
 man opened the door and upon Mr. Stanley's inquiry 
 if "Judge Lawton were at home", answered in the 
 affirmative, and conducted him to the library. 
 
 The judge was seated before his heavy writing 
 table. He rose to his feet as Arthur was announced, 
 and went forward to greet him with a pleasant smile 
 and extended hand. Mr. Stanley proceeded at once 
 to business in a most manly, straightforward way 
 which greatly pleased if greatly surprised the judge. 
 What he said was said briefly but earnestly. " Judge 
 Lawton, I love your daughter, and have come to you 
 to ask your permission to tell her so, and to ask her 
 to be my wife." 
 
A CALL. 263 
 
 Such a request from a young man to a parent must 
 always have a more or less startling effect on the 
 latter, even when, as in Judge Lawton's case, some- 
 thing of the kind had been rather expected. 
 
 Judge Lawton had a deep respect for his young 
 pastor, and told him so. He was his ideal of what a 
 young man should be; but Ethel was his only 
 child, and his life's idol. He told Arthur so, and 
 smiled a little sadly, as the young man said eagerly : 
 
 "Do not think of 'it in the light of losing a daugh- 
 ter, Judge Lawton, but of gaining a son. I will love 
 her and cherish her while life shall last." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said the judge, whose stern face 
 was wonderfully softened. "I believe you; but Ethel 
 is so young not quite twenty." 
 
 " I will not take her from you until you are per- 
 fectly willing to have her go," said Arthur, tenderly. 
 
 "That would never be, then," replied the father, 
 with a smile. "But it isn't for me to say, but for 
 Ethel herself. Does she love you?" 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 " Do you think she does ? " 
 
 The young man's cheek flushed, but he answered 
 steadily, "I do not think her wholly indifferent to 
 me." 
 
 The judge smiled and held out his hand. " Ethel 
 
264 MEGDA. 
 
 is in the garden. Go to her and tell her what you 
 have told to me, and my best wishes for your 
 success." 
 
 Arthur grasped the extended hand in both of his. 
 "Thank you, sir; and may God deal with me as I 
 do with her." 
 
 "He hastened from the house, and went through 
 beautiful shadowy paths to the place where he knew 
 from past experience, he should find her a rustic 
 seat underneath the branches of a grand old oak. 
 
 She rose to meet him as she saw him coming, and 
 then stood still before the great light on his face. 
 How fair and pure and womanly she looked to the 
 young man, as she stood there in her white dress, 
 with the sunlight flickering through the branches on 
 her sweet, upturned face, and in her truthful, serious 
 eyes. 
 
 "The very pearl of womanhood," he thought, and 
 went straight to her and took both her hands in his. 
 
 " I love you, Ethel. Will you be my wife?" And 
 Ethel answered simply and gravely, with the lovely 
 wild-rose color dyeing her white cheek, " Yes, Arthur, 
 
 for I love you with all my heart." 
 
 ****** 
 
 "Oh, dear!" sighed Meg, at the dinner-table that 
 day. " I feel so so " 
 
A CALL. 265 
 
 "I pity you, my dear," said Hal, gravely. "I 
 know what it is to feel that way myself. A disagree- 
 able feeling, isn't it?" 
 
 Meg smiled, too spiritless to reply. 
 
 "Aren't you feeling well, dear?" inquired Elsie 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, yes ; that is, I do not feel sick, only so " 
 
 "So, so," interrupted Hal. "Well, Girlie, see if 
 that will make you feel any better," and he tossed a 
 dainty cream envelope beside her empty plate. 
 
 Meg picked it up listlessly, then gave a little cry of 
 delight. " From Ethel ! Oh, I do hope she will want 
 me to come up there this afternoon I feel just like 
 it. Where did you get it, Hal ? " 
 
 " I met that young Jake of theirs coming to the 
 house with it, and saved him the trouble of coming 
 any further." 
 
 Meg read the note, and looked up, smiling. "Just 
 what I had hoped for," she said. " She does want me 
 to come up this afternoon she has something to tell 
 me, about last night, I suppose," and Meg put the 
 note back into the envelope, with a happy face, 
 and handed it to her mother to read. 
 
 " But you know you promised Ruth you would go 
 there this afternoon," said Elsie gently. 
 
 "Yes, I know; but I can start early, Ethel's dinner 
 
266 MEGDA. 
 
 hour is two, you know ; I shan't want to get there 
 until half-past three. I have felt, all the morning, 
 just as if something were going to happen, but I 
 must confess I felt as if it were going to be bad 
 instead of good news." 
 
 At two o'clock, Meg started for Ruth's house. 
 She wore a pale-blue cheese-cloth dress, and a large 
 black hat with slightly rolling brim, and a wreath of 
 yellow daises around the crown. She had a great 
 sheaf of yellow daises over her left shoulder. A 
 wide band of black velvet was around her white 
 throat. She walked slowly, for the sun was hot. As 
 she was about to enter the gate at Ruth's home, Mr. 
 Stanley came along. He stopped to speak with her. 
 
 "How do you feel after last night's dissipation?" 
 he asked, with his hand on the gate. 
 
 " Quite well considering," said Meg laughingly. 
 
 "Considering the refreshments?" he added; then 
 he went on, more gravely, " You are faithful to your 
 promise." 
 
 Of telling Ruth all about it ? Yes." 
 
 "Remember me to Mrs. Dean and to Miss 
 Ruth, please. I shall try to see them some time 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Meg bowed and Mr. Stanley walked on. 
 
 "How happy he looks," thought Meg, wondering a 
 
A CALL. 267 
 
 little ; then she went up the path and knocked at the 
 door. 
 
 Ruth opened the door, and Meg stared in astonish- 
 ment at sight of the radiant eyes. 
 
 " Why, Ruthie, what is the matter ? Has somebody 
 died, and left you all their money?" she asked, as 
 Ruth threw both arms around her neck, and fairly 
 sobbed for joy. 
 
 " Oh, Meg, I am so happy, and so glad that you are 
 the first one to hear of it, for you are my best earthly 
 friend, Meg," and the excited girl hurried Meg into 
 the sitting-room where Mrs. Dean was, and forced her 
 gently down into a rocking-chair. 
 
 Mrs. Dean was calmer than her daughter, but Meg 
 could see that she was feeling wonderfully happy over 
 something. She looked from one to the other hi 
 bewilderment. Ruth laughed hysterically. 
 
 "Yes, I will tell you, dear," she said; then she 
 burst out again. "Oh, Meg, what do you think? 
 Madam de Crando has been here this morning, and 
 hired me for next year as assistant to Miss White." 
 
 Meg put out both hands. " Ruthie ! " 
 
 " Yes, Meg, she has. I am to teach Rhetoric and 
 Language in the very school where I studied them. 
 Doesn't it seem strange ? And oh, Meg ! " (here Ruth 
 slipped down on her knees before Meg's chair and 
 
268 MEGDA. 
 
 caught the white hands in hers), "it is you whom I 
 have to thank for this great happiness ; you, next to 
 God." 
 
 " Me ! " exclaimed Meg. 
 
 "Yes, you; my best, my dearest friend. I know 
 all about the affair of the lost essay ; what you did for 
 me and oh, everything, Meg." 
 
 "You know it all?" interrupted Meg. "How did 
 you know it ? " 
 
 "Laurie told me." 
 
 "Then Laurie did a very wrong thing," cried Meg 
 indignantly ; but Ruth stopped her. 
 
 "I suspected it, Meg, and asked Laurie if it were 
 not so ; I knew it would be of no use for me to ask 
 'proud Meg', for she would give me no satisfaction, 
 and so I asked Laurie and insisted on her telling me." 
 
 "But what had that to do with madam's kind- 
 ness ? " asked Meg, subdued but still bewildered. 
 
 Ruth laughed and gave the hand she held a loving 
 shake. "Where is all your wisdom, Meg? Madam 
 must have suspected all the time just how matters 
 were, but she did not want to create a disturbance, 
 so she said nothing at the time, but waited until she 
 could make it up to me in her own way. And Meg, I 
 owe it to you, because if you had not kept silent about 
 it, of course madam would have known who the 
 
A CALL. 269 
 
 guilty one was. It would have made her feel very 
 badly, and, so far from being sorry that she had 
 accused me wrongfully, she might have felt very 
 bitterly toward me. Don't you see now, you dar- 
 ling you darling?" and Ruth covered the white 
 hands with kisses. 
 
 "I see now," said Meg smiling. "And I am very 
 glad for you, Ruth. But has Maude confessed to 
 her?" 
 
 Ruth's happy face grew sad. "No," she answered. 
 "But, Meg, I hope you do not feel bitter toward her 
 now." 
 
 "No," replied Meg humbly. "It isn't for me to 
 judge her." 
 
 Ruth kissed her silently. 
 
 A happy half-hour passed, and then Meg left them, 
 her heart lighter for her visit. But as she walked 
 slowly along, she could not help questioning madam's 
 kindness. Would it not have been kinder in madam 
 to have told Ruth, plainly, her motive for doing as 
 she did ? Would it not have been acting more honor- 
 ably toward Ruth ? Why should she wish to spare 
 Maude's feelings? She had not considered Ruth's in 
 the least. 
 
 " I am very much afraid," thought Meg, as she 
 entered Judge Lawton's beautiful grounds, "that, if I 
 
270 MEGDA, 
 
 were in Ruth's place, I should be tempted to decline 
 madam's offer with thanks, and tell her that I could 
 not think of entering an establishment as one of the 
 faculty, where I had once been accused by its precep- 
 tress of stealing. But it is a grand chance for Rutk ; 
 I could almost find it in my heart to envy her if I 
 were not so very glad for her. And Ruth does not 
 look on things as I do. Why is it, I wonder ? I think 
 I know. Because she is a Christian, and I am not, 
 though I am trying hard to be. Jesus, help me," and 
 with this prayer on her lips, Meg looked up and saw 
 Ethel coming to meet her. The two girls linked 
 arms, and commenced a slow walk up and down the 
 cool, shadowy garden -paths. Then Ethel happened to 
 think that Meg must be tired after her long walk. 
 
 " How thoughtless I am, Girlie ! " she said con- 
 tritely. " Here I am walking you up and down, and 
 you must be so tired. You look pale to-day, too 
 paler than usual. Aren't you feeling well ? " 
 
 "Oh yes," answered Meg; "perfectly well, only I 
 am rather tired." 
 
 " Of course you are. Come right up to my room ; 
 it is about as cool there as it is out here." 
 
 " I am always tempted to break the Commandment 
 whenever I enter this room, Ethel," said Meg, as she 
 followed Ethel into her exquisite little boudoir. 
 
A CALL. 271 
 
 Ethel laughed, took Meg's hat, and placed her in 
 the easiest chair the room afforded a low, deep, wil- 
 low rocker. 
 
 Meg heaved a sigh of deep content as she leaned 
 back and looked around her. She had been in that 
 room many times before; had stayed all night with 
 Ethel on several occasions ; but its beauty was ever 
 new to her, and ever appealed to her keen sense of 
 refinement, taste and comfort. And no wonder, for it 
 was a perfect little gem of a room. 
 
 It was all white the paper on the walls, the car- 
 pet on the floor, the drapery at the windows, the 
 coverings of the easy-chairs. From where Meg sat, 
 she could look through into a large, airy, beautifully- 
 furnished bed-chamber, also furnished and decorated 
 in white. The pure whiteness was relieved in the 
 boudoir by trailing vines of the delicate-green English 
 ivy. In the wide, deep window which projected out 
 from the walk until it might almost be called a bow- 
 window, Ethel had placed large pots of ferns and 
 potted plants, with myrtle and ivy, until it looked like 
 a veritable green bower. In the corners of the room 
 were large pots, out of which , more ivy grew, and 
 clung with its delicate fingers all over the walls, and 
 had even commenced to cover the ceiling. White 
 marble busts of Shakespeare, Dickens, Hawthorne 
 
272 MEGDA. 
 
 and Irving glistened through the trailing ivy, from the 
 various corners. 
 
 "I might almost imagine myself in a grotto," 
 thought Meg, bringing her eyes from their admiring 
 survey of the room, to Ethel, who was watching her 
 with a happy smile on her lips. 
 
 Meg could not help thinking, as she looked at 
 Ethel, how perfectly she accorded with the room, with 
 her white dress, fair face and golden hair. She was 
 about to express her thoughts in words, when, to her 
 surprise, Ethel left her chair, and came to her, kneel- 
 ing on the floor at her side, and wrapping both arms 
 around her. 
 
 Now, I had no idea of writing a love-story when I 
 began, nor have* I any idea of making it into one 
 now; I am giving the facts of the case, and no more. 
 If I put more sentiment than wisdom in it, pardon 
 me ; it is the fault of the age we live in. Yet a little 
 sentiment now and then, has never been known to 
 hurt anybody ; it is only when it is carried to extreme 
 that it is objectionable, and then it but verifies the 
 old adage "Extremes are dangerous." 
 
 "Meg," said Ethel in a low voice, "I believe I 
 am the happiest girl in all the world." And then she 
 told her, softly and tenderly and reverently, as if she 
 were speaking of something sacred, of what Arthur 
 
A CALL. 273 
 
 had said to her that morning under the spreading 
 branches of the old oak ; and Meg listened with 
 a slowly whitening face, and a great pain gradually 
 creeping into her heart But Ethel had her head on 
 Meg's shoulder, so her face was turned from hers. 
 
 "And see, Girlie/' said Ethel at last, "he has 
 given me his mother's ring. He has neither father 
 or mother, you know." 
 
 "No, I did not know," said Meg, and she took 
 Ethel's hand in hers, and looked long and wistfully at 
 the pretty gold band with its one pure-white pearl. 
 
 "I hope you may be very happy, Ethel," said Meg, 
 and kissed her. 
 
 Ethel had ordered a dainty luncheon to be served 
 in the breakfast-room for herself and Meg. Meg sat 
 down to it, and laughed and talked and ate, hardly 
 knowing what she did. After that, they went for a 
 quiet stroll in the garden, and at half-past five, Ethel 
 had the dog-cart brought around to the door, and, 
 despite Meg's assurance that she would just as soon 
 walk, ordered her into it, got in herself, and they were 
 soon rolling along the road toward Meg's home. 
 
 When about half the distance had been accom- 
 plished, a stylish phaeton drawn by a span of pranc- 
 ing bays, passed them. Maude Leonard and a young 
 gentleman were seated in it. Maud looked very hand- 
 
274 MEGDA. 
 
 some and stylish, but her bow of recognition was too 
 full of haughty condescension to suit Meg; she barely 
 returned it. The gentleman with Maude was fault- 
 lessly dressed, and the manner in which he lifted his 
 hat was perfection itself; but there was a dissipated 
 look about his handsome face that neither girl liked. 
 As Dell had said, "his eyes were red and his skin 
 flabby." 
 
 "Mr. Augustus Belmont," observed Meg, slightly 
 scornful. 
 
 "Yes," answered Ethel; "I was so full of my own 
 happiness that I did not think to tell you of Maude's. 
 Her mother called at our house yesterday afternoon, 
 and told mother that Maude and Mr. Belmont were 
 engaged. The wedding is set for some time in 
 October." 
 
 " I hope she may be happy," said Meg carelessly. 
 
 " I pray that she may," said Ethel fervently. 
 
 When Meg entered the sitting-room at home, 
 Laurie sprang from behind the door with a little 
 scream. Meg laughed. 
 
 " Laurie Ray, I am surprised ! A young lady 
 of nineteen years, almost twenty, having such childish 
 actions ! " 
 
 " Oh, well, Meg, I am so glad to see you ; I have 
 been waiting here one mortal hour." 
 
A CALL. 275 
 
 "That is too bad." 
 
 Then Meg looked over her shoulder at Laurie, as 
 she went into the hall to hang her hat up, and said, 
 lightly, " Have you come to tell me that you are 
 engaged?" 
 
 The look of astonishment on Laurie's pretty face at 
 such a question, was so comical that Meg laughed 
 until the tears came. 
 
 "Don't look so stunned, Laurie," she said, seating 
 herself in a chair. " I didn't know but you had. 
 Engagements seem to be the order of the day." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Laurie slowly. 
 
 "Oh," replied Meg, rocking herself carelessly and 
 smoothing down the ruffles of her dress. "I have 
 heard of two this afternoon. And they are of two 
 of our class-mates, too, Laurie. What do you think 
 of that?" 
 
 If Meg had looked at Laurie, she would have been 
 surprised at the look of actual terror on her face. 
 
 "Who are they, Meg?" 
 
 "Guess." 
 
 "I I can't." 
 
 "Well, Maude is one. You are not surprised at 
 that?" 
 
 "No. But, the other?" Laurie asked the ques- 
 tion in almost a whisper. 
 
276 MEGDA. 
 
 "Ethel and Mr. Stanley." 
 
 Laurie sprang to her feet with a low cry. " Oh, no, 
 Meg, not that ; don't say that ! " she cried, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Meg rose slowly to her feet and looked at her. The 
 look dried Laurie's tears at once. Meg's face was 
 white to the lips, but full of haughty displeasure, and 
 cold, forbidding pride. Just a moment she stood there, 
 tall and straight, and looked at Laurie, then she sat 
 down in her chair again, and said, easily : 
 
 "Yes, Ethel and Mr. Stanley are engaged, and I 
 have never seen a girl so happy." 
 
 Laurie, almost frightened out of her wits at what 
 she had said and done, answered humbly, " I am glad 
 she is happy." 
 
 "So am I," replied Meg. "I am glad for her with 
 all my heart." 
 
 But even when she said it, and afterward, when 
 Laurie appeared to be ashamed of her little outburst, 
 as though she realized that she had made a great mis- 
 take in supposing that Meg was hurt in any way by 
 Ethel's happiness, her proud heart cried out in an 
 agony of pain and humiliation at the thought that any 
 one, especially little, childish Laurie, should dare to 
 think she needed pity. 
 
 And all the time Meg knew that she did. 
 
A VISIT. 277 
 
 XX. 
 
 A VISIT. 
 
 MEG, Dell and Laurie were seated in Mrs. Ran- 
 dal's sitting-room, in earnest discussion. Meg 
 had the chair of state, the large, old-fashioned, softly- 
 cushioned "rocker". Dell sat very upright in a 
 straight-backed chair. Laurie, as usual, on an otto- 
 man, . but so excited was she over what they were 
 talking about, that half the time she was on the floor. 
 
 One whole hour they sat there, and when Dell and 
 Laurie at last rose to go, Meg followed them out of 
 the house, and even half way down the shady walk ; 
 and when she left them it was with the impressive 
 words : Remember, Saturday morning at ten minutes 
 past eight rain or shine. Sure ! " 
 
 " Sure," repeated both the girls, as impressively. 
 
 This was on Wednesday afternoon. On Saturday 
 morning, at eight o'clock, precisely, a gurney drove 
 up to Mrs. Randal's door. It was raining, probably 
 as hard as it ever had rained, and looked, as Meg said 
 rather petulantly, as if it might rain forever and the 
 
278 MEGDA. 
 
 day afterward. But for all that she was dressed for 
 traveling, and waiting when the gurney stopped at 
 the gate. Her trunk was taken out by Hal and the 
 driver, and strapped in its place. Then Meg, closely 
 attended by mother and sister, stepped out upon the 
 piazza. 
 
 Meg wore a plain, tight-fitting flannel dress the 
 lovliest shade of gray. A peasant cape of the same 
 color, and a pretty shirred tennis cap. She wore a 
 small white vail over her face, and had her gossamer 
 on her arm. 
 
 "Put your gossamer on, Girlie," said Hal, clearing 
 the space from the gate to the piazza, in about two 
 steps. 
 
 He took it from her arm and wrapped it, with 
 loving care, about her. Then he took her reticule, 
 opened his umbrella, and escorted her to the gurney 
 lifted her in and sprang in after her. In another 
 moment, mother and sister were straining their eyes 
 to catch a last glimpse of the gurney, as it was fast 
 disappearing from their sight in a mist of driving rain. 
 
 "What a long week it will be ! " sighed the mother. 
 
 "Dreadfully long," echoed the sister. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Oh Meg, you darling ! I knew you would come, 
 but I was so afraid you wouldn't." 
 
A VISIT. 279 
 
 Hal laughed outright, and several people standing 
 near, smiled " openly" in spite of themselves, as 
 Laurie gave expression to her joy, fear and relief, in 
 this rather contradictory manner. Meg laughed and 
 returned the kiss heartily. " Let us be thankful that 
 madam is not present, Laurie. Dell, you look most 
 provokingly calm and undisturbed. Doesn't this 
 storm effect you in the least ? " 
 
 "Well, yes, I can't deny that it does," replied Dell, 
 who always told the strict truth even on the smallest 
 occasion. "I always did dislike wearing a gossamer 
 they wet the ankles so; but that is all that I com- 
 plain of. We shan't be out in it much." 
 
 "I know it," said Meg, "but it is too bad it isn't 
 pleasant; it will be so dull on the boat." 
 
 "Haven't you brought your book?" asked Laurie. 
 "I have, and so has Dell." 
 
 "Yes," answered Meg; "I have brought 'John 
 Ward, Preacher.' What have you?" 
 
 "I have 'Ester Ried'." 
 
 "And you, Dell?" 
 
 "Oh, I have 'Johnstown Horrors/ I had not 
 decided what book to take until this morning, and 
 then the weather decided for me. Quite appropriate, 
 isn't it ? Didn't know but we might have a flood 
 before it got through." 
 
280 MEGDA. 
 
 Both girls laughed at Dell's choice and her reason 
 for making such an one. Then Hal, who had gone to 
 buy Meg's ticket and get her trunk checked, came up 
 and asked them what they were laughing at. 
 
 "Dell is in a watery frame of mind," said Meg. 
 "She thinks there is nothing like adaptability." 
 
 "She is referring to my choice," explained Dell, 
 holding up her book for Hal to read its title. " Do 
 you not think it an appropriate one ? " 
 
 "Very. Have you seen hers?"- and Hal took 
 Meg's book from under her arm and held it gravely 
 up. "'John Ward, Preacher.' She is in a theological 
 frame of mind which is almost as bad as that of which 
 she accuses you. I do not know but the book may 
 change her religious views entirely. She may come 
 back to us a thorough Presbyterian." 
 
 "Never," said Meg firmly. "Their creed is too 
 too" 
 
 "Are you quoting Oscar to us?" inquired Hal 
 severely. 
 
 "I can't find words to express my opinion of it," 
 finished Meg, not heeding the interruption. 
 
 "Then don't try," said Dell dryly. "You ought 
 not to allow yourself to read such books, Meg." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because they do you no good. It is no matter if 
 
A VISIT. 281 
 
 you do not understand the different beliefs ; what do 
 they amount to ? There is but one Bible ; take that 
 for your guide and be satisfied. What do you care 
 for different people's different opinions? Reading 
 them up is only liable to throw you into a very unde- 
 cided and dissatisfied frame of mind, which is much 
 worse than a 'watery' one, I assure you." 
 
 "For when you are in the latter, you are supposed 
 to be all right," laughed Meg. "Oh, Dell, you have 
 any amount of logic, but it is all as dry as saw-dust." 
 
 "It is very good logic," said Hal seriously; "the 
 very best kind good, common-sense." 
 
 Just then the whistle sounded, and the girls had 
 barely time to gather up their "traps" before the 
 train steamed into the station. Hal kissed Meg ten- 
 derly, and said, " Be a good girl, and don't forget the 
 postal". Then he shook hands with Dell, and tben 
 fell behind with Laurie to say his good-by to her in a 
 low tone. 
 
 Meg and Dell hurried out together, good girls as 
 they were, but Hal was beside them to help them 
 into the car, and when the "ail-aboard" was shouted, 
 and the train moved slowly at first, then faster and 
 faster, he stood on the platform and watched it out of 
 sight. 
 
 For the first half-hour the girls talked and laughed 
 
282 MEGBA. 
 
 very quietly together, but after that they settled back 
 in their seats, opened their books and began to read. 
 Meg and Laurie found theirs very interesting, and 
 were very soon oblivious to everything and everybody 
 about them. Dell's eyes were constantly wandering 
 here, there and everywhere. Now she would look 
 dreamily out of the window at the gray, misty, rain- 
 drenched country through which they were passing, 
 an inclination probably derived from the sight of the 
 book she held open before her, and then she would 
 allow her eyes to wander carelessly around her at her 
 fellow-passengers. 
 
 During one of these "eye excursions" a young 
 gentleman, sitting two or three seats in front of her 
 on the opposite side of the car, happened to look up 
 from the paper he was reading, just as Dell was look- 
 ing at him. She was looking at him, and still not 
 looking at him ; that is, she was looking at him with- 
 out seeing him, for she was thinking deeply of some- 
 thing that had happened at home that morning before 
 she left, and as she thought a smile curved her lips. 
 The young man returned the look with interest. He 
 had never before beheld such a beautiful face. She 
 did not seem to resent his admiring gaze, but on the 
 contrary, judging from her continued stare, appeared 
 to like and encourage it. He laid aside his paper and 
 
A VISIT. 283 
 
 proceeded at once to " business". Poor, unconscious 
 Dell was literally miles away. The young gentle- 
 man (?) assumed his most fascinating (?) manner; he 
 leaned back in his seat easily and gracefully, and 
 allowed a smile, half pensive, half amused, to steal over 
 his countenance. Presently he took courage to raise 
 his hat, hardly decided as to how the young lady would 
 take that. Eureka ! She smiled ! Alas, it was to 
 her father that the smile was really given. Without 
 more ado, the young gent rose from his seat and 
 skipped jauntily up the aisle. Her focus being thus 
 abruptly removed, Dell came to herself with a little 
 start. She looked up, surprised, to see a strange 
 young man partly leaning over the arm of her seat, 
 with a smile on his face. The look of surprise was so 
 genuine, that the young man paused, hardly knowing 
 what to do. The smile faded, and he looked alas 
 for him ! downright foolish. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he stammered at last, "but, 
 did did I thought did you not wish me to sit 
 beside you ? " 
 
 Dell stared at him. But Dell was not entirely 
 ignorant of some of the follies of the age, if she had 
 lived out of the city all her life. She determined to 
 give the young* man a little lesson. 
 
 "Is there anything the matter with the seat you 
 
284 MEGDA. 
 
 have just left?" she asked curiously, as if really think- 
 ing there might be. 
 
 He smiled a sickly smile as if to say, "Oh, of 
 course you are only joking." 
 
 "Is there?" repeated Dell, with the manner of one 
 who meant just what she says. 
 
 " No no not that I am aware of." 
 
 "Then I advise you to go back to it," she said, 
 calmly ; and resumed her reading without so much as 
 a flicker of a smile. 
 
 Down went Meg's head into her own book, and she 
 laughed until the tears came ; she could not help it. 
 Laurie tried hard not to laugh, but it was too much. 
 As for the young man the way in which he went 
 out of that car, and made his way to the "smoker", 
 was a caution. Dell put the " finishing touch " to it 
 all, by saying when the young man had disappeared 
 -"Time for refreshments," and gravely fished out 
 from some hidden region a bag of brambles. 
 
 When Meg and Laurie had gotten over their laugh- 
 ing, they commended Dell most highly on her "man- 
 ner of treatment". "It is just what he deserved," 
 said Meg indignantly, but always careful to speak in 
 a low tone. " I never heard of such impudence. 
 Perhaps he will riot be quite so eager to indulge in 
 such unpardonable conduct at another time. I only 
 
A VISIT. 285 
 
 wish all such ' upstarts ' would meet with like treat- 
 ment in like instances." 
 
 At New Bedford they took the steamer for Cottage 
 City. The rain still came down in torrents, but they 
 pinned their dresses up underneath their gossamers, 
 took their reticules under their arms, raised their 
 umbrellas, and hurried as fast as they could in the lit- 
 tle way they had to go. 
 
 I shalLnot say anything of the "sail down", for 
 after two or three ineffectual attempts to sit on deck 
 under the awning, and view the scenery, our girls 
 made their way to the saloon, settled themselves in 
 easy-chairs, and gave themselves up to the only 
 pleasure that presented itself reading while the 
 rain came pouring down, wrapping earth and sky in a 
 thick, gray cloud. 
 
 At half-past two they reached Cottage City, the 
 boat being over an hour late. The rain had ceased to 
 a considerable extent, but it was foggy, cold and most 
 disagreeably damp. 
 
 " Not much like the second of August," said Meg, 
 as they made their way through the pushing, strug- 
 gling crowd to a "son of the South," who was pro- 
 claiming in stentorian tones " that he carried luggage 
 to all parts of the city." 
 
 "He may as well carry ours then," said Dell. 
 
286 MEGDA. 
 
 The girls decided to walk to the cottage at which 
 they were to stop. A fifteen-minutes' walk brought 
 them to it. It was a pretty white cottage situated on 
 the corner of Trinity Park and Montgomery Square. 
 Right opposite the front entrance was the Methodist 
 Tabernacle. Around the corner and about two min- 
 utes' walk, was the Casino, in which were the Post- 
 Office and free library. But what the girls rejoiced 
 in most, was what they called "the little green pump". 
 Never had water tasted so deliciously pure and cool. 
 They were soon on the most intimate terms with "the 
 little green pump". Three times every day, and often 
 four and five, the three girls might be seen walking, 
 arm in arm, in the direction of their invaluable 
 friend. 
 
 The cottage was owned and let by a superannuated 
 preacher and his wife Rev. and Mrs. - , of Cam- 
 bridge and the people stopping there were all pleas- 
 ant, educated and refined ; though our girls saw little 
 of them, as they spent the evening in their own 
 rooms. On the front and back of the house were 
 wide piazzas, and it was on them that the girls passed 
 some of their pleasantest hours. The street cars 
 passed the front of the house, and there was a great 
 deal of foot-passing. The electric lights on the Tab- 
 ernacle grounds shone through the branches of the 
 
A VISIT. 287 
 
 large trees, and lighted the front piazza, and the girls' 
 room, which opened out on a balcony facing the park 
 in which the Tabernacle was situated, with its beauti- 
 ful, soft, moon-like radiance. Withal, it was a most 
 beautiful place, and our girls daily and hourly con- 
 gratulated themselves on their good fortune in pro- 
 curing such a desirable situation. Their meals they 
 procured at the "B - House," which was situated 
 immediately back of the cottage. 
 
 But to go back to the "night of arrival". The 
 girls were glad enough when they found themselves 
 in their pleasant, comfortable room. I am not going 
 to enter into details in the least, so I shall say noth- 
 ing of how the room was furnished, except that there 
 were two beds in it, and the question as to who 
 should occupy one bed alone, was at once brought up, 
 discussed and decided upon in this wise : they would 
 " take turns ". So far so good. 
 
 The time between three o'clock and five was given 
 to the transferring of dresses, etc., from their trunks 
 to the two clothes-presses in which the room rejoiced, 
 putting the bottles of camphor, glycerine, bay-rum, 
 eau de cologne, vaseline, etc., etc., on the wash-stand 
 and toilet-table. Then Meg threw herself down on 
 the bed with a sigh of relief. 
 
 "I'll sleep in this bed to-night, girls," she said. 
 
288 MEGDA. 
 
 "So please do not make any objections to my tossing 
 about on it as much as I please." 
 
 "We have no objections," replied Dell, coolly pos- 
 sessing herself of the other. "Come up here, Lau- 
 rie, and get rested." 
 
 So Laurie accordingly "came up". 
 
 " Let us map out a plan of action for our week of 
 pleasure," suggested Meg, "beginning with to-mor-. 
 row morning." 
 
 " Map out all the plans of action you please," said 
 Dell, closing her eyes ; " I'm going to sleep." 
 
 " You lazy thing ! " exclaimed Meg, throwing a pil- 
 low at her, and hitting the foot-board. "If we don't 
 plan to suit you, don't complain." 
 
 "No," murmured Dell, already half asleep; "any- 
 thing will be agreeable to me." 
 
 To give the "plan of action" as it was really car- 
 ried out : Every morning they arose at sunrise and 
 took a long, pleasant walk along the shore. When 
 they came back Meg and Dell went immediately to 
 breakfast ; Laurie went to morning prayers at the 
 church near by. Meg and Dell loitered over their 
 breakfast that Laurie might get back from prayers 
 before they finished. Two or three times during the 
 week they accompanied Laurie. After breakfast they 
 made their beds, set their room in order, took their 
 
A VISIT. 289 
 
 books or crocheting and sat out on the front piazza.. 
 Sometimes they went to the beach and watched the 
 bathers, but never indulged in that pastime them- 
 selves. At one they went to dinner, came home and 
 had their siesta, as Meg called it. Between three and 
 four o'clock they took a promenade, sometimes in 
 one place, and sometimes in another. Toward sunset 
 they strolled along the beach again. Between six 
 and seven o'clock they went to supper, and after that, 
 every night, to the band concert. At ten they went 
 to bed, and slept soundly all night. 
 
 Meg was changed. Dell did not notice it, but 
 Laurie's loving, watchful eyes saw it, and she grieved 
 in secret over it. Meg was restless and had spas- 
 modic fits of gaiety followed by one of deep depres- 
 sion. At times she would keep Dell and Laurie in a 
 perfect gale of laughter half an hour at a time ; then, 
 when she thought herself unobserved, she would sit 
 quietly by herself, looking before her with sad, wist- 
 ful, dreamy eyes, until, suddenly thinking her silence 
 might be noticed, she would give expression to some 
 ludicrous thought, and jump up and catch one of them 
 around the waist, and waltz her madly around the 
 room. 
 
 Thursday morning as they were sitting out on the 
 front piazza, reading, a party of bicycle-riders passed 
 
290 MEGDA. 
 
 the cottage. The girls looked up from their books, 
 and watched them absently. There were about a 
 dozen of them, and they presented quite a gay appear- 
 ance in their gray bicycle suits and bright-red sashes. 
 
 One of the riders said something to the one beside 
 him in a low tone. The one addressed turned his 
 eyes toward the cottage where our girls were. The 
 look of careless indifference gave place to one of 
 pleased surprise, and murmuring a word or two of 
 apology to his astonished companion, he wheeled his 
 bicycle sharply around, and rode up to the gate. 
 
 Exclamations of a very complimentary nature 
 escaped our three girls, as they recognized him, and 
 hastened down the walk to meet him. "Why, Mr. 
 Blanding, is it possible!" "Why, Mr. Blanding, how 
 came you here?" "Why, Mr. Blanding, how glad we 
 are to see you!" And Mr. Blanding laughed, as he 
 raised his cap and shook hands with the girls, as if he 
 were very glad to be there. 
 
 " I came down with the Club of which I am a mem- 
 ber," he explained. "Did not get here until last 
 night. We rode our machines as far as New Bedford, 
 and then took the boat. Where were you last 
 evening?" 
 
 "We were at the concert," answered Dell; while 
 Meg offered him a chair on the piazza. 
 
A VISIT. 291 
 
 "Were you?" he said, as he took his seat. "I- did 
 not see you. I was riding around there, too." 
 
 "We did not walk about any," said Meg. 
 
 Then they asked about the folks at home, and he 
 answered, "They are all well." 
 
 "I tried to get Will and Ed to run down with me," 
 he added, looking slyly at Meg and Dell; "but they 
 said they couldn't spare the time." 
 
 "Where are you stopping?" asked Laurie. 
 
 "At the 'Sea View'," he answered. 
 
 The girls opened their eyes at this. 
 
 "We are not going to stay later than Saturday," 
 Ray hastened to explain with a laugh, "so we can 
 afford to pay high board for that short time. And 
 that reminds me, there is to be a Hop' at the 
 'Sea View.' this evening. Would you like to attend? 
 I should be very happy to have the honor of your 
 company." 
 
 He looked at all three as he spoke. Meg's eyes 
 shone with pleasure, Dell smiled her assent, and only 
 Laurie looked disturbed. 
 
 "I shall be most happy," said Meg. "You are 
 very kind." 
 
 "I should like to attend very much, thank you," 
 said Dell. 
 
 Ray looked inquiringly at Laurie. Her face was 
 
292 MEGDA. 
 
 suffused with blushes, but her blue eyes looked stead- 
 ily back at him. 
 
 " Thank you very much, Mr. Blanding," she said 
 in a low, trembling voice ; " but I do not think I care 
 to go." 
 
 Ray understood and respected her reason. He 
 only bowed, and said kindly, "I should be very 
 happy to have you go, Miss Ray, but you know best." 
 
 Laurie's grateful look thanked him. As for Meg, 
 she felt irritably, but 'unreasonably, angry toward 
 Laurie for refusing to go with them. Does anyone 
 know why ? 
 
 Dell took Laurie's reason calmly, as a " matter of 
 course". She was not at all surprised, much less 
 angry. Laurie was doing what she thought was 
 right ; Dell did not consider it any of her business to 
 question that right. Besides, she fully understood 
 Laurie, as well as the rest did, and she respected her 
 for not doing what she thought she ought not. But 
 then, Dell's conscience was not troubling her, and 
 Meg's was ; had been for the past four weeks. She 
 determined to drown it to-night if it were a possible 
 thing. 
 
 Poor Meg ! 
 
 In the afternoon, great clouds came rolling up from 
 the West, covering the bright-blue of the sky, and 
 
A VISIT. 293 
 
 hiding the sun from sight. At six o'clock it com- 
 menced to rain not hard, but in a most provoking, 
 misty, drizzling way. The girls went to supper and 
 came back again in their gossamers with the hoods 
 pulled up over their heads. At quarter past seven 
 Meg and Dell commenced to dress, Laurie serving as 
 waiting-maid. Meg spoke sharply to her now and 
 then she had been very cross with her all the after- 
 noon but Laurie bore it meekly and patiently. 
 She was going to have her revenge on her after they 
 had gone and she was there alone. She was going to 
 spend the evening in prayer for Meg; she could 
 afford to bear with her patiently now. 
 
 "Of course we shall go in a carriage," said Meg, 
 standing in the door of the clothes-press, and looking 
 at her dresses hanging up inside ; " so I shall dress as 
 I should have done if it had been pleasant." 
 
 "And that is?" said Dell, interrogatively, looking 
 up through the meshes of her long, golden hair which 
 she was brushing. 
 
 "In my white mull." 
 
 "Very well; so shall I." 
 
 At eight o'clock Ray came for them. The girls 
 wrapped their peasant-capes about them, put their lace 
 scarfs over their hair; and glided down the stairs. 
 Laurie held the lamp over the balcony railing to light 
 
294 MEGDA. 
 
 the way from the door to the carriage. Ray helped 
 them in and away they went. 
 
 Meg was feeling feverishly unhappy. She was 
 doing what she knew to be a weak thing. Where was 
 all her boasted "strength of character"? Laurie had 
 proved herself worthy, and she Meg was fast 
 proving herself most unworthy. So she told herself, 
 bitterly, as she leaned back in the carriage. 
 
 "But it is easy for Laurie to be good," she said 
 to herself, in self-defense. "She has everything to 
 encourage her. A lovely home, all the money she 
 wants, a father to take care of her; and then Hal" 
 Here Meg found her thoughts intolerable. She sat 
 up straight in her seat and commenced to talk viva- 
 ciously with Ray. 
 
 When Meg went into the large, brilliantly-lighted 
 ball-room, and took her seat, she thought : " If I have 
 been weak enough to come, I need not dance. I will 
 surely be strong enough to resist that temptation." 
 
 So she smilingly declined Ray's request that she 
 should dance the Lanciers with him, on the plea that 
 she wanted to watch the others a while. So Dell 
 went off with him instead, and Meg sat and watched 
 the gay crowd. But when the first, clear, beautiful 
 strains of music burst upon ' the air, Meg felt her- 
 self tremble all over. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes 
 
A VISIT. 295 
 
 shone, her heart beat quickly Before the first figure 
 was finished, she was almost wild to get up and take 
 part in the intricate mazes of the dance. She kept 
 time with the music softly with her hands and feet, 
 and when the dance was over, and Ray led Dell to 
 a seat beside her, Meg greeted them with, "What 
 perfect music ! " 
 
 "Isn't it?" replied Ray, unfurling Dell's fan and 
 fanning himself and Dell with it. "The next number 
 is a waltz. Surely you will not be content to watch 
 that?" he asked lightly. 
 
 Meg smiled she wasn't quite sure. 
 
 The music commenced soft, dreamy, intoxicating 
 "Flowers of St. Petersburg." When had 'Meg 
 ever been proof against her favorite waltz ? The 
 music entered her whole being, and took entire pos- 
 session. She looked up into Ray's face bending over 
 her, with shining eyes. He smiled and held out his 
 hand. The next moment, she had risen to her feet, 
 his arm clasped her lightly, but firmly, and together 
 they went swaying down the long, smooth floor. 
 
 "You are a perfect waltzer," whispered Ray, but 
 Meg scarcely heard him. 
 
 After that until twelve o'clock, Meg did not miss 
 one number. Ray brought up several of his "bicycle 
 acquaintances" all pleasant, refined, intelligent, but 
 
296 MEGDA. 
 
 worldly young men and introduced them. Meg did 
 not have time to think, did not want to think. The 
 gentlemen coaxed and pleaded that they would stay 
 "just one hour longer" "just one dance more," 
 but the girls were inexorable. At twelve o'clock they 
 bade them good-night, and were driven back to their 
 cottage. 
 
 When Meg and Dell entered their room softly, 
 for fear of waking Laurie they found the lamp 
 burning dimly on the table, and beside it was Laurie's 
 little Bible with her handkerchief put between the 
 leaves. Meg stood looking at it for a moment, then 
 she opened it slowly to the place where Laurie's 
 handkerchief held it, and her eyes fell upon these 
 words: "The Lord loveth whom He chasteneth." 
 
 Meg closed the book and stepped to the bed where 
 Laurie lay, fast asleep. How pure and sweet and 
 untroubled looked the pretty, flower-like face ! A 
 smile parted the pretty lips ; the whole expression 
 was one of simple trust and perfect peace. Meg 
 turned away with an aching heart. Dell was shak- 
 ing out the folds of her white dress, with a rueful 
 face. 
 
 "We shan't be able to wear these dresses here 
 again, Meg," she said, going into the closet to hang 
 hers up. "They are crushed beyond redemption." 
 
A VISIT. 297 
 
 The words were thoughtless, and were thought- 
 lessly spoken, but they went through Meg's heart like 
 a dart. Oh, to be alone once more ; to fall upon her 
 knees arid ask God to forgive her for all her bitter 
 feelings for the past weeks ; her weak, sinful yielding 
 to temptation ; her bitter complaining against her 
 Heavenly Father's will, before she was lost "beyond 
 redemption ". Her sin looked terrible to her that 
 night. She had dared to question God's goodness ; 
 she had dared to rebel against His righteous will. 
 
 "Father, forgive me," was the prayer she said that 
 night, and said it many times over, before she fell 
 into a deep, untroubled sleep. She had put herself 
 altogether, in His strong, merciful hands; she had 
 prayed for strength to say from the heart, " Thy will 
 be done." She had simply "gone back" to Him 
 to the shelter of His dear, loving arms, and He was 
 holding her firm and sure. After that night, the 
 lamp of Faith burned more brightly before Meg in 
 her path through life, driving away the mists and 
 shadows of uncertainty and doubt, and making all 
 clear before her. 
 
 Saturday morning found "our girls" all ready to 
 go home. They had had a delightful time, but still 
 they were ready to go home. Ray and his friends 
 had made the remaining time pass very swiftly and 
 
298 MEGDA. 
 
 pleasantly. They went as far as New Bedford with 
 the girls, and then left them to make the rest of the 
 distance home on their wheels. 
 
 The day was beautiful, clear, cool and sunshiny. 
 The young people found comfortable seats on the 
 upper deck and enjoyed the sail home in a degree 
 that made up for the sail down. As the girls settled 
 themselves in their seats in the train after bidding the 
 gentlemen good-by, Meg looked at Laurie's pretty, 
 unconscious face bent over her book with a loving, 
 peaceful smile. 
 
 "Darling Laurie," she said to herself. "What 
 a lesson you have taught me ! You have taught 
 me the meaning of that prayer, 'Lead us not into 
 temptation." 
 
A WEDDING. 299 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A WEDDING. 
 
 IT is the evening of the fifth of October a most 
 beautiful, calm, moonlight evening. The Church 
 is brilliantly illuminated. Carriage after carriage has 
 rolled up before the front entrance, deposited its 
 daintily-dressed burdens, and rolled away again. The 
 hands of the clock point to the hour of eight. Inside 
 the closely-packed church a deep stillness has settled. 
 A look of expectancy is expressed on every face. 
 Fans of all colors flutter lazily to and fro. In two of 
 the front seats sit "our girls". Every member of 
 the " senior class" but one is there, and their dress 
 is the graduating dress with its bunch of hyacinths. 
 It was the wish of the bride that the "class" should 
 attend the wedding in a body, and wearing the dress 
 and flowers that they wore on their, graduating day 
 four months before. 
 
 At last the low, sweet notes of the organ rise, fall 
 and tremble on the air; then a louder burst of joyous 
 
300 MEGDA. 
 
 music, as the organist breaks forth into "Beautiful 
 Bride's Wedding March/' then the Rev. Arthur Nor- 
 man Stanley, accompanied by, the Rev. Percy Leon 
 Nordre, of Brooklyn, comes from the room on the 
 left, and the handsome, faultlessly-dressed bridegroom 
 from the room on the right. There is a little flutter, 
 a little stir among the guests, then the doors arc 
 swung open, and down the broad aisle move the 
 bridal party. 
 
 Maude Leonard, in her beautiful dress of cream 
 satin, with the bridal veil falling in folds to her feet, 
 and the crown of orange blossoms on her dark hair, 
 makes as handsome a bride as any one might wish to 
 see. In her hand she carries a large bouquet of 
 orange blossoms and lilies of the valley. She is lean- 
 ing on the arm of her father, and behind her walks 
 her "maid of honor", Adele Belmont, sister of the 
 groom. She is dressed in a short costume of white 
 lace over primrose satin, and carries a loose bunch of 
 yellow primroses in her hand. A small cap of white 
 lace caught up at the side with a spray of the same 
 flower rests on her dark curls. On her feet are 
 dainty slippers of primrose satin. She makes a most 
 charming "maid of honor". 
 
 The bridal party moved slowly up the aisle ; the 
 groom left the chancel and came to meet his bride; 
 
A WEDDING. 301 
 
 and then, with the low, soft notes of the organ breath- 
 ing out sweet music, Maude Leonard and Augustus 
 Belmont were made man and wife. 
 
 At the beginning of the marriage service, the 
 "class" had risen to their feet, and all through the 
 ceremony, had stood with bowed heads. It was a 
 "whim" of Maude's that they should do so. They 
 had demurred against it at first among themselves, 
 until Meg had said : " Let us do as Maude wishes. 
 It is probably the last favor she will ever ask of any 
 of us, and she is to leave us in one sense of the 
 word forever. Let us do as she wishes." And so 
 they had consented, and they were glad now that they 
 had, for as they listened to the solemn words of prom- 
 ise, their young hearts were touched, and all felt noth- 
 ing but tender love for Maude, and regret that she 
 should so soon leave them. The first link was broken 
 in the golden chain. But Maude had no regretful 
 feelings ; and as she moved down the aisle leaning 
 proudly on her husband's arm, her face expressed noth- 
 ing but joy and happiness. 
 
 And so she passed from among them, to enter a 
 life of social pleasure and excitement, and from that 
 night until years after, she was literally lost to them. 
 
 The glorious October days passed swiftly along, and 
 glided serenely into those of dark, cloudy, foggy 
 
302 MEGDA. 
 
 November. To Meg, the time seemed to go by on 
 wings. She had put herself her life entirely into 
 the Father's care and keeping, willing to trust Him in 
 all things, feeling sure that "He doeth all things 
 well". And the peace and the rest that had been 
 promised her, were slowly but surely settling down 
 upon her. 
 
 She had one great longing and desire, and that was, 
 "to secure a position as teacher in either a public or 
 private school, that she might continue her study of 
 elocution." But this, too, she had left with Him, 
 knowing that He would make all things come to pass 
 in His own good time. Meg was fast learning the 
 grand lesson of Faith. 
 
 One cold, damp, misty night toward the end of 
 November, Meg was sitting in the little kitchen, her 
 feet in the oven, " David Copperfield " in her lap. 
 She was fast becoming acquainted with " David ", 
 and liked him immensely well. It was the night for 
 the "Young People's Christian Endeavor Meeting". 
 Meg had a bad cold, and did not feel like venturing 
 out. She played for them at the meetings now, but 
 knew if she were not there that Dell or Lill would 
 play. Just as she was smiling over that amusing por- 
 tion where David tries to impress upon the mind of 
 his "child-wife" the necessity of his having his meals 
 
A WEDDING. 303 
 
 more regularly, the door opened and Dell walked in. 
 She had her gossamer on, and her face gleamed white 
 under the dark hood. 
 
 " Why, Dell ! " exclaimed Meg, letting her book fall 
 into her lap, and taking her feet out of the oven. 
 "What good fairy sent you here to-night?" 
 
 " Rather a heartless fairy, I am afraid you will 
 think," answered Dell, sitting on the opposite side of 
 the stove, and putting her feet up to warm. "I 
 came to see if I could entice you out. I met Hal 
 down street, and he told me that you were not going 
 on account of having a bad cold, but I wanted you to 
 be there to-night, and I have waded my way up here. 
 It is bad walking." 
 
 Meg looked at Dell, surprised. " But why to-night, 
 in particular, Dell?" 
 
 "Because I am going to take the first step to-night, 
 Meg," answered Dell in a firm voice. "And I want 
 you to be there." 
 
 Meg rose from her seat immediately and went 
 around the stove to Dell. " And I will be there, Dell," 
 she said, in low, glad tones, and she bent and kissed 
 her. 
 
 That was enough. Both girls perfectly understood 
 each other. The only thing that was said between 
 them on the subject, was when Meg was putting her 
 
304 MEGDA. 
 
 jacket on; then Dell said not boastingly, but as 
 if to strengthen her own determination: " There is 
 one thing that I am sure of, Meg. I am never going 
 to put myself in the way of temptation, as a test to 
 my own strength and worthiness." And Meg replied, 
 "That is where you are wise, Dell, where I was very 
 foolish." 
 
 Ah, Meg was learning that with "her own strength 
 she could do nothing, but with Him all things were 
 possible." 
 
 Mrs. Randal and Elsie had already gone, so Meg 
 blew the light out, locked the door and put the key 
 in a corner of the back piazza. 
 
 That night more than one heart was made glad 
 with the knowledge that three more young lives were 
 placed in the Father's keeping. Meg was surprised 
 when Ed Holmes and Bert Marston confessed them- 
 selves ready and anxious to do work for the Master. 
 Mr. Stanley's prayer at the close of the meeting was 
 full of heart-felt thanks to the " Giver of all mercies ". 
 At its conclusion, he said, "All glory be to Thy 
 Holy Name, O Christ, whose love is infinite, and 
 whose power is unlimited." 
 
 It was a glad sight to see the young Christians tak- 
 ing their sisters and brothers by the hand, and wel- 
 coming them to the fold. The young pastor's face 
 
A WEDDING. 305 
 
 shone with a light of perfect peace and happiness, as 
 he watched them. 
 
 Two weeks later, Mr. Stanley called on Dell. The 
 object of his visit was to see when Dell felt as if 
 she would be ready to unite with the Church. Her 
 reply was well, it was Dell's answer, and that is 
 saying it all "I am ready to unite with the Church 
 at any time. I am as ready now as I should be if I 
 waited a year." 
 
 "Will Christmas Eve suit you?" asked Mr. Stan- 
 ley. " Our brothers think that would be a happy 
 time for it." 
 
 "It will suit me perfectly well," replied Dell. 
 
 Her manner pleased Mr. Stanley exceedingly. 
 "Such a character as hers is as admirable as it is 
 rare," he said to himself, as he left the house, and 
 made his way to Meg's home. 
 
 He had not talked with Meg once upon the sub- 
 ject of baptism. He had felt as if it would be bet- 
 ter for him not to. He had thought that when she 
 felt ready to unite with the Church, she would tell 
 him so. But it had been seven months now since she 
 had entered into the Christian life, and nothing had 
 been said on either side about her taking the second 
 step. Mr. Stanley had his doubts as to the advisable- 
 ness of speaking to her upon the subject now, but the 
 
306 MEGDA. 
 
 young pastor was a very conscientious person. He 
 said to himself, what so many earnest, conscientious 
 pastors say to themselves: "This may be the 'time 
 of all times ' for me to speak to her. She may be 
 waiting and longing for it, and if, in the years to 
 come, I were to find it out perhaps when it is too 
 late I should never forgive myself for the neglected 
 duty. I will go to her, and if my errand is fruitless, 
 I have only to leave her in the hands of a just and 
 generous God. He will lead her according to His 
 own judgment." 
 
 Meg was alone when Mr. Stanley rang the bell. 
 She opened the door for him, looked a little surprised 
 and did he fancy it? it seemed that her fair face 
 grew a little pale as she saw who her visitor was, and 
 invited him to walk in. He talked on commonplace 
 things at first, and he noticed for the first time, what 
 a new expression of sweet, grave dignity was settling 
 down on the girlish face. There was a stately, 
 womanly air about her, too, as she moved about the 
 room, which was very attractive. 
 
 At last Mr. Stanley introduced the object of his 
 call. He told her that Dell, Ed and Bert were to 
 take the step ; they had expressed a desire to be 
 taken into the church at least, Ed and Bert had, 
 and Dell was glad to do it at the same time. "Do 
 
A WEDDING. 307 
 
 you not feel ready to come with them, Miss Meg?" 
 he asked, resting his kind, dark-blue eyes earnestly 
 upon her. 
 
 Meg listened to him silently, a pink flush tinging 
 her pale cheeks'as she did so, and when he asked her 
 if she did not feel ready, she answered him by asking 
 him a question. 
 
 " They are to be baptized in the church, are they 
 not?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered, looking at her in a little 
 surprise. 
 
 She shook her head. "I would rather not," she 
 said. "When I am baptized, I want to be baptized 
 in the river. That seems to me to be the only right 
 way." 
 
 Mr. Stanley looked at her silently for a moment. 
 What a strange girl she was ! And yet, her idea 
 pleased him, he hardly knew why. 
 
 " Do you think it makes any difference where you 
 are baptized whether it is in open air or under cover 
 so long as you obey the command, and conform to 
 the rules and ordinances of the church ? " he asked. 
 
 "It seems to me the only right way," she repeated. 
 "And it is the way that our Saviour took." 
 
 He did not smile ; he understood her and respected 
 her sense of right. He saw she was not talking 
 
308 MEGDA. 
 
 merely for the sake of argument, but because she felt 
 what she said. He would not urge her he would 
 not try to change her mind indeed, he knew how 
 fruitless such an attempt would be he only said 
 as if defending the mode of baptism in his church : 
 "But it would hardly be prudent to be baptized in 
 the river at this season of the year. Do you not 
 think so?" 
 
 Still she shook her head with a smile. "Then I 
 will wait until it is pleasant. Baptism any other way 
 seems to me not so satisfactory. Not that I think 
 it is not as true as one in the river would be," she 
 added quickly, seeing the look of grieved surprise on 
 his face, "only, I could never be satisfied with it. It 
 is the way in which I feel, that is all. You do not 
 blame me?" 
 
 He smiled down into the anxious, uplifted face. 
 "Blame you? far from it. There is nothing to blame 
 you for, but much for which to respect you. Yet I 
 shall look forward to the time when we shall have you 
 safe with us. It will be some day, will it not ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," she answered eagerly, "I have fully 
 .decided that question in my own heart. It will not 
 be long." 
 
 "God grant that it may not be," he answered 
 fervently. 
 
A WEDDING. 309 
 
 Before Meg realized what she was doing, she was 
 telling Mr. Stanley about her unhappy " test". She 
 did not know what induced her to speak of it, but 
 his manner was so kind and friendly almost broth- 
 erly that she felt an irresistible desire to tell him, 
 and hear what he thought of it. She was almost sure 
 he would despise her for her egotism (for that is 
 what it looked to her now) but instead, he only 
 laughed yes, he actually laughed. 
 
 He said : " You relied on your own strength. You 
 see the folly of it now ? " 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes," she answered earnestly. 
 
 "Then it was perhaps the best thing for you to do, 
 since the teaching has not been vain," he said, much 
 to her surprise and delight. 
 
 "You really think so?" 
 
 " Yes, I really think so. If it had not been for 
 the best and for your good, it would not have been at 
 all. You have tested your own strength, and it has 
 failed you. You will be glad now to lean on Him 
 whose strength is all-sufficient." 
 
 How the words cheered Meg ; she had been regret- 
 ting her "folly" ever since her eyes had been opened 
 to the light, but now she felt that it had been all for 
 the best. 
 
 Mr. Stanley stayed an hour longer, and when he 
 
310 MEGDA. 
 
 went away, he said to himself, the same as Ethel 
 had said weeks before, "What a Christian she will 
 make ! " 
 
 On Christmas evening at six o'clock, was a memo- 
 rable time. At eight o'clock Judge Lawton's hand- 
 some parlors were the scene of friendly intercourse 
 and happy enjoyment. Ethel was holding an infor- 
 mal reception. She stood in the door, dressed in a 
 robe of admiral blue plush, made very plainly, and 
 with a great bunch of drooping white roses against 
 her left side. 
 
 "Our girls" were there, and "the young men 
 belonging to us", May said laughingly to Dell. Mr. 
 Stanley, of course, was there. There was music 
 vocal and instrumental promenading through the 
 beautiful rooms ; laughter, talk and refreshments. 
 All the evening Meg could not keep her eyes off 
 Ethel. She had never seen such an expression on 
 any face in her life. So tender, so happy, so full of 
 glad delight, yet withal so peaceful and trusting. In 
 all the years that followed Meg only remembered 
 Ethel's face as she saw it that night. When Mr. 
 Stanley spoke to Ethel, or stood near where he could 
 watch her, Meg turned her eyes away ; she could not 
 trust herself to watch the proud, tender light in the 
 dark-blue eyes. 
 
A WEDDING. 311 
 
 In the course of the evening, Ruth said to Meg, 
 "'Oh, Meg, I have something to tell you." 
 
 " Have you ? What is it ? " 
 
 "Come into the conservatory, where.no one can 
 hear us." 
 
 The two girls went into the green, softly-lighted 
 room, fragrant with the breath of a thousand blos- 
 soms, where the fountains were tinkling, and the birds 
 in their gilded cages were drowsily twittering. The 
 girls stood by a deep marble basin where some gold- 
 fish were swimming. Judge Lawton's conservatory 
 was his great pride and delight. 
 
 " It is good news for you, Meg dear," said Ruth, 
 passing her arm around her. " At least, I think I 
 may safely say it will be good news to you. Madam 
 came to me this afternoon at my home, and told me 
 that she had decided to employ some one as assistant 
 to Prof. Weir for next term, and she wanted to know 
 if you were engaged in any kind of employment ; that 
 is all she said, but Meg, I am positive she asked me 
 that in the hope I would tell you, and you would 
 apply for the position." 
 
 Ruth stopped and looked at Meg with shining eyes. 
 Meg's fair face flushed and she drew herself up 
 proudly. 
 
 "Don't, Meg dear," said Ruth softly. 
 
312 MEGDA. 
 
 Meg laughed, a little ashamed. "What is your 
 opinion, Ruthie ? " she asked. 
 
 "That madam is trying in her own way, but still 
 she is trying to make amends to both of us. We 
 ought not to doubt her sincerity, Meg, even if we do 
 not exactly approve of her manner of showing it." 
 
 "She should have 1 come to us, Ruth, in both cases," 
 said Meg. 
 
 But for all her pride and wounded feelings, Meg 
 felt gratefully happy. And she was trying hard not 
 to judge others. 
 
 " Your piece of news is good, Ruthie. I will apply 
 for the position, and if I am so fortunate as to get it, 
 I shall be one of the happiest and most thankful of 
 girls." 
 
 And she did apply for it that very night, before she 
 retired to rest. She had little fear that she would not 
 get it, for she had been Prof. Weir's pride, as well as 
 the pride of madam and the whole school, in regard 
 to her rare elocutionary powers. He had told her 
 many times, that she could teach elocution as well as 
 he, after a little experience ; and this was just the 
 chance she wanted above all others. She could con- 
 tinue her own lessons now, besides adding her mite 
 to the "family fund". The latter thought was the 
 best of all. She wanted to be able to support her- 
 
A WEDDING. 313 
 
 self, and at the same time help her mother, and then 
 she would be quite content. "And I shall consider 
 myself the most ungrateful of all ungrateful mortals, 
 if I complain of my lot then, or refuse to be happy 
 and make others happy around me," she said to her- 
 self severely, as she at last laid her head down on her 
 pillow and tried to sleep. But sleep did not come for 
 a long while ; not until the gray dawn came up, damp 
 and chill. 
 
 For one long week Meg was kept in suspense; 
 necessarily so, as she knew, for madam had gone to 
 the home of her city relatives to spend the Christmas 
 holidays. But almost as soon as she returned and 
 received Meg's letter, she came herself, to answer it 
 in person. She was very kind indeed, and Meg felt 
 very grateful to her. 
 
 "You know," said madam, as she rose to leave, and 
 putting both hands on Meg's shoulders, "that you 
 were always one of my favorites, and it will be a 
 great pleasure for me to know- that I have you still 
 with me," and she kissed Meg on both cheeks in true 
 French fashion. 
 
 That was a great condescension on madam's part, 
 and Meg appreciated it. 
 
 "You are very kind to me, madam," she replied 
 earnestly. "I shall do my best to be worthy." 
 
314 MEGDA. 
 
 "I am sure that you will. And you know, Meg, 
 that this may be but an opening to you. Who knows 
 but in a few years at the most, you will be 'head 
 teacher of elocution ' in some of our fine city schools. 
 I assure you Professor Weir is loud in his praises 
 of you. He has always admired you exceedingly." 
 
 Madam looked into the clear, dark eyes as she 
 spoke, but Meg only smiled and answered gravely, 
 "Professor Weir is also very kind." 
 
 "He is a perfect gentleman," was madam's some- 
 what unexpected reply. 
 
 Then she went away, and Meg hastened to carry 
 the "good news" to her dear ones. Of course they 
 rejoiced with her, but Hal said rather jealously, "I 
 wish it were possible for me to make any kind of 
 work unnecessary for you, Girlie." 
 
 And Meg answered quickly : " I am glad it isn't, 
 brother. It will not be work but pleasure for me, and 
 I could never be satisfied with leading an idle life." 
 
 So Meg commenced her duties where the happiest 
 hours of her life had been spent. It seemed very 
 strange to think that she and Ruth, of all the girls, 
 were back among the old scenes ; but now they were 
 there as dignified teachers, not merry, laughing pupils. 
 It was quite a while before Meg could bear to go into 
 the senior's parlor, but after she had become some- 
 
A WEDDING. 315 
 
 what used to the idea of being there in the capacity 
 of teacher, she found herself often going there with 
 Ruth when "off duty", for an hour of quiet talking, 
 studying, reading or thinking. 
 
 At these times it seemed to Meg, as she sat in 
 "Ethel's chair" beside the fire-place, that she had 
 suddenly grown very old and grave and dignified ; she 
 could almost imagine that the ghosts of departed 
 class-mates entered the room at the quiet twilight 
 hour, hovered around her for a few moments, and 
 then disappeared. But such things could only have 
 happened when she was in a half-somnambulistic 
 state, for she would come to herself with a little start, 
 and seeing Ruth in her chair on the opposite side of 
 the fire-place with her head on her hand, and her 
 great, dreamy eyes gazing steadily ahead of her as if 
 trying to pierce the darkness of the dim, unknown 
 future, Meg would laugh and say trying to speak 
 lightly "Come, Ruthie, let us leave the scene of our 
 labors, and make our way homeward poor, forlorn 
 sisters-in-misery that we are ! ft 
 
 And Ruth would answer, passing her arm around 
 Meg's waist, "Let us rather say, 'blest sisters in hap- 
 piness that we are'." 
 
316 MEGDA. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 JOY AND SORROW. 
 
 JANUARY and February passed quietly by. Meg 
 was settling down to her "Fate in Life", as she 
 humorously called it, with the meekest of resigna- 
 tions. Once when Hal rallied her on her " old-maid " 
 existence, she drew the corners of her red mouth 
 down, and said very pathetically, "I'm a lone born 
 creetur', Dan'l, and everything goes contrary with 
 me." After that Hal invariably called her "Missis 
 Gummidge". 
 
 But Meg was growing to be quietly, contentedly 
 happy; thankful for the goodness and mercy of her 
 Heavenly Father. 
 
 One wild, rainy, boisterous March afternoon, Meg 
 started to go home rather earlier than usual. To her 
 surprise Prof. Weir expressed a desire to accompany 
 her, giving as his reason, "that he was afraid the 
 wind would prove too much for her." Meg, at first, 
 thought she would refuse his company, but he seemed 
 
JO T AND , SORR W. 317 
 
 so anxious, that she accepted it, rather glad than 
 otherwise to have it. 
 
 Prof. Weir was a man of some thirty-five years of 
 age, tall, slight and fair, with kind, gray eyes, and a 
 long, drooping mustache. He was very quiet in com- 
 pany, 'seldom giving his opinion on any subject unless 
 it was called for, and then, as Hal expressed it, 
 ''going ahead of everything". He had been very 
 kind indeed to Meg, making her duties as easy as 
 possible for her, and Meg liked him very much, and 
 respected him highly. 
 
 To-night but little was said by either, during the 
 first part of the walk ; all their thoughts and energies 
 were given to the boisterous wind. Meg could not 
 help thinking of that other windy, rainy night, when 
 Mr. Stanley had walked from the corner with her. 
 She was smiling over it rather sadly, when she sud- 
 denly became aware that her companion was talking 
 to her in a low, earnest voice. When she had col- 
 lected her thoughts sufficiently to hear what he was 
 saying, she found, to her great astonishment and 
 pain, that he was asking her to be his wife. 
 
 " I love you, Miss Randal, with all my heart ami 
 soul. I am thirty-five years old, and you are the 
 first woman I have ever said that to. I will be a 
 good husband to you; you shall have everything 
 
318 MEGDA. 
 
 it is in my power to give you.. Will you be my 
 wife ? " 
 
 Meg's face had flushed painfully while she listened. 
 She would have given a great deal not to have had 
 this happen ; for, like every good, pure-minded girl, 
 Meg felt far above tampering with the affections of 
 any man trying to win his love, only that she might 
 throw it away. Marriage seemed to her almost as 
 solemn a thing as death. The idea of marrying where 
 she did not love with her whole heart, never entered 
 her head ; she gave no thought to the worldly advan- 
 tages such an alliance as this would bring her ; she 
 only knew that she did not love him, and she would 
 not wrong him or herself by accepting his proposal. 
 
 Meg told him this as kindly and gently as she 
 could, and he took his disappointment like the gentle- 
 man that he was, but Meg knew, by the expression 
 of his face, how great the disappointment was. 
 
 If Meg had any doubts as to the sincerity of his 
 affection for her, those doubts were rapidly dispelled 
 during the days that followed. Prof. Weir never 
 changed in his kind, thoughtful, gentlemanly behavior 
 toward her. He made her feel perfectly at her ease, 
 and above all, he gave her to understand that he 
 realized fully how hopeless his love was; he never^ 
 troubled her with a repetition of it, and Meg apprecia- 
 
JO Y AND SORROW. 319 
 
 ted his kind courtesy, and respected him with her 
 
 whole heart. 
 
 * * * # * # 
 
 "The ordinance of baptism will be administered 
 on the morning of Sunday next Easter at nine 
 o'clock." 
 
 Such was the announcement made from the pulpit, 
 by the Rev. A. N. Stanley ; and as Meg heard it, a 
 thrill of happiness passed over her, and from her 
 heart arose the glad cry, "Praise the Lord, oh, my 
 soul, and all that is within me, praise and bless His 
 holy name." 
 
 Thursday evening found the vestry of the church 
 nearly filled. There were fifty-two testimonies given. 
 By every one the Spirit of the Lord was felt. It was 
 a joyful meeting ; there was such a blessed feeling of 
 relationship, as if each one realized that they were all 
 brothers and sisters in Christ children of the same 
 loving, all-merciful Father. 
 
 When at the last, Meg rose to give her "experi- 
 ence ", it was very quiet. At first the beautiful voice 
 trembled a little, then, as she forgot all else but her 
 one great happiness, it grew strong and firm. She 
 said : 
 
 "I think my experience can be given in a very few 
 words. Last April I became convinced that the life 
 
320 MEGDA. 
 
 I was leading was not the right one. I was happy 
 at least, I thought I was but I was not satisfied. 
 There was a longing for something that I did not 
 have ; a feeling of unrest that I could not explain. I 
 listened to a sermon preached in this place on Easter 
 Sunday morning, and that sermon was just what I 
 needed. It explained the feeling of longing and 
 unrest. I knew then that it was the Saviour I 
 wanted. He had said, 'Come unto me, and I will 
 give you rest.' ' Though your sins be as scarlet, I 
 will make them like wool.' I went to Him, and He 
 did give me rest. I asked Him to forgive me my 
 sins, and He has forgiven them. The love I have for 
 Him in my heart for His great mercy, is unspeakable. 
 If I were to devote all the years of my life to His ser- 
 vice, I could not begin to pay Him the debt I owe. 
 It is impossible for me to express the great happiness 
 I feel to know that all my sins have been forgiven, 
 washed away by the blood of the Lamb. I have never 
 felt ready to unite with any church until now. I 
 wanted to be sure of myself, I am sure of myself now. 
 I want to be baptized. I feel sure that it is not only 
 my duty to do so, but that I shall not be perfectly 
 happy until I am. Then I shall feel as if I am, in 
 reality, one of His children." 
 
 Easter Sunday was one of the most beautiful days 
 
JOY AND SORROW. 321 
 
 that ever dawned. The morning was perfect. It 
 seemed as if it could not have been pleasanter. The 
 sky was of the lovliest,- most delicate shade of blue ; 
 not a cloud was to be seen. The sun shone brightly, 
 the air was clear and warm. As Meg was driven 
 through the quiet streets that led to the river, not a 
 sound disturbed the Sabbath stillness, but the singing 
 of the birds in the trees, until the carriage entered the 
 great gate that opened into the beautiful -grove; then 
 the low hum of voices was heard from the crowd of 
 people congregated under the trees, and on the banks 
 of the river. 
 
 The place of baptism was the most beautiful spot 
 in that section of the country. The river lay between 
 two groves. On one side nothing was to be seen but 
 green banks and giant trees ; on the other, the land 
 rose higher, and among the trees, down near the 
 water's edge, were several huge rocks. At one end 
 the river wound itself around shelving banks, and 
 between small, bush-covered islands, as far as the eye 
 could reach ; at the other it disappeared under an old, 
 gray, moss-grown arch of stone, which helped to form 
 what was called the " stone-bridge ". People stood on 
 both banks of the river, and on the bridge. Some 
 stood in groups, others stood by themselves, or leaned 
 carelessly against the trunk of a tree, while others sat 
 
322 MEGDA. 
 
 on the rocks. There was not one thing to mar the 
 beauty of the scene, and all observed perfect order. 
 
 The choir, consisting of "our girls", with Will, Ed, 
 Bert and Melvin, were already in their places when 
 the carriage containing Meg, Mrs. Randal, Hal and 
 Mr. Stanley, entered the grove. They took their 
 places at the water's edge, and then a solemn stillness 
 settled over everything. Meg was not dressed in 
 white; she wore one of the baptismal robes. The 
 deep black made her face look like marble. People 
 looked at her anxiously, and asked each other if she 
 were going to faint. 
 
 Meg could hardly realize that "our young sister", 
 who was the burden of Mr. Stanley's prayer as 
 he stood at the water's edge, was really herself; it 
 seemed too good to be true. The first hymn that 
 Meg had chosen was, "Just as I am, without one 
 plea." Oh, how they sung it! At first Meg stood 
 with her eyes cast down, but before the second line 
 was finished, she lifted her face to the blue sky, and 
 sang with them out of the very fullness of her heart. 
 At the words, "O, Lamb of God, I come," she threw 
 aside the long cloak that covered her robe, and 
 stepped down to where Mr. Stanley was waiting for 
 her, hardly feeling the strong clasp of Hal's hand on 
 hers as he led her down. 
 
JOY AND SORROW. 323 
 
 It was the supreme hour of Meg's life. Never 
 could she forget the feeling of joy and happiness, rest 
 and peace, that she realized as she was led out, firmly 
 and tenderly, to a spot underneath an overhanging 
 branch of a huge oak. 
 
 " Just as I am, and waiting not, 
 To rid myself of one dark blot." 
 
 For months and years afterward, whenever Meg 
 heard that hymn, she seemed to feel again the baptis- 
 mal waters close over her; the deep, blessed feeling 
 of rest and peace, joy and happiness. She said 
 once, "If I were ever tempted to go astray, and I 
 should hear that hymn either played or sung it 
 would save me." 
 
 Not for all the wealth of the world, would she have 
 parted with the memory of that hour. It was, verily, 
 "a foretaste of heaven below" to her. The choir of 
 youthful voices seemed to her like the angelic choir 
 of heaven. Oh, no ; she would part with anything 
 else, but never with that blessed memory, for she 
 knew then, what was meant by "true happiness". 
 
 As it happened, Easter Sunday was also Com- 
 munion Sunday, so Meg received the right hand of 
 fellowship and partook of the "Sacrament" on the 
 same day. 
 
324 MEGDA. 
 
 Ethel was not at the evening service, and Mr. Stan- 
 ley looked very grave. As Meg gave him her hand 
 on her way out of the church, he said : " Would you 
 mind walking with me to Ethel's ? She is not feeling 
 well, and wanted me to bring you to her after service, 
 if you would go." 
 
 " Yes, certainly I will go," replied Meg quickly. 
 
 She had no time to say anything further to him 
 just then, as Mr. Stanley was obliged to turn to the 
 others, so she stepped inside a pew and waited for 
 him. After all had passed out, Mr. Stanley put on 
 his light overcoat, took his hat, and they went out 
 together. 
 
 He was very quiet, and looked very grave. Meg 
 did not ask him any question until they had entered 
 the avenue that led to Judge Lawton's house, and then 
 she said : 
 
 "Ethel is not very ill, I hope?" 
 
 Mr. Stanley roused himself with a start. "I beg 
 your pardon, Miss Meg," he said. "I have been very 
 thoughtless. I was thinking so deeply, and I do 
 feel very anxious. Forgive me. No, Ethel is not 
 very ill, but she is very weak and tired." 
 
 "She must feel quite badly, or she would have 
 been at church." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
JOY AND SORROW. 325 
 
 Meg felt very anxious. Mr. Stanley seemed so 
 very quiet and grave, and he looked pale. 
 
 When they reached the house, Meg did not wait to 
 be announced, but went directly to the family sitting- 
 room. Judge Lawton and his wife were both there, 
 their chairs drawn close up beside the sofa on which 
 Ethel was lying. They greeted Meg kindly she had 
 always been a favorite there and made room for her 
 beside Ethel. Meg almost cried when she looked at 
 Ethel. 
 
 Ethel's face looked like wax as it lay on the crim- 
 son pillow. Her eyes were large and bright, and she 
 breathed quick and short. Meg went tip to her, bent 
 over and kissed her. Ethel smiled her usual sweet 
 smile and seemed glad to see her. She held Meg's 
 head down a moment while she whispered, " Thank 
 God for this day, Girlie. 
 
 Meg whispered back, " I am so happy, Ethel ! " 
 
 Mr. Stanley came up and took his betrothed's hand 
 in his. ' "How are you feeling, Ethel ?" he asked. 
 
 "Much better, Arthur," she answered, smiling lov- 
 ingly up into his eyes. 
 
 He seated himself beside her, still holding her hand 
 in his. He hardly removed his eyes from her face all 
 the time they were there, and her fingers clung to 
 his like a child's to its father's. She did not talk 
 
326 MEGDA. 
 
 much, but she listened to the others. Her eyes 
 rested often on Meg's face with a wistful look. 
 
 When Meg rose to go, she thought Ethel looking 
 quite well better than she had seen her for a long 
 while. Her eyes were bright, her lips scarlet, and 
 there was a red spot on each cheek. She said this to 
 Mr. Stanley as they were walking home together. 
 To her surprise he did not share in her relief, but, on 
 the contrary, looked graver than before. 
 
 "She is in her Heavenly Father's care, Miss 
 Meg," he said reverently. "I am content to leave 
 her there; I can trust him." 
 
 During the days that followed Ethel seemed to 
 grow frailer and weaker. Her loving parents, almost 
 wild with anxiety, took her away with them to some 
 rambling old farm-house in a quiet part of the country. 
 They went on the twenty-fifth of April. The wedding 
 had been already set for the twelfth of June, just 
 one year from Graduating Day, but the preparations 
 had been stopped when Ethel had become too weak 
 to give any attention to them. 
 
 Ethel had preferred to have a quiet home-wedding. 
 Only about fifty invitations were to be sent out. Meg 
 was to be "maid of honor", and the dainty white lace 
 dress, furnished by the bride, was already completed, 
 as were also the pretty cap and slippers. 
 
JOY AND SORROW. 327 
 
 While Ethel was away, Meg went about her daily 
 work with always this prayer in her heart and often 
 on her lips: "Dear Father, spare her; do not take 
 her from us." 
 
 It seemed as if she had never loved Ethel half so 
 well as she did now. 
 
 Mr. Stanley was with Ethel two days of every 
 week, and he always reported her condition first to 
 Meg on his return. 
 
 The family had been away three weeks. It was 
 now the middle of May ; Meg had spent an unusually 
 restless day at the school, and immediately after les- 
 sons, had put on her things and gone home. It was 
 the day for Mr. Stanley to come from Ethel, but he 
 
 would not get to L until half-past seven, and it 
 
 was now but little after four. But when at home, Meg 
 could not settle down to any work, but wandered from 
 room to room, taking up a book only to lay it down 
 again ; catching up a piece of fancy-work and throw- 
 ing it again to one side ; now looking out of this win- 
 dow, now out of that, until Elsie said : 
 
 " Put on your hat, dear, and take a walk to Dell's ; 
 the air will do you good." 
 
 "I believe I will," replied Meg. 
 
 She ran up to her room to smooth her hair. On 
 her way past the window she looked out. A well- 
 
328 MEGDA. 
 
 known form was coming quickly up the street. Meg 
 held her breath as she watched it. It was Mr. Stan- 
 ley. He was walking rapidly and looking eagerly up 
 at the windows as he approached. For a moment 
 Meg stood rooted to the spot ; something must have 
 happened to send him home at that hour. What 
 could it be ? 
 
 Meg could not tell how she ever reached the door, 
 but she turned and ran out of the room, and down the 
 stairs, opened the front door and ran down the walk 
 with both hands stretched pityingly out, and a very 
 white face. 
 
 But Mr. Stanley's face was radiant with happiness ; 
 his dark-blue eyes shone with a glad light. He 
 grasped the extended hand in both of his, and said, 
 joyously: 
 
 " Oh, Meg, our darling is spared to us ! " 
 
 The revulsion of feeling was so great, that Meg 
 clung to him, laughing and crying alternately. He 
 soothed her as if she had been a baby, and when she 
 was quiet once more, he told her all the glad news. 
 
 For the last week Ethel had surprised them all by 
 growing rapidly better. The doctors had told them 
 that they need have no further fear for her, only she 
 must be kept from any violent excitement. This was 
 a comparatively easy thing for them to do, as Ethel 
 
JOY AND SORROW. 329 
 
 was not at all of an excitable nature. Mr. Stanley 
 had left her perfectly happy and very cheerful, and 
 still determined not to postpone her wedding-day, as 
 the doctors had at first advised her to. 
 
 " She is just a little superstitious about it," said Mr. 
 Stanley with a fond, loving smile. " She does not like 
 to postpone our wedding any more than I do," he 
 added laughingly. 
 
 He was in high spirits, which seemed a strange 
 thing for him. "They are coming home on Satur- 
 day," he continued; "and that will give them about 
 two weeks in which to finish arrangements ! O 
 Meg," he added earnestly, "how good God is ! " Meg 
 could not answer him ; the tears choked her voice ; 
 she only bowed her head silently. 
 
 This was on Thursday. On Saturday afternoon at 
 four- o'clock, "our girls" and "young men" were all 
 assembled at the station to welcome Ethel on her 
 return. And a hearty welcome indeed it was ! They 
 had time only to press her hand, and bid her "wel- 
 come home", before she was assisted into her car- 
 riage and driven away ; for she was a little tired with 
 her journey. But the dear face smiled lovingly back 
 to them from the carriage window, and the white hand 
 waved to them until the carriage passed out of sight. 
 
 " She looks better than I ever remember of seeing 
 
330 MEGDA. 
 
 her," observed Melvin, as the young people walked 
 slowly home together. 
 
 " She looks better than I have seen her look for a 
 long while," said Dell. " There is a healthier color 
 in her face than I have seen there for a good many 
 weeks." 
 
 "Of what are you thinking, Meg?" asked Ruth. 
 
 Meg turned an earnest face toward them. " I was 
 thinking of Mr. Stanley's words to me on the day he 
 brought the glad news home. They found an echo 
 in my heart then and it has been there ever since. 
 To-day I feel it more than ever 'Isn't God good ! ' ' 
 
 They were silent their hearts too full to speak ; 
 but it seemed to them all, that the burden of every 
 song the birds were singing, of every sigh of the 
 wind among the branches, of every rustle of grass by 
 the roadside, was an echo of the words that Meg had 
 
 spoken "Isn't God good." 
 
 ****** 
 
 It is the afternoon before Ethel's wedding-day. 
 All the girls have been to see Ethel, and look at the 
 beautifully-decorated rooms. Ethel wanted to have 
 all her young friends about her on this last day of her 
 happy girlhood the girls to spend the afternoon 
 with her, and the gentlemen to come in the evening 
 but her mother was afraid it would tire her too 
 
JOY AND SORROW. 331 
 
 much, and Mr. Stanley, too, objected to it for the 
 same reason ; so she had only had the girls there for 
 an hour or so of pleasant talk, and had a nice little 
 tea of strawberries and cream, cake and lemonade 
 served for them on the side piazza, and then they had 
 gone into the parlors and admired the decorations. 
 
 Let us look in upon them before they leave, and 
 listen to their talk. 
 
 " And this is where you are going to stand, Ethel?" 
 asked May, starting forward as if to pass through the 
 gates of flowers, and take her stand beneath the great 
 marriage-bell ; but Meg pulled her back. 
 
 " Don't pass through, May," she said. "No one 
 must stand there but Ethel." 
 
 Ethel laughed. She was leaning back in an easy- 
 chair, watching her friends with loving eyes. 
 
 "Are you superstitious, Girlie?" she asked. 
 
 "No," answered Meg, " only fanciful." 
 
 The marriage-bell was of solid white clove pinks; 
 the gates one of which was ajar, the other closed 
 were of roses, pink and white. Their perfume filled 
 all that part of the large house. In the background 
 was a bank of moss, over which were scattered sprays 
 of lilies of the valley and pink and white hyacinths. 
 It was a beautiful sight. 
 
 " And you are going to open the gate for the bride 
 
332 MEGDA. 
 
 and groom to pass through, are you, Meg?" asked 
 Dell. 
 
 "Let us see you do it now," cried May, "and 
 Laurie and I will represent Mr. Stanley and Ethel," 
 and the merry girl drew Laurie's hand within her 
 arm, and assumed a very solemn expression of 
 countenance, but there was no smile on Meg's face. 
 
 "I would rather not, May," she replied, gravely. 
 
 "How sober you look, Meg," said Dell, "anybody 
 would think it was to be a funeral instead of a wed- 
 ding. Ethel, you must order us all out of these 
 rooms, or May will be asking us to go through with 
 the marriage ceremony next." 
 
 "Well, and if I should," said May, forlornly, "you 
 wouldn't have the heart to blame me. It is the only 
 way I ever expect to go through with it." 
 
 The girls laughed, and Dell said : 
 
 "May is quite reconciled to her fate; she has 
 decided in her own mind that she is to be the 'old 
 maid ' of the class." 
 
 Much laughter and merry talk followed, and then 
 the girls bade Ethel "good-by until to-morrow *', kiss- 
 ing her lovingly as they did so. 
 
 "What a happy girl I am!" said Ethel, as she 
 returned their caresses. "And fortunate, too, in pos- 
 sessing such friends/' 
 
JO Y AND SORROW. 333 
 
 Meg stayed behind, by Ethel's request. At six 
 o'clock Mr. Stanley came for his ''last call" until 
 to-morrow, when he would come, never to leave her 
 again until " Death should them part". 
 
 "Arthur," said Ethel, "I have been asking Girlie 
 if she would not like to see me in my wedding-dress 
 to-night, and she has positively forbidden me putting 
 it on. What do you say ? Wouldn't you like to see 
 us both dressed up in our ' snowy costumes ' ? " 
 
 Never had Meg seen Ethel so merry ! And nevqr 
 had she seen her look so well and happy ! Somehow 
 it made Meg's heart ache to watch her. 
 
 Mr. Stanley sprang to his feet eagerly. "Oh, if 
 you only would, Ethel ! " he said. 
 
 That was enough. Ethel turned her face, flushed 
 and glowing, to Meg. "Do you hear that, Girlie? 
 Come." 
 
 She held out her hand, and Meg rose with a little 
 smile. "You are commencing to spoil her so soon, 
 Mr. Stanley," she said reproachfully. 
 
 Mr. Stanley laughed such a happy laugh and 
 took up a book to read while he was waiting for 
 them. 
 
 In half an hour they came back. Meg's dress was 
 white lace over pink silk. Her flowers were pink 
 hyacinths. She looked lovely, and Mr. Stanley told 
 
334 MEGDA. 
 
 her so, openly and heartily ; then he turned to look 
 at his bride. 
 
 Ethel's dress was an ivory white silk. Her wreath 
 was of orange blossoms, her bouquet of orange blos- 
 soms and white hyacinths. Her fair hair gleamed 
 like gold underneath the misty bridal veil of costly 
 lace ; her blue eyes shone softly ; her lips were like a 
 scarlet line; a lovely pink color was in her cheeks. 
 Mr. Stanley looked at her long and earnestly, and 
 then, oblivious of Meg's presence, he took her in his 
 arms, and held her close to him. 
 
 "My wife," he whispered. 
 
 ****** 
 
 At nine o'clock the next morning, as Meg was 
 dusting her room, her mother called to her from the 
 foot of the stairs, "Meg, come down." 
 
 Meg dropped her duster, and ran down the stairs ; 
 something in her mother's voice had startled her. 
 When she entered the sitting-room, Hal came to meet 
 her with a white face. Elsie was crying. 
 
 "Oh, Girlie," said Hal, with a great sob in his 
 voice, " Ethel is " 
 
 "Not dead!" screamed Meg. 
 
 "No, not dead, dear, but dying." 
 
 Meg pushed him away from her with both hands. 
 "What do you mean, Hal?" she cried. "Ethel can- 
 
JOY AND SORROW. 335 
 
 not be dying she isn't dying. How wicked in you 
 to try to frighten me so." 
 
 "I am not trying to frighten you, dear," said Hal. 
 "It is true; and she has sent for you to come to 
 her." 
 
 Meg stood still and looked first at one and then at 
 the other. Ethel dying! Impossible! She had 
 never seemed so well as she had last night when Meg 
 had left her. 
 
 Hal went up to his sister, and touched her gently. 
 " Don't look like that, dear. It is all for the best." 
 
 "How was it, Hal? Tell me," she asked him 
 pitifully. 
 
 " She was taken suddenly ill this morning with 
 hemorrhage ; there is no hope for her. But she is 
 conscious, and wants to see you.. Won't you come, 
 Girlie ? " 
 
 Meg shivered. "Yes, I will come. But," she 
 added with a little passionate cry, "don't call me that, 
 brother. I cannot bear to hear it. Oh, Ethel, my 
 darling, my darling ! " 
 
 At the avenue gates Hal stooped and looked anx- 
 iously at Meg. "I think I will not go in, dear," he 
 said. 
 
 He was going to ask her if she felt that she was 
 sufficiently self-controlled to see Ethel, but the 
 
336 MEGDA. 
 
 expression of her face answered him better than words 
 could have done. It was as white as snow, but per- 
 fectly calm. 
 
 Hal kissed her tenderly and left her. Meg entered 
 the great, silent house alone. Oh, what a difference 
 from yesterday ! 
 
 As she passed the parlor doors, a sweet, delicate 
 perfume floated past her. It was the scent of the 
 roses, pinks and hyacinths. Meg ran through the hall 
 and up the stairs ; she could not bear the sweet, 
 heavy perfume. 
 
 At Ethel's door she stopped, for she heard Ethel's 
 voice, weak but clear. She was pleading with some 
 one, tenderly and earnestly. Meg heard her say, 
 " Promise me," then a heavy sob, and she knew it was 
 with her father that Ethel was pleading. 
 
 Meg turned away, and leaned her head against the 
 wall. In a few moments the door was opened and 
 Judge Lawton came out, sobbing like a child, and 
 leaning heavily on his wife's shoulder. Neither of 
 them saw Meg their eyes were blinded by their 
 tears. 
 
 They passed down the stairs, and entered the 
 library, and then a large, stout man came out of 
 Ethel's room, whom Meg at once recognized as the 
 great Dr. L of B . He was wiping his eyes 
 
JO Y AND SORROW, 337 
 
 on his handkerchief, but he caught sight of Meg and 
 went to her at once. 
 
 "Are you Miss Randal ?" he asked. 
 
 Meg bowed. 
 
 " She is waiting for you. You had better go right 
 in." 
 
 He opened the door as he spoke, and Meg passed 
 into the room. 
 
 Ethel was lying on the bed, her face as white as 
 the pillow on which it rested, her fair hair surround- 
 ing it like a golden cloud. She smiled when she saw 
 Meg and held out a white hand. Meg had to bend 
 her head to hear what she said. 
 
 " Girlie, I have only a few words to say to you : 
 lam very tired, and it is almost time for 
 me to go; but never forget what I say, 
 will you ?" 
 
 "I never will, Ethel." 
 
 " Thank you, dear; I have always loved you very 
 dearly, Girlie. You have seemed like a sister to me, 
 I am going away from you all, but it will only be for 
 a little while. We shall meet again. Girlie, will you 
 promise me one thing?" 
 
 "I will promise you anything, Ethel." 
 
 "Will you take up my work where I leave off, and 
 go on with it for me my religious work, I mean ?" 
 
338 MEGDA. 
 
 Meg did not falter for a second. " I will do what I 
 can, Ethel, I promise you." 
 
 "Thank you, Girlie." 
 
 Ethel was quiet for a few moments, then she said : 
 "Kiss me now, Girlie, but do not leave me. Give 
 my last love to the girls and tell them we 
 shall meet again up there. " 
 
 Meg kissed the white face lingeringly and lovingly, 
 and when she raised her head Mr. Stanley had entered 
 the. room, and was standing at the bedside. His face 
 was white and drawn with suffering, and his blue eyes 
 dark with pain. He bent over Ethel in speechless 
 grief, and Meg slipped from her place beside the pil- 
 low and stole softly to the window. She would have 
 left the room, but Ethel asked her not to. 
 
 Meg never forgot that scene. It didn't seem as if 
 Ethel were dying ; she and Arthur talked together as 
 if it were a parting for a few days or weeks at 
 most. Meg did not know what a restraint Arthur 
 was putting upon his feelings, that he might talk to 
 Ethel quietly and calmly. A feeling of awe stole over 
 Meg as she listened to the low voices. Ethel put up 
 her hand now and then, and brushed the heavy, dark 
 hair away from Arthur's forehead, and he smiled 
 down into the large, blue eyes tenderly and lovingly. 
 
 "I am going, Arthur, but it won't be for 
 
JOY AND SORROW. . 339 
 
 long ; only just a little while before. I will 
 wait for you and watch for you. You 
 Kvill come soon, Arthur?" 
 
 " Yes, my darling ; when I have finished the work 
 He has set for me to do here." 
 
 She gazed up into his face with yearning eyes, and 
 the first cry broke from her lips. " Oh, Arthur, how 
 can I leave you ! " 
 
 Meg crept from the room, unable longer to bare 
 the sight. Ethel did not see her go ; she saw only 
 the face bending over her, unutterable love and 
 anguish in the dark-blue eyes. It was his turn to 
 soothe her. 
 
 "It is only for a little while, my darling my 
 wife." 
 
 A look of ineffable joy passed over her face as he 
 called her by that dear name; then her face grew 
 suddenly gray the shade of death was passing 
 quickly over it. Arthur saw it, and clasped his arms 
 tightly around her as if to hold her from the cruel 
 grasp of Death, but she only smiled sweetly up at 
 him. Ethel was dying the death, as she had lived 
 the life, of a Christian. 
 
 "Only a little while before," she whispered 
 dreamily. " Then no more parting, Ar " 
 
 The word died on her lips. She turned her head 
 
340 MEGDA. 
 
 slowly until her cheek rested against his ; and thus, 
 
 lying upon his breast, she fell asleep. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Meg was lying on her bed. She had cried until 
 she could cry no more. It was early twilight of the 
 day on which she had looked for the last time here 
 below on Ethel's fair, lovely face. It seemed so sad, 
 so sad ! Sadder than anything she had ever heard or 
 even read of. To die on her wedding-day, and just 
 one year from the day on which they had all sat 
 together in the dear " study", the day before gradu- 
 ating day, and talked together lovingly and earnestly, 
 and sung the ''Class Song" with clasped hands. 
 
 The second link in the golden chain was broken. 
 The "class" had stood together around the open 
 casket at the grave, and as they sang sadly and tear- 
 fully, "Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep," dropped each 
 a white hyacinth (Ethel's favorite flower) on the 
 lovely form. 
 
 How beautiful Ethel had looked ! She was dressed 
 in her wedding-dress veil, wreath and all. During 
 the service at the house, the casket had stood between 
 the rose-covered gates, through which she should have 
 passed, a breathing, happy bride. 
 
 Mr. Stanley's grief had been something terrible in 
 its speechless, unnatural calm, but no one had dared 
 
JOY AND SORROW. 341 
 
 to offer a word of comfort. They knew he was seek- 
 ing and would find comfort from the only true source, 
 that of the all-seeing, all-wise and all-merciful Father. 
 With Him let us leave him, trying to say with sub- 
 missive resignation, "The Lord gave and the Lord 
 taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." 
 
 "Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep ! 
 From which none ever wake to weep. 
 A calm and undisturbed repose 
 Unbroken by the least of woes." 
 
342 MEGDA. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " 
 
 AT REST. 
 
 ONE year later. The Randal family are gathered 
 around their tea-table Mrs. Randal, Elsie, 
 Hal and Meg. One other is there, too ; a small, 
 slender, black-robed form a pretty, pale face from 
 which all the roses are fled, leaving only lilies there t 
 and fluffy, golden hair. The large blue eyes are sad 
 and wistful, but the expression of the sweet face is 
 one of patient suffering and undying trust. 
 
 Laurie, doubly orphaned, has found a peaceful 
 home here. 
 
 Six months before on the twenty-seventh of Decem- 
 ber, Mr. and Mrs. Ray had started on a trip to Bos- 
 ton, to visit a sister of Mrs. Ray's who had been taken 
 suddenly ill. Laurie was to stay with Meg while 
 they were gone, and a happy time they had planned 
 to have. Laurie will never forget how she stood on 
 the old stone porch and kissed her father and mother 
 good-by. Ah, not one of them thought it was the 
 last " good-by" on earth. 
 
AT REST. 343 
 
 Mrs. Ray had been very loth to leave her one "little 
 ewe lamb" for even so short a time as two weeks, 
 and she had held her to her closely and lovingly while 
 she gave her her last injunctions with a kiss between 
 every word. But father Ray had patted Laurie's 
 golden head, and said soothingly : 
 
 "It won't be for long, mother, that we will leave 
 her, and we know she is safe at. all times. We have 
 no need to fear." 
 
 And Laurie had sent them away with laughing 
 promises " to be a good girl, and not drive Mrs. Ran- 
 dal quite crazy". 
 
 "If you have her son" interposed father Ray slyly; 
 whereat Laurie had gathered up some snow in her 
 hands and thrown it at him, and he had dodged it, 
 and so, laughing and looking at their darling over 
 their shoulder, the father and mother had gone away ; 
 gone away from her, never to return. 
 
 Laurie attended to the few duties that remained for 
 her to do, then put on her wraps, locked up the house, 
 and went to Meg's. It was the Christmas holidays, so 
 Meg would be at home during the two weeks that 
 Laurie was with them. 
 
 The two weeks passed rapidly and gaily by. Then 
 came a letter from Laurie's father and mother, telling 
 Laurie that she might expect them home on Thurs- 
 
344 MEGDA. 
 
 day. This was on Wednesday mo'rning. That after- 
 noon Laurie and Meg went to the old stone house, 
 made fires, dusted rooms, and did some really fine 
 cooking. 
 
 Thursday just before lamplight, they sat in the 
 large, dusky kitchen, each one at a window, and 
 waited for the sound of the sleigh-bells that would 
 announce the dear ones coming. It had commenced 
 to snow great, white flakes that floated lazily and 
 noiselessly down from the gray clouds. Laurie got 
 up and went to the mantle for a lamp. 
 
 "I'll put a light in the window, Meg," she said, 
 "and they'll see it way down the road." 
 
 Ah, Laurie, even then their eyes were being daz- 
 zled by a light brighter than the noon-day. 
 
 The two girls sat and waited, hardly realizing how 
 swiftly the time was passing. The table stood ready, 
 the fire burned brightly on the hearth, the tea-kettle 
 sang cheerily on the hob; eight o'clock sounded 
 muffled and made indistinct by the rising storm. 
 Both girls started to their feet. 
 
 " Eight o'clock ! What can be the matter, Meg." 
 
 "I don't know," replied Meg with a pale face. 
 
 She had had one of her "presentiments of coming 
 misfortune" that forenoon, but she had said nothing 
 about it, partly because she did not want to cause 
 
AT REST. 345 
 
 Laurie any uneasiness, and partly because she had 
 determined in her own mind, not to have any further 
 faith in these "presentiments"; but now she could 
 not help thinking of it, and her heart sank as she did 
 so. 
 
 "I haven't heard the train come in, have you, 
 Meg?" said Laurie, pressing her face against the win- 
 dow-pane, and putting her hands up that she might 
 see out. 
 
 "No," answered Meg, doing the same thing, though 
 hardly realizing what she did. "But it may have 
 come, and we not have heard it." 
 
 "Yes; but it is due at half-past six, and here it is 
 after eight." 
 
 "But, Laurie," said Meg soothingly, "it may have 
 been delayed at the other end of the line. We might 
 take a walk to the station ; I suppose John would 
 stay there with the sleigh until the train came, if he 
 waited all night." 
 
 Laurie smiled feebly at the jest. 
 
 "Come, dear," continued Meg cheerfully, "we are 
 not afraid of a little snow, and any kind of truth is 
 better than suspense." 
 
 Laurie turned away from the window, and went 
 obediently to the entry for her hat and jacket. Just 
 then the sound of bells, close to the house, fell on 
 
346 MEGDA. 
 
 their ears. Meg started for the door, but before she 
 could get there, Laurie had run swiftly past her, and 
 when Meg reached the porch, was half way to the 
 gate a small, slender figure with the snow-flakes fall- 
 ing upon it. 
 
 There were two persons in the sleigh two men. 
 One of them sprang from it before it stopped, and 
 reached the small figure at a bound. It was Hal. 
 He put his arm around her, and half led, half carried 
 her into the house. He did not speak until all three 
 stood in the kitchen. Meg looked into his face anx- 
 iously, as the light of the lamp fell upon it, and her 
 heart beat quickly at the whiteness of it the look 
 of tender love and pity in the blue eyes as they rested 
 upon Laurie, 
 
 Hal was hoping to have seen Meg alone first, but 
 Laurie was there, and must be told. After all, per- 
 haps it was better for her to hear it from him. She 
 looked up into his face her own was as white as the 
 snow falling outside, but Meg's eyes could not have 
 oeen raised more bravely, more courageously. 
 
 "What is it, Hal?" she asked, her voice low but 
 firm. "Tell me; do not be afraid." 
 
 Hal's eyes filled as he looked at her. "Oh, my 
 darling, if I could only bear it for you ! " That was 
 all he said. 
 
AT REST. 347 
 
 " Is it papa ? " she asked quietly. 
 
 Meg looked at her in surprise ; she had expected a 
 storm of tears. 
 
 Hal nodded. "Poor mama!" she said pityingly. 
 "Where is she, Hal?" 
 
 Oh, how could he tell her ! 
 
 "Where is mama, Hal?" she repeated. 
 
 "She is with him, darling." 
 
 "Yes, of course, but where are they ? " 
 
 " They are both in heaven, dear Laurie ; don't " 
 
 Both Hal and Meg sprang forward to catch the 
 swaying little form, but she steadied herself in a 
 moment, and held them back. Oh, how white the 
 small face was! How full of terror the large, blue 
 eyes ! The watching eyes filled, and the loving 
 hearts ached for her. 
 
 "It is God's will, Laurie," said Hal, longing to 
 comfort her and hardly knowing how. 
 
 "Yes, I know. Tell me all about it, I am strong." 
 
 Not one word could Meg say. She could only hold 
 one of the small hands closely in hers, and keep her 
 eyes on the white face. 
 
 There had been an accident half way up the line to 
 Boston. The accident had occurred about half-past 
 five, an hour before the train was due. Hal had 
 heard of it while at his office, and gone directly to the 
 
348 MEGDA. 
 
 station. He had taken the seven o'clock train out 
 to make sure of everything before alarming Laurie. 
 The train had stopped a few yards away from the 
 place of accident. The engine to the ill-fated train 
 lay over on its side like a huge, tired-out monster; 
 the first and second cars were a mass of ruins ; people 
 were hurrying to and fro, lifting a timber here, mov- 
 ing a seat there, the lanterns they carried gleaming 
 through the falling snow like great fire-flies. Groans 
 and screams were heard as bodies were tenderly 
 lifted and carried to some place of shelter; but 
 alas, from some carefully-lifted bodies no screams or 
 groans came they were far beyond all such signs of 
 suffering. 
 
 Hal went to work at once, helping to remove the 
 debris, and to carry the dead and wounded, and all the 
 time he was looking keenly about him. Before look- 
 ing into each face he turned to the light of the lantern, 
 he closed his eyes and murmured this prayer : " Oh, 
 God, be merciful. Spare my darling." 
 
 But at last he came to two forms lying still and 
 motionless under one of the heavy iron seats their 
 faces pressed close together, hand clasped in hand. 
 When Hal saw them thus, he knew who they were 
 before looking into their faces. He sank on his knees 
 and buried his face in his hands. " God help her," 
 
AT REST. 349 
 
 he moaned. But when he turned the faces toward 
 him, he could not find it in his heart to grieve for 
 them ; so peaceful, so restful, so supremely happy 
 they looked. "Gone home together," he thought. 
 "What a blessed thing for them, but what a terrible 
 thing for her!" 
 
 Hal and Meg looked with wondering eyes at Lau- 
 rie, as she listened to what Hal told her. No violent 
 burst of weeping, no cries, no lamentations, only a 
 deathly face and large, wide-open eyes. When he 
 finished, she bowed her head, and they knew she was 
 praying. 
 
 Meg longed to comfort her, but she could find no 
 words to say to her. All that long night she held 
 her in her arms, but not one word passed between 
 them. 
 
 The next morning the bodies were brought to the 
 old stone house, and laid side by side in the large, dim, 
 dusky parlor. Laurie crept in after them, the people 
 closed the door and left her there, alone with her 
 dead, and with her God. 
 
 Meg stayed away from her a whole hour, and then 
 could bear it no longer. She started to go to the 
 parlor and met Laurie on the threshold coming out. 
 An expression of peace rested on the small, pale face, 
 looking so wan and drawn after the night's suffering, 
 
350 MEGDA. 
 
 and the blue eyes were filled with a tranquil light. 
 The loving words of pity on Meg's lips died away as 
 she looked. Laurie put her hand in hers. 
 
 "Whom He loveth, He chasteneth, Meg," was all 
 she said ; but at the words, all Meg's pride and self- 
 esteem passed away like mist before the sun passed 
 away, never to return, and gave place to a sense of 
 unworthiness and deep humility, which she had never 
 felt before. She had murmured against the will of 
 Almighty God, and what had her suffering been com- 
 pared with Laurie's? Mr. Stanley's words of pro- 
 phecy had come true. Laurie had proven herself the 
 stronger of the two. Meg felt humbled and ashamed. 
 She felt that between herself and Laurie there could 
 be no comparison. Hereafter Laurie was the one to 
 be " looked up " to, not herself. 
 
 After the funeral Meg had taken Laurie home with 
 her, and there she had remained ever since. Her 
 father had left her with money enough to make her 
 independent all her life; she need never be obliged 
 to do any kind of work. The old stone house, with 
 its handsome, heavy furniture, was her own. At first 
 she had thought of having some good, middle-aged 
 woman to live with her as a companion and house- 
 keeper, but she could not bear, just now, to stay in 
 the house where all her happy, careless, untroubled 
 
AT REST. 351 
 
 girlhood had been spent. Many homes were open to 
 her. Judge Lawton and his wife entreated her to 
 make her home with them, but she refused them all, 
 gently and gratefully, and went home with Meg. 
 But, on one condition only, would she live with them : 
 "that they would accept a remuneration from her." 
 In vain Meg proudly refused it. Laurie was proud, 
 too, and remained firm. 
 
 "But you are the same as my sister, Laurie. I 
 love you as I do Elsie ; and you will be my sister in 
 reality some day," Meg said, as a last argumentation. 
 
 Laurie had smiled and blushed, but still remained 
 firm, and Meg was obliged to succomb. 
 
 She had been with them now six months, and Meg 
 loved and respected her more and more every day. 
 She was learning from her Meg was learning from 
 Laurie the grand lesson of faith and submission to 
 His will; learning to bear with patience the little 
 trials and cares and disappointments of every-day 
 life. 
 
 To-night as they sit around the tea-table, each face 
 reflects the peaceful happiness that each one feels. 
 Laurie has never troubled them with any outward dis- 
 play of grief. Sad she has looked many times, but 
 never sullen and fretful ; never has complained of "the 
 hard way in which God had dealt with her". 
 
352 MEGDA. 
 
 "It seems a long time to look forward to," Meg is 
 saying, "but it will soon pass. You must not be so 
 selfish, Hal ; we cannot spare her yet." 
 
 Hal looked across the table at the pretty, blushing 
 face of his "fiancee". To Hal, Laurie seemed but lit- 
 tle lower than the angels. He had always loved her 
 ever since she was a little child but her life, as he 
 had seen it daily for the last six months, had deepened 
 his love into almost adoration. 
 
 "And I cannot live without her any longer," he 
 replied to Meg's last remark. 
 
 "What a boy! Aren't you living with her now?" 
 asked Meg a little scornfully. 
 
 "Yes, but I want her all to myself." 
 
 Meg looked at him pityingly for a moment, then 
 said, sententiously : " You cannot help it, poor thing ! 
 It is the nature of your sex." 
 
 "What is?" asked Hal. 
 
 "Selfishness," replied Meg dryly. 
 
 Laurie laughed. "You shall not call my boy 
 names, Meg," she said. 
 
 Meg dropped her fork and leaned back in her 
 chair. "Enough," she said. "You are both beyond 
 any help from me." 
 
 "After all," said Elsie in her low, quiet voice, "it 
 is just as Laurie says." 
 
AT REST. 353 
 
 Hal looked at her with a bright smile. " Rightly 
 said, sister. It shall be as Laurie says." 
 
 Laurie looked down on her plate, and did not 
 speak. The discussion was upon her marriage with 
 Hal. Hal was urging her to be married in October. 
 Although it would only be nine months since her 
 parent's death, yet he, as well as his mother and 
 Elsie yes, and Laurie too did not think that need 
 make any difference. She was alone; she was 
 engaged to Hal ; her parents had long looked on him 
 as their son, and the husband of their child. They 
 had given their consent to the engagement freely and 
 gladly. Laurie knew that if they were there to tell 
 her what to do, they would tell her to comply with 
 Hal's request ; to do what she, herself, had really 
 decided upon doing. 
 
 Mrs. Randal and Elsie approved of it, fully, though 
 they were in no hurry to lose Laurie. Meg, alone, 
 opposed it ; but the only reason why she did so, as 
 they all knew, was because she could not bear the 
 thought of having Laurie go from them. She loved 
 her with her whole heart ; loved her for her own 
 invaluable little self, and for the many lessons that 
 she had been unconsciously teaching her. And Lau- 
 rie returned her love in full when had she ever 
 done anything else but love her? and dreaded to 
 
354 MEGDA. 
 
 leave her as much as Meg dreaded to have her go. 
 She hesitated to answer Hal now, because she knew 
 that in so doing, she would pain Meg. 
 
 "Well, Laurie?" 
 
 It was Hal who spoke. He was smiling, but his 
 tone was a little impatient he wanted her to answer 
 him. 
 
 Laurie raised her eyes and looked wistfully at Meg. 
 Meg read the answer in them, and it sent a pang 
 through her heart, but she said, gaily : 
 
 "Oh, never mind .me, Laurie. I will withdraw 
 all opposition. Be merciful to Hal and shorten his 
 agony. Don't you see how suspense is torturing 
 him?" 
 
 Laurie gave her a swift, grateful smile, then looked 
 at Hal. "It shall be as you wish, Hal," she said. 
 
 The Summer months passed swiftly away July, 
 August, September and brought beautiful October, 
 the best month of all the twelve. The wedding was 
 to be on the twenty-second. It was to be very quiet ; 
 they were not even going away. The ceremony was 
 to be performed at Laurie's own home, in the pres- 
 ence only of relatives, and the "class". The hour 
 was eight o'clock in the evening. There would be no 
 reception, only a short half-hour for pleasant talk, and 
 then the guests would go away, and leave the young, 
 
AT REST. 355 
 
 newly-married couple in their large, rambling old 
 stone house. 
 
 As the wedding-day approached, Meg felt a feeling 
 of sadness creeping over her. She could not help 
 thinking of that other wedding that "was to have 
 been" eighteen months before. Meg missed Ethel 
 more and more every day. She had taken up the 
 "good work" that had been begun by her, and had 
 done her best in filling the empty place. Her efforts 
 had even thus early proved most successful. There 
 had been a growing interest in the Y. P. C. E. meet- 
 ings from the time of her support of them, and much 
 praise was given to her for the result of her earnest 
 efforts. When she felt any feeling of pride arising in 
 her heart over these expressions, she would whisper 
 to herself: "All to the glory of God. All to the 
 glory of God." 
 
 Mr. Stanley had changed scarcely any. During 
 the first twelve months after Ethel's death, his face 
 had worn the marks of a great sorrow, and a great 
 struggle. It seemed as if he had grown ten years 
 older, but he was kind and pleasant with everyone, as 
 he had always been. That he had suffered intensely 
 was plainly apparent to everyone, but he had never 
 complained to a single person. During the past Sum- 
 mer months he had seemed more cheerful ; never gay, 
 
356 MEGDA. 
 
 for that was not his nature, but several times, lately, 
 when he had been talking with Meg, and she had 
 made one of her bright, witty remarks, she had seen 
 him glance at her as if in appreciation of her laughing 
 jest with the merry sparkle in his dark, blue eyes that 
 she had seen in the days before Ethel's death. He 
 did not make any open preference for Meg's society, 
 and still he showed her plainly in a hundred little 
 ways when with her, that he enjoyed being with her 
 very much. For her she loved him with her whole 
 heart, respected him above anyone she had ever 
 known, and trusted him fully. 
 
 The day of the wedding dawned. It was a perfect 
 day. Meg went around the house with a smiling face 
 when Laurie was near, but with a very sober one when 
 by herself. She dressed the pretty, fair bride herself. 
 Laurie's dress was very simple, but rich. When she 
 was dressed, Meg gave her the very best compli- 
 ment anyone could, under the circumstances. 
 
 "You make an ideal bride, Laurie," she said, and 
 spoke truly. 
 
 Laurie's dress was soft, white mull of the finest 
 quality, made entraine. Her veil was of rich lace and 
 fell in folds to the floor. Her wreath was of orange 
 blossoms ; her bouquet of the same and lilies of the 
 valley. Her sweet face was as white as the lilies, and 
 
AT REST. 357 
 
 as pure; her blue eyes shone brightly through her 
 veil, and the pretty, soft, fluffy "bangs" glistened like 
 golden threads. No wonder Hal looked as if (as Meg 
 said) "he could eat her". 
 
 Meg wore nile-green with pink tea-roses. The 
 other girls looked very fair and winsome in their 
 pretty, softly-colored dresses. 
 
 Meg looked at Mr. Stanley with wistful, pitying 
 eyes, as he took his place before the young couple. 
 His face was so pale and grave, and there was such 
 a sad look in his blue eyes. 
 
 "How he must suffer!" thought Meg, her heart 
 aching for him. " Laurie looks as lovely as a dream, 
 but not as Ethel looked. Oh, no ; there will never be 
 so lovely a bride as our darling made. Oh, why could 
 she not have lived ! " 
 
 Meg had asked that question many times ; it 
 seemed to her whenever she looked at Mr. Stanley's 
 pale, sad face, that she would gladly, have given her 
 life for Ethel's if she could have done so. 
 
 After the ceremony there was an hour of pleasant 
 talk, and then the guests went away and left the 
 young husband and wife together. 
 
 "What a very pleasant time! " said Dell to Meg, as 
 they stood in the guest chamber putting on their 
 wraps. 
 
358 MEGDA. 
 
 Meg smiled assent. 
 
 "Mr. Stanley was very pale," continued Dell. "I 
 suppose he was thinking of Ethel, don't you ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Meg. 
 
 "What a sad thing that was," murmured Dell 
 musingly ; and Meg cried passionately : . 
 
 " I hope I may never realize a sadder ! " 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 359 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 MRS. STANLEY. 
 
 THREE years later, and once more, the twelfth of 
 June. Just four years from the day of Ethel's 
 wedding-day and death. 
 
 Meg, Dell, Laurie and May, are gathered in Lau- 
 rie's large, cool, shady parlor. The long windows 
 leading out upon the verandah, are open, and a gentle 
 breeze is swaying the lace curtains to and fro, and 
 lifting the soft, fluffy "bangs" from Meg's white 
 forehead, as she half sits, half lies upon the floor, 
 bending over a tiny, white-robed form with a small, 
 white face, large blue eyes, and little rings of golden 
 hair Laurie's six months' baby-girl little Meg. 
 
 She is lying upon a handsome, brightly-colored 
 silk quilt of " crazy" work, one of Auntie Meg's 
 numerous gifts to her dear little namesake, and made 
 by Auntie Meg's own loving hands. Laurie, look- 
 ing very little like a " mother", sits in a low 
 
360 MEGDA. 
 
 rocking-chair, with some dainty lace-work (for one 
 of " baby's" dresses, of course) in her hands, and 
 looks at the pretty picture on the floor before her, 
 every now and then. Dell, lovely as ever, is lying 
 back in the easiest chair the room affords a large, 
 deep, roomy stationary-rocker of old-gold plush. May, 
 as may be supposed, is sitting in the window, holding 
 the lace curtain back with one hand, while she grasps 
 the window-sill with the other. She, too, is looking 
 at the picture on the floor, and after a little while, 
 says : 
 
 "I can't get used to the idea at all." 
 
 Meg looks up with laughing eyes. "What idea, 
 May-flower that of being an 'old maid' ?" 
 
 May put on one of her most comical faces, and says : 
 "No, I didn't mean that just then. It is cruel of 
 you to remind me of my misfortune, Meg; I never do 
 you." 
 
 Meg laughed. "Pretty good, May-flower; you 
 paid me back in my own coin. But what idea did you 
 mean ? " 
 
 May left her seat, crossed over to where Baby Meg 
 was kicking up her little pink toes in the air, and 
 touched her. "This," she said. 
 
 Meg and Laurie laughed. "Nevertheless," quoth 
 Dell from her chair, "it is a very substantial idea." 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 361 
 
 May went back to her seat in the window. 
 "Meg," she said solemnly, "are you reconciled?" 
 
 Meg looked at her, and then at Dell and Laurie. 
 "What ails our sister to-day?" she asked. "Her 
 mind seems to be wandering." 
 
 "It is," returned May. "I am wondering if it 
 is to be my lot to walk alone through life ; to 
 have no strong arm around me upon which to 
 lean." 
 
 " You deserve such a lot as that if you can't make 
 a better pun," said Dell. "May, why didn't you keep 
 a firmer hold upon Melvin ? You and he would have 
 made such a splendid span. You might have gone 
 through the world getting a fine living by making 
 puns. Why didn't you keep him?" 
 
 May looked at her with scornful eyes. "Why 
 didn't I keep him," she repeated. "That is just 
 what I want to know. It wasn't my fault I did my 
 best. But please do not speak of us as a span, Dell ; 
 we are not horses." 
 
 "Tell Dell the truth, May -flower," said Meg with a 
 loving look. 
 
 "The truth, my queen ? And isn't that just what 
 I have told her?" 
 
 "No. Tell her, or I shall." 
 
 "I have told her, Meg." 
 
362 MEGDA. 
 
 "You refuse?" asked Meg, lifting herself up on 
 her elbow. "Then I shall tell her." 
 
 "Meg," said May imploringly, and put her hands 
 over her ears. 
 
 "This is the reason, Dell," began Meg relentlessly. 
 "She did not try to keep Melvin, because those 
 bright eyes of hers saw that he, unconscious to him- 
 self, very much admired our little Ruth; also, that 
 Ruth was experiencing a deeper feeling even than 
 admiration, for Melvin. I did not know it you did 
 not know it no one knew of it. Melvin, himself, 
 did not realize how much he really liked and admired 
 Ruth; but this little match-maker here had a keener 
 penetration than any of us, and from talking of Mel- 
 vin to Ruth, and of Ruth to Melvin, soon found out 
 the true state of affairs. I do believe Melvin would 
 have gone right on all his life, perhaps feeling 
 vaguely the want of some one thing, and never know- 
 ing what that one thing was, had not May figura- 
 tively speaking opened his eyes for him. The best 
 of it is, he does not know how his eyes were opened. 
 He only knows that he loves Ruth, and that Ruth 
 loves him, and that is all he wants to know. He 
 and May are sworn friends, as ever, and she will 
 never be the one to tell him how he knew his own 
 heart." 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 363 
 
 Meg nestled down again beside baby. May took 
 her hands down from her ears, and Dell said : 
 
 " Quite like a heroine in v a romance, aren't you, 
 May-flower? Only the romance lacks one thing." 
 
 "What is that?" asked May; and Dell said, not 
 seeing Meg's warning shake of the head, "Sacrifice 
 of love ". 
 
 May turned her head quickly, and looked out into 
 the shadowy garden. 
 
 "You should have worshipped the very ground 
 he walked upon, May; but, knowing that your 
 friend also loved him, and that he, all unconsciously, 
 returned her love, you nobly sacrificed your own love 
 and happiness to theirs. That would have been much 
 more romantic." And Dell smiled as she leaned her 
 lovely head back against the old-gold plush, and 
 closed her eyes. 
 
 " May has made something infinitely better than a 
 romance out of it," said Meg softly. " She has made 
 for herself a monument that will last forever in the 
 hearts of those she has made happy, and in others as 
 well." 
 
 Dell opened her gray eyes, but before she could 
 express her surprise at the seriousness of the turn 
 Meg's words had given to the conversation, May 
 had turned her head again and said gaily : 
 
364 MEGDA. 
 
 "And May has also made of herself an 'old maid '. 
 What a fate ! It seems to me that those words should 
 be set to the music of a dirge never to be spoken, 
 but always to be chanted." 
 
 "You'll be married some day, May, never fear," 
 said Dell encouragingly. 
 
 "Bless you for those words," murmured May fer- 
 vently. "Bless you. They infuse new life into my 
 veins, and you know 'while there's life, there's hope'." 
 
 " How good it is that we know you, May," laughed 
 Laurie. "For we know just how much you mean 
 what you say." 
 
 "Thank you," said May bowing low. 
 
 "But doesn't it seem strange that Melvin and Ruth 
 should fancy each other?" said Dell. "They are so 
 entirely different." 
 
 "Extremes meet," said May sententiously ; and 
 Meg asked, "Have you forgotten all your lessons in 
 'Natural Science,' Dell, about the 'Laws of Con- 
 trast', etc., etc.?" 
 
 Dell passed over this question and went on : 
 
 "Another thing seems strange to me, and that is: 
 that Will is to be your brother, instead of your hus- 
 band, Meg." 
 
 The three girls laughed heartily at this it was so 
 much like plain-spoken Dell. 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 365 
 
 "You needn't think it strange, Dell," said Meg. 
 "I much prefer him in that relation." 
 
 "Yes, of course," said Dell; "only it seems 
 strange. Isn't Elsie older than he ? " 
 
 "Only six months." 
 
 "She looks six years younger, instead of six months 
 older," returned Dell. "But Will always did look 
 older than he was. How long will she have to wait 
 for him ? " 
 
 "Two years," replied Meg. "Will says he wants to 
 make a home worthy of her." 
 
 "That sounds just like him," said Dell. "Well, 
 he will get one good girl." 
 
 "That he will," replied Meg emphatically. "Elsie 
 would be willing to help make the home, but Will 
 won't hear of it. He knows that he is as sure of her 
 as if they were already married. She would be true 
 to him twenty years, instead of two, and wait for him, 
 if it were necessary." 
 
 "I believe it," said Dell. 
 
 " I have one consolation in being an old maid," said 
 May suddenly. 
 
 "You keep to that subject with a persistency that 
 almost makes me doubt, May-flower," remarked Dell 
 laughing." 
 
 "What is your consolation?" asked Meg. 
 
366 MEGDA. 
 
 "That I shall have plenty of time to devote to the 
 care of all the little Eddies and Dells that this earth 
 will be blessed with," replied May. 
 
 Meg and Laurie applauded. Dell's white face 
 flushed pink. 
 
 "Whoever thought five years ago," continued May 
 mercilessly, "that in one year from now, you will 
 be Mrs. Dr. Holmes. Oh, Dell, thy name is not 
 consistency." 
 
 "I have to marry him to get rid of him," said 
 Dell ; and that is all she would say. 
 
 "And to think," said Laurie, "that Lill and Lulu 
 should marry Ray and Bert." 
 
 "Lill would not marry Ray until he joined the 
 church," said Dell. " Should you think she could be 
 sure of his sincerity ? " 
 
 "I am as sure of Ray's sincerity as I am of my 
 own," said Meg. " Ray has been ready to come for- 
 ward for a long while, but he kept putting it off and 
 putting it off. Lill did well in refusing to become 
 his wife, for if she had married him who knows how 
 far away he might have wandered. He is most sin- 
 cere, and what a help in our 'Christian Endeavor' ! " 
 
 "What a pretty wedding it was!" remarked Dell, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Double weddings are always pretty," said Laurie. 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 367 
 
 "You and I will have to have one, Meg," said May 
 d roily. 
 
 Meg laughed. "I think we will when we have 
 any," she replied. "I am thinking, May-flower, that 
 you and I may as well make up our minds to a life 
 of 'single blessedness'. The 'girls' will keep us 
 busy taking care of their little ones. Just think ! 
 Elsie, Laurie, Dell, Lill, Lulu and Ruth three 
 of them married, and the other three as good as 
 married." 
 
 "And Maude," said Laurie softly. 
 
 "Yes, and Maude," repeated Meg slowly. "I won- 
 der if she has any little ones." 
 
 "Let us hope not, for the little ones' sakes," said 
 Dell gravely. "The report from the city is, that she 
 is leading a life of continual excitement, and, as I 
 presume she would call it pleasure." 
 
 " How can she feel like going into society again so 
 soon after her mother's death ? " said May. "And her 
 father is in feeble health." 
 
 " She may be doing it to drown some secret sorrow 
 of her own," said Meg gravely. "Her life cannot be 
 a very happy one, according to the reports we hear of 
 her husband's life and character." 
 
 "Omit that last word, Meg," said Dell; "Augustus 
 Belmont has no character." 
 
368 MEGDA. 
 
 "Poor Maude !" said Laurie with a sigh. "I am 
 afraid we were none of us as patient with her as we 
 should have been." 
 
 "No, we were not," said May. "We are all quick 
 to condemn." 
 
 "All except Ethel," said Meg softly. 
 
 The girls were silent. They always were at the 
 mention of that beloved name. Laurie looked across 
 at Meg with wistful, loving eyes. If she could see 
 her happy in the way in which she was herself 
 happy in the love of a good, true man she would 
 ask for nothing more. Would it ever be ? 
 
 The gate-latch clicked, and a man's figure came 
 slowly up the shady garden-path. Laurie glanced 
 out. 
 
 " Mr. Stanley, girls," she said warningly. 
 
 May almost rolled out of the window, Meg sprang 
 to her feet, catching up baby as she did so, and seated 
 herself in a willow rocker. Dell drew herself up into 
 a little more dignified position, and Laurie rose to 
 meet the visitor as the "girl" opened the door to 
 admit him. He came in, smiling. 
 
 "Have I disturbed the meeting?" he asked, look- 
 ing at Meg with baby in her arms. Laurie drew 
 a chair forward. "You could never do that," she 
 answered kindly. 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 369 
 
 Mr. Stanley turned to Meg. "I called at your 
 house, and your mother told me you were here. I 
 waited for you a little while, and then grew impatient, 
 and came after you. Are you displeased ? " 
 
 Was she displeased ! Her blushing face and droop- 
 ing eyes answered him even better than her words 
 did. "Oh, no; far from it." 
 
 May Jooked out through the open window, into the 
 softly-coming twilight. " Methinks my fate is sealed," 
 she said to herself, half humorously, half sadly. "I 
 am to be the ( old maid ' of the ' class '. May God 
 bless her and make her happy." 
 
 Half an hour later, Dell and May, declining 
 Laurie's invitation to stay to tea, kissed Baby, now 
 lying fast asleep in Meg's lap, and took their depart- 
 ure. Meg carried Baby to Laurie's room, undressed 
 her, and put her in her little white crib, then went 
 down stairs to the parlor. 
 
 Laurie had gone to the kitchen to see about tea. 
 Mr. Stanley was standing at one of the long windows, 
 gazing out into the dusky garden. Meg could not 
 see his face, but his attitude betokened deep thought. 
 
 "He is thinking of Ethel," said Meg to herself, 
 and turned softly to leave the room. 
 
 He looked at her over his shoulder, and crossed 
 the room quickly. "Don't go," he said. 
 
370 MEGDA. 
 
 Something in his voice made Meg's heart beat 
 quickly for a moment, then almost stand still. She 
 gave one fleeting glance into his face and drooped 
 her eyes. He smiled and drew her gently to the 
 open window. Then he stood and looked down into 
 her face for a moment. Perhaps he was thinking 
 how changed its expression was. The face was as 
 fair as ever the eyes as dark and bright; the long 
 lashes rested on the soft cheeks, the lips were red and 
 smiling; but the proud, haughty look had gone, or 
 else deepened and softened into one of sweet, grave 
 womanliness and tender pity. Mr. Stanley gazed a 
 moment. His face was very pale and grave, but his 
 dark-blue eyes were full of a loving, tender light. 
 Then he spoke. 
 
 I shall not tell what he said, but half an hour later 
 when innocent little Laurie stepped softly to the 
 open door to tell them "that Hal had come" and 
 "tea was ready", what she saw made her give a little 
 gasp of delight, and fly back to the dining-room with 
 flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. 
 
 Hal was standing by the mantel, leaning one arm 
 upon it. His little wife rushed up to him, and clung 
 to the other arm, almost sobbing in her joy. After 
 she had succeeded in making Hal understand, he 
 looked down into her pretty face with laughing eyes. 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 371 
 
 "And what you saw made you feel as if you would 
 like to do the same thing ; is that it, wee wifie ? So 
 you had to fly out to your old husband, and hug him. 
 Well, that is doing pretty well for an old married 
 woman." 
 
 Laurie boxed his ears, and then kissed him. 
 
 "Just the same, wifie," said Hal, taking out his 
 watch, "they must be brought back to earth before 
 long, or I shall eat up all the strawberries. They 
 may be able to live on love now I was, once 
 but when they have been married three years, they 
 will want more substantial food," and Hal laughed 
 teasingly. 
 
 "For shame, Hal! Have you forgotten when you 
 were young?" 
 
 Five, ten fifteen minutes passed. Hal had com- 
 menced to walk the room. "It's no use, Laurie 
 they must be brought back. I'll run up to our 
 room, and you come to the foot of the stairs and cry, 
 'Tea is ready, Hal.' If that doesn't start them- 
 him, at any rate I shall think there is something 
 the matter with his anatomy. Will you do it, wifie ? " 
 
 Laurie laughed, but shook her head. "Of course 
 not, you rude boy." 
 
 "Then I shall call to you and ask you if it isn't 
 about time for refreshments," and Hal started to go. 
 
372 MEGDA. 
 
 Laurie clung to him, trying to coax him back. 
 When nearly to the parlor door, Hal said, loudly 
 enough for Mr. Stanley and Meg to hear, "I'll be 
 back by the time tea is poured, wifie," and ran up 
 stairs, two steps at a time, leaving Laurie to beat a 
 hasty retreat to the dining-room. 
 
 She had hardly found her breath, when Mr. Stanley 
 and Meg came slowly from the parlor through the 
 hall, followed by Hal, who had stopped on the upper 
 landing and peeped over the banisters to see what 
 effect his words might have had. The sight of him, 
 walking gravely behind the happy couple, and looking 
 triumphantly at her over their heads, upset Laurie's 
 gravity. She was obliged to step to the door and tell 
 the "girl" to bring in the tea-urn. When she turned 
 again all three were in the room. 
 
 Mr. Stanley, passing his arm about Meg, and tak- 
 ing her hand in his, walked with her straight up to 
 Hal, and said : 
 
 "Will you give your sister into my keeping, 
 Hal?" 
 
 As Hal told Laurie afterward, if it had been anyone 
 else but Mr. Stanley, and it had not seemed too sol- 
 emn a thing to joke upon, he would have put a hand 
 upon each of their heads, and said: "Bless ye, my 
 children." But the expression of the two pale faces 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 373 
 
 before him checked all words of levity that may have 
 been on his lips. 
 
 What had passed between them Hal did not know. 
 He had not heard the solemn words of promise made, 
 nor the low, softly-spoken name of "Ethel", as the 
 two who had loved her best on earth, talked about 
 her, tenderly and freely, each to the other. 
 
 Meg knew how much Ethel had been to Mr. Stan- 
 ley, and Mr. Stanley knew that Meg knew it, and 
 although he loved Meg deeply and tenderly now, he 
 knew and she knew, that there was a corner of his 
 heart where even she could never enter. And Meg 
 was glad that it was so. Had he forgotten thus early 
 and easily, he would not to Meg have seemed 
 worthy of either her love or Ethel's. 
 
 Hal put out his hand, and took Mr. Stanley's prof- 
 fered one in a strong, close grasp. "I give her to 
 you, gladly, for I like and respect you above any man, 
 and she loves you." 
 
 It looked a solemn thing to see a brother and he 
 so young a man giving his precious sister into 
 another's keeping. And it was a touching as well as 
 a solemn sight. Laurie's tender little heart filled, and 
 so did her blue eyes, as she went up and kissed her 
 ".more than sister". 
 
 But after they were seated at the table and were 
 
374 MEGDA. 
 
 doing full justice to Laurie's delicious little repast, 
 their tongues were loosened, and the happy half-hour 
 slipped quickly by. 
 
 At nine o'clock Meg went up to Laurie's room to 
 put on her wraps. Laurie flew up after her, leaving 
 Hal and Arthur talking in the hall. Both the young 
 men looked after them with a smile. 
 
 Laurie closed the door and went up to Meg, and 
 then what did these silly girls do but fall into each 
 other's arms and cry, softly, but never were happier 
 tears shed than those they wept together. 
 
 When Meg lifted her face from Laurie's shoulder, 
 the first words she said were, " Oh, Laurie, I am so 
 unworthy ! " 
 
 "Unworthy, Meg?" said Laurie with jealous resent- 
 ment. " Unworthy of of Arthur? You are never 
 that, my darling." 
 
 Meg smiled. "No,. I did not mean Arthur, though 
 I am unworthy of him, too, Laurie ; oh, yes, I am 
 but I meant then, that I am so unworthy of my 
 Father's love and mercy." 
 
 Laurie kissed her. "We are all unworthy there, 
 Meg," she said solemnly. 
 
 Mr. Stanley, much to everybody's surprise, made 
 a most impatient lover. According to his earnest 
 request, the wedding was set for October. To Mrs. 
 
MRS. STANLEY. 375 
 
 Randal and Elsie, the time flew by on wings. They 
 both felt that the hardest trial of their lives had come. 
 It was hard for them to give her up, and, had she not 
 been going to reside in the same place with them, it 
 would have been difficult, indeed, for Mr. Stanley to 
 gain the mother's consent for so early a day. 
 
 At last the day came, the hour, the minute, when 
 Meg stood in her mother's parlor beside the man 
 whom she loved with all the strength of her deep, 
 pure, true heart, and promised to love, honor and 
 obey him till death should them part. 
 
 Meg's dress was white silk. A fine white lace veil 
 enveloped her from head to foot. She carried a large 
 bouquet of white tearoses; her wreath was of the 
 same flower. Immediately after the ceremony, the 
 dainty dress was exchanged for a neat traveling cos- 
 tume, and amid a shower of rice and slippers which 
 the "girls" threw after the carriage, Rev. and Mrs. 
 Arthur Norman Stanley were driven rapidly to the 
 station to catch the express to the city. From there 
 they were to take the boat to New York, where two 
 weeks were to be spent with a cousin of Mr. Stan- 
 ley's Dr. John Stanley. 
 
 There let us leave them, and not return to them 
 until five years of their married life have passed away. 
 
376 MEGDA, 
 
 XXV. 
 
 AFTER YEARS. 
 
 THEY have been five happy, peaceful years. To 
 Meg it has seemed as if every day has been 
 brighter than the one before it. To Mr. Stanley, his 
 fair, lovable wife has been a source of constant light 
 and happiness. 
 
 Even after five years of constant companionship 
 with such a man as Mr. Stanley, Meg is yet far from 
 being perfect. Yet her husband loves every little 
 fault in her the little flashes of temper, the spirit 
 of pride that shows itself now and then, the natural 
 willfulness of her disposition he loves them all; for, 
 as he once laughingly said to Elsie, " Meg would 
 not be Meg without them." And then one look 
 from his dark-blue eyes, one low, gravely-spoken 
 "Meg" was enough to banish all signs of temper, 
 pride and willfulness. 
 
 Two children a boy and girl have blessed their 
 union. The boy, a dark-haired, blue-eyed child of 
 
AFTER YEARS. 377 
 
 four years, is the very picture of his father. He is a 
 quiet, grave, thoughtful-looking child. Every time 
 Meg looks at him, she sees his father reflected in the 
 dark-blue eyes, and upon every small feature. The 
 girl, a bright-haired, dark-eyed darling of two sum- 
 mers, is a veritable miniature Meg. She reigns queen 
 over all, even her grave, dignified papa. He obeys 
 her imperious "Tate Ethie, Papa," with a meekness 
 that causes many a laughing, "Oh, Arthur!" from 
 Meg. 
 
 He loves his little Ethel with a love that is deep 
 and boundless. Meg often says, "her only earthly 
 rival is her own baby. 
 
 Meg loves both her children with an equal love. 
 If Mr. Stanley sometimes says, half laughing, half 
 serious, that he is jealous of little Arthur, it is when 
 he has seen his wife hold her boy close to her and 
 cover his grave little face with passionate kisses. 
 
 Their home is a perfect little nest of beauty and 
 comfort. It was planned by Arthur himself and built 
 for him as a wedding present by Judge Lawton, and 
 furnished according to Meg's taste- by Judge Law- 
 ton's wife. The childless couple would have it so, 
 and Arthur and Meg put all false pride away, and 
 accepted their generous gifts. They were constant 
 and ever welcome visitors at the pretty parsonage. 
 
378 MEGDA. 
 
 Arthur was to them like a son, and Meg, more than 
 ever, beloved by them. 
 
 It was known only by Arthur and Meg, that baby 
 Ethel would one day be heiress to Judge Lawton's 
 wealth. Perhaps that was the reason of Meg's pas- 
 sionate kisses on her boy's face. 
 
 One warm, sunny afternoon late in June, Meg was 
 sitting in her little sewing-room. Her work had fallen 
 idly in her lap, her hands were loosely clasped, and 
 her eyes were looking through the vine-covered win- 
 dow, at her darlings playing on the smooth, velvety 
 lawn. 
 
 Little Arthur had helped Ethel on to his voloci- 
 pede, and she was laughing, half -tearfully, half joy- 
 fully, not knowing whether to be frightened or not. 
 Meg laughed softly to see her. Just then Ethel 
 threw up her little hands with a glad cry of "Papa", 
 and Arthur came through the gate, crossed the lawn 
 quickly, lifted each child up in his arms, kissed them, 
 and set them down again. Ethel clung to him with 
 imperative cries of, "Tate Ethie, Papa; tate Ethie," 
 but he put her gently but firmly away, and Meg could 
 see that he was trying to reason with her. In vain. 
 The small queen stamped her little foot, and struck 
 at her papa with her tiny clenched hand. Meg could 
 not help laughing when she saw Arthur look about 
 
AFTER YEARS. 379 
 
 him as if seeking some help out of his difficulty, then, 
 not finding any, put his hand into his pocket, take out 
 something and offer it to Ethel. She stopped her cry- 
 ing long enough to look at the thing he offered, then 
 expressed her contempt for it by striking it out of his 
 hand. Little Arthur quietly picked it up, and handed 
 it back to his father. 
 
 Mr. Stanley offered the remaining contents of his 
 pocket to Ethel, but they all received the same con- 
 temptuous rejection. At last, in a state of despera- 
 tion, he took out a set of dainty ivory tablets, with a 
 pretty tiny gold pencil attached. At sight of this 
 long-coveted, but heretofore denied article, baby 
 Ethel's eyes shone with something brighter than 
 tears. Her little face wreathed itself in smiles ; she 
 showed her little "pearls" in a happy laugh, nodded 
 her sunny head with condescending approval, took the 
 tablets from her father's hand, seated herself on the 
 grass, and commenced " operations ". Arthur turned 
 away with a smile of relief, but alas ! the smile was 
 premature. Away flew both tablet and pencil, and 
 sharp, wild cries of "papa, papa, turn an' tate 
 Ethie," rang on the air. 
 
 Arthur looked up at the window, and caught sight 
 of Meg's laughing face. He laughed too, then, and 
 made an imploring gesture for her to come out. She 
 
380 MEGDA. 
 
 stepped through the long window and crossed the 
 lawn to him. "Oh, Arthur," she said, "to be ruled 
 by such a sprite ! " 
 
 Baby Ethel always obeyed her mother. Arthur 
 had a most profound respect for his wife's capability 
 of managing the small "sovereign''. It was not 
 that she spoke sharply to her, for she never did. Her 
 voice was always low, sweet, but very firm. Baby 
 Ethel seemed to feel instinctively that vwhen her 
 mama spoke in that way, she must obey her. Arthur 
 could control almost anyone by a glance or a word, 
 but here he was "the weakest of the weak". 
 
 After Meg had restored order, she and Arthur 
 turned and walked slowly, arm in arm, to the house. 
 Generally he complimented her laughingly upon 
 her "secret power", but to-day he was unusually 
 grave. 
 
 They passed through the window, and Meg seated 
 herself in her low rocker, and waited for him to tell 
 her what was troubling him. She knew there was 
 something she could always tell but she never 
 wearied him with questions. He always told her 
 everything of his own accord, sure of her love and 
 sympathy in the merest trifle. 
 
 To-day he seated himself on a low couch that was 
 in the room, and motioned for her to sit beside him. 
 
AFTER YEARS. 381 
 
 She did so, and he put his arm around her and said, 
 "Feel in the letter-pocket, Meg." 
 
 Whenever he had been to the post-office and 
 received letters, he always put them in his breast- 
 pocket after reading them, and then let Meg take 
 them out herself and read them he looking over her 
 shoulder as she did so. Sometimes, I must confess, 
 she read them sitting upon his knee, but that was 
 always his fault, of course ; he would insist upon her 
 doing it. 
 
 Meg put her little white hand in his pocket, and 
 drew out a thick cream envelope. The writing was 
 in a lady's hand and addressed to " Rev. A. N. Stan- 
 ley " . The hand-writing looked familiar to Meg, and 
 still she could not name it. Too impatient to read it 
 through before knowing by whom it had been written, 
 she turned the page and looked at the signature. 
 
 Maude Belmont ! 
 
 Meg turned her face to Arthur's. He was looking 
 very grave, but he could not help smiling at her big 
 eyes. "Read it through, dear," he said gently. 
 
 Meg turned the leaf back and read : 
 
 " To Rev. A. N. Stanley: 
 
 "DEAR SIR: I will not insult you by calling you 
 'dear friend'. Once, years ago, I should have called 
 you so, and you would have been glad to have me, 
 
382 MEGDA. 
 
 but things are different now from what they were 
 then. Then I was happy, at all events, if not as good 
 as I might have been, and I was respected by most 
 people (your wife was not included among those peo- 
 ple), if not deserving of their respect. Now I am 
 wretchedly unhappy. My unhappiness is too great to 
 express. I am sick and discouraged, and oh, so tired ! 
 I have lived a life of constant excitement and selfish 
 pleasure, and am now reaping the whirlwind. You 
 may know that I have sunken to the very depths of 
 shame and degradation, when I will thus make my 
 wretchedness known to anyone. If my sin has been 
 great, my punishment has been greater. Let me tell 
 you all the shameful truth at once. 
 
 " My husband never cared for me ; he admired and 
 was proud of my beauty, but it was my money he 
 loved, not me. He has always led a life of dissipation, 
 but his life of former years was an honorable one 
 beside the one he has lived for the past five years. I 
 will not disgust you by repeating it to you. Enough 
 to say that for the last two years he has never come 
 into my presence in a sober condition; has never 
 spoken aught to me but the vilest curses ; and has 
 never left me without cruel blows. I have borne it 
 all until now, for the sake of one who is dearer than 
 life itself my precious baby girl. 
 
 "Oh, tell Meg that; it will make her heart tender 
 toward me where nothing else can. Meg was never 
 deceived by me she knew me well. She despised 
 me, and she had full reason to. She was proud, per- 
 
AFTER YEARS. 383 
 
 haps she is now I cannot tell ; but I know she has 
 a little girl of her own, and I can imagine what a 
 mother she will be to her. So tell her of my baby 
 girl, and oh, how I love her. I cannot write more 
 now I am too weak. What I want to ask of you 
 both, is this : Will you come to me ? I have only a 
 very little while longer to stay here, and I want to 
 see Meg. Meg was always true, if proud ; she would 
 never deceive a living person. I know she will not 
 deceive a dying one. I have written to you instead 
 of to Meg, because I thought that if she would not 
 come to me for baby's sake, she might if you asked 
 her." 
 
 The address was given at the bottom of the page. 
 Meg looked up into her husband's face. " Shall I go, 
 Arthur?" 
 
 "How do you feel about it ? " he asked gently. 
 
 " I would like to go very much." 
 
 He kissed her lips. "We will go," was all he said; 
 but Meg knew he was greatly pleased. 
 
 They left little Arthur with his grandmother and 
 Ethel with Mrs. Lawton, and took the seven o'clock 
 train that night for the city. The New York boat left 
 at eight o'clock. Arthur had telephoned for a state- 
 room immediately after the decision to go had been 
 made, and they were fortunate enough to secure a 
 good one. 
 
384 MEGDA. 
 
 Maude's summer home was at Yonkers, and it was 
 from there that she had written to Arthur. 
 
 As Arthur and Meg stepped upon the platform, 
 they were greatly surprised to see Mr. Leonard, 
 Maude's father, there, waiting for them. He looked 
 old and bent and feeble, but he thanked them bro- 
 kenly for their kindness in coming to his child, and 
 conducted them to a hack that was in waiting. Meg 
 hardly noticed that it was not a private carriage into 
 which she was assisted ; her thoughts were too busy 
 with Maude and her suffering, but when the carriage 
 stopped, and she saw, through the window, that it 
 was before an old, dilapidated house, her astonishment 
 was great, and she looked with large eyes at Mr. 
 Leonard, but he did not seem to see her. Arthur 
 touched her arm warningly, and she controlled her 
 surprise. 
 
 A pretty, neatly-dressed English girl opened the 
 door for them, and conducted them to a small cham- 
 ber, where she left them for a few moments. Meg 
 sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at 
 Arthur. 
 
 " It is even worse than we thought for, Meg," he 
 said. " But you must really control the expression of 
 your face, or you will make Maude feel badly." 
 
 Oh, Arthur ! Poor Maude ! Poor Maude ! " 
 
AFTER YEARS. 385 
 
 It was all that Meg could say. She laid aside her 
 hat, bathed her face and brushed her hair. Then 
 came a low knock at the door, and Arthur opened it. 
 The pretty English girl stood on the threshold. 
 
 "Mrs. Belmont's compliments to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Stanley, and she would be happy to see them as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 "We are ready now," said Meg. 
 
 Everywhere it looked very neat, but very, very poor. 
 As the girl pushed open a chamber door, a low, hol- 
 low sound fell on Meg's ear, and made her heart beat 
 quickly; then she stepped inside the room, the girl 
 went out and closed the door, and Meg found herself 
 standing in the middle of a small, scantily-furnished 
 chamber, looking at a wasted form upon the bed, 
 a thin, flushed face, with two large, glittering eyes 
 upon the pillow, and then she saw two poor, white 
 hands stretched yearningly out to her, and heard a 
 weak voice cry, "For my baby's sake, Meg." 
 
 In an instant Meg was on her knees beside the 
 bed, her arms around the wasted form, the poor, ach- 
 ing head upon her breast. "For your own sake, 
 Maude," she cried, and pressed a kiss upon the dry 
 lips. 
 
 Arthur slipped quietly from the room, and left the 
 two together. 
 
386 MEGDA. 
 
 Forgiveness was brokenly asked and granted on 
 both sides, then Maude sobbed out her miserable 
 story on Meg's breast. Her husband's money and 
 her own independent fortune was all gone swal- 
 lowed up in a life of endless excitement and sinful 
 pleasure. What they had not spent to defray their 
 manifold expenses, her husband had spent for drink, 
 and at the gaming-table. He had even ruined her 
 poor old father ; not only taking from him every cent 
 of his vast fortune, but even his home. 
 
 u And he gave it all to him for my sake, Meg. 
 My poor old father ! I would not leave my husband, 
 and father would not see me suffer." 
 
 Maude's suffering, both mental and bodily, was 
 intense. She cried out in agony that she could not 
 die ; that she was not fit to die ; she was afraid. 
 
 "It is so dark, Meg," she moaned. "The river is 
 wide and deep, and I am so cold. Give me your 
 hand, do not let me go. Oh, Meg, tell me something ; 
 say something to me from the Bible. I have been 
 wicked, but I am sorry. I do truly repent and ask 
 forgiveness. Oh, Meg! Meg! Pray for me say 
 something oh ! " 
 
 "Let me call Arthur, Maude, dear," said Meg, 
 trembling in every limb. 
 
 She felt frightened. She had never seen anyone 
 
AFTER YEARS. 387 
 
 die but Ethel, but alas ! Maude's death-bed was vastly 
 different from what Ethel's had been. 
 
 But Maude clung to her with the strength of 
 despair. "No, no, do not leave me, Meg, I shall die 
 before you get back. Pray for me. Oh, Meg/' and 
 Maude sat up straight in bed, and grasped Meg's arm 
 with both hands, while her eyes seemed to be on fire. 
 "You never deceived anybody you always told the 
 truth ; tell it now, for Heaven's sake ! Am I to be 
 eternally lost, or is there yet time for repentance? 
 Tell me quick ! " 
 
 Poor Meg was almost fainting. What should she 
 do ? She had never prayed aloud in her life. She 
 glanced at the door. Oh, if Arthur would only come 
 in! Maude's grasp grew looser; her head fell back 
 upon the pillow. "Quick Meg for Jesus' 
 sake." 
 
 "For Jesus sake." The words were an inspiration 
 to Meg. All fear left her. She knelt by the bed 
 and clasping Maude's hands in hers, told over to her 
 the story of the dying thief upon the cross. "There 
 yet is time for you, Maude. Just say, 'God have 
 mercy upon me, a sinner', and He will surely hear 
 and answer your prayer. Say it, Maude." 
 
 "God have mercy upon me, a sinner," repeated the 
 poor lips. 
 
388 MEGDA. 
 
 Then Meg prayed; what she prayed, she did not 
 know but she felt Maude's hands grow quiet in 
 hers ; her quick, heavy breathing grew soft and slow, 
 and when Meg lifted up her head, Maude lay asleep, 
 with a smile upon her lips. 
 
 She lay thus a^long while. The sun went to rest 
 behind a bank of heavy, dark clouds. With night, 
 came rain, accompanied by a low, sobbing wind. One 
 by one the lights gleamed out, and lighted up the wet, 
 dreary streets. Mr. Leonard and Arthur came into 
 the room; the night-lamp was lighted. Meg still 
 held Maude in her arms; she would not leave her. 
 Her arms ached, and sharp pains shot through her 
 head, but she would not leave her post. She took 
 food and drink from Arthur's hands, but her arms 
 never loosened their hold of their burden. 
 
 And thus the long night wore away. Mr. Leonard 
 had sunk down in an easy chair ; his head rested on 
 his hands ; he neither spoke nor stirred. Arthur sat 
 in a chair at the foot of the bed. The rain fell 
 drearily, the wind moaned sobbingly, and the night- 
 lamp burned dimly all night. 
 
 As midnight struck Meg felt the form she held, 
 move softly in her arms. The great/ black eyes opened 
 slowly, and looked up in her face. All color was gone 
 from the thin face ; it was white enough now. 
 
AFTER YEARS. 389 
 
 "Meg." 
 
 Meg bent her head. 
 
 "My baby-girl." 
 
 "She wants her baby, Arthur." 
 
 Arthur went from the room, and returned with the 
 child in his arms. It was the first time that Meg had 
 seen her. She was three years old, and had her 
 mother's rich, dark beauty, except her eyes, which 
 were large and bright, but a deep blue, and the lashes 
 were long and curly ; but Meg could see even then 
 that there was pride and temper in every line and 
 feature. 
 
 The poor mother's arms were held hungrily out, and 
 Arthur placed the child in them. Oh, what passion- 
 ate cries rose up from the young mother's heart as 
 she pressed her dying lips on the beautiful little face ! 
 Arthur and Meg turned their heads away from the 
 sight. 
 
 " My baby ! My baby ! Oh, God, let me take my 
 baby. I will have her I must have her. Oh, I can- 
 not go without her ! " 
 
 So she cried, holding her child close to her, until, 
 strengthless and voiceless, she lay gasping on her pil- 
 low. But never will Meg forget the agonized look of 
 entreaty in the large eyes as Maude raised them to 
 her face. 
 
390 MEGDA. 
 
 "What is it, Maude?" she whispered. 
 
 "B a b y." The white lips scarcely moved. 
 
 Arthur took the child and held it in his arms. 
 "You want us to take baby?" he asked clearly, yet 
 gently. 
 
 A rapturous look of joy was his answer. 
 
 " To take her for our own ; to love and care for all 
 her life ? " he continued. 
 
 Another of the rapturous looks was his answer. 
 He looked at his young wife. 
 
 "Yes, Arthur, I will- be a mother to her," Meg 
 said. 
 
 "And I a father." 
 
 Oh, how the poor hands tried to clasp theirs ! How 
 the dying eyes grew dim with thankful tears ! How 
 the white lips tried to thank them, and failed ! 
 
 "We will call her Maude?" asked Arthur. 
 
 The lips smiled. 
 
 " Maude Leonard Belmont ? " 
 
 The dark brows were drawn together as if in pain. 
 
 Arthur tried again. " Maude Leonard Stanley ? " 
 
 The lips parted in a smile again. 
 
 "We will love her and cherish her like our own," 
 said Arthur. " We will let no one take her from us." 
 Then he put the child down for it to receive its last 
 kiss, and then carried her from the room. 
 
AFTER YEARS. 391 
 
 After that Maude lay very quiet. They saw her 
 lips move twice or thrice as if in prayer, but no sound 
 came from them. Her eyes were closed, her breath 
 came softly and slowly; then yet more slowly and 
 more slowly still, until it died away altogether, and 
 Maude was safe in her Father's house, away from the 
 fever and unrest of this life. 
 
 Arthur bent over Mr. Leonard, as he still sat, 
 crouched down in his chair, and touched him gently. 
 He did not move or look up. Arthur touched him 
 again, and yet again. He neither moved or spoke. 
 And when they lifted up his face, they found the rea- 
 son written upon it. Maude and her father had gone 
 
 home together. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Arthur ordered the removal of the bodies to L 
 for burial. Nothing had been seen or heard of 
 Maude's husband. On the fourth day after Arthur 
 and Meg had left their home to go to Maude, the 
 funeral took place. The services were held in the 
 home Church, the pastor officiating. 
 
 Side by side with her father, in the very place 
 where she had stood, ten years before, a proud, beau 
 tiful bride, Maude now lay in her white casket, 
 pale and cold and lifeless, a mere wreck of former 
 beauty. 
 
392 MEGDA. 
 
 " Restless we walk in Life's rich garments drest, 
 Death brings a robe of plainness, filled with rest." 
 
 As the funeral cortege moved slowly through the 
 beautiful, tree-lined avenue that led to the Leonard 
 family burying-ground, a miserable, repulsive-looking 
 man, greatly under the influence of liquor, staggered 
 along by the side of the hearse, and kept beside it 
 until it stopped at the open vault. Mr. Stanley 
 stepped from his carriage, and the man reeled up to 
 him. 
 
 "Look here," he began, with a miserable attempt 
 at a swagger, when Arthur put his hand out and took 
 hold of his arm. 
 
 He knew him in a moment, changed as he was from 
 the elegant Mr. Agustus Belmont of ten years ago. 
 
 "Do not try to talk with me here," said Arthur in 
 a low, firm voice, which the man instinctively felt was 
 to be obeyed. " I will take you home with me in a 
 few moments, but I will have nothing to say to you 
 now. Get into the carriage and be quiet." 
 
 Arthur felt that it would be better to keep the man 
 out of sight ; it would do no good to try to explain to 
 him any of the circumstances ; the poor wretch would 
 only deepen the disgrace still more, that he had 
 brought upon his dead wife. 
 
 Arthur opened the carriage door, and thrust the 
 
AFTER YEARS. 393 
 
 man in. He made no attempt to get out, and when 
 Arthur entered the carriage, after the last sad rites 
 had been performed, he saw the reason. 
 
 He lay asleep with his head on one of the seats, his 
 feet on the other. Arthur could scarcely repress 
 a shiver of disgust as he took his seat beside the 
 man. 
 
 The disgust deepened into something worse, when, 
 after an hour's serious talk with the man in his study, 
 during which he showed not the faintest sign of grief 
 over his wife's death, Arthur put the question of his 
 child's welfare to him. With an oath the unnatural 
 father said : " I don't care for the brat so long as it is 
 kept out of my sight. You may have her, and wel- 
 come," he said coarsely. "Only you'll have to give 
 me money enough to keep me for a while, at any 
 rate." 
 
 " How much do you want ? " asked Arthur, wholly 
 unable to keep the contempt he felt out of his face 
 and voice. 
 
 " Oh, fifty dollars will do. She's not worth it, but 
 I may as well get what I can out of her." 
 
 Without another word, Arthur drew up the papers, 
 and sent for Elsie's husband, now Lawyer Duncan, as 
 witness to the contract. 
 
 Grasping the bills greedily with one hand, Augustus 
 
394 MEGDA. 
 
 Belmont with the other, signed away his motherless 
 child. 
 
 They let him go from them with scarcely a feeling 
 of regret. 
 
 In her adopted home, with a loving father and 
 mother, dear little sister and brother, let us leave the 
 child Maude, nor look upon her again until years 
 have passed over her head. 
 
 And now let me say, that, having made her peace 
 with Maude, and returning good for evil indeed, Meg 
 felt more satisfied with herself than she had ever felt 
 before in her life. There had always been a feeling 
 of something undone, that should be done ; she could 
 never tell what it was, but now she knew. It taught 
 her a good lesson, for she never knew before the 
 blessedness of "returning good for evil". God surely 
 rewarded her in the years that followed. Her life 
 was filled up with work noble work in her home 
 and in the world outside. Beloved by everybody, 
 with a tender, loving husband to guide and protect 
 her, Meg's heart was filled full of gratitude to her 
 Heavenly Father, and with tender pity for all His 
 suffering children. 
 
 Verily, He doeth all things well, and maketh all 
 things to come right in His own good time. 
 
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PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES H. EARLE, BOSTON. 13 
 
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PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES ff. EARLE, BOSTON. *5 
 
 death. By WM. M. THAYER. Companion volume 
 to his famous family life of Garfield, "From Log 
 Cabin to White House," of which over 250,000 
 copies have already been sold. Elegant i2mo, of 
 nearly 500 pages. Illustrated with portraits, scenes, 
 and places. Fine cloth, profusely ornamented. 
 $1.50. 
 
 This work supplements for family use, for old and young, the 
 voluminous work by General Grant, which, with its records of 
 his public life, goes into tke libraries, while this is read at the 
 fireside. 
 
 11 This work, written in a ver> absorbing style, is an unfolding 
 of the entire lifefof the great General, from birth to death." Tkt 
 Morning Star t Boston. 
 
 " ' From Tannery to the White House' is destined for family 
 circle reading, and will doubtless be as popular as the author's 
 'Log Cabin to White House.'" St. Paul (Minn.} Pioneer 
 Press. 
 
 Of Mr. Thayer's Life of Garfield ' a quarter of a million 
 copies have already been sold. This volume will probably ex- 
 ceed in popularity its predecessors. Mr. Thayer's books sell 
 without puffing, requiring only a public announcement." Zion's 
 fferaJd, Boston. 
 
 For Eternity. By REV. A. B. EARLE, D. D. 32mo, 
 Per dozen, 25 cts; per hundred $1.50. 
 
 A new and searching appeal to prepare and work for eternity. 
 
 Any Book mailed postpaid on rtctipt if prie*. 
 
s8 PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES H. EARLE, BOSTON. 
 
 Little Ones in the Poldi i6mo. Cloth. 50 cts. 
 Better Life and How to Find It. i6mo. Cloth. 50 cts. 
 
 Hand Book of Eevivals. By REV. H. C. FISH, D. D., 
 author of " History of Pulpit Eloquence," etc. 12 mo, 
 Cloth, gilt and black. $1.50. 
 
 A manual for successful revival work, -indications, hindrances, 
 objections, means and methods ; preaching, prayer, and singing 
 evangelists, inquirers, converts, Sunday-schools, etc., etc. 
 
 " The best book on revivals, for its specific uses as a hand* 
 book, we have seen. Wise in counsel, practical in aims." Chris- 
 tian Intelligencer^ New York. 
 
 " More complete and judicious than any work hitherto pro- 
 duced on this great subject." Christian at Work t New York. 
 
 Harvest Work of the Holy Spirit. By REV. P. G 
 
 HEADLEY, author of " Women of the Bible," etc, etc, 
 i2mo. Cloth. $1.00. 
 
 Suggestive of revival methods, as illustrated in Rev. E. P 
 Hammond's labors in England, Scotland, and America. 
 
 "The record is one of great interest." The Observer. Neu 
 York. 
 
 JIavergal (Miss Havergal's) Story. Compiled from 
 
 her Letters, Diaries, and other writings, by L. B. E., 
 author of "Lessons of Trust," etc., etc. Elegant 
 lamo. Cloth. Red edges. 60 cts. 
 
 Miss Havergal's popularity and influence, have for their key, 
 fcer symmetrical Christian life and character. This runs through 
 
 Any Book mailed postpaid on rtceipt of pric*. 
 
PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES H. EARLE> BOSTON. 29 
 
 her writings, and her public and private work, like thread of 
 gold. This thread of gold has ben unravelled from her writings 
 by the author of " Lessons of Trust," whose readers are numbered 
 by the hundred thousand, and is now presented to the public by 
 itself, in all its beauty and helpfulness. 
 
 His Opportunity. By HENRY C. PEARSON, author of 
 
 " Her Opportunity." Large i2mo. Silk cloth. Gold 
 
 and black, $1.50. 
 
 The aggregate of these two volumes is already well en toward 
 50,000 copies. 
 
 Touches with a master hand the problems of life to-day. The 
 vigor of its style, the skill of its plot, the suggestiveness of its 
 lessons, suit it alike to the cars, the seaside, the quiet hour, and 
 the study, and to every class of readers. 
 
 " I have been deeply interested, both in its plot and its style." 
 Prof. Austin Phelps, D.D., Andover. 
 
 " The author's clear, vigorous English imparts an added charm. 
 We cannot have too many of such books." Watchman, Boston. 
 
 " The story is strong and healthy." Pilgrim Teacher, Boston. 
 
 Her Opportunity. By HENRY C. PEARSON. Uniform 
 with "His Opportunity." 121110. Silk cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The plot and character of this charming story are found among 
 the young women of to-day in their 
 new relations to practical affairs. 
 It is wise and suggestive in its 
 outlook for the increasing army of 
 women knocking at the doors of 
 opportunity for self-help. 
 
 "This companion volume to 
 " His Opportunity " is written in 
 the same vigorous style, and the 
 plot interwoven with sound moral 
 principles. It does not belong to 
 the class of religious books, al- 
 though many of the religious 
 ; problems of the day are treated 
 ifrom the highest standpoint. It 
 is adapted to the widening influ- 
 ence that is leading young women into a closer relationship with 
 more practical things than they have been accustomed to. 
 Boston Daily Herald, 
 
 Any Book mailed postpaid on receipt of price* 
 
PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES H. EARLE, BOSTON.35 
 
 Lessons Of Trust. By L. B. E., author of "The Jewel 
 Found," " How I Found Jesus," etc. Elegant i6mo. 
 Cloth, red edges, 75 cts. Full calf, $2.00. 
 
 Comparatively few are the authors who have so large a circle 
 of readers. " Lessons of Trust " is marked by the same clear 
 apprehension of Spiritual things, as this author's other works, 
 and takes its place with the devotional books that are kept at 
 hand to give comfort and direction in the hours of trouble, or 
 question, or temptation. 
 
 "A sweet and comforting book." The 
 Advance, Chicago. 
 
 " Admirably adapted to help those who 
 are inclined to look on the dark side. Well 
 written and beautiful in form, a most ap- 
 propriate gift-book." The journal and 
 Messenger, Cincinnati. 
 
 " ' Lessons of trust' is a very handsomely* 
 published religious gem. From significant 
 initial letters, . we suppose the volume is 
 from the pen of the accomplished and devout wife of the pub- 
 lisher. It is a delightful and profitable manual for hours of medi- 
 tation." Zion's Herald, Boston. 
 
 Life, Letters, and Wayside Gleanings. By MRS. 
 
 B. H. CRANE. Octavo. Cloth. With Portrait, 
 
 $2.00. 
 
 Mrs. Crane, as the gifted wife of a former prominent New 
 England pastor, gives not only the history of a family and a life, 
 but she has interwoven recollections of the olden time, incidents 
 and lessons of great interest and value, in her own matchlesi 
 style, which is the very soul of poetry itself. 
 
 "A charming book for the home and fireside."- 
 betton. 
 
 Any Book mailed postpaid on receipt of price. 
 
36 PUB LIC AT JONS OF JAMES H. EARLE, BOSTON. 
 
 Light on the Pathway, By " L. B. E." (Mrs. Earle.) 
 Author of "Lessons of Trust," "Miss Havergal's 
 Story,"" How I Found Jesus,' etc. i6mo, uniform 
 with " Lessons of Trust." Cloth, red edges, 75 cts. 
 In this helpful volume, the author, in her well known clear and 
 happy manner, gathers the light and throws it on the daily path, 
 with wise counsel and practical suggestion, for the home life, and 
 for individual need. It is a book for parents, teachers, preachers, 
 converts, and all who would make the most and best of life. 
 
 Life-Line Songs, By REV. E. S. UFFORD. Octavo. 
 
 Words and music, 10 cts. $1.00 per dozen. 
 
 This collection of religious songs for Gospel meetings, Y. M. C 
 A. conventions, etc., includes the charming and popular song, 
 "Throw Out the Life-line," of which Mr. Ufford is the author. 
 
 Log Cabin to White House Series, These volumes, 
 designed especially for young men and women, boys 
 
 and girls, but 
 alike fascinat- 
 ing to all ages 
 and classes, 
 have reached 
 an aggregate 
 sale of nearly 
 
 500,000 COPIES. 
 Eight i 2 m o 
 volumes uni- 
 
 COTTACF||f 0rm ly 
 
 CASTLE II s u m p tuously 
 bound in fine 
 cloth ; embel- 
 lished in gold 
 and colors. In 
 a neat box, 
 $11.25. 
 
 Any Book mailed postpaid on receipt of price. 
 
PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES H. EARLE, BOSTON. 41 
 
 * Its comments are everywhere full of the marrow of the Gos- 
 pel." Congregationalism Boston. 
 
 " Convenient in size, elegantly printed, rich in comments, and 
 admirably adapted to the purpose." Evangel, San Francisco. 
 
 "No Christian reader could make this volume the guide of his 
 daily morning devotions, I feel sure, without adding largely to 
 his knowledge of the Scriptures, and advancing in his soul the 
 culture of all the Christian graces." Rev. A. L. Stone, D.D. 
 
 Mother Munroe: or, The Shining Path. By MRS. 
 MARY D. JAMES. i6mo. Cloth, red edges. With 
 Portrait. 75 cts. 
 
 ** Perfect trust and perfect rest seemed the sole tenants of her 
 heart." Pres. Wm. F. Warren, D.D. 
 
 Must the Old Testament Go ? By REV. w. F. CRAFTS, 
 
 author of "Heroes and Holidays," etc. i6mo. 
 Price reduced. Paper, 15 cts. Silk cloth, 30 cts. 
 
 " Adapted for a wide, popular reading." Sunday School Times? 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 " The absurdities of the new unbelief are sharply put and 
 clearly exposed." Sunday School Journal, New York. 
 
 " It is within reach of all, and is worth ten times its cost." 
 Christian Mirror ( Congregationalist), Portland. 
 
 Madonna Hall. The fearless, fascinating story of our 
 country's peril. By EMILY CLEMENS PEARSON. 
 Author of "Cottage to Castle," "Prince Paul," 
 "Our Parish," "The Poor White," "Ruth's Sac- 
 rifice," etc. 
 
 Madonna Hall is the attractive title of a story of interest and 
 power, but underneath its brilliant story are the mutterings of a 
 
 Any Book mailed postpaid on receipt of price. 
 
42 PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES H. EARLE, BOSTON. 
 
 volcano, likely to make itself heard.from one end of the land to 
 the other. It deals with perhaps the most dangerous, difficult, 
 and threatening problem now confront- 
 ing this people ; and does it in the most 
 skilful and effective style of fiction. 
 
 " Fascinating, strong, and terrible in 
 its revelation of iniquity, this story of 
 Roman Catholicism as it is to-day will 
 stir this great country." Methodist 
 Home Journal, Philadelphia. 
 
 " Madonna Hall may yet be as great 
 an impetus to the downfall of the 
 Romish system in America as was 
 ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' in affecting the 
 overthrow of slavery." The Tran- 
 script, Lynn, Mass. 
 
 " ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' was a legiti- 
 mate argument against slavery. ' Ma- 
 donna Hall' is legitimate argument 
 
 against Jesuitism; its arraignment in America is terrible. Rev. 
 
 /. W. Wellman, D.D. 
 
 Mike Donovan ; or, the Order of Jesus Christ, 3 2m - 
 Per dozen, 15 cts. Per hundred, $1.00. 
 
 One of the Waifs, A touching story of one of Boston's 
 poor. Per dozen, 15 cts. Per hundred, $1.00. 
 
 Our Flag Half Mast, A poem. By WM. M. THAYER. 
 Author of Lives of Grant, Lincoln, " Log Cabin to 
 White House," etc. Superb 12010. Illustrated by 
 John Andrew & Son. $1.00. 
 
 Mr. Thayer, whose biographies of the leaders in our civil war 
 have reached nearly half a million copies, writes this volume in 
 melodious verse, in honor of the boys in blue, and dedicates it to 
 the Grand Army of the Republic. 
 
 Patchwork Quilt, By an Army Chaplain. 32010. Per 
 dozen, 15 cts. ; per hundred, $1.00. 
 
 Any Book mailed postpaid on receipt of price. 
 
PUBLICATIONS OF JAMES If. EARLE, BOSTON. Ji 
 
 Sunday Travel. By MRS. JAMES H. EARLE. Com- 
 panion booklet to " Sunday Newspapers," and a 
 forcible presentation of this growing evil. Pet 
 dozen, 20 cts. Per hundred, for general distribu- 
 tion, $1.00. 
 
 Tact, Push and Principle. By WILLIAM M. THAYER, 
 author of "From Log Cabin to White House." 
 i2mo. Silk cloth. Bevelled. With 10 full page 
 illustrations. $1750. 
 
 This is one of the most practical, inspiring books of the cen- 
 tury, for readers of every age and class, on the means and 
 methods of making the most and best of one's self and one's op- 
 portunities, and winning success. 
 
 The publisher celebrated the twentieth edition by printing 6000 
 copies of that edition. 
 
 " It is a noble book, and furnishes the key to rich mines of 
 wealth, both spiritual and material." Journal of Education, Bos- 
 ton. 
 
 Worth its weight in gold." Belfast Witness. 
 
 " It is a book of sound ideas on the conduct of life." Indepen- 
 dent, N. Y. 
 
 " It is a powerful book." Journal and Messenger^ Cincinnati. 
 
 " Full of sound common sense." The Congregationalist t Boi- 
 ton. 
 
 Talk (A) with an Inquirer about God's Idea of Sin 
 and Way of Pardon, By Miss FRANCES E. WILL- 
 ARD. 3 2 mo. Per dozen. 25 cts. Per hundred, 
 
 Any Book mailed postpaid on receipt o