But only Marion knew that she was destined to meet these people again, and probably often, under different circumstances; the probability was that many of them would be her own guests, would receive and return her calls, would fall into the habit of consulting her in regard to this or that matter of church interest that would come up; not one of them dreamed of such a thing; and when she tried to lead them into conversation on matters pertaining to the church interests, they looked their surprise that she should have such intelligent knowledge concerning these matters.

Altogether it was an evening full of private fun on her part. There was to be such a curious turn about of position, she realized so fully that it would be such unutterable surprise to the people, that it was impossible not to feel amused, and to treasure up certain words and phrases that would sound very queerly to the speakers thereof, if they remembered them when those said changes became manifest to the eyes of the world.

There was more than fun to be gotten out of the evening; she watched the young people with eager interest. She was to be a great deal to these young people; she must try to understand them, to win them. She wanted to be a help, a comfort, a guide. She had wonderful plans and aims. She blessed Flossy in her heart for this opportunity to study her lesson before it should be time to practise it.

That same Flossy afforded her help in another direction. There was no hiding the hold that she had gotten, not only on those young men of her class, but those of their friends that they had brought within her influence. There was no disguising the fact, that among the young ladies she was a favorite; one whom they liked to have among them, whom they liked to please. How had she done it all?

"I can never be Flossy," Marion said to herself, an amused smile hovering around her lips meanwhile, at the thought that she should have a shadow of desire to become their little Flossy. "But it is worth while to steal her secret of success, if I can, and practise it."

Close watching revealed a good deal of the secret; as much of it at least as could be put into words. Evidently the little lady had the power of making other people's interests her own for the time being; of impressing the one with whom she came in contact, with a sense of his own importance, in her eyes; at least she was interested in what he said and did, and in what interested him. She could enter into the minute details of a matter which did not concern her in the least, with such apparent interest and desire to know all that was to be known about it, that one could hardly help the feeling that certainly the subject was worthy of attention.

Then her face spoke for her; it could cloud in an instant in sympathy with any sort of trouble or anxiety, and sparkle with happy smiles in the very next second over some bit of brightness that was mentioned.

"She is a blessed little hypocrite, and that is the whole of it," was Marion's mental comment. "That sort of hypocrisy is worth studying. It is as natural to Flossy as that lovely pink on her cheek; but I am afraid I should have to acquire it; I don't feel interested in other people's affairs; now, that is a fact. Why should she? In the first place, I know it is natural for her to like to please people; that is the beginning of it; she has that advantage over me, for she was always so, and I always wasn't so. But she has something else; she did not care once to please such as these rough boys of hers, at least they were rough when she started the refining process; how she had worked for them; I never realized it so much as to-night. It is just this: she has sanctified her power of pleasing, and put it to a grand use in fishing for souls. Meantime, I have some degree of power of that kind, though it doesn't show in the same way. But I am not sure I have thought of it, with a view to using it for such work; also, I dare say one can cultivate an interest in other people if they try. I mean to try. I know one way in which I can please people, I can sing."

Whereupon she immediately sought Ruth and proposed music, herself going after Rich. Johnson to come and sing tenor, and bidding him bring a friend to sing bass. Then such music as they had that evening, was certainly never heard at a party at Mr. Shipley's house before.

The music room was a little bower of a spot at the left of the parlors. It was not only the music room but the flower room; at least there were vines and plants and blooming flowers in the windows, festooning the curtains, hanging from lovely wire baskets, a profusion everywhere. Thither went Ruth, Marion, and the two young men who went in silence from very astonishment over this new invitation. In silence and embarrassment, believing in their hearts that they could not sing at all. As for Marion, she knew better. She had stood near them in Sunday-school.

Ruth swept the piano clear of all sheet music and substituted the Bliss and Sankey Gospel hymns, and Marion passed a book to each, naming a page, and instantly her full, grand voice joined Ruth's music. Very faint were the tenor and bass accompaniments; but as the first verse closed and they entered upon the second, the melody had gotten possession of their hearts, and they let out their voices without knowing it, so that when the piece was ended, Marion turned with a bright face, and said:

"I haven't enjoyed a song so much in years. What a splendid tenor you sing, Mr. Johnson." To herself she said: "There! I'm improving; I honestly think that. But twenty-four hours ago, I should have kept it to myself. It isn't hypocrisy, after all: it is sincerity."

Another, and another piece was tried, the music room meantime filling; for Flossy had brought in her train others of the boys. And at last, as the last verse of "Hold the Fort" rang out, Marion turned from the piano to discover that utmost silence prevailed in the rooms where chatter had been before, and every available place in and about the music room was filled with hushed listeners, while those who could not get in, sat or stood outside in silence and wrapt attention. Such music as that at a party they had never heard before.

"You and I are a success, I think," Marion said brightly, as she linked her hand in Ruth's arm, when they left the piano.

"We are doing our duty beautifully."

"Are you complimenting yourself because you are afraid no one will perform that office?" Ruth asked, laughing.

"No, I'm doing it because I have begun to be sincere. I've made a discovery to-night. Ruth, it is you and I who are hypocritical, in refusing to say what we think about people, when it would sound real nicely, and would doubtless make them feel pleasanter and happier."

Meantime, Ruth had her lesson also that she had been learning. What a trial parties had always been to her! How haughtily she had stood aloof enduring with annoyed heart, and oftentimes with curling lip, sillinesses that she could not avoid, listening to conversations and joining in monosyllables when obliged to do so, that drove her to the very verge of patience, not once imagining that there was any help for her, any hope of stemming the current, or in any way changing the accepted course of things.

She was learning. Several times during the evening it had been her fortune to stand near Evan Roberts and join in the conversation which he was carrying on. Each time she was amazed and thrilled to see with what consummate skill and tact he turned the current of thought towards the vital question of personal religion. Always with an easy familiarity of expression that made one feel and realize that to him it was a matter of course, and as natural to be talked about, as the sunshine or the moonlight.

Wondering over this peculiarity of his, once as they talked together she referred to it.

"I can conceive of parties being less of a trial to you than to many of us, because of the ability you have of turning the conversation to some account."

He smiled brightly. "They are not," he said. "I have often looked forward to an evening gathering with eager interest and thankfulness, because of the opportunity for meeting some there whom I could not catch elsewhere and saying a word for my Master. But, Miss Erskine, you speak of 'ability,' I simply use my tongue on that subject as on any other worthy of thought."

"But don't you think it requires a peculiar sort of tact to be able to bring in such subjects in a manner calculated to do any good?"

He shook his head, "I should say rather, it required a sincere heart, and an earnest desire to interest a soul. We depend too much on tact and too little on God's spirit. 'Open thy mouth and I will fill it,' is a promise that applies to more places than a prayer-meeting, I think. What we need most to overcome is the idea that there is anything wicked in talking about religion in an everyday tone, as we talk about other topics of absorbing interest."

"There are different ways of going to parties," Ruth said to herself in a musing tone as she turned from him, and she wondered if she could ever get to feel that she might even go to a party occasionally, with the glory of God in view. This started a train of thought that made her turn suddenly back to Mr. Roberts with a question.

"That doctrine wouldn't lead you to be a constant frequenter of parties, would it?"

He shook his head.

"By no means. And there are parties many of them, which, as a Christian man, I could not attend at all. We must guard against a temptation to do evil, that good may come."



CHAPTER XXVIII.

A PARTING GLANCE.

DR. DENNIS and his friend, the Rev. Mr. Harrison met again at the street corner; they stopped and shook hands, as they always did, even if they chanced to meet three times in one day.

"Meetings closed?" questioned Mr. Harrison, after the preliminary words had been spoken. "What a glorious time you have had! Such a pity that our flocks are so far apart! If we could have united with you in regular attendance, it would have been a great blessing; as it was, many a drop came to us."

"Yes," Dr. Dennis said, "we have had a great blessing; and I need not use the past tense, the work is going on yet, although the meetings do not continue. The work will continue forever, I believe; the truth is, we have had a new baptism, the members who came to us early in the fall, came filled with the Spirit, and have worked as no other members of mine ever did."

"You mean your Chautauqua reinforcement, don't you?"

"Indeed I do; I thank God for Chautauqua every day of my life. What a dreadful blunder I made when I limited the power of God in the way I did when we talked that matter over! you remember?"

"I remember," Mr. Harrison said with a peculiar laugh; "It was a wonderful meeting, but then, after all, were they not rather peculiar young ladies? It isn't every lady who even after she is converted, lives just the sort of life that they are living."

"I know," Dr. Dennis said; "Yes, they are unusual, I think; especially one of them," was his mental addition.

"Especially one of them," murmured Mr. Harrison in his heart; and each gentleman smiled consciously, neither having the slightest idea what the other meant by the smile.

Marion Wilbur came down the street with her hands full of school books.

"Good-evening," said Dr. Dennis; "How do you do this evening? Mr. Harrison, do you know this lady? She is one of my flock."

No, Mr. Harrison did not know her; and introductions followed. After she passed by, Mr. Harrison said, "I think you told me once that she had been an infidel?"

"It was a mistake," Dr. Dennis said, hastily. "She had peculiar views, and I think she imagined herself at one time an unbeliever; but she is really wonderfully well grounded in the doctrines of the church; she is like an old Christian."

Many of Dr. Dennis' people were abroad; the next passer by was Eurie Mitchell; the doctor stopped her. "One minute, Miss Eurie, how is your mother to-night? Mr. Harrison, do you know Miss Mitchell, the doctor's daughter?"

Yes, Mr. Harrison had met Miss Mitchell before. In the fast coming dusk, Dr. Dennis failed to see the flush of embarrassment on his friend's cheek, as he acknowledged the introduction.

"She is a grand girl," Dr. Dennis said, looking after her. "Her development is wonderful; more marked of late, I think, than before. Well, as you say, they were unusual girls, but I tell you, we as pastors have reason to say: 'God bless Chautauqua.'"

"Amen," said Mr. Harrison, and Dr. Dennis thought him unusually earnest and intense, especially when he added:

"I propose we go next year, and take with us as many of our respective flocks as we can beguile into it."

"Aye, that we will," Dr. Dennis answered; then the two gentlemen went on their respective ways.

It was a large city, and they were both busy ministers, and lived far apart, and met but seldom, except in their ministerial meetings; there was chance for each to have interests that the other knew nothing about.

Marion reached home just in time for supper; the table appointments at that home were not improving; indeed, there were those who said, that the bread grew sourer every week; this week, it had added to its sourness, stickiness, that was horrible to one's fingers and throat. The dried fruit that had been half stewed, was sweetened with brown sugar, and the looking over process, so necessary to dried fruit, had been wholly neglected.

But Marion ate her supper, almost entirely unconscious of these little defects; that is, she accepted them as a matter of course and looked serene over it. Things were not as they had been on that rainy evening, when it had seemed to her that she could never, no never eat another supper in that house; then, it seemed probable that in that house, or one like unto it, she would have to eat all the suppers that this dreary life had in store for her; but now, the days were growing fewer in which this house would be called her home.

No one knew it; at least, no one but herself and two others. She looked around on her fellow boarders with a pitying smile; that little sewing-girl at her left, how many such suppers would she have to eat!

"She shall have a nice one every now and then, see if she doesn't," was Marion's mental conclusion, with a nod of her glad head; there were so many nice things to be done! Life was so bright.

Hadn't Gracie Dennis whispered to her this very afternoon:

"Miss Wilbur, one of these days I shall hate to come to school, I shall want to stay at home."

And she answered softly, surreptitiously kissing the glowing cheek meanwhile:

"The teacher who reigns here shall be your special friend. And you are to bring her home with you to lovely little teas that shall be waiting for you."

This matter of "teas" had gotten a strong hold on Marion. Perhaps, because in no other way had a sense of unhomelike loneliness pressed upon her, as at that time when families generally gathered together in pretty homes.

She went up, presently, to her dingy room. Just every whit as dingy now, as it had been on that rainy evening, but she gave no thought at all to it. She lighted her fire, and sat down to her writing; not reports to-night. She must write a letter to Aunt Hannah; a brief letter it was, but containing a great deal. This was it:

"DEAR AUNT HANNAH:—

"Don't you think, I am going to be married! Now, you never expected that of me, did you? Neither did I, but that is the way the matter stands. Now, the question is: May I come home to the wedding? The old farm-house is all the home I have, you know. I hope you will let us come; I am giving you plenty of notice; we shall not want to come until after the spring term; one of us wants to be there by the seventeenth of June, I thought I ought to tell you before the spring house-cleaning. Let me hear from you as soon as you can, so that I may know how to plan.

"I could be married in the church, I presume, but I feel, and the other one concerned feels so too,—that I would like to go back to the old farm-house. We won't make much trouble, nor have any fuss, you know.

"Dear Aunt Hannah, I am so glad the money gave you comfort. Then I am so very glad that you thought about that other matter of which I wrote; that is the greatest and best thing to have in the world. I think so now, when I am on the eve of other blessings; that one stands before them all. The gentleman whom I am to marry is a minister. He is very good.

"Aunt Hannah I shall want your advice about all sorts of sewing when I come home. I shall come in May, that is, if you let me come at all. I hope you will. Give my love to Uncle Reuben. My friend sends his respects to you both. Lovingly, "Marion J Wilbur."

She had a fondness during those days, for writing out that name in full.

A gentle tap at the door being answered, admitted Flossy Shipley.

"You darling!" said Marion, brightly, as she gave her eager greeting. "How nice of you to come and see me when you have so much to think of. Flossy where is Mr. Roberts? Why don't you bring him to call on me?"

"He hasn't time to call on anybody," Flossy said, with a mixture of pride, and a sort of comic pettishness.

"He has so many poor families on his hands; he and I have been out all day. Marion you have no idea at all of the places where we have been! I do think there ought to be an organized system of charity in our church; something different from the hap-hazard way of doing things that we have. Mr. Roberts says, that in New York, their church is perfectly organized to look after certain localities, and that no such thing as utter destitution can prevail in their section. Don't you think Dr. Dennis would be interested in such an effort."

"He will be interested in anything that is good," Marion said, with unusual energy even for her.

Flossy turned her pretty head towards her, and eyed her curiously.

"You like him better than you did; don't you, Marion?"

"Didn't I always like him," Marion asked, with averted face and a laugh in her voice.

"Oh, you used to think him stiff, and said you felt all shut up in his presence. Don't you remember our first call at his study?"

"I think I do," Marion answered, bursting into a merry laugh. "Ever so many things have happened since then, little Flossy!"

"Haven't there!" said innocent Flossy.

"It has been such a wonderful year! dating from that day when it rained and you made me go, do you remember, Marion? Do you ever get to wondering what would have been, if we had just stayed on here at home, going to our parties and getting up festivals, and all that, and paying no attention to the Chautauqua meetings?"

"I don't want to think about any such horrid retrospect as that!" Marion said, with a shrug of her handsome shoulders, and a genuine shiver.

Flossy laughed.

"But you know it is only something to think of, to make us more grateful. It can never be, never. By the way, I suppose it is early to begin to make plans for the summer, at least for those who have no occasion to talk about summer yet;"—this last with a conscious little laugh—"But don't you mean to go to Chautauqua next summer? Mr. Roberts and I are going; we would rather give up a journey to Europe than that. Can't we all contrive to meet there together?"

"Yes," said Marion, "we—I mean to go."

"Dr. Dennis is going," Flossy said, though why that had anything to do with the matter, or why it occurred to her just then, Flossy did not know. "He told Mr. Roberts that he meant to be there, and to take with him as many of his people as he could. And Eurie told me last night that his friend, Mr. Harrison, of the Fourth church was going. I don't know how Eurie heard that, through Nellis, I suppose.

"Isn't Nellis splendid nowadays? I shouldn't wonder if quite a large company went from here. I wonder if Dr. Dennis will take his daughter Grace. I think she is just lovely, don't you?"

"Very," said Marion; and just here Flossy roused to the fact that she was doing most of the talking, and that Marion's answers were often in monosyllables.

"I dare say I am tiring you," she said, rising. "I forget that you have to talk all day in that school-room, Marion. Are you sure you love to teach well enough to keep at it, year after year?"

"No," said Marion, laughing. "I know I don't; I don't mean to do it; I mean to get a situation as somebody's housekeeper."

"Do you understand housekeeping?" asked innocent little Flossy, with wide open eyes.

"Oh, Marion! are you sure it will be even as pleasant as school teaching?"

"I think so," Marion answered with grave face. "At least, I mean to try. It depends on whose house you get into, you know."

Flossy's sober face cleared in an instant.

"So it does," she said. "Marion, I have a nice plan, but I shall not tell you a bit about it to-night. Good-bye."

"Oh, the dear blessed little goosie!" Marion said, laughing immoderately as the door closed after Flossy. "Now, I know as well as if she told me, that she is going to beguile Mr. Roberts into offering me a situation in their dove cote, when they set it up. Blessed little darling!" and here, the laugh changed into a bright tear. "I know just what a sweet and happy home she would make for me. If I had only that to look forward to, if it had just opened as my escape from this boarding house, how very thankful I should be! How glad the dear child will be to know that my home is as nearly in view as her own."

As for Flossy, she went down the walk, saying:

"What a dismal room that is? It is too bad for our bright Marion to have to live in it, I know my plan will work. How nice of her to have put it in my head! my head must be for the purpose of carrying out nice things that somebody else proposes. Oh dear! there are so many desolate homes here, on earth!"

A cloud over the bright face for a minute, then it cleared as she said, softly: "In my Father's house are many mansions; I go to prepare a place for you."

After all, that was the place for brightness. This was only a way station; never mind the discomforts, so that many were helped to the right road that the home be reached at last, in peace.

She paused at the corner and looked towards Eurie's home, but shook her head resolutely, she must not go there, it was too late; though she longed to tell Eurie that Marion was going to Chautauqua, and ask her if she did not think it possible for them all to meet there.

Then the inconsistent little creature sighed again, for she remembered Eurie's weary face and the long struggle with sickness, and the long struggle with ways and means to which she was looking forward. There was much in the world that she would like to brighten.

Meantime, Eurie, in her home around the corner was arranging the pillows with tender touch about her mother's head, and drawing the folds of the crimson shawl carefully about her, as she said:

"Now, mother, you begin to look like yourself: it makes a wonderful difference to get a touch of color about you."

A very tender smile preceded her answer.

"Dear child! I will be glad to get well enough so that you may have a chance to get a touch of color about you. You are looking very pale and tired."

"Oh me, mine is the brightest life you can imagine; there is plenty of color down in my heart so long as I can think of our Nell leading the young people's meeting, and father to lead at the mission to-morrow, it will rest me. I have to keep 'counting my marcies.' To crown them all, here you are sitting up at this time of night, with a cap and wrapper on once more, instead of that unbecoming white gown; how pleased father will be!"

"We have many mercies," the low, feeble voice of the invalid said; "not the least among them being, our daughter Eurie; but I could wish that I saw a way for you to have less care, and more rest than you will get this summer. I must be willing to be very useless, your father says, and that means hard work for you. When Ruth Erskine was in this afternoon, looking so quiet, and at rest, nothing to weary her or hinder her from doing what she chose, I just coveted some of the peace of her life for you."

"There's no occasion, mother; I am not by any means willing to exchange my life with hers; I like my own much the best. As for rest, don't you worry; there'll be a way planned for what rest I need."

Yes, and there was being a way planned, even then; though mother and daughter knew nothing of it. How queerly people go on, planning their lives, as though they had the roads opening out into the future, all under their own care!

It was at that moment that Ruth Erskine, the young lady who, according to Mrs. Mitchell, had so quiet, and settled, and peaceful a life, that she coveted it for her daughter, stood in the great hall that was glowing with light and beauty, and caught her breath with an almost convulsive sound, as she rested against a chair for support; her face deathly pale, her eyes bright with a calm that she had forced upon herself, in her solemn determination to try to do just the right thing, say just the right words; her ear had caught the sound of a carriage that had drawn up before the door, and the sound of a familiar voice; she knew that she was now to meet—not only her father, but her mother, and sister!

Little they knew about each other even yet, with all their intimacy, those four Chautauqua girls!

But what mattered it, so long as they had given themselves over, body and soul, into the keeping of their Father in heaven, who knew not only the beginning, but the end?

THE END.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

This text uses both Bible-class and Bible class; chamber-maid and chambermaid.

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 27, "grammer" changed to "grammar" (grammar class; and)

Page 39, new paragraph inserted. Text originally read: (who have." "That's exactly like myself)

Page 58, "vailed" changed to "veiled" (sharp words veiled)

Page 91, "flappant" changed to "flippant" (his voice flippant)

Page 148, "softly" changed to "soft" (a soft little laugh)

Page 163, "b ought" changed to "brought" (that brought them most)

Page 186, "Hurlburt" changed to "Hurlbut" (Oh, Dr. Hurlbut!)

Page 202, "nowdays" changed to "nowadays" (no idols nowadays)

Page 203, "quered" changed to "queried" (duty?" queried Eurie)

Page 203, "adicted" changed to "addicted" (very much addicted)

Page 262, repeated word "a" removed. (while one with a a)

Page 285, "argumentive" changed to "argumentative" (my argumentative powers)

Pages 318 and 333 had paragraphs that were not indented in the orginal. These paragraphs began: (Yet was she not) (Mr. Wayne was unusually)

Page 322, "unstanding" changed to "understanding" (by tacit understanding)

Page 322, "radient" changed to "radiant" (face just radiant)

Page 348, "vail" changed to "veil" (very flimsiest veil of)

Page 374, "solmnly" changed to "solemnly" (solemnly true. Ruth)

Page 396, "forsee" changed to "foresee" (she not foresee)

Page 400, "desoolate" changed to "desolate" (ever to be desolate)

Page 415, "parishoners" changed to "parishioners" (on his parishioners)

Page 423, "Smyth" changed to "Smythe" (brother-in-law, Mr. Smythe)

Page 445, "alwas" changed to "always" (for she was always)

Page 448, "alwas" changed to "always" (parties had always)

THE END