Chapter Thirteenth.
"No day discolored with domestic strife; No jealousy, but mutual truth believ'd, Secure repose, and kindness undeceived." --DRYDEN.
Months and years glided swiftly by, bringing to the Keiths only suchchanges as they will bring to all: added gray hairs and wrinkles, anda decrease of strength, vigor, and energy to the old people; to theyounger married ones, an added staidness and dignity of demeanor andmore olive-branches about their tables; while Annis had grown from themerry, romping child into a tall, slender maiden, even more comelythan the child had been, but with a quieter step and often a dreamy,far-away look in the sweet blue eyes.
She was the joy of her parents' hearts, the very light of their eyes,the only child left at home; for Cyril, having completed his collegecourse, had entered a theological seminary and was preparing to go intothe ministry.
There had been all along a constant interchange of letters with theirrelatives at the Oaks, particularly brisk on the part of Annis andElsie, and they each knew almost as much of the thoughts, feelings, andexperiences of the other as though they had lived together all theseyears.
Letters from the Oaks were always joyfully welcomed, yet were esteemedas nothing in comparison with those that came occasionally from Ada andDon, the former of whom had become the happy mother of two children,whom she described as very sweet and lovable, adding that she had agreat longing to show them to her father and mother. And it was perhapsnot greater than the desire of the grandparents to see them, thoughthat was far outweighed by their thirst for a sight of the mother'sface.
Mildred was still the devoted daughter she had been in earlier days,nor less faithful in all that concerned the welfare of husband andchildren. She looked well to the ways of her household, nor ever atethe bread of idleness. She was a careful housekeeper, allowing nowaste, yet most liberal in paying for every service done for her orhers, and never stinting in the provision for the wants of her family.
Her table was always bountifully provided, her house neat and clean,her children well and tastefully dressed, her husband's wardrobecarefully looked to; nor did she neglect the souls, minds, or bodiesof her children. Their physical well-being was to her a matter of verygreat importance, and while assiduously cultivating their minds andhearts, letting them never want for mother-love and tender caresses,she watched over the health of each with untiring vigilance.
And she had her reward in their rosy cheeks, bounding steps, constantflow of animal spirits, and devoted love to their parents, especiallytheir mother; also in their kindness and affection toward each other.
They were a very happy family, a joy of heart to Mr. and Mrs. Keith,as were Zillah's children also, she having greatly improved in hermanagement as a mother since the babyhood of her first child.
It was spring-time again, the evenings still cool enough for a littlefire to be very enjoyable. In Dr. Landreth's cosey sitting-room abright wood fire blazed cheerily on the open hearth. The doctor himselfsat over it alone and in meditative mood.
Mildred had left the room a moment before to see her children to bed,a duty she never neglected, and not only a duty, but a pleasure also,for it gave opportunity for many a sweet interchange of demonstrationsof affection and many a childish confidence to mother which otherwisemight have been withheld; also--the young hearts being warm, thefeelings tender--she found it the best of all seasons for sowinggood seed that might one day spring up and grow and bear fruit untoeverlasting life.
The doctor's meditations seemed not unpleasant, if one might judge fromthe calm and placid expression of his countenance; yet occasionallythere was a passing shade of doubt or anxiety.
He looked up with a smile as Mildred re-entered the room. "Come and sitby my side, dear wife," he said, "and let us have a little confidentialchat. Do you know what I have been thinking, sitting here alone?" heasked, as she took the offered seat and his arm stole round her waistin very lover-like fashion.
"No, my dear; how should I?" she answered, with a smile. "Of yourpatients, I presume; some case of obscure and difficult diagnosis."
"Ah, you are wide of the mark," he returned, with a light laugh. "No;my thoughts were principally of the presiding genius of my happiest ofhomes, and I am ready to echo the words of the wise man, 'A prudentwife is from the Lord.' 'Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a good thing,and obtaineth favor of the Lord.'"
"You're satisfied with yours?" she said inquiringly, and with a gladlook up into his face.
"More than satisfied! Milly, love, you are my greatest earthlytreasure; dearer far to me now than the day we were married, thoughthen I was sure I loved you as never man loved woman before."
"How you gladden my heart, my dearest and kindest of husbands," shesaid, in low, moved tones. "And my experience is the same as yours;I loved you dearly when we were married, but I love you ten times asdearly now. How sweet it is to live together as we do, with hearts soclosely united, and ever sharing each other's joys and sorrows! Burdensthus divided are so much easier to bear, while joys are doubled in thesharing."
"Yes, it is so," he said.
"'Then come the wild weather--come sleet or come snow, We will stand by each other, however it blow; Oppression and sickness, and sorrow and pain, Shall be to our true love as links to the chain.'"
They talked of their children, now three in number; of their variousdispositions, and the best mode of managing and training each.
After that, breaking a pause in the conversation, the doctor said,"By the way, Milly, I received a letter to-day from a second cousinof mine, telling me that a daughter of hers, a young lady, is in poorhealth, needing change of climate and scene, her physician says, andasking if I am willing to take her under my care for a time, probablyuntil next fall. My love, would you like to take her into the family?"
"I am quite willing if it is your wish, my dear," Mildred answered, butwith a slight sigh; they were so happy and peaceful by themselves, andthis stranger might prove an element of discord.
"It is not my wish if at all unpleasant to you, wife," he said, withaffectionate look and tone. "I fear it may add to your cares andlabors; yet Flora Weston may prove one of those bright, merry, winsomeyoung things that are like a fresh breeze in a house."
"Perhaps so; and we are told to use hospitality one to another withoutgrudging," Mildred added, with a pleasant look and smile. "Write herat once, Charlie, if you feel inclined. I am glad of an opportunity toshow some attention to a relative of yours."
"Just like you, Milly," he responded, with a gratified look.
The letter was sent the next day, and a few weeks later Miss Westonarrived.
She seemed a rather commonplace girl, quiet and undemonstrative.Mildred found it a task to entertain her, even with the assistanceher mother and sisters could give, and they did all that lay in theirpower. She did not sew, she cared very little for reading, she hadstrength for only very short walks; she was no talker, and seldomseemed to care to listen.
Annis soon voted her an intolerable bore, yet, to relieve Milly, spentseveral hours of every day in her society. The doctor did his share bytaking her with him whenever he drove into the country. He made manyattempts to draw her out, both then and when he had an evening athome, but, not succeeding, finally came to the conclusion that therewas nothing in her.
He would have wholly regretted having invited her but that her healthpresently began to improve under his treatment.
Meanwhile Flora was silently observing all that went on in the family,especially studying Mildred; and at length her manner--which had atfirst been very cold and distant--gradually changed till there was attimes a warmth of affection in it.
"You are so kind to me, Cousin Mildred," she said one day; "you havenever neglected anything that could add to my comfort, and have alwaysshown so much sympathy for my invalidism; far more than ever my ownmother did," she added, in a bitter tone. "Mother is very good andpious, but she has never taken any care of her children's heal
th;she is duly anxious about our souls, but neglects our bodies. I mustacknowledge that I came here strongly prejudiced against you, simplybecause I had heard you were very pious, and the way I have beenbrought up had made me hate piety, hate the Bible and prayer."
"O Flora! and you the child of a Christian mother!" cried Mildred, ina shocked tone.
"Yes, I believe mother is a real Christian, and I don't wonder youare shocked at what I have said. But if she had brought me up as youdo your children, I am sure I should have felt quite differently. Isit any wonder I hate the Bible when, instead of being entertainedwhen good with beautiful stories out of it, I was always punishedwhen particularly naughty by being forced to read a certain number ofchapters in proportion to the extent of my delinquency, and commitso many verses to memory; besides being prayed over--a long tediousprayer, half of which I did not understand?"
"I have always tried to make the Bible a delight to my children," saidMildred, "and I think it is. O Flora, I feel very sorry for you thatyou do not appreciate its beauty and sweetness! Are you not old enoughnow to put away your unfortunate prejudice and learn to love it asGod's own word given to teach us how to obtain eternal life--tellingthe old, old story, the sweet, sweet story of Jesus and His love?"
"I have begun to like it better since I came here," Flora answered,with an abashed look. "I have really enjoyed the Bible stories Ihave overheard you telling the children; and somehow religion seemsa lovelier thing as I see it exhibited in your life and the livesof Cousin Charlie and your parents and sisters, than as my motherpractises it."
"It grieves me to hear a daughter speak so of her mother," Mildred saidgently.
"I don't mean to be unkind or disrespectful toward her," replied Flora,"but I wish to make you understand how I came to feel such a prejudiceagainst piety, and against you because I had been told you were verypious.
"I am quite sure mother is good and sincere, and not at all puffedup and self-righteous; but I think she makes great mistakes whichprejudice people against her religion.
"Now, my father is not a pious man, and some things mother does,and her refusal to do some other things, have so turned him againstreligion that he never goes inside of a church-door.
"For one thing, mother won't dress like other ladies. He wants to seeher well dressed, but she makes it a part of her religion to go lookingold-fashioned and really dowdy. Father buys her handsome things,and she won't wear them; she gives them away or cuts them up for thechildren, and I don't wonder he won't go to church with her. I ampretty sure he might have become a regular attendant if she would onlyhave dressed to suit him.
"And sometimes she gets out of her warm bed, in a cold winter night,and goes off into a room where there is no fire, and stays there for anhour or more--in her bare feet and her night-dress--praying. Then shecomes back chilled through; probably has a dreadful cold the next day,and that makes father mad, and he lays it all to her religion.
"I love my mother, Cousin Mildred, but I can't help blaming her forat least a part of my sufferings. As I have told you, she has nevertaken any care of her children's health; if our food was improperlycooked, it was a matter of no importance; and just so if our clothing,beds, or bedding were left unaired, or if any other sanitary measurewere disregarded. We were often forced to eat and sleep in a close,almost stifling atmosphere; we wore our winter clothes into the heat ofsummer, and our thin summer clothing far on into the damp, cold days ofautumn and early winter.
"Then, too, when I began to complain of this dreadful pain in my back,no notice was taken, and I was expected to do as much as if I wereperfectly well and strong; she would not hire as much help as shemight, as father was quite willing she should, and I was often left todo everything while she spent hours at a time in her closet.
"I've thought sometimes that life would have been easier for me ifI'd had a worldly-minded mother who would have taken some care of myhealth. And I expected to find you the same kind of Christian, but youare very different."
"I fear the difference is not all in my favor," Mildred said.
"But don't you think health ought to be taken care of?" asked Flora. "Ihave noticed that you are very careful of your children's, as well asof their morals and manners."
"Yes," Mildred said, "I think the Bible teaches very plainly that weare to be careful of our bodies. 'What? know ye not that your body isthe temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, andye are not your own?' Health is one of God's good gifts and not to bedespised; it is one of the greatest of temporal blessings; besides,to be careless of it is to lessen our ability to work for God, andprobably to shorten our lives; which we certainly have no right to do.
"But, Flora, perhaps I am not so different from your mother as youthink; I, too, love to spend an hour alone in communion with my bestFriend; and I do not find it time lost, for thus I gather strength forthe duties, trials, and temptations of life. I never could meet themwithout the strength and wisdom that He gives in answer to prayer."
"But you don't seem to neglect other duties for that," Flora said, withan earnest, inquiring look at Mildred.
"I hope not," was the answer; "the Bible tells us there is a time foreverything, and it bids us 'be diligent in business;' but also 'ferventin spirit, serving the Lord.' It tells us, 'In everything give thanks,'and also bids us 'pray without ceasing;' so that it is evident thatwe need not always retire into the closet to talk with our heavenlyFather, but that while our hands are busy with the work He has given usto do, we may, and should be, ever and anon lifting up our hearts insilent prayer to Him.
"O Flora, what a blessed privilege it is to be permitted to do thatat all times and in all places! when in doubt to ask Him for wisdomand guidance, though it be in regard to but a seemingly trivial matter(for great events often hang upon trifles), when tempted to indolence,petulance, censoriousness, or any other sin, to be able on the instantto send up a cry for strength to resist; a cry to Him who is the hearerand answerer of prayer, and who has all power in heaven and in earth.Or if danger threatens one's self or one's dear ones, what a relief tobe able to call at once for help to One who is mighty to save!"
Flora was in a, for her, surprisingly talkative mood. "Cousin Mildred,"she said, "I have been admiring the good behavior of your children eversince I came here. They are so obedient, so gentle-mannered, and sopolite to you and their father, to each other, and indeed to everybody.How have you managed to make them so?"
"There is no great secret about it," Mildred said, smiling. "We tryto teach them politeness and consideration for others by both preceptand example; my husband is always quite as polite and attentive to meas he could be to any strange lady guest. I try to be the same to him,and we both treat our children in the same manner; we never give acommand when a request will answer as well, and we seldom meet withany hesitation in obedience; but if we do, I assure you we resort tocommand, and enforce it, too."
"Do you teach them they must obey because you are their parents?" askedFlora, with a look of keen curiosity.
"Certainly we do," Mildred answered, in some surprise.
"I once read a description of a very nice kind of mother," explainedFlora--"at least the author evidently meant her for a model--and onething he said in her praise was that she never claimed a right to herchild's obedience on the plea that she was his mother."
"Then," said Mildred gravely, "he was either unacquainted with theteachings of God's Word, or had no respect for them, for there are verymany passages that teach children the duty of obedience to parents,and others that command parents to see to it that their children areobedient to them.
"There is the fifth commandment, 'Honor thy father and thy mother: thatthy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.'Again, 'Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right.''Honor thy father and mother; which is the first commandment withpromise.' 'My son, keep thy father's commandment, and forsake not thelaw of thy mother,' and many others.
"Then to parents, 'Corre
ct thy son, and he shall give thee rest; yea,he shall give delight unto thy soul,' and many others of like import;while Solomon tells us, 'A child left to himself bringeth his mother toshame.'
"And how sorely Eli was punished for not restraining his sons whenthey made themselves vile. Also God says, in commendation of Abraham,'I know him, that he will command his children and his householdafter him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord to do justice andjudgment.' And do you not remember that under the Levitical law thepunishment of a refusal to be obedient to parents was death?"
"Is that so? I had quite forgotten it," said Flora.
Mildred opened a Bible, and turning to the twenty-first chapter ofDeuteronomy, read aloud, "'If a man have a stubborn and rebelliousson, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice ofhis mother, and that, when they have chastened him, will not hearkenunto them: then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, andbring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of hisplace; and they shall say unto the elders of his city, This our son isstubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton,and a drunkard. And all the men of his city shall stone him withstones, that he die; so shalt thou put evil away from among you; andall Israel shall hear and fear.'"
"I acknowledge that you have proved your case against my author,"said Flora thoughtfully; "either he was ignorant of the teachings ofScripture on that point, or he chose to disregard them; which nobodyhas a right to do."
"No, that is true," said Mildred; "as the Word of God, whose creatureswe are, it should be to all of us the rule of faith and practice; atribunal from which there is no appeal; whose decisions are final."
"I have noticed," remarked Flora, "that you all seem to regard it inthat light, and to have a great love for it too."
"Yes," said Mildred; "and no wonder; its precious promises have beenour comfort and support in many trials--some of them very heavy. Ithink those sweet promises were all that kept my mother's heart frombreaking when she heard that her two sons had been killed by theIndians."
"It must have been dreadful," Flora said, with sympathy; "but it wasn'ttrue?"
"Not of both, but of one," Mildred answered, with emotion. "Oh, mydear, dear brother!" she cried, in a sudden burst of grief.
Flora went to her and put her arms about her. "Don't weep so," shesaid; "think how happy he is where he has gone, and how safe; no onecan ever make him suffer again."
"I know; and what a comfort it is!" said Mildred; "what joy in thethought that we shall all meet at last in that blessed land, never topart again, and to be forever with the Lord!"
From that day Flora seemed a changed girl, ready to talk and to take aninterest in those about her, to appreciate and respond to their effortsto entertain her, and particularly demonstrative and affectionatetoward Mildred.