"_Encourage somebody_."]
The angel bent over her, and whispered: "Try to encourage somebodyto-day." And thinking it was her own inner self that had spoken, sheanswered, "Yes, perhaps that is the wise way after all."
Directly breakfast was over a postcard had to be taken to the letter boxfor mother. The angel's thought had brought a bright light into thegirl's face. A little fellow was coming towards her, and he was crying;the school bell had awakened fears. Instantly her arm was round hisneck.
"Cheer up! It will soon be going-home time."
"_Cheer up_."]
"Will it?" asked the child, and his sobs ceased.
"Yes. I felt like crying this morning. But it's better to be brave."
A business man was hurrying along, but paused to watch the work ofcomforting. His heart was heavy, too, but her words: "It will soon begoing-home time--it's better to be brave," like a sweet chime, kept withhim all the day.
As the girl re-entered the house a song was on her lips, and a tiredwoman turning a washing-machine next door caught it. She looked roundher--there was such a heap of work to do--and dinner to think of forhusband and children. No wonder there was a worried look on her face.
"Hope on! hope on! Though long the road and drear. Hope on! hope on! Thesunlit hours are near."
"_Hope on_."]
It was Dorothy Cummins singing! "Hope on!" The woman began to sing too."The sunlit hours are near!" The washer went faster. The woman's facecaught a gleam from the coming sunlight. "Hope on! Hope on!" It wouldyet be possible to get all the clothes out before noon.
If she had looked into her neighbor's back garden just then she wouldhave seen what the singer did. A little brown bird was vainly peckingaway at a crust lying under a tree. Then the singer came, with soft,quick steps, and broke the crust into crumbs. The sunlit hour had comefor the bird.
"_Broke the crust_."]
And it even came for Brother George at dinner time. Joy bells did notalways ring when he and Dorothy were in close quarters. To-day hissister remarked, as she looked over his shoulder at some exercise papersin his hands: "What a nice writer you are, George. Father couldn'twrite a bit better than that, I'm sure."
"Don't you make fun of a fellow."
"I'm not. I mean it."
"_I mean it._"]
It is strange, but true, words of praise do not often come in our way.The sunlight dazzled George just at first, but when he had grownfamiliar with it, he called out just before going off to school again:"I say, Dorothy, don't you go chopping that wood. I'll do it when I comeback again. Wood chopping isn't in a girl's line." He even shut the doorso quietly that the mother at work at her machine did not know that hehad gone--the mother who had to work so many hours in order to make endsmeet during the husband's long illness. Her face looked very sad as shebent over her work, but such a change came over it as the door openedand the little housekeeper came in, bearing a cup of tea and a thinslice of bread and butter, laid daintily on a little tray.
"_I'm not tired now._"]
"Why, Dorothy, what have you got there?"
"A cup of tea for you, mother, and you are to drink it, and to be sureto eat the bread and butter. I saw how little dinner you ate. I waswatching you, and you did look so very tired and worn." "But I'm nottired now," said the mother, "not a bit of it. Why," lifting up her facefrom the teacup, "your loving care has strengthened me already."
"I shall be able to help you a lot after tea," said Dorothy, beforereturning to her kitchen duties.
As soon as they were over, and she had changed her dress, she peepedinto her father's room to see if he was sleeping.
"Dear daddy," said she, stroking his white brow and smoothing thepillow, "you will soon be better now."
"_The twenty-seventh Psalm_."]
"How does my little one know that?"
"Because the doctor generally goes away frowning, but to-day he actuallyhad a smile on his face. Daddy"--with a sudden movement, as though shehad just thought of something--"shall I read you something? I havenothing to do before tea."
"Do, my darling."
The twenty-seventh Psalm was read in a soft, low voice.
The sick man's eyes were riveted on the reader's face. "Child, whatmade you read that Psalm?"
"Because, daddy, it's one of my favorites. Did you like it?"
"Yes." Then in a still lower voice, "I must tell you this, for God hasbeen so good to me. I have prayed all day that He would send me somesign or message. And then you bring me words that have put new life intome. 'I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of theLord in the land of the living.' 'Be strong, and let thine heart takecourage.' Child," and there was a glad ring in the voice, "you have beendoing angel's work."
Twilight was filling the valley when again the angels met. "How has yourwork fared to-day, companion?" asked the Angel of the Rainbow.
"My work has sped well to-day, for a girl in a lowly home, just alongthe path of her daily life, has helped me greatly. Ever so many timesduring the hours of light she has started, here and there, the sweetchiming bells of hope."
"Ah," said the Angel of the Rainbow, "now I understand how it was theysounded so much clearer to-day, and why my colors were so bright. Didyou see the lovely bow I threw across from hill to hill, and then asecond one, the rays gleaming all down the cliffs? Did they not make youthink of the Rainbow round the Throne? It is only as I catch hope's gladsinging rising from the byways below that I can paint my brightestcolors."
ONE GIRL'S INFLUENCE
* * * * *
"A young girl went from home," writes Mrs. Sangster, "to a large schoolwhere more than usual freedom of action and less than customaryrestraints were characteristics of the management. She found very littledecided religious life there--an atmosphere, upon the whole, unfavorableto Christian culture. But she had given herself to the Lord, and shecould live nowhere without letting her light shine.
"In a very short time she found two or three congenial spirits, moretimid than herself, but equally devoted. A little prayer meeting beganto be held once a week in her room. On Sabbaths in the afternoon, a fewof the girls came together to study the Bible. Before the half year wasover, the hallowed flame had swept from heart to heart, and there was arevival in that school."
_Yes, father, your dinner is ready_.]
TWO KINDS OF SERVICE
* * * * *
"Have you put up my dinner, Maude?"
John Melvin asked the question almost timidly. His daughter's face wasclouded, her lips were compressed, and she was making a great deal ofunnecessary noise as she moved about the kitchen. She did not reply atonce, and when she spoke it was in no pleasant voice.
"Yes, father, your dinner is ready. Now I must put up the children'sdinners, and there is the ironing to do, and I must do some cookingalso. This will be a busy day with me, but all my days seem to be busy.Perhaps I do not understand how to keep ahead of the work. I have notime for recreation; there seems to be nothing in life for me butdrudgery."
Mr. Melvin sighed heavily.
"I am sorry, Maude. If last season's crops had not failed, I shouldhave hired some stout woman to do the heavy work. It is too much foryou, a girl of nineteen, to have all these cares; but what can I do?"
"You can do nothing, father, and no one is to blame. I expect to be adrudge. Amy," raising her voice, "where are you? Go and pick up thebreakfast dishes, and be quick about it. It isn't time to get ready forschool. Fred, what are you doing? Haven't I told you not to whistle inthe kitchen? Oh, dear! one needs more patience than any mortal everhad!"
"I am sorry, Maude," said Mr. Melvin, again. "It was a sad day for usall when your mother died."
And then the discouraged man, old and worn before his time, took hisdinner-pail and started for the distant wood-lot.
Maude continued to move rapidly about the kitchen and pantry, doing themorning's work and scolding the children in a shrill vo
ice.
"What's the use of being so cross, Maude?" asked Amy, a bright-eyed girlof twelve. "I can't see that it does any good."
"I can't be so easy as you are, Amy. I wish things didn't fret me, butthey do. And you have an easy time, while I have to work like a slave."
"I'm sure I help you all I can, Maude. I don't suppose you want me tostay out of school to work."
"You know I don't. You won't have time to do any more this morning.Now, Fred, I told you to study hard to-day and not fail in yourlessons."
"All right sis," rejoined Fred carelessly.
"Fred, how many times have I told you not to call me 'Sis?' I am tiredbeyond endurance. I don't want to hear another word from you thismorning, sir," she added as she saw the boy was about to speak.
As the children left the house, Fred looked significantly at his sister.
"Wasn't Maude cross this morning? How she did bang things!"
Amy puckered up her brow.
"I can't understand it, Fred. Maude is always scolding."
"Yes, and she belongs to the church. I'm glad I'm not a Christian, ifshe's one."
"Oh, hush, Fred! Christian people are happier than we are."
"Humph! Maude professes to be a Christian, but she can't be happy. Seemsto me she's the unhappiest person I know. Papa doesn't belong to thechurch, but he isn't always scolding."
"Well, I can't understand it," sighed Amy. "But, Fred, you know mama wasa Christian."
"She was a real Christian, too," said Fred soberly. "But I guess it'shard work to be the real thing. Maude must be a make-believe one," headded.
"Oh, hush, Fred! I don't like to hear you say such things."
Left alone, Maude's hands were busy. At dinner time she ate a lunch,and at two o'clock was through her work.
"Everything's in order," she thought, as she looked about the neatkitchen. "And I'm not going to touch a bit of sewing this afternoon.I'll go into the sitting-room and rest until it's time to think aboutsupper."
THE DREAM
In the pleasant little sitting-room Maude sat down in an easy rocker atthe front window and looked out over the snow-covered fields. Presentlyshe saw the bent form of a little old lady in a black coat and red hoodcoming up the path.
"Aunt Sarah Easler," she said to herself, "and coming here, too."
The old lady came in without knocking and Maude rose to meet her. AuntSarah seemed much agitated. She took both of the girl's hands in hers,tears streaming from her eyes.
"What is it, Aunt Sarah?" cried Maude. "Has anything happened?"
"My poor child! My poor child! May God help you!"
Maude felt herself growing faint, but she resolutely banished thefeeling.
"What has happened?" she asked, in a voice so calm that it astonishedherself. "The children?"
"The children are all right, my dear. It is your father."
"My father! What of him? Is he hurt?"
"_Tired father? Supper's all ready_."]
The old lady bowed her head and replied in a broken voice: "Badly hurt,my dear."
_"What is it, Aunt Sarah?"_]
Maude grasped Aunt Sarah's arm.
"Your face tells me that it is even worse than that," she said, calmly."Is he dead?"
"My poor child!"
"You need say no more. I know he is."
Even as Maude spoke, she looked out of the window and saw four menbearing her father's form on a stretcher. She did not faint or cry out,but in a moment her mind went back over the three years that had passedsince her mother's death, and she saw wherein she had failed as adaughter and sister.
Tears came to her relief, and as they gushed down over her cheeks sheawoke with a start. She looked out of the window. Oh, thank God! no menwere in sight, bearing her father's form on a stretcher.
"It was a dream," she murmured. "Heavenly Father, I thank thee!" And sheformed a few resolutions and lifted up her heart in prayer for help.
"How terribly I have erred and wandered from the way," she said aloud."This dream has opened my eyes, and I see what I have been doing. Whatmust have papa thought of me? No wonder that he is not a Christian. Ihave wondered, too, that the children have been so indifferent toreligious teaching, but the influence of my life has spoiled everything.But, thank God! the present is mine, my dear ones are spared to me, andhenceforth I will strive to have my life count for Christ."
When the children came that night they looked in wonder at their sister.There was a smile on her face, and her voice was gentle when she spoketo them. The tea-table was neatly spread and Fred saw his favorite hotrolls. Presently Mr. Melvin came in, somewhat timidly, expecting asusual to hear complaints and impatient exclamations from Maude. Instead,she greeted him pleasantly.
"Tired, father? Supper's ready. I've made some of the toast you like andopened a can of peaches.
"I suppose you are very tired, Maude," said Mr. Melvin, lookingwonderingly at his daughter.
"I'm a little tired, father, but I'm thankful for the privilege ofgetting tired. I have a comfortable home, and we are all in good health.You see, father, I am beginning to count my blessings. I have been afault-finding, ungrateful girl, and have made you all unhappy; but Ihope to make some amends for the past."
"God bless you, my daughter!" said John Melvin, huskily.
DUTY AND PLEASURE
* * * * *
"Duty first, and pleasure afterward," wrote Amy Leslie in her copy-bookone fine morning.
Line after line she penned, making many a mistake, for her thoughts werefar away. At last her mother, who was sitting near her, said, "Amy, thisis the third time you have spelled pleasure without a 'p,' and left outthe 'f' in afterward. Put down your pen and tell me what you arethinking about; for I am sure it is not of your copy."
"I was only thinking," replied Amy, "how glad I should be if my copysaid, 'Pleasure first--duty afterward.' It is very hard always to havethe disagreeable part first. I wish I could have one whole week with noduties at all! How I should enjoy myself!"
Mrs. Leslie remained silent for a moment; then she said, while a quietsmile played round her lips, "Well, Amy, for once you shall have whatyou want. For a whole week you may amuse yourself; no duties, mind, mychild,--none at all."
"There is no chance of my wanting any, I assure you, mama," said Amy,joyfully; "I shall be so happy, you'll see!"
"Very well, then," said Mrs. Leslie; "you may begin to-morrow. To-day Ishall expect you to do as usual."
Amy said no more; she finished her copy, learned her lessons, then wentto the nursery to take charge of her little brother while the nurse wasbusy with other work. Afterward there were socks to mend, and an errandto run, and buttons to sew on to baby's shoes, and a letter to write.And so the day passed, and the next morning dawned on ourpleasure-loving little friend.
"No duties" she said to herself, as she woke at seven, which was herusual time for rising; "so I can lie in bed as long as I please." Sheturned over, and as she could not sleep, began making plans for the day,and thinking what a delightful time she would have. About half past nineshe came down stairs, to find her breakfast on the table; milk, toast,and egg, all as cold as possible. "What a wretched breakfast!" she said,as she took her seat.
"Well, dear," replied Mrs. Leslie, "your breakfast was ready at theusual time, and of course is cold now."
Amy said no more. She ate with only half her usual appetite, and,finishing in about five minutes put away her chair, and left the room.As she went up stairs to fetch her hat, baby in the nursery stretchedhis arms for her to take him; but she hurried past, and left the littlefellow crying with disappointment.
Soon she came down again, with a fairy book in one hand, and a box ofchocolate drops in the other. The sweets had been a present, buthitherto her mother had allowed her to have only one or two daily; now,however, she might do as she liked, and at present her idea of perfectbliss was the combined charms of chocolate drops and fairy stories.
"_Carried it li
ke a baby_."]
For about two hours she sat in the garden; then she grew tired, and alittle sick from eating too much chocolate, and was returning to thehouse, when her pet kitten ran out to meet her. For a short time sheamused herself by playing with it, dressing it up in her pockethandkerchief and carrying it like a baby; but Miss Pussy wearied ofthis, and at last jumped out of her new dress and her mistress' arms,leaving a scratch as a keepsake behind her.
Altogether, the morning was hardly a successful one, nor was theafternoon much better. After dinner, one of Amy's little sisters toreher dress, and was running to Amy to ask her to mend it; but Mrs. Lesliesaid:--
"Don't go to your sister, my child, come to me;" and little Jessie,wondering, let her mother darn the rent. Amy felt very uncomfortable,for she knew that Mrs. Leslie's eyes were not strong, and were probablyaching with the effort of such fine work; but she shrank from offeringher services, and made her escape from the room as soon as she could.
In the evening she was about to draw her chair to the fire and read thenewspaper to Mr. Leslie, a duty of which she had always felt ratherproud; but her father gravely took the paper out of her hand, sayingquickly, "No, Amy, this is a duty; remember you are to amuse yourselfand do nothing else."
Amy's eyes filled with tears, and she ran up stairs to her own room. Shehad no heart to read the fairy book, or to make clothes for her doll, orto play with the kitten, or even to eat the rest of her chocolate drops.