“Euphemia,” she said slowly, softly, to herself in the mirror. “You’ve got to be different after this. You’ve got to be of good report.” Then she turned and dropped upon her knees beside her bed and prayed, whispering the words in a voice of awe, “Dear Christ, please do that for me, too. Please show me how to be a witness. I want to have You help me.”
Chapter 8
The famous picnic, which had been so carefully planned and eagerly anticipated, was not such a great success as had been expected.
In the first part, the guest of honor was not present, the guest for whom Maud Bradley had secretly planned it, though she had not let the girls know she knew he was coming at that time.
Maud had done her best at the last minute to get hold of him, in spite of his polite note of refusal. She even went herself to the Earle house, as early in the morning as she thought it discreet to appear there, but found to her dismay that both Lawrence and his mother were gone for the day. That, alone, was enough to spoil the party for Maud, for she had laid her plans so that she might hope to retain the young man for her own special escort. In fact there was not one girl in the bunch, with the possible exception of Flora Garner, who was not in some form or other cherishing some quiet plan to take possession of the guest of the day as her own private property. Even Eleanor Martin had decided to make much of Lawrence Earle’s former friendship for her older sister, Margaret, in order to claim his attention. It was a great thing for the whole crowd to have the young man back at home after his long absence, and the halo that surrounded his reputation made him the more desirable.
When, therefore, the company gathered, car by car, and the news was broken to each one that Lawrence Earle would not be with them that day, there was dire dismay. Several girls, against the advice of their mothers, had worn their best dresses, with the young stranger especially in mind. And these looked down at their crisp, new frocks in dismay, for there was no denying the wisdom of their mothers’ sage advice. The dresses would never be so fresh and pretty again after a day of frolicking, part of the time in the woods and part of the time crowed into automobiles. And now there would be no fresh frock for the next occasion, when the young man might be more gracious.
Janet Chipley even went so far as to try and get her carload to turn back to her home, on the pretext of having forgotten a box of mints, thinking to slip upstairs and make a change in her garments while they waited. But the driver of her car persuaded her otherwise, and the day began with a number of girls being much upset in temper.
This attitude on the part of the girls gradually had its effect on the boys of the party.
“Oh, Jan, give us a rest on Earle. We’re sick of his name. What’s he, anyway? He doesn’t belong to our crowd. Forget it. I’m glad he didn’t come. You girls wouldn’t have had eyes for anybody else. He’s nothing so great, anyway! Other men have made Phi Beta Kappa. Other men have been captains of teams and nines, and won honors. For Pete’s sake, forget him and pass the sandwiches!”
Then they had taken the wrong road, and turning back, failed to find the charming picnic spot they had started for, or the spring where they expected to drink.
There was salt in the ice cream, and someone had forgotten to bring sugar for the Thermos bottles of hot coffee. Jessie Heath tore her new dress on the fallen limb of a tree and blamed it all on Jimmy Woods, who happened to step on the other end of the limb when it caught her dress, and they had such a quarrel that they went on the rest of the way in separate cars.
Eleanor Martin was especially unhappy, for in spite of her best-laid plans, her car was loaded up with two of the girls whom she detested and the stupidest boys in the bunch. She would have protested, but by the time she reached the rendezvous, having had trouble with her makeup and been delayed longer than she realized, the others were all seated, ready to start, and there was nothing to do but take those left standing on the sidewalk waiting for her.
One of the boys who had fallen to her lot was determined to drive the car for her, and after resisting as long as she thought she could, she let him drive for a few miles. And during that episode they had two narrow escapes from a smash-up and one pretty nasty puncture in the new tire, which set them back several miles behind the rest of the party who went happily on their way, shouting out that they would unpack and have the lunch ready when they got there.
Moreover, Eleanor’s conscience troubled her, for she knew her father would be cross about that puncture, and she knew she had broken her word in letting Fred Romayne drive.
Redmond Riley had brought a strange boy from New York with him, and this young man had a dashing way with him and carried in his hip pocket a flask that he kept passing around. Eleanor was too well brought up to partake of its contents, but she had not courage to prevent its being passed among the others in her car. And presently the whole carload became most uproarious, finally demanding to stop at a place on the way, where Red said they could get the flask filled up.
Eleanor knew that her father would not approve of such doings, and she had a few ideas herself of what was the correct thing to do. Still, she lacked moral courage to insist, and the consequence was that she suffered tortures all day both from her conscience, which continued to annoy her, and also from the actions of the hilarious boys who were carrying things with a high hand. After the lunch eight of them jumped wildly into her car, which she had unfortunately left unlocked, and drove madly off through the woods, singing and shouting at the top of their lungs, their feet scoring the new leather of the seat, their driver dashing along the wood’s road without apparently noticing where he was steering, the brakes grinding in a loud scream just in time to save a collision with a large tree.
Eleanor ran after them, shouting, pleading, wringing her hands, but too late. They dashed on and were gone for an hour and a half, returning with the beautiful new car splashed with mud and one fender bent. The stranger from New York had been driving. He had filled his flask again somewhere and apparently had distributed it generously among the others, for they were all wilder than ever.
Eleanor had to lock the car and hide the key to prevent their going off again later. And in despair she climbed into the driver’s seat and refused to leave it, saying she must drive the car herself or they could not ride with her.
She tried to get rid of Red and his friend from New York, but none of the girls wanted them, and the remainder of the day became a nightmare to her.
Moreover, the moon, which they had counted upon for their return drive, withdrew behind a cloud, and rain began to fall to add to their discomforts.
They arrived home, long after midnight, in the midst of one of the most terrific thunderstorms the season had known. And those of the new dresses, which had escaped thorn and briar and crushing and wet moss and spilled cocoa, got a thorough drenching before their miserable young owners got safely into their respective homes.
Altogether Eleanor was not very happy when she met her father’s stern eye and tried to explain why they hadn’t come home at the time they had promised, and why the fender was bent, and the tire flat, and a long jagged scratch in the leather of the backseat. Tried also to explain the stain on the new carpet in the back and the strong smell of liquor that pervaded the whole dejected, mud-splashed outfit.
Altogether, Eleanor was anything but happy as she went to her room that night, and she was not in a much better mood when she came downstairs the next morning, so late that the breakfast table was cleared off and everything edible put away.
The Garner girls were not much happier, either. They telephoned Eleanor that their father was very angry about the behavior of the crowd. For it appeared that someone had passed them earlier in the evening and recognized them, and had brought back a report of their doings, which had spread through the town with various additions, and the Garner girls were in trouble. Their father considered them responsible to a certain extent. They intimated that he also considered that Eleanor had been responsible for the young men who were in her car. T
he whole thing was making a most unsavory stir, and the Garner girls were very unhappy.
Later there came word from Janet Chipley. Her mother was taking her away immediately. She did not wish her daughter’s name to be mixed up in the affair. It appeared that Red and his New York friend had called upon Janet that morning to return a silver spoon, which they had somehow carried away in one of their pockets, and had much offended Mrs. Chipley. Later advices from other members of the select junior crowd showed even more horrified parents, as the day wore on and the stories grew. For be it known that the crowd the Garner girls and Eleanor Martin belonged to had been considered beyond reproach, and now the young ladies sat in dust and ashes and indignity.
Euphemia Martin, as she resolved to try to have herself called hereafter, had spent a quiet evening in her room after her day’s experiences, searching her Bible for the verse that Lawrence Earle had quoted. With the help of an old concordance from the library, she found it at last and made sure that its words were thoroughly graven in her memory.
She went to sleep, saying them over to herself: “Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on those things!”
And she had never in her life thought on any of those things. It had never made the slightest difference to her whether anyone thought her true or honest or of good report or lovely or anything else. She had gone on her own selfish way, doing what she pleased and boasting to herself that she did not care what people thought of her, feeling proud of the fact that she was going against public opinion. And here it was in the Bible all the time that that was one of the things God wanted her to do—think about being lovely and true and having a good reputation.
Now that she thought about it, there was another verse she had learned when she was a child, something about avoiding even the appearance of evil.
Well, it was strange that she should have run across this young man in this way. The very person she would have avoided if she had known he was there. And to think he should have been the one to show her the way in the darkness. Just that morning she had been wishing she had someone she dared ask what to do about making herself right, and then he had been sent. He must have been sent, for it was all so strange and out of the ordinary, everything that had happened the whole day. It must be God had sent him to help her!
What a wonderful young man he was.
She went over the story he had told her of his own awakening. That must be what old-fashioned people used to call “conversion.” People didn’t talk about such things nowadays, at least Euphemia had not heard them, unless it might have been a minister now and then mentioning it in a sermon. But Euphemia had never been in the habit of listening much to sermons.
But Lawrence Earle was sincere. She could see that. He believed everything he said, and he carried conviction when he told about it. She felt sure he was right. She was comforted by the fact that God cared to guide her and that He had promised to help her. She longed to know more about this mysterious life of the Spirit that Lawrence Earle seemed to live in and understand. Could it be that a young, unloved, unlovely girl like herself could ever get that great hold on God that Lawrence Earle seemed to have?
And what a witness he was going to make for Christ. Why, he even cared to stop and witness to her, just a young, wild, awkward girl with nothing about her to catch his interest.
Oh, what a great thing it would be to go about a living witness of Christ! For that, one would not mind giving up anything else. But, of course, she never could. A girl who wasn’t considered good enough for the other girls of the neighborhood to associate with could never be fit for the indwelling of the great Christ, the divine Savior of the world.
But perhaps He could make her fit. Lawrence Earle had said He was able to keep anybody from all kinds of falling, and to present them faultless—wasn’t that the rest of that verse? They used it in benedictions. She knew it by heart because she had usually been so glad that the service was over that she followed the benediction to its end, ready to bounce out into the aisle the minute the amen had come. “Now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy—” Did that mean that He was able to make one so faultless that it gave Him joy? He was not ashamed to present one whom He had made faultless, even before the presence of God’s glory? How wonderful!
Euphemia had never thought about holy things like this before. But she lay for a long time in her bed, in her dark room, going over these thoughts. And at last she slipped from her bed to her knees and spoke aloud in a very low tone, as if she felt the Presence to whom she was speaking standing close beside her.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, if You are able to make anything out of me with all my faults, won’t You please take me and do it? I don’t see how You can, but I believe You can do it if You say so, and I do want to be faultless. I would like to be a witness for You, if You think You ever could make me fit.”
When the terrible thunder began to roll over the town, and the lightning flashes lit up the darkest corners of rooms, and the rain dashed in sheets against the windows, Euphemia lay sweetly sleeping on her pillow with a smile of trust on her young lips.
She came downstairs the next morning with a light of anticipation in her eyes. She was actually looking for God to answer her prayer.
Chapter 9
There were two surprises in the Martin home that morning. The first occurred when Lawrence Earle drove up to the door in his car and inquired of Johnnie whether his sister had recovered from yesterday and if he might see her a moment. It’s true that he spoke a name, one that sounded strangely to Johnnie—Euphemia—but he supposed Eleanor was meant, of course. Who but Eleanor was ever inquired for by a young man? Margaret, the eldest sister, was married and in a faraway Western home. Eleanor was the one to be called upon now. And naturally, Eleanor would be supposed to be recovering from her ride of the day before. Indeed, she had just arisen and was taking a belated breakfast at that moment by herself in the pantry. Johnnie, like the usual small boy, knew all his sister’s comings and goings, and he was aware that this young man had been asked to join the ride the day before, also that Eleanor was much interested in him.
The living room was in charming order. This was owing to the careful thought that Effie had bestowed upon that clause, “whatsoever things are lovely,” the night before. Effie began to see that there were a great many things which might be lovely and that it was this clause in which she seemed to be most lacking.
Johnnie, having seated the guest, hastened to the kitchen in search of Eleanor.
“Say, Nell, where are you?” he called. “Come out o’ there. There’s a man in the sitting room to see you—that Earle fellow. He wants to know if you’ve recovered yet from your pleasure excursion, and I expect he wants you to go and ride. He’s got his car, so you’d better get your clothes on. You look like last week’s milkshake in that rig.”
Then Johnnie put his hands in his pockets and, having done his duty, whistled himself out of the kitchen door before his sister had recovered from her astonishment enough to ask him any questions. She quickly laid down the piece of apple pie she was eating and slipped up the back stairs to follow Johnnie’s advice, pondering all the while why Lawrence Earle had come to see her. And planning what a delightful time she would have riding with him, the envy of all the other girls. She decided that he had probably come to make his excuses for not going with them yesterday. But why had he come to her, instead of to those other girls who had sent out the invitations? She was in a flutter of excitement and tossed over her boxes and drawers for a certain string of beads she wanted to wear. Euphemia, in the next room, was getting the baby to sleep and singing softly. The words floated through the half-open door occasionally and down through the hall to the waiting visitor.
I ask You for a thoughtful love,
Through constant watching wise,
&nb
sp; To meet the glad with joyful smiles
And wipe the weeping eyes;
A heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize.
I ask Thee for the daily strength,
To none that ask denied,
A mind to blend with outward life,
While keeping at Thy side;
Content to fill a little space,
If Thou be glorified.
He smiled to himself as he listened, and thought, If that is Euphemia, and I think I know her voice, she did not need that I should guide her to Him, for she evidently knows Him already. Perhaps she has caught the secret.
Then Eleanor came down the stairs, smiling and fresh. Eleanor was very pretty, and she was graciousness itself now. She was pleased to have him call. It was kind of him, and they had been so disappointed yesterday. Earle seemed a little surprised, but he was courteous. He asked about the ride and said it had been a perfect day, but other plans had prevented his going. He did not, as Eleanor expected, ask her to ride, though she was arranged in the prettiest of garments. Instead, after a few words about the weather, the roads, and the town in general, he told her she had changed a lot, that he shouldn’t have known her, and then he asked if he might see her sister, Euphemia. For a moment Eleanor was puzzled. She was just about to say she had not a sister, Euphemia, when it dawned upon her whom he meant. And she said, “Oh, Effie? Why, yes, I think the child is around somewhere. You never can tell where to find Effie. I’ll go and see if she’s been heard from lately.” And she left the room bewildered. What in the world did he want with Effie? Had she been getting into some sort of a scrape and had he come to find out what she knew of it? Her face burned with shame over the thought.
Effie’s low-voiced singing over the baby, as she laid him carefully on Mother’s bed in the darkened room, caught her sister’s ear, and she hastened to summon her.
Effie had discovered that virtue brings its own reward to a certain degree, and was feeling real pleasure in the work she had accomplished, as she softly covered the baby with Mother’s white shawl and tiptoed out of the room. She was startled to find her sister, Eleanor, standing in the hall, frowning at her. “For pity’s sake, Effie!” was her greeting. “What a fright you are! Go and brush your hair and put on something decent. Lawrence Earle is downstairs and wants to see you. He wants to know ‘if you have recovered from yesterday.’ What in the world does he mean? Have you been getting into some scrape, and has he come here to let us know it, asking after you in a very polite way not to hurt our feelings? I just know you have.”