Elsie's Widowhood Part 28

In a moment the same thought presented itself to Edward and Violet, and they drew closer to their mother with loving, caressing looks and words.

But memories of Lester, and their walks and talks together when last she was at the sea-sh.o.r.e, were filling the mind of the younger Elsie with emotions, half of pleasure, half of pain. When should they meet again?

Then the sudden silence that had fallen upon the group about her mother, and a glance at that loved mother's face, reminded her also of the father who would return no more, and whose companionship had been so dear a delight to her and to them all.

It was Rosie who broke the silence at length; "Mamma, can we not go pretty soon?"

"Yes, daughter, in about a week."

The journey was made without accident, the cottage and its vicinity found to be all that Edward had represented.

They had brought some of their own servants with them, and had nothing to do with hotel or boarding-house life. Elsie had always loved the quiet and seclusion of home, and clung to it now, more than ever; yet for her children's sake she would not shut out society entirely; both Edward and his sisters were free to invite their young friends to partake of the hospitalities of their mother's house, but without noise or revelry, for which indeed, they themselves had no heart.

For a while the society of his mother and sisters was quite sufficient for Edward and his for them--they were all so strongly attached to each other and he had been so long away from home that it was very delightful to be together once more.

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore were at that time visiting relatives in Philadelphia and its vicinity, and his grandfather's absence gave Edward the long coveted opportunity to try how nearly he could fill his father's place as his mother's earthly prop. It was a dear delight to have her lean upon his arm, rely upon his strength, consult him about business or family matters.

He was very proud and fond of his lovely sisters; prouder and fonder still of his sweet and beautiful mother. He quite longed to show her to all his college friends, yet would not for the world have her grief intruded upon by them with their thoughtless gayety.

During these weeks that they were entirely alone she gave herself up wholly to her children, seeking to secure to them the greatest possible amount of innocent enjoyment. No tasks were set, there was no attempt at regular employment, and almost the whole day was spent in the open air; together they sported in the surf, strolled on the beach, or sat in the sand revelling in the delicious sea breeze and the sight of the ever restless, ever changing, beautiful ocean, with its rolling, tumbling, dashing waves. They were there early in the morning, sometimes in season to watch the sun rise out of the water; and often again when the silvery moonlight lent its witchery to the scene.

But there came a day when the rain poured down so continuously and heavily that they were glad to take refuge from it in the house.

They gathered in a room overlooking the sea, the ladies with their fancy work, Rosie with her doll, while Harold and Herbert helped little Walter to build block houses, and Edward read aloud a story selected by the mother, as entertaining and at the same time pure and wholesome.

She was careful in choosing their mental food; she would no sooner have suffered her children's minds to be poisoned than their bodies.

As Edward closed the book upon the completion of the story, "Mamma,"

said the younger Elsie, "do you quite approve of all the teachings the author has given there? or perhaps I should rather say the sentiments she has expressed."

"Not quite, but what is it you do not approve?" the mother answered with an affectionate and pleased look at the earnest face of the questioner.

"I am glad to see that you are not ready to be carried about with every wind of doctrine."

"It is her comment upon her heroine's effort to escape from her trouble by asking help from G.o.d. She speaks as if, had the girl been older and wiser, she would have known that G.o.d had the welfare and happiness of other people to consult as well as hers, and couldn't be expected to sacrifice them for her sake."

"Well, daughter?"

"It seems to me to show a very low estimate of G.o.d's power and wisdom.

Since he is infinite in both, can he not so order events as to secure the best good to all his creatures?"

"Yes, my child, I am sure he can, and we need never fear that he is not able and willing to help his people in every time of trouble. 'The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.' 'The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.' He does not always answer just as we desire, it is true, but often in a better way, for we, in our folly and short-sightedness, sometimes ask what would prove in the end a curse instead of a blessing."

"Mamma, how happy we should be if we had perfect faith and trust," said Violet.

"Yes; if we fully believed the inspired a.s.surance, 'We know that all things work together for good to them that love G.o.d,' we should not fret or grieve over losses, crosses or disappointments. Strive after such faith, my children, and pray constantly for it, for it is the gift of G.o.d."

There was a little pause, broken only by Walter's prattle, the plash of the rain and the murmur of the sea.

Edward seemed in deep thought. Taking a low seat at his mother's knee, "Mamma," he said, "I want to have a talk with you, and perhaps this is as good a time as any."

"Well, my dear boy, what is it?"

"Do you think, mamma, that I ought to go into the ministry?"

"My son," she said, looking at him in some surprise, "that is not a question to be decided in a moment, or without asking G.o.d's guidance."

"You would be willing, mother?"

"More than willing--glad and thankful--if I saw reason to believe that you were called of G.o.d to that work. To be truly an amba.s.sador of Christ is, in my esteem, to stand higher than any of earth's potentates, yet if your talents do not lie in that direction I would not have you there. It is every man's duty to serve G.o.d to the utmost of his ability, but all are not called to the ministry; some can do far better service in other walks of life, and I should prefer to have a son of mine a good carpenter, mason or shoemaker, rather than a poor preacher."

"You do not mean poor in purse, mamma?" queried Harold, joining the little group.

"No; a poor sermonizer--one lacking the requisite talents, diligence or piety to proclaim G.o.d's truth with faithfulness and power."

"How can one tell to what work he is called, mamma?" Edward asked, with an anxious, perplexed look.

"By watching the leadings of G.o.d's providence and by earnest prayer for his direction. Also I think if a lad has a decided bias for any one profession or employment it is a pretty sure indication that that is what he is called to; for we can almost always do best what we most enjoy doing."

"Then I think I should study medicine," said Harold, "for I should very greatly prefer that to anything else. And don't you think, mamma, that a doctor may do really as much good as a minister?"

"Quite as much if he be a devoted, earnest Christian, ready to do good as he has opportunity: therefore I entirely approve your choice."

"Thank you, mamma. So I consider it quite settled," Harold returned with a look of great satisfaction. "Now, Ed and Herbie, what will you be?"

"As Herbert never likes to be separated from you, I presume he too will choose medicine," the mother remarked, with a smiling glance at her third son, as he too came and stood at her side.

"I don't know, mamma; it seems to me doctors have a dreadfully hard life."

"Ah! I fancy a life of elegant leisure would suit you best, my laddie,"

laughed his eldest brother.

But the mother's look was grave and a little anxious.

Herbert saw it. "Don't be troubled about me, mamma dear," he said, putting his arms round her neck and gazing lovingly into her eyes. "I do mean to fight against my natural laziness. But do you think I ought to choose so very hard a life as Harold means to?"

"Not if you have talent for something useful which would better suit your inclinations. Can you think of any such thing?"

"Couldn't I be a lawyer?"

"You could never rise to eminence in that profession without a great deal of hard work."

"An author then?"

"The same answer will fit again," his mother returned with a slight smile. "Has not your Cousin Molly worked very hard for a number of years?"

Herbert drew a long, deep sigh, then brightening, "I might be a publisher," he said. "I don't suppose they work very hard, and they can have all the new books to read."

"Oh, Herbie," said Violet, "think of the great number of letters they must have to write, and ma.n.u.scripts to read, beside many other things."

"No, my boy, you cannot do or be anything worth while without work, and a good deal of it," said his mother. "So I hope you will make it your earnest, constant prayer that you may have grace to overcome your besetting sin of indolence, and to 'be not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the Lord'. The Bible bids us, 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.'"