Four Girls at Chautauqua Part 34

"May I give you to-night one word more of gospel invitation? Come, go with us, you who do not understand this matter for yourselves, go with us, and we _will_ do you good. Will you go to your rooms to-night and make the resolve that shall write your names in G.o.d's book of life? The recording angel has a trembling hand this minute, waiting for your answer. Weary one, _so_ young and yet so tired, come, come, come now."

Marion, with cheeks burning, and eyes very bright and earnest, looked around her: Eurie sat next to her, she seemed unmoved, there was no sign of tears to her bright eyes, but she was looking steadily at the speaker.

"Never mind!" Marion said within herself, and there came to her an eager desire to begin her practice, to do something; what if it were utter failure, would the fault be hers?

Following the sudden leading that she had learned no better than to call 'impulse' she said in a quick low whisper: "Eurie, _won't you_?" And she held her breath for the answer, and could distinctly feel the beating of her own heart. Eurie turned great gray astonished eyes on her friend, and said in a firm quiet voice: "I have. I settled that matter on Sat.u.r.day. Have you?"

And then those two girls, each with the wonderful surprise ringing music in her heart, were willing to have that meeting over.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

THE END OF THE BEGINNING.

It was almost over. Dr. Deems sat down amid the hush of hearts, and all the people seemed to feel that no more words were needed. Yet, the next moment, they greeted Frank Beard with joy, and prepared themselves with great satisfaction to listen to what he had to say. Frank Beard was one of Chautauqua's favorites.

People had not the least idea that they could be beguiled into laughter; hearts were too tender for that; yet you should have heard the bursts of mirth that rang there for the next five minutes! Frank Beard was so quaint, so original, so innocent in his originality, so pure and high-toned, even in his fun, and they liked him so much that every heart there responded to his mirth. The roars of laughter reached as high as the music had done, but a little while before.

Yet, when people's hearts are tender, and full, it is strange how near laughter is to tears! Just a sentence from the same lips and the hush fell on them again.

Frank Beard had brought his heart with him to Chautauqua, and he was evidently leaving some of it there. The touching little story of his dream about his mother brought out a flutter of handkerchiefs, and made tear-stained faces. And when he, simply as a child, tenderly as a large-souled man, trustfully as only a Christian can, said his farewell, and told of his joyful hope of meeting them all in the eternal morning, absolute stillness settled over them.

So many last words--one and another came--just a word, just "good-bye,"

until we meet again; maybe here, next year, maybe there, where good-byes are never heard. Finally came Dr. Vincent, his strong decided voice breaking the spell, and helping them to realize that they ware men and women with work to do:

"Now, my friends," he said, "we really _must_ go home; it is hard to close; I know that, no one knows it better: we _have_ closed a good many times, and it won't _stay_ closed. The last word has been said over and over again. I said it myself, some time ago, and here I am again: we must just _stop_, never mind the closing; we will ring a hymn, and go away, and next year we will begin right here, where we left it."

But he didn't "stop," and no one wanted him to. His voice grew tender, and his words were solemn. The last words that he would ever speak to many a soul within sound of his voice; it could not be otherwise. You can imagine better than I could tell you what Dr. Vincent's message would be at such a time as that.

Breaking into it, came the shrill sound of the whistle. The Col.

Phillips--the last boat for the night--was giving out its warning. The Chautauqua bells began their parting peal. Not even for his own convenience would that marvel of punctuality have the bells tarry a moment behind the hour appointed.

Our girls looked at each other and made signs, and nodded, and began to slip quietly out. They had arranged to spend the night at the Mayville House, and take an early train. Many others were softly and reluctantly moving away. They were very quiet during that last walk down to the wharf. Glorious moonlight was abroad, and the water shone like a sheet of silver.

As they walked, the evening wind brought to them the notes of the last song which the throng at the stand were singing. A clear, ringing, yet tender farewell. It floated sweetly down to them, growing fainter and fainter as the distance lengthened, until, as they stepped on board the boat, they lost its sound. There were many people going the same way, but there was little talking. There are times when people, though they may be very far from unhappiness, have no desire to talk. Once on deck, Marion turned and clasped both of Eurie's hands.

"I have had such a blessed surprise to-night!" she said, with glowing face. "I did not think of such a thing! O Eurie, why didn't you tell me?"

"You cannot begin to be as surprised as I am," Eurie said. "I thought you were miles away from such a thing. Why didn't you tell _me_?"

Ruth and Flossy were leaning over, watching the play of the water against the boat's side.

"What about those two?" Eurie said, nodding her head toward them.

Marion sighed.

"Ruth is very far from understanding anything about it," she said; "at least the last time I talked with her she knew as little about the Christian life as the veriest heathen so far at least as personal duty was concerned."

"When was that?"

"Why, a week ago; more than a week."

"How long is it since you settled this question for yourself?"

"Since yesterday," Marion said, blushing and laughing. "Eurie, you would do for a cross-questioner."

"And I have been on this side since Sat.u.r.day,'" Eurie answered, significantly. "A great many things can happen in a week."

At this point, Ruth turned and came towards them. She looked quiet and grave.

"It is a year, isn't it? since we stood here together for the first time," she said. "At least I seem to have had a year of life and experience. Do you know, girls, I have something to tell you: I thought to wait until we reached home, but I have decided to-night that I will not. I am sorry that I have not told you before. Marion, don't you know how like a simpleton I talked, a week ago last Sat.u.r.day night? I want to tell you that I was a fool; and was talking about that of which I knew nothing at all. I want to a.s.sure you that there is a safe place, that I know it now by actual experience, I have gone to the mountain and it is sure and safe; and, oh, girls, I want you both to come so much."

"I know the mountain;" Marion said, reaching out, and clasping Ruth's hand. "The name of it is Calvary, it _is_ safe, and it is sufficient for us all. Ruthie, we three are together in this thing."

What those girls said to each other then and there is sacred to them.

But if I could, I would tell you something of the joy they felt.

Flossy still leaned over the railing, a small quiet speck in the moonlight. Marion kept turning her head in her direction. "Our poor little Flossy would not understand much about this experience, I suppose," she said at last; "she is such a child, and yet, I don't know--sometimes I have fancied that she thinks more than we give her credit for. That at least she has lately."

"Let us tell her, anyway," Eurie, said, "we can't know what good it may do. If we had not been so dreadfully afraid of each other, during the last few days, we might have helped each other a good deal; for my part, I have learned a lesson on which I mean to practice."

Ruth looked up quickly, a rare smile in her eyes; she opened her lips to speak to them, then seemed to change her mind and raised her voice: "Flossy!" And Flossy came at her call.

"Come here," Ruth said, withdrawing her hand from Marion's, and winding her arm around the small figure beside her.

"Flossy, the girls have had our very experience all by themselves, and they want to know how long it is since you began to think about this matter for yourself."

Flossy turned her soft blue eyes on Marion.

"The very night we came, Marion, and you made me come to the meeting in the rain, you remember? I heard that which I knew would never let me rest again, until I understood it and had it for my own. But I was very ignorant, and foolish, and I blundered along in the dark for three mortal days! After that Jesus found me, and I have known since what it is to live in the light."

"A Christian experience of ten whole days!" Eurie said. Of course she was the first one to rise from her surprise and get possession of her tongue.

"Flossy, you have had a chance to get a good way ahead instead of being behind, as we thought. You will have to show us the way."

"Isn't this just wonderful!" broke forth Marion, suddenly, an overwhelming sense coming over her, of the new relations that they four would henceforth bear to each other. "Why, girls, what would they say up there at the stand, if they could know what has come to each of us! I almost feel like going back and telling them all. Just think what a delight it would be to Dr. Vincent, and Dr. Deems, and, oh, to all of them. Isn't it queer to think how well we know them all, and they are not aware of our existence?"

"I don't believe people will have to wait to be introduced to each other when they get to heaven," Eurie said; "that is one of the first things I am going to do when I get there; hunt up some of these Chautauqua people and cultivate their acquaintance."

This sentence gave Flossy a new thought:

"We are really _all_ going to heaven!"

She said it precisely as you might speak of a trip to Europe on which your heart had long been set.