Stepping Heavenward Part 14

A mother," she went on, "receives her children one at a time, and gradually adjusts herself to gradually increasing burdens. But you take a whole houseful upon you at once, and I am sure it is too much for you. You do not look or act like yourself."

"It isn't the children," I said.

"What is it, then?"

"Why, it's nothing," I said, pettishly.

'"I must say, dear," said mother, not noticing my manner, "that your wonderful devotion to the children, aside from its effect on your health and temper, has given me great delight."

"I don't see why," I said.

"Very few girls of your age would give up their whole time as you do to such work."

"That is because very few girls are as fond of children as I am.

There is no virtue in doing exactly what one likes best to do."

"There, go away, you contrary child," said mother, laughing. "If you won't be praised, you won't."

So I came up here and moped a little. I don't see what ails me.

But there is an under-current of peace that is not entirely disturbed by any outside event. In spite of my follies and my shortcomings, I do believe that G.o.d loves and pities me, and will yet perfect that which concerneth me. It is a great mystery. But so is everything.

Dr. Elliott to Mrs. Crofton:

And now, my dear friend, having issued my usual bulletin of health, you may feel quite at ease about your dear children, and I come to a point in your letter which I would gladly pa.s.s over in silence. But this would be but a poor return for the interest you express in my affairs.

Both ladies are devoted to your little flock, and Miss Mortimer seems not to have a thought but for them. The high opinion I formed of her at the outset is more than justified by all I see of her daily, household life. I know what her faults are, for she seems to take delight in revealing them. But I also know her rare virtues, and what a wealth of affection she has to bestow on the man who is so happy as to win her heart. But I shall never be that man. Her growing aversion to me makes me dread a summons to your house, and I have hardly manliness enough to conceal the pain this gives me. I entreat you, therefore, never again to press this subject upon me. After all, I would not, if I could, dispense with the ministry of disappointment and unrest.

Mrs. Crofton, in reply:

. . . . So she hates you, does she? I am charmed to hear it.

Indifference would be an alarming symptom, but good, cordial hatred, or what looks like it, is a most hopeful sign. The next chance you get to see her alone, a.s.sure her that you never shall repeat your first offence. If nothing comes of it I am not a woman, and never was one; nor is she.

MARCH 25, 1836.-The New Year and my birthday have come and gone, and this is the first moment I could find for writing down all that has happened.

The day after my last date I was full of serious, earnest thoughts, of new desires to live, without one reserve, for G.o.d. I was smarting under the remembrance of my folly at Mrs. Embury's, and with a sense of vague disappointment and discomfort, and had to fly closer than ever to Him. In the evening I thought I would go to the usual weekly service. It is true I don't like prayer-meetings, and that is a bad sign, I am afraid. But I am determined to go where good people go, and see if I can't learn to like what they like.

Mother went with me, of course.

What was my surprise to find that Dr. E. was to preside! I had no idea that he was that sort of a man.

The hymns they sang were beautiful, and did me good. So was his prayer. If all prayers were like that, I am sure I should like evening meetings as much as I now dislike them. He so evidently spoke to G.o.d in it, and as if he were used to such speaking.

He then made a little address on the ministry of disappointments, as he called it. He spoke so cheerfully and hopefully that I began to see almost for the first time G.o.d's reason for the petty trials and crosses that help to make up every day of one's life. He said there were few who were not constantly disappointed with themselves, with their slow progress, their childishness and weakness; disappointed with their friends who, strangely enough, were never quite perfect enough, and disappointed with the world, which was always promising so much and giving so little. Then he urged to a wise and patient consent to this discipline, which, if rightly used, would help to temper and strengthen the soul against the day of sorrow and bereavement. But I am not doing him justice in this meagre report; there was something almost heavenly in his expression which words cannot describe.

Coming out I heard some one ask, "Who was that young clergyman?" and the answer, "Oh, that is only a doctor!"

Well! the next week I went again, with mother. We had hardly taken our seats when Dr. E. marched in with the sweetest looking little creature I ever saw. He was so taken up with her that he did not observe either mother or myself. As she sat by my side I could not see her full face, but her profile was nearly perfect. Her eyes were of that lovely blue one sees in violets and the skies, with long, soft eye-lashes, and her complexion was as pure as a baby's. Yet she was not one of your doll beauties; her face expressed both feeling and character. They sang together from the same book, though I offered her a share of mine. Of course, when people do that it can mean but one thing.

So it seems he has forgotten me, and consoled himself with this pretty little thing. No doubt she is like his mother, that "gentlest, meekest, sweetest and fairest among women!"

Now if anybody should be sick, and he should come here, I thought, what would become of me? I certainly could not help showing that a love that can so soon take up with a new object could not have been a sentiment of much depth.

It is not pleasant to lose even a portion of one's respect and esteem for another.

The next day mother went to visit an old friend of hers, who has a beautiful place outside of the city. The baby's nurse had ironing to do, so I promised to sit in the nursery till it was finished. Lucy came, with her books, to sit with me. She always follows like my shadow. After a while Mrs. Embury called. I hesitated a little about trusting the child to Lucy's care, for though her prim ways have given her the reputation of being wise beyond her years, I observe that she is apt to get into trouble which a quick-witted child would either avoid or jump out of in a twinkling. However, children are often left to much younger girls, so, with many cautions, I went down, resolving to stay only a few moments.

But I wanted so much to know all about that pretty little friend of Dr. E.'s that I let Mrs. Embury stay on and on, though not a ray of light did I get for my pains At last I heard Lucy's step coming downstairs.

"Cousin Katy," she said, entering the room with her usual propriety, "I was seated by the window, engaged with my studies. and the children were playing about, as usual, when suddenly I heard a shriek, and one of them ran past me, all in a blaze and-"

I believe I pushed her out of my way as I rushed upstairs, for I took it for granted I should meet the little figure all in a blaze, coming to meet me. But I found it wrapped in a blanket, the flames extinguished. Meanwhile, Mrs. Embury had roused the whole house, and everybody came running upstairs.

"Get the doctor, some of you," I cried, clasping the poor little writhing form in my arms.

And then I looked to see which of them it was, and found it was Aunty's pet lamb, everybody's pet lamb, our little loving, gentle Emma.

Dr. Elliott must have come on wings, for I had not time to be impatient for his arrival. He was as tender as a woman with Emma; we cut off and tore off her clothes wherever the fire had touched her, and he dressed the burns with his own hands. He did not speak a word to me, or I to him. This time he did not find it necessary to advise me to control my-self. I was as cold and hard as a stone.

But when poor little Emma's piercing shrieks began to subside, and she came a little under the influence of some soothing drops he had given her at the outset, I began to feel that sensation in the back of my neck that leads to conquest over the most stubborn and the most heroic. I had just time to get Emma into the doctor's arms, and then down I went. I got over it in a minute, and was up again before any one had time to come to the rescue. But Dr. E. gave Emma to Mrs.

Embury, who had taken off her things and been crying all the time, and said in a low voice,

"I beg you will now leave the room, and lie down. And do not feel obliged to see me when I visit the child. That annoyance, at least, you should spare yourself."

"No consideration shall make me neglect little Emma," I replied, defiantly.

By this time Mrs. Embury had rocked her to sleep, and she lay, pale and with an air of complete exhaustion, in her arms.

"You must lie down now, Miss Mortimer," Dr. Elliott said, as he rose to go. "I will return in a few hours to see how you both do."

He stood looking at, Emma, but did not go. Then Mrs. Embury asked the question I had not dared to ask.

"Is the poor child in danger?"

"I cannot say; I trust not. Miss Mortimer's presence of mind in extinguishing the flames at once, has, I hope, saved its life."

"It was not my presence of mind, it was Lucy's!" I cried, eagerly.

Oh, how I envied her for being the heroine, and for the surprised, delighted smile with which he went and took her hand, saying, "I congratulate you, Lucy! How your mother will rejoice at this!"

I tried to think of nothing but poor little Emma, and of the reward Aunty had had for her kindness to Lucy. But I thought of myself, and how likely it was that under the same circ.u.mstances I should have been beside myself, and done nothing. This, and many other emotions, made me burst out crying.

"Yes, cry, cry, with all your heart," said Mrs. Embury, laying Emma gently down, and coming to get me into her arms. "It will do you good, poor child!"

She cried with me, till at last I could lie down and try to sleep.

Well, the days and the weeks were very long after that.

Dear mother had a hard time, what with her anxiety about Emma, and my crossness and unreasonableness.