The Forerunner Part 95

Don't waste nerve force on foolish and unnecessary things--physical or moral; but invest it, carefully, without losing an ounce, in the gradual and easy acquisition of whatever new habits You, as the Conscious Master, desire to develop in your organism.

O FAITHFUL CLAY!

O faithful clay of ancient brain!

Deep graven with tradition dim, Hard baked with time and glazed with pain, On your blind page man reads again What else were lost to him.

Blessed the day when art was found To carve and paint, to print and write, So may we store past memory's bound, Make our heaped knowledge common ground.

So may the brain go light.

Oh wondrous power of brain released, Kindled--alive--set free; Knowledge possessed; desire increased; We enter life's continual feast To see--to see--to see!

WHAT DIANTHA DID

CHAPTER IX.

"SLEEPING IN."

Men have marched in armies, fleets have borne them, Left their homes new countries to subdue; Young men seeking fortune wide have wandered-- We have something new.

Armies of young maidens cross our oceans; Leave their mother's love, their father's care; Maidens, young and helpless, widely wander, Burdens new to bear.

Strange the land and language, laws and customs; Ignorant and all alone they come; Maidens young and helpless, serving strangers, Thus we keep the Home.

When on earth was safety for young maidens Far from mother's love and father's care?

We preserve The Home, and call it sacred-- Burdens new they bear.

The sun had gone down on Madam Weatherstone's wrath, and risen to find it unabated. With condensed disapprobation written on every well-cut feature, she came to the coldly gleaming breakfast table.

That Mrs. Halsey was undoubtedly gone, she had to admit; yet so far failed to find the exact words of reproof for a woman of independent means discharging her own housekeeper when it pleased her.

Young Mathew unexpectedly appeared at breakfast, perhaps in antic.i.p.ation of a sort of Roman holiday in which his usually late and apologetic stepmother would furnish the amus.e.m.e.nt. They were both surprised to find her there before them, looking uncommonly fresh in crisp, sheer white, with deep-toned violets in her belt.

She ate with every appearance of enjoyment, chatting amiably about the lovely morning--the flowers, the garden and the gardeners; her efforts ill seconded, however.

"Shall I attend to the orders this morning?" asked Madam Weatherstone with an air of n.o.ble patience.

"O no, thank you!" replied Viva. "I have engaged a new housekeeper."

"A new housekeeper! When?" The old lady was shaken by this inconceivable promptness.

"Last night," said her daughter-in-law, looking calmly across the table, her color rising a little.

"And when is she coming, if I may ask?"

"She has come. I have been with her an hour already this morning."

Young Mathew smiled. This was amusing, though not what he had expected.

"How extremely alert and businesslike!" he said lazily. "It's becoming to you--to get up early!"

"You can't have got much of a person--at a minute's notice," said his grandmother. "Or perhaps you have been planning this for some time?"

"No," said Viva. "I have wanted to get rid of Mrs. Halsey for some time, but the new one I found yesterday."

"What's her name?" inquired Mathew.

"Bell--Miss Diantha Bell," she answered, looking as calm as if announcing the day of the week, but inwardly dreading the result somewhat. Like most of such terrors it was overestimated.

There was a little pause--rather an intense little pause; and then--"Isn't that the girl who set 'em all by the ears yesterday?" asked the young man, pointing to the morning paper. "They say she's a good-looker."

Madam Weatherstone rose from the table in some agitation. "I must say I am very sorry, Viva, that you should have been so--precipitate! This young woman cannot be competent to manage a house like this--to say nothing of her scandalous ideas. Mrs. Halsey was--to my mind--perfectly satisfactory. I shall miss her very much." She swept out with an unanswerable air.

"So shall I," muttered Mat, under his breath, as he strolled after her; "unless the new one's equally amiable."

Viva Weatherstone watched them go, and stood awhile looking after the well-built, well-dressed, well-mannered but far from well-behaved young man.

"I don't _know_," she said to herself, "but I do feel--think--imagine--a good deal. I'm sure I hope not! Anyway--it's new life to have that girl in the house."

That girl had undertaken what she described to Ross as "a large order--a very large order."

"It's the hardest thing I ever undertook," she wrote him, "but I think I can do it; and it will be a tremendous help. Mrs. Weatherstone's a brick--a perfect brick! She seems to have been very unhappy--for ever so long--and to have submitted to her domineering old mother-in-law just because she didn't care enough to resist. Now she's got waked up all of a sudden--she says it was my paper at the club--more likely my awful example, I think! and she fired her old housekeeper--I don't know what for--and rushed me in.

"So here I am. The salary is good, the work is excellent training, and I guess I can hold the place. But the old lady is a terror, and the young man--how you would despise that Johnny!"

The home letters she now received were rather amusing. Ross, sternly patient, saw little difference in her position. "I hope you will enjoy your new work," he wrote, "but personally I should prefer that you did not--so you might give it up and come home sooner. I miss you as you can well imagine. Even when you were here life was hard enough--but now!--

"I had a half offer for the store the other day, but it fell through.

If I could sell that incubus and put the money into a ranch--fruit, hens, anything--then we could all live on it; more cheaply, I think; and I could find time for some research work I have in mind. You remember that guinea-pig experiment I want so to try?"

Diantha remembered and smiled sadly. She was not much interested in guinea-pigs and their potential capacities, but she was interested in her lover and his happiness. "Ranch," she said thoughtfully; "that's not a bad idea."

Her mother wrote the same patient loving letters, perfunctorily hopeful.

Her father wrote none--"A woman's business--this letter-writin'," he always held; and George, after one scornful upbraiding, had "washed his hands of her" with some sense of relief. He didn't like to write letters either.

But Susie kept up a lively correspondence. She was attached to her sister, as to all her immediate relatives and surroundings; and while she utterly disapproved of Diantha's undertaking, a sense of sisterly duty, to say nothing of affection, prompted her to many letters. It did not, however, always make these agreeable reading.

"Mother's pretty well, and the girl she's got now does nicely--that first one turned out to be a failure. Father's as cranky as ever. We are all well here and the baby (this was a brand new baby Diantha had not seen) is just a Darling! You ought to be here, you unnatural Aunt!

Gerald doesn't ever speak of you--but I do just the same. You hear from the Wardens, of course. Mrs. Warden's got neuralgia or something; keeps them all busy. They are much excited over this new place of yours--you ought to hear them go on! It appears that Madam Weatherstone is a connection of theirs--one of the F. F. V's, I guess, and they think she's something wonderful. And to have _you_ working _there!_--well, you can just see how they'd feel; and I don't blame them. It's no use arguing with you--but I should think you'd have enough of this disgraceful foolishness by this time and come home!"

Diantha tried to be very philosophic over her home letters; but they were far from stimulating. "It's no use arguing with poor Susie!" she decided. "Susie thinks the sun rises and sets between kitchen, nursery and parlor!