Chapter XIII: Buds of Promise

"WELL," said Dorothy, and she folded her arms and looked up and down the large room, a sense of great astonishment struggling with one of keen satisfaction on her face, "who ever thought that she could make this look like this!"

Which mixed and doubtful sentence indicates the bewilderment in Dorothy's mind. Yet there had been no wonderful thing done. But Dorothy belonged to that class of people who do not see what effects little changes might produce. Still, she belonged, let us be thankful, to that class of people who can see effects when the changes have been produced. There are not a few in this world who are as blind as bats about this latter matter.

The place in question was the large square front room of the Morgan family. The heavy crimson curtains, of rare pattern and graceful finish, hung in rich waves about the old-fashioned windows, falling to the very floor, and hiding many a defect in their ample folds. The walls were hung with pictures and brackets and text-cards. The brackets were furnished—one with a pretty antique vase, hiding within itself a small bottle of prepared earth, which nourished a thrifty ivy. One held a quaint old picture of Dorothy's mother's mother, for which Louise's deft fingers had that morning fashioned a frame of pressed leaves and ferns. The old-fashioned settee was drawn into exactly the right angle between the fire and the windows. The torn braid had been mended, and John, of his own will, had repaired the broken spring.

The heavy mahogany table rejoiced in a wealth of beautifully bound and most attractive-looking books; while a little stand, brought from Louise's own room, held a pot of budding and blossoming pinks, whose old-fashioned spicy breath pervaded the room. Perhaps no one little thing contributed to the holiday air which the room had taken on more than did the tidies of bright wools and clear white, over which Estelle had wondered when they were being packed, Louise thought of her and smiled, and wished she could have had a glimpse of them as they adorned the two rounding pillow-like ends of the sofa, hung in graceful folds from the small table that held the blossoming pinks, adorned the back and cushioned seat and arms of the wooden rocking-chair in the fireplace corner, and even lay smooth and white over the back of Father Morgan's old chair, which Louise had begged for the other chimney-corner, and which Mrs. Morgan, with a mixture of indifference and dimly-veiled pride, had allowed to be taken thither.

Little things were these, every one, yet what a transformation they made to Dorothy's eyes. The crowning beauty of the scene to Louise was the great old-fashioned artistic-looking pile of hickory logs which John built up scientifically in the chimney-corner, the blaze of which, when set on fire, glowed and sparked and danced, and burnished with a weird flame every picture and book, and played at light and shade among the heavy window drapery in a way that was absolutely bewitching to the eyes of the new-comer.

"What a delightful room this is!" she said, standing with clasped hands and radiant face, gazing with genuine satisfaction upon it when the fire was lighted. "How I wish my mother could see that fire! She likes wood fires so much, and she has had to depend on 'black holes in the floor' for so long a time. I do think I never was in a more home-like spot."

It was fortunate for Louise that her education had been of that genuine kind which discovers beauty in the rare blending of lights and shades and the tasteful assimilation of furnishings, rather than in the richness of the carpet or the cost of the furniture. It was genuine admiration which lighted her face. The room had taken on a touch of home and home cheer. Mrs. Morgan, senior, eying her closely, on the alert for shams, felt instinctively that none were veiled behind those satisfied eyes, and thought more highly of her daughter-in-law than she had before.

As for Dorothy, she was so sure that the fairies had been there and bewitched the great dreary room that she yielded to the spell, nothing doubting.

It seemed almost strange to Louise herself that she was so deeply interested in this prospective visit from the minister. She found herself planning eagerly for the evening, wondering whether she could draw John into the conversation, whether Dorothy would rally from her shyness sufficiently to make a remark; wondering whether the bright-eyed young minister would second her efforts for these two. During a bit of confidential chat which she had with her husband at noon, she said,—

"I can't help feeling that there are serious interests at stake. Mr. Butler must get hold of the hearts of these young people; there must be outside influences to help us or we cannot accomplish much. I wonder if he has his young people very much at heart?"

"I may misjudge the man," Lewis said, leisurely buttoning his collar and speaking in an indifferent tone; "but I fancy he hasn't a very deep interest in anything outside of having a really good comfortable time."

"O Lewis!" and his wife's note of dismay caused Lewis to turn from the mirror and look at her inquiringly. "How can you think that of your pastor? How can you pray for him when you are composedly saying such things?"

"Why," Lewis said, smiling a little, "I didn't say anything very dreadful, did I, dear? He really doesn't impress me as being thoroughly in earnest. I didn't mean, of course, that he is a hypocrite. I think him a good, honest-hearted young man; but he hasn't that degree of earnestness that one expects in a minister."

"What degree of earnestness should a minister have, Lewis?"

"More than he has," said her husband positively. "My dear wife, really you have a mistaken sort of idea that because a man is a minister therefore he is perfect. Don't you think they are men of like passions with ourselves?"

"Yes, I do; but from your remark I thought you were not of that opinion. No, really, I think I am on the other side of the argument. I am trying to discover how much more earnest a minister should be than you and I are, for instance."

"Rather more is expected of him by the Church," her husband answered, moving cautiously, and becoming suddenly aware that he was on slippery ground.

"By the Church possibly; but is more really expected of him by the Lord? Sometimes I have heard persons talk as though they really thought there was a different code of rules for a minister's life than for the ordinary Christian's. But, after all, he has to be guided by the same Bible, led by the same Spirit."

"There's a bit of sophistry in that remark," her husband said laughing; "but I shall not stay to hunt it up just now. I expect father is waiting for me to help about matters that he considers more important."

"But, Lewis, wait a moment. I don't want to argue; I just want this: Will you this afternoon pray a good deal about this visit? I do feel that it ought to be a means of grace to our home and to the pastor; for there should certainly be a reflex influence in visits between pastor and people. I have been for the last two hours impressed to almost constant prayer for this, and I feel as though I wanted to have a union of prayer."

Her husband lingered, regarding her with a half-troubled, half-curious expression.

"Sometimes," he said slowly, "I am disposed to think that you have gone away beyond me in these matters, so that I cannot understand you. Now, about this visit. I can see nothing but an ordinary social cup of tea with the minister. He will eat bread and butter, and the regulation number of sauces and cakes and pickles, and we will keep up a flow of talk about something, it will not matter much what to any of us, so we succeed in appearing social; then he will go away, and the evening will be gone, and, so far as I can see, everything will be precisely as it was before."

"No," she said, with a positive setting of her head. "You are ignoring entirely the influence which one soul must have over another. Don't you believe that all of our family, by this visit, will have been drawn either to respect religion more, to feel its power more plainly, or else will have been repelled from the subject? They may none of them be aware that such is the case, yet when they come in contact with one so closely allied to the church and prayer-meeting, I think, that either one influence or the other must have its way."

"New thought to me put on that broad ground. But if it is true, it proves, I think, that the minister has more influence over the community than private Christians have; because, certainly, it is possible for you and me to go out to tea and have a pleasant social time, and not change any person's opinion of religion one-half inch."

She shook her head. "It proves to me that the outward position helps the minister by the law of association to make a more distinctly realized impression; but, dear Lewis, the question is, is it right for any servant of the King to mingle familiarly for an afternoon with others, who either are or should be loyal subjects, and not make a definite impression for the King?"

"I don't know," he said slowly, gravely; "I don't believe I have thought of social gatherings in that light."

And Louise, as he went away, realized, with a throb of pain, that she wanted the minister to make a definite impression for good, not only on Dorothy and John, but on her husband. Perhaps she never prayed more constantly for the success of any apparently small matter than she did for this tea-drinking. Her interest even extended to the dress that Dorothy wore. She knew well it would be a somewhat rusty black one; but the door of that young lady's room being ajar, and she being visible, in the act of adding to her toilet an ugly red necktie that set her face aflame, Louise ventured a suggestion.

"O Dorrie, if you would wear some soft laces with that dress, how pretty it would be!"

"I know it," said Dorothy, snatching off the red tie as she spoke. "But I haven't any. I hate this necktie; I don't know why, but I just hate it. Mother bought it because it was cheap!"—immense disgust expressed in tone and manner. "That is surely the only recommendation it has."

"I have some soft laces that will be just the thing for you," Louise said in eagerness, and she ran back to her room for them.

"These are cheap," returning with a box of fluffy ruchings. "They cost less than ribbon in the first place, and will do up as well as linen collars."

New items these to Dorothy. The idea that anything so white and soft and beautiful could also be cheap! A mistaken notion had this young woman that everything beautiful was costly.

"Let me arrange them," Louise said in a flutter of satisfaction, lifting her heart in prayer as she worked.

Praying about a lace ruffle! Oh yes, indeed; why not? If they are proper to wear, why not proper to speak of to the Father who clothes the lilies and numbers the very hairs of our head? Actually praying that the delicate laces might aid in lifting Dorothy into a reasonable degree of self-appreciation, and so relieve, somewhat, the excessive timidity which Satan was successfully using against her. I wonder, has it ever occurred to young people that Satan can make use of timidity as well as boldness?

"There," said Louise, as she arranged the puffy knots, giving those curious little touches which the tasteful woman understands so well and finds so impossible to teach.

"Aren't they pretty?" And she stood back to view the effect.

The pink glow on Dorothy's cheeks showed that she thought they were.

With the details of the supper Louise did not in the least concern herself; she knew that food would be abundant and well prepared, and the linen would be snowy, and the dishes shining. What more need mortal want?

As for the minister, truth to tell, he spent his leisure moments during the day in dreading his visit. He had heard so much of the Morgans—of their coldness and indifference, of their holding themselves aloof from every influence, either social or spiritual. The few sentences that had ever passed between himself and Farmer Morgan had been so tinged with sarcasm on the latter's part, and had served to make him feel so thoroughly uncomfortable, that he shrank from all contact with the entire family, always excepting the fair-faced, sweet-voiced stranger; not her husband, for something about the grave, rather cold face of Lewis Morgan made his young pastor pick him out as merciless intellectual critic. However, it transpired that most of his forebodings were unrealized.

It suited Mrs. Morgan, senior, to array herself in a fresh calico, neatly made, relieved from severe plainness by a very shining linen collar; and though her manner was nearly as cold as the collar, yet there was a certain air of hospitality about it that made the minister feel not unwelcome. Dorothy, under the influence of her becoming laces, or some other influence, was certainly less awkward than usual. And fair, curly-haired, sweet-faced Nellie caught the young man's heart at once, and was enthroned upon his knee when Farmer Morgan came to shake hands before proceeding to supper. If there was one thing on earth more than another that Farmer Morgan did admire, it was his own beautiful little Nellie. If the minister saw that she was an uncommon child, why, in his heart, he believed it to be a proof positive that the minister was an uncommon man. Altogether, Mr. Butler's opinion of the Morgan family was very different by six o'clock from what it had been at four. Just a word alone with him Louise had, when Farmer Morgan suddenly remembered an unforgotten duty and went away, while Mrs. Morgan and Dorothy were putting the finishing touches to the supper-table. Lewis was detained with a business caller at one of the large barns, and John had not presented himself at all. This was one of her present sources of anxiety. She turned to the minister the moment they were alone.

"We need your help so much," she began eagerly. "My husband and I are the only Christians in this family. I am specially and almost painfully interested in both John and Dorothy; they need Christ so much, and apparently are so far from him. Is the Christian influence of the young people decided in this society?"

"I hardly know how to answer you," he said hesitatingly. "If I were to tell you the simple truth, I seem better able to influence the young in almost any other direction than I do in anything that pertains to religion." And if the poor young man had but known it, he was more natural and winning in regard to any other topic than he was with that one. "I have hardly a young man in my congregation on whom I can depend in the least," he continued sadly, "and I do not see any gain in this respect."

"He is in earnest," said Louise mentally, in answer to this. "He wants to help them; he doesn't quite see how. But if he is willing to be enough in earnest his Master can teach him." Then, before there was opportunity for the half-dozen other things that she wanted to say, they were summoned to the tea-table.

John was there in his Sunday coat and his hair brushed carefully; it was more than could have been expected. Moreover, almost immediately, by one of those chance remarks that seem of no importance, an item of political news was started for discussion, and behold the father and Lewis were stanchly on one side, and the minister and John on the other. John, roused by a nettlesome speech of his brother, gave bold utterance to opposing views, and was strongly approved and supported by Mr. Butler. The interest deepened and the arguers waxed earnest; but all the while there was in Farmer Morgan's face, veiled to any but a close observer, such as Louise was that day, a sense of surprised satisfaction over the fact that his boy John had such clear views of things, and could talk as well as the minister; and the minister, whether he was to win souls or not, surely knew one step of the way—he was winning hearts. They went, all of them together, to the bright parlour again, and when presently the discussion calmed, and the subject changed to the delights of corn-popping and apples roasted in the ashes, Mr. Butler said with zest,—

"John, let's try some. Suppose you get the apples and superintend the roasting; and, Miss Dorothy, can't you and I pop some corn?"

Dorothy's cheeks were aflame; but the corn was brought, and the evening waned before even Nellie knew it was late. "He's a good deal likelier chap than I thought from his sermons," was Farmer Morgan heard to remark to his wife when the minister had finally bade them good-evening and departed.

"O Lewis," said Louise, when they were alone again, "if he had only asked to read a few verses in the Bible and offered prayer before he went. I certainly thought he would do it; isn't it strange that he did not?"

"Why, yes," said Lewis. "As a minister it would have been entirely in keeping. I wonder he did not suggest it."

"Why didn't you suggest it, Lewis? I was hoping you would; that was what I meant by all those telegraphic communications I was trying to make."

"My dear Louise," said her husband, "that was my father's place, not mine."