Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

“I can wait, ma’am,” said the owner of it respectfully. “I’m to take you in my rig, and my orders were to wait until you were ready.”

“Did Mr. Patterson send you?” asked Grandma, her voice all in a tremble. “I thought he meant to come himself, and I thought he said about ten o’clock; but we’ll hurry, Johnnie and me; we won’t keep you long. Can you take the chair, too?”

“Yes’m; them’s my orders; and no hurry in life, ma’am, take your time,” and he closed the door.

Johnnie stuffed in the buns and potatoes, and pronounced them good; but poor Grandmother Blakslee only swallowed a few mouthfuls of tea which almost choked her. Life was very hard.

She was soon ready; it would not do to keep Mr. Patterson’s team waiting. But she stared at it when she came out. It was not the market wagon; instead it was a handsome two-horse sleigh, with gay robes’ on the seats, and gay bells on the handsome horses. “You needn’t be at all afraid, ma’am,” said the strange man, “these horses is gentle as kittens, if they do love to go,” and he lifted her in as though she had been a kitten, tucked Johnnie under the robes beside her, and before she could get her breath to speak they were off. Just a gay dash around the corner, down one familiar street, up another, and they halted before a tiny white house set back among tall trees which staid green even in winter.

“There is some mistake,” faltered Grandma Blakslee, more breathless than ever. “I wasn’t to be brought here; I was to go to the asylum out on the Corning Road, near two miles; I don’t know the folks that live here; I didn’t know it was rented.”

The strange man chuckled. “I guess there’s no mistake,” he said, “and you’ll like to make their acquaintance; anyhow, I must do my duty and leave you here; I’m under orders.”

Trembling and bewildered, poor Grandma, because she did not know what else to do, let herself be set down in front of the door, which the man opened hospitably, saying as he did so, “Step right in; the folks that live here will be glad to see you.” Then he shut the door and went away. They were left, Grandmother and Johnnie, in a little hall opening into a pretty room at the right. The door was wide open, and a bright fire burned in a shining stove. There was a bright carpet on the floor; there was a rose in blossom in one window, and some geraniums in the other. There was a large easy chair in front of the stove, with a table beside it on which was set out a lovely breakfast for two. On the stove the tea-kettle sang, and some genuine tea in a little brown teapot on the right-hand corner back, sent out its delicious aroma. In an alcove, behind some pretty curtains which were partly drawn, waited a plump white bed; and Grandma Blakslee stood in the midst of all this luxury and stared.

“Grandma,” said Johnnie, “have we got there? Is this the big house? Where are all the folks? Where is this, and whose breakfast is that? Are we to eat it, Grandma? It is nicer than ours. Why don’t you sit down in that pretty chair? Here is a little one for me, with wed cushions. Can’t we stay here every day, Grandma?”

Grandma, feeling unable to stand another minute, tottered forward and dropped into the softness of the easy chair, and spied, tucked under the edge of a plate, a sheet of folded paper. Then she fumbled for what Johnnie called the “speticles that could wead,” and read:

Welcome home, dear Grandma Blakslee. Merry Christmas to
you and Johnnie.

FROM MISS PARKER’S GIRLS.

No, they hadn’t “done it every bit themselves.” There had been several fathers and mothers who were glad to help, as soon as they thought about it. Cora Henderson’s father had said, “Why, Grandma Blakslee might live in the little empty cottage this winter and welcome;” he wondered they had not thought of it before. Anna Smith’s mother said she would be glad to get rid of that carpet rolled up in the attic; she had no use for it, and it was a pattern she had never liked. Ella Stuart’s mother said the old arm-chair and the old lounge would do nicely if they were re-covered, and she was sure she did not want them. And so the plan grew and grew, and the girls were O, so busy and happy! It was the best Christmas of their lives, they all declared, especially after they made their call on Grandma, and found her almost too happy.

“It is almost pitiful,” said Anna Smith, “to see a poor woman cry for joy over one little room and a few old duds!”

And Cora Henderson, with her eyes shining like stars, said, “Isn’t it lovely? I’m so glad that verse is in the Bible, and Miss Parker thought it all out!”

PANSY.

A SABBATH IN A BOARDING-SCHOOL IN TURKEY.

II.

I MUST explain that some time before this I had learned that the boys in the boarding-school who had no pocket money, could not go to the bath as often as I thought they ought. While I was considering this problem, an Armenian gentleman gave me something over two dollars to use as I saw fit. Thinking “cleanliness next to godliness,” though the Bible does not say it in just those words, I used to give Deekran a quarter or so now and then to use for himself and the other poor boys.

When they rose to go, I asked Sumpad if he could stop a moment, I wanted to have a little talk with him. How glad I was to find that he had a hope in Christ, and was trying to live for him. It was a great privilege to speak a few words of sympathy and encouragement.

How can I believe the terrible news that has just come to me here in free America? How can I think of him in his young, Christian manhood as dead in a horrible Turkish dungeon! Why, what had he done? He had written a few lines of boyish admiration for the heroes of his own race, the Armenians. And so he must die alone of typhus fever after a four months’ imprisonment, utterly cut off from all his friends. Poor young martyr! No one could get access to him; yes, there was one Friend whose entrance neither bolts nor bars could prevent—the King of heaven and earth; what need of any other? Death has now unlocked the prison door, and opened the gate of heaven; no more tears should be shed for him—happy young martyr.

But I have wandered far, both as to place and time, far from that peaceful, happy Sabbath.

It was now lunch time; then came Sabbath-school. The men and boys met in the chapel, but as it was not large enough to accommodate more, the women’s, girls’ and the infant class met elsewhere. Isgoohe, a member of the senior class in the high school, took charge of the second of these. After going over the lesson, she began to ask personal questions:

“Now, girls, what have you done for Jesus this week?”

A hand was raised.

“What is it, Marta?”

“I let Funduk have my comb for Jesus’ sake. It was such a nice one, I did not like to have her use it; but Miss Goulding told me I ought to be kind to Funduk.”

Then Armenoohe said that going home from school one day, a girl she did not know very well called out, “Armenoohe, run and get me another clog; mine’s broken.” (The clog is a wooden sole with a heel at each end, as it were, and a leather strap to slip the foot into. These heels are from one to three or four inches in height, and raise the foot well out of the mud or snow.) “At first,” said she, “I thought that it was no affair of mine, and that the girl was rather impudent to ask such a thing. Then I remembered what you told us, Isgoohe, about not pleasing ourselves; so I asked her which was her house, and got the clog and brought it to her, and she never even thanked me!” (It was not so very long since Armenoohe herself had learned to say “thank you.”)

Two or three others told their little efforts at denying self; then the bell rang for the afternoon service.

In the evening I invited any who wished to talk with me to come to my room. Soon afterward Rakel came. She was rather a pretty girl, with bright red hair; she was full of fun, and a dreadful tease. She dropped on to the hassock at my side in a bashful sort of a way.

“Was there something you wanted to say, Rakel?”

“Yes,” came the whispered answer; “I want to love my companions.”

I enlarged a little upon the duty and privilege of loving others, and then waited for her to speak; but she was silent so long, that I finally asked if there was anything else she wished to say.

“Yes; how can I love those who make me angry?”

Well, that was a problem, to be sure! But then, the dear Saviour can help us solve every problem, so we knelt and prayed, both of us, for his help in this particular matter.

She had been gone but a minute, when her cousin Sarra came, Bible in hand, to ask the meaning of the verse, “Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.” There were several other verses she wanted explained, and then by a little gentle questioning, I learned some more of the trouble between her and Rakel, who she said was always teasing her, using her books, and leaving them about carelessly. Then she hung her head and confessed that when she found her Bible on the divan, and Fido tearing out a leaf, she had at once blamed Rakel, and retaliated by getting her Bible and banging it on to the floor.

“Was that right, Sarra? Do you think that was one way to glorify God?”

“No,” she replied honestly, but her voice was low and husky. Then we talked of the way Christ bore with men and their cruelty and sins, and we asked him to make us gentle and patient, kind to others, even when they were unkind to us.

The retiring bell tinkled through the hall, and so ended the beautiful, blessed day.

HARRIET G. POWERS, _in the Evangelist._

* * * * *

“WHAT IF I HAD!”

NEW YEAR’S morning and the snow lying deep over all the paths, drifted even to the tops of the fences! Plenty of work for Stephen Watson; he frowned a little as he looked out of his attic window in the cold gray of the early morning and saw his nicely-made paths all carefully covered. But almost before the frown had cleared away he laughed, and broke at last into a cheery whistle. “No great loss without some gain.” He stopped to make this wise remark aloud, then went on with his whistling. What he longed for just now was a holiday—a chance to take a run across lots to Dick Wheeler’s home and see the new book which his uncle sent him for Christmas. A beautifully bound book with “oceans of pictures,” and telling all about a journey to Europe. “Not a stupid history,” Dick reported, “but a regular story, telling all about how some folks went and had jolly times, and saw no end of things, and described them.” Stephen’s brain was fairly whirling with a desire to examine this book. It may as well be owned that a book of almost any sort had wonderful attractions for this boy; and books and papers, and indeed reading matter of any kind, were painfully scarce in the country farmhouse where Stephen was chore boy. Mrs. Griggs, the mistress, did not more than half believe in them; she eyed even Stephen’s Geography with suspicion, and occasionally asked her husband “What sense there was in that boy’s learning where all the rivers and mountains in creation with outlandish names were to be found. What good would it do him? He would never find them outside of a book.”

Well, Stephen had smiled and whistled, because he saw that this heavy fall of snow was likely to further his plans for a holiday. If it had only drifted enough to make the roads to the ledge farm impassable then Mr. and Mrs. Griggs would stay at home and take care of the house, and when his chores were done, he might possibly be allowed to go over to Dick’s.

Everything seemed to be shaping according to his plans. Mr. Griggs remarked at the breakfast table that there “wouldn’t be no sense in trying to get to Mary Ann’s that day; the ledge road always drifted if it could get a chance, and the wind was still blowing in that direction.” Mrs. Griggs had sighed, it is true, and said that “Mary Ann would be dreadfully disappointed,” but she, too, had said that she supposed there was no use in trying to go.

Stephen went about his chores with a will, a trifle sorry for Mrs. Griggs, and a little curious over the idea that anybody in the world could be much disappointed over not receiving a visit from her and Mr. Griggs. “But then I suppose it is because they are her father and mother, and that makes a difference,” said this orphan boy, with a sigh. But he could not help being glad that they were not to go. What if he got the chores all done so early that there were several hours before dinner, and Mr. Griggs would let him go in the forenoon? Wouldn’t that be a lark worthy of the day! Dick Wheeler’s mother was always good-natured, and twice she had asked him to stay to supper with Dick; there was everything to be hoped for in that direction. He was coming from the old well with two brimming pails of water, when Mr. Griggs, out by the ash barrel, with his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, dashed the boy’s hopes to the ground. “Got about through, Stephen? Then I guess you may hitch up, after all. The wind has gone down, and Mis’ Griggs is disappointed, and she thinks we better try it. You may get things ready as fast as you can; we ought to be off if we are going; then you’ll have a long warm day in the kitchen. Don’t on no account leave the place; that wouldn’t do, of course.”

Not a word said Stephen, though he would like to have thrown the pails of water over Mr. Griggs, and kicked the empty pails into a snowdrift. He had never been so disappointed in his life! “A long warm day in the kitchen!” If there was any day which he utterly hated it was such an one; not even a new almanac to read—Farmer Griggs had been waiting for one to be sent to him from somewhere, and it had not come. Of course there was nothing to do but obey; but Stephen felt that he hated New Year’s dinners, and wished that “Mary Ann” lived fifty miles away, and hoped that Farmer Griggs would encounter a drift so deep that Mother Griggs would be rolled over in the snow! Oh! he was fierce enough to wish almost anything.

It was because of all this that a very glum-faced boy looked out of the small-paned kitchen window about two hours afterwards, and watched a single horse and cutter skim gaily along. Only one person in the sleigh, and he muffled in furs, and looking as though life was one long holiday. Stephen believed that everybody but himself was having a holiday. Suddenly the sleigh drew up in front of their gate. “Halloo!” said the man in furs, and Stephen ran out and down the snowy path. “Good-morning! Happy New Year,” said a pleasant voice. “Can you tell me whether this is the right road to Mr. Bennett’s farm?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“How far from here to Mr. Bennett’s?”

“Five miles, sir; but there are none of them at home.”

“They are not? How do you know that?”

“I know the boy who drives their horses, and he went by awhile ago; he was on his way back from Dr. Freeman’s, where he had been to take Miss Carrie—Mr. Bennett’s daughter—and the boy said his folks were all away for the day, and he was going to his grandmother’s to dinner.”

Stephen could not help adding that last, because it had been a very bitter drop in his cup of trouble. Mr. Bennett’s house could stay alone, it seemed, while the boy went to his grandmother’s to dinner, whereas this old farmhouse had to be watched as though there was danger of its running away.

“That is the state of things, is it?” said the stranger. “Thank you; I do not care to take a five-mile drive through these drifts to find a shut-up house. Can you tell me where Dr. Freeman lives?”

“He lives about a mile from here; but Miss Carrie Bennett isn’t there now, sir; she has gone with Miss Freeman to bring a Miss Banks, who lives two miles west, to eat dinner with them at the doctor’s.” Stephen told this story with an amused twinkle in his eye; it struck him as a queer thing that he should be so well posted concerning matters which evidently interested this handsome stranger. The stranger turned on him a keen, questioning glance. “You seem to understand your neighbors’ affairs very well indeed, my boy. How does it happen?”

Stephen laughed. “Why, Pete just happened to tell me about it, sir; he said he was in luck, and did not have to drive them there himself, because the doctor’s team drove up in just the nick of time and took them. Everybody is in luck except me.”

“Is that so?” asked the stranger, his face breaking into a genial smile. “I am certainly, since I have found a quick-witted boy who has saved me ten miles of useless driving. Can you do me another favor now, and let me come in and visit with you for awhile, until in your judgment the doctor’s team has had time to find Miss Banks and bring her back? I do not happen to be acquainted with any of the party save Miss Bennett, and would prefer waiting until she is there before I make my call.”

Mr. Griggs never refused travelers a chance to warm, and of course Stephen invited this one into the house and did the honors of the kitchen as well as he could. Somehow—he never quite understood how it was—he found himself telling the story of his bitter disappointment to this stranger—all about the wonderful book full of pictures and stories of travel. He was astonished afterwards to think how much he talked; but then, the stranger listened so kindly, and his eyes were so bright, and his smile so pleasant, and he asked so many questions, it seemed impossible not to confide in him.

“So you like books,” he said, as at last he arose; “and books of travel? Well, I do myself; and it happens curiously enough that I have a package of books in my sleigh at this moment, two of which I think you would enjoy. I was taking them to a nephew of mine, and missed seeing him; probably because it was intended that you should have them instead. I owe you a debt of gratitude; and I’ll exchange the information you gave me for whatever information you can find in the books, which are yours to keep, you understand. And now don’t you think Miss Banks may have arrived at the doctor’s by this time?”

Stephen helped him off in good style, but in such a flutter of excitement that he could hardly respond to the cheery “good-by,” for in his hands were two very large, very handsomely bound books, sparkling with pictures, and with the most inviting-looking reading. They must certainly be larger than Dick Wheeler’s one, for that had been minutely described to him. Besides, there were two of these; and besides, oh! besides, they were his very own, to keep!

As he turned the leaves, like one in fairyland, he said aloud, “What if I had got a chance to go to Dick Wheeler’s this morning and missed this? O, my! what if I had!”

PANSY.

* * * * *

BABY’S CORNER.

WHAT HAPPENED TO BUNNY.

BUNNY is the name of a squirrel with a very long tail.

When nuts were ripe Bunny worked hard to pick them and store them up for his family to live on through the cold winter.

His house was in a big hollow tree. The door to it was a little round hole. He had a nice large pantry.

All day long, in the pleasant Oc-to-ber weather, when children were playing, Bunny was picking nuts and scampering down the trees to put them safe in his pantry.

He had a good many kinds of nuts. There were butternuts and walnuts and chestnuts, and tiny beechnuts for the teeny weeny squirrels. At last Bunny’s pantry was full, and he was all ready for December with its cold winds and snowflakes.

One morning something happened! Just as Bunny started out he found a wire cage in front of his door. He thought it was a pretty little house, so he walked in.

Snap! went the door of this pretty little house, and shut itself tight.

Bunny tried on every side to get out, but he could not. He was in a prison.

While he wondered what he should do a big boy came and looked at him.

“Hurrah!” he said.

Then big boy took up the cage and carried it off home.

He gave Bunny to his little sister Susie.

Susie was kind to Bunny. She put him in a basket with a soft bed and gave him cake and candy.

But Bunny was not happy. He was too warm in the house with his fur coat on, and he wanted to get back to his dear children. He would not play; he sat still and looked sad.

“Poor Bunny!” said Susie’s mamma; “he is used to being outdoors, and frisking about. He wants to see his little children and eat the nuts he laid up.”

“Then he shall go,” Susie said.

So she told him good-by, and carried the cage out in the garden and opened its door.

Away went Bunny! He scampered over the fence and whisked up a tall tree as quick as wink.

How happy he was to get to his hollow tree once more.

Was not Susie a nice little girl?

MRS. C. M. LIVINGSTON.

A LONG CHRISTMAS.