"Not half as much as I wish I did; but I find something new every time I read."
Edah looked at her watch as she spoke, and Susan took the hint.
"I see you are wanting to get rid of me," she said, rising, "and no wonder. What an elegant watch! I suppose Mr. Liston gave it to you. It is a nice thing to have rich relations and friends. Well, good-night! You need not hurry about getting up, for we are not very early risers," and so saying she disappeared.
Edah, left alone, turned again to her reading and prayer. Tired as she was, she did not close her eyes for a long time, but lay thinking of the events of the day, and of her new situation. It was certainly a very different one from any in which she had ever been before, and she could not but foresee a good many annoyances and trials of temper, for she perceived that Susan was jealous of her, and she had already seen enough of that young lady to know that she was not very likely to put any great restraint upon her feelings. Sam and Pauline seemed to her easier to manage, though the one was turbulent and mischievous, and the other thoroughly spoiled. Mrs. Champlin appeared kindly disposed towards her, and the baby was certainly an object of pity. Her father she had hardly seen, but she thought him a good deal altered, and not for the better.
Edah saw that she should have occasion for all those principles of action which she had lately acquired, but she resolved to be patient and gentle, to try to control her unruly temper, and with a prayer for grace to do all things to the glory of God, she fell asleep.
THE NEW HOME.
THE next day, Edah spent most of the morning in unpacking her trunks, arranging the books she had brought with her, and so forth, all of which was very interesting to Pauline, who overlooked the process, and was very desirous to be allowed to help, though her mother was rather afraid she would be troublesome.
"Shall I be troublesome, sister?" asked the little girl.
"No," said Edah, smiling, "for if you do not do as I wish you to, I shall send you down stairs. You may stay as long as you please, if you will be quiet and not meddle, and I shall like very much to have you help me."
Pauline looked rather disturbed at the first part of this speech, but finally decided to remain upon these conditions. Edah was careful to give her enough to do, and not to put temptation in her way, and thus the morning passed very pleasantly.
"What makes you have so many books, sister?" asked the child, as Edah gave her a heavy dictionary to put away.
"Some to read," said Edah, "and some to study."
"I did not know that grown-up people studied," said Pauline.
"Did you not? Don't you know that lawyers have to study a great deal before they are allowed to practise law, and doctors before they can cure people? And a great many people study for pleasure."
"That is funny! I am sure I would not do that."
"Can you read, Pauline?" asked Edah.
"Not very well," replied Pauline; "not well enough to read stories, and I would rather have some one tell them for me."
"But you cannot always have some one to tell you stories, you know, and there are a great many necessary things to be learned out of books that no one can tell you. If you would spell every day, you would soon learn to read well, and then you could amuse yourself without being dependent on anybody."
"There is no one to hear me now," said Pauline. "Mother has not time, even if she is well enough, and Sue won't; and even if she does, she is so cross I cannot do any thing."
"Are you sure it is only Susan that is cross? Don't you tease her sometimes?"
Pauline hung her head as she said, "I don't tease her any more than she does me."
"Then you do tease her a little?"
Pauline did not make any reply, but said, after a little, "I wish you would hear me. I should like to read to you, and I would do just what you wanted me to."
"I will try the experiment," said Edah, "if mother is willing, but then I shall do so only on two conditions: one is that you shall come the moment I call you, and the other, that you shall do just as I tell you, while you are reading."
"Well," said Pauline, "I will. But won't you tell me stories too sometimes, because you know it will be a good while before I can read well?"
"Oh, yes! I will tell you a story every day that you read well, unless something very important prevents me. But we must ask mother."
"Oh, she won't care: she lets me do just as I please always."
"Is Pauline here?" asked Susan, appearing at the door. "You must have had a nice time unpacking with her in the room. Do come down stairs, Pauline, and leave Edah in peace, and not be teasing her every minute: how troublesome you are!"
"I am not troublesome: am I, sister?" said Pauline.
"Oh, no," said Edah; "she has helped me a great deal."
"I should like to see her help any one," retorted Susan: "she has never done any thing but hinder yet."
"I'm sure I helped you shell all the beans for dinner yesterday," said the child coloring, and beginning to cry, "and I got the baby to sleep twice. You are just as hateful as you can be, Sue, and I will never do any thing for you again as long as I live. I love sister a great deal the best, and I don't love you a bit—so!"
"Hush, hush, Polly! That is very naughty to speak so to sister Susan," said Edah, trying to check her. "You must not do so, if you are going to be my little girl."
"Oh pray don't stop her, Miss Champlin," said Susan, in a voice which trembled with anger: "it may as well come out first as last. I see she has learned her lesson already; but I must say, I think you might be better employed than in setting the child up against her own sister. I shall just tell mother, and see what she thinks of such goings on."
So saying, she left the room, despite of Edah's efforts to detain her.
"Now, Polly, see what mischief you have done by speaking so foolishly," said Edah. "You have made Susan angry at me, and worried poor sick mother."
"I do love you the best, any way," returned Pauline, still crying.
"If you love me, you must show it by being good," said Edah, "and not by making such naughty speeches. Susan has had a great deal to do, and it is no wonder she is fretted sometime; and you ought to try and make things easy for her. Now I think if you really want to be a good girl, you will go and tell Susan that you are sorry."
After a little hesitation, Pauline said—
"I will, if you want me to, but I know she will only be cross."
"That makes no difference," said Edah; "if she is cross, you must be the more good-natured, that is all. Now, go and tell her."
Pauline went, with some hesitation, and found Susan already relating the story of her misdeeds to her mother, who looked anxious and uncomfortable.
"How could you be so naughty, Pauline?" she said to her. "Did you tell Susan you did not love her a bit?"
"Yes, mother," replied Polly; "but sister said I was very naughty, and that I must come and tell Susan that I was sorry; so I came."
"That's a good girl," said her mother. "You see, Susan, that Edah is not doing any thing wrong about it, and that you are quite mistaken. Come, now, kiss and be friends."
Susan consented rather unwillingly; and Pauline, quite elated with her victory over herself, went on telling her mother how sister had promised to hear her read, and was going to tell her a story every day when she was good.
Mrs. Champlin readily consented to the arrangement, thinking at the time that Edah would soon tire of her charge.
When Pauline left the room, Susan said—
"You see how it is, mother. She wants to take the whole management into her own hands, and rule the household just as she pleases, and that is why she makes such a fuss over Pauline—not because she cares any thing about her."
"For shame, Susan! You are very wrong to say so, and I will hear no more about it. I think I am able to maintain my own authority. When I cannot, I will ask your help. You have had a great deal of work to do since I was sick, I know, and I give you great credit for doing it so nicely; but I do wish you would try to get the better of your faults of temper. Your perpetual quarrels with Sam and Pauline weary my life out, and I feel as if I could die. But if I should be taken away, I don't know what would become of the family, for you have no sort of influence with Pauline. Do, for my sake, my child, try to get along a little better."
Susan was moved by her mother's remonstrances, and promised to try and keep the peace, if she could—a promise which she kept very well for two days, and part of the third.
But unfortunately her batter-pudding turned out to be heavy at dinner, and Sam, as usual, took the opportunity to make some annoying speeches. Now, a failure in cookery is at best a trying thing, especially to a young housekeeper, and it becomes doubly so when commented upon. Susan lost her temper, and the more irritation she showed, the more Sam teased her, despite Edah's efforts to stop him.
"I do not see, Sam," she said to him, when they were alone after dinner, "how you can take such pleasure in annoying and teasing poor Susan. It does not seem to me right or fair."
"She need not be so touchy, then," said Sam. "She swells up like a turkey-cock if one looks at her. If she did not care any thing about it, I should let her alone."
"Well, I do not think it is right," said Edah. "If you had a lame foot, you would not think that a reason why people should tread on your toes, would you?"
"You need not take Sue's part," returned Sam, evading a reply, "for she cannot bear you. She is as jealous of you as she can be."
"I am afraid she is," returned Edah; "but that makes no difference. It does not make me want to see her uncomfortable, because she does not like me, and I think it is very wrong to make her so angry."
"Why is it wrong?" asked Sam, in rather a defiant tone.
"It is leading her into temptation," replied Edah; "offending her, as the Bible says. You know our Saviour says—'Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones'—"
"Oh, don't try to come the parson over me," said Sam, interrupting her. "I tell you what it is, Miss Champlin, I think you take a deal too much on yourself in this house. It is just as Sam says—you want to rule the whole family, and if I were mother, I would not have it. A pretty story it is, to be sure," he continued, getting more and more angry as he went on, "for you to stay away all your life, and never come near us, and the first moment you do come, to set every thing topsy turvy."
Edah felt the color rise in her own face, but she controlled herself, and said gently—
"But, Sam, how you do mistake me! I have not the least desire to govern you, but I don't like to see you doing wrong, and annoying Sam so."
"Susan can take care of herself," returned Sam, "and so can I, without any of your help. You think because you are two or three years older, and have some property more than we have, and some grand acquaintances, that it is mighty condescending in you to come out here and make a visit. But we are as good as you are, any day, and as to being walked over by you with your young lady airs, I, for one, won't, and there's an end of it."
So saying, he left the room, slamming the door after him.
Edah was both hurt and angry, but she tried to govern herself, and called Pauline to take her reading lesson. But the day seemed an unfortunate one. Pauline was beginning to tire a little of her regular employment, and the lessons had ceased to be a novelty. She was rather unwilling to come, and was so inattentive that Edah reproved her, and told her that she must do better, or lose her story. Pauline did a little better for the moment, but soon relapsed again, and was really very provoking.
"Why, Pauline," she said, "you must do better, or I cannot hear you. I cannot spend the time with you, unless you take pains to learn. You don't try at all."
"I don't care," said Pauline; "I won't read if I don't choose to."
"Then you will lose your story."
"I don't care for that, either," retorted the child. "Sam will tell me stories, if I want him to. I am not going to read any more."
"Very well," said Edah, putting away the book.
"I like Susan better than you now," said Pauline, after a little, apparently determined to provoke a contest. "I don't like you a bit."
Edah made no answer.
"I don't think your hair is pretty a bit," after a short pause. "Mother says you are not half as pretty as Susan."
"Mother is quite right," said Edah, smiling, though she felt annoyed. "Susan is very handsome, I think myself."
"You only say so to plague me, but I don't care. I shall not like you any more."
Edah rose and went to her own room, shutting Pauline out. She spent some time in endeavoring to compose her feelings, and when she had it some measure succeeded, she sat down and wrote a long letter to Milly. She said not a word of any annoyances at home, but gave an account of her journey, and of the kind reception she had met with, and when it was finished, she put on her bonnet and carried it to the post-office herself.
The pleasure of writing to her friend, with the exercise and the fresh air, entirely dispelled her annoyance, and she returned home in very good spirits. Mrs. Champlin came out to tea, and was, as usual, kind and cordial to Edah, and Pauline had almost forgotten her pet. But Sam did his best, by words and looks, to be disagreeable, and that is an undertaking in which any one can succeed. Susan seemed to enjoy Edah's discomfort, and indeed said—
"I thought you would find Sam out, after a while."
After tea, Pauline came round for her story, as usual; but after a little hesitation, Edah said—
"You know, Polly, I cannot tell you a story, because you did not read well, and would not mind."
"I don't care! I think you might, any way," said Pauline, bursting into tears.
"What is the matter, Pauline?" asked her mother, rather sharply.
"Sister won't tell me a story. She promised to, and now she won't."
"I promised to tell you one, if you were good—not without," said Edah. "You know that was part of the bargain."
"Do stop crying, Pauline," said Mrs. Champlin; "you tire and worry my life out. If you did not mean to keep on telling her stories, Edah, you should not have begun. It is perfectly absurd to expect such a baby as she is to keep to an engagement, and I must say I think you take a great deal upon yourself in attempting to govern her at all. I wish you would leave that to me."
Sam and Susan exchanged glances of triumph.
Edah felt her color rise, and her lip trembled, as she said—
"I did not mean any interference, mother, I am sure—"
But she was interrupted.
"Do let the matter drop, and have done with it. I am tired of these constant disputes, and they have been worse than ever since you came. Pauline, be quiet."
"Come here, Polly," said Sam, "and I will tell you a story, without asking you any thing for it. I am not as rich as some folk; but I can afford to give away a story."
Edah's first impulse was to leave the room, and shut herself up in her own apartment for the remainder of the evening; but she felt it would be wrong to give way to the rebellious feelings which were rising in her heart, so she restrained her tears—those provoking tears, which would come whenever she was angry—and took up an apron which had been begun for Pauline.
"Pray, don't trouble yourself to do that," said Susan; "I can do it as well as not, and I would much rather. I do wish you would let it be," she continued, as Edah kept on with her work; "I prefer to finish it myself. How ridiculous you do make yourself!" she added, in a tone too low for her mother to hear, as she took the work out of her hands.
Edah could not trust herself to speak, so she resigned the sewing in silence, and began to work at a collar of her own—Sam and Susan, meanwhile, keeping up a lively conversation till their mother retired.
Susan made herself very active in waiting on her mother, and was very careful not to allow Edah to do any thing either for her or the baby, which she had undressed every night since her arrival.
Edah took a lamp and went to her own room as soon as she could.
"I will go back to Miss Anderson's to-morrow," she thought. "I might as well have gone with Milly, for all the thanks I get for coming here."
But better thoughts soon succeeded. She could not think that she had done wrong, as far as Pauline was concerned, for she had only kept her word with the child, and her mother had known of the arrangement from the beginning. At the same time, she felt conscious of having indulged very improper feelings, both towards Sam and Susan, and of not having made sufficient efforts to overcome them. She regretted what had occurred very much, as she feared that she should have no further influence either with Sam or Pauline, to whom she had become much attached.
After a good deal of painful thought on the subject, she concluded to remain a few days longer, and try to set matters right with her stepmother. If she did not succeed in doing so, and if there seemed no farther prospect of her being useful in the family, she could at any time return to Miss Anderson's or go to New York.
She had just finished her reading, and was preparing for bed, when her mother's door at the foot of the stairs was opened, and her father called loudly, "Susan! Susan! Get up directly; Pauline is in a fit."
But Susan was a sound sleeper, and did not hear.
Edah threw on her wrapper, and ran down stairs to her mother's room, where she found the poor child in convulsions, and her mother supporting her, though herself almost fainting from weakness and fright.
Edah was one of those happy people whose courage rises with the danger, and who are cool in proportion to the agitation of those about them, and now she instinctively took the command of affairs on herself.
"Run for the doctor, father; but first waken Sam," she said, taking the struggling child on her lap: "oh, here he is! Sam, you must make a fire directly, and put on plenty of water—a good large fire, Sam—to heat quick. Susan, take Eddy up stairs, and put him into your bed, without waking him, if you can. There, Polly dear, sister is holding you! You will be better presently. Don't cry, if you can help it, Susan, but attend to mother. Has father gone for the doctor?"
"Yes," said Sam, "and I have made the fire."
"That's right. Now, if you have not a bathing-tub, get the largest wash-tub in the house, and have it ready in the dining-room. See if there is any mustard, and have it at hand. I know a bath is often the first thing needed."
"How you do think of every thing!" Sam could not help saying. "Do you think she will die, Edah?"
"Hush!" said Edah, fearing the child would understand. "I hope she will soon be better. Here comes the doctor."
For two or three hours, Pauline lay unconscious, apparently between life and death, and it seemed doubtful which would obtain the mastery. The convulsions which shook her little feeble frame were frightful to witness, and Sam and Susan were almost overcome. But Edah preserved her calmness, and did every thing necessary, with a quiet good sense and steadiness, which astonished the doctor, who was not accustomed to think very highly of young ladies.
"Upon my word," said he, "you are one of a thousand. If you should think of studying medicine, I should like to take you into my office."
"I have no such views at present," returned Edah, smiling, "but if I ever should have, I will let you know."
At last, the convulsions became less frequent, and ceased: the little girl seemed to return to consciousness, and to suffer less, and after a while she fell asleep on Edah's lap. Tired as she was, she would not move for fear of disturbing her, but persuading the children to go to bed, she sat down in a rocking-chair, where she could rest her head comfortably. Mrs. Champlin also fell asleep, and the house was once more quiet.
Pauline slept till morning, and awoke almost free from pain, but weak and languid, and disposed to be very fretful. She would allow no one but Edah to do any thing for her: sister must rock her, and sing to her; sister must feed her; she would take medicine from no one else, and obey no one else. She was often restless at night, and then Edah must take her on her lap, and sing to her till she fell asleep again.
All this was wearisome enough, especially to one entirely unaccustomed to such labors, and the more so, from there being no servants in the house, except a young Irish girl, who, as Sam said, was as green as the island she came from. Edah felt this deficiency very much, and she thought, moreover, that it was altogether too hard upon Susan, who was growing very fast, and, of course, not very strong.
One evening, when Pauline had fallen asleep, after an unusually fretful day, Sam came softly into the room, and whispered to Edah—
"Mother is asleep, and Sue wants you to come down stairs and get some supper, and have a little rest. I am sure you must want it, for you are as pale as a ghost. I will sit by Polly, and call you if I cannot keep her quiet."
Edah willingly consented, for she did indeed feel wearied almost to death.
Susan had got a nice supper ready, near the open window, at which the sweet evening air came in pleasantly.
"Come, Edah," she said, "draw up the other rocking-chair, and let us have a comfortable rest. I don't believe you have sat down to-day, and I'm sure I haven't. My shoulders and ankles ache like the toothache."
"You are growing so fast," said Edah, gladly accepting the cup of tea Susan handed her; "I think it is altogether too hard upon you. I wish we had a right good girl that would do every thing in the kitchen, so that you need have nothing to do but to wait upon mother."
"That would be nice, if it could only be done," returned Susan: "but it can't."
"Why not?" asked Edah. "Cannot you find such a person here?"
"Oh, yes; I could find one easy enough, if that were all; but the truth is, Edah," she continued, after a pause, "we cannot afford it. It is as much as we can do to get along and live as we are, and we do not half do that. Father does not attend to his business, but lets every thing go at loose ends, and yet he won't let Sam do any thing by which he could earn his own living.
"Mother used to sew a little before she was sick, but we had to be careful not to let father know it. Since she has been laid up, there have been a great many days when I have not known how to get a decent dinner—and there you have the whole story."
Susan tried to laugh, but her lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears.
"I wish I had known this before," said Edah, much affected. "I saw indeed that father was altered, and that you and mother seemed careworn; but I had no idea it was so bad. I might have helped you as well as not."
"You have done all we could expect, I am sure," returned Susan, "in dressing Pauline up so nicely, to say nothing of myself. I suppose you thought I was very cross when you came, and I know I am very bad-tempered, but I should not be quite so bad, if I were not worried out of my life."
"But, Susan, I might pay the girl myself. I have money enough with me, and can get more by writing for it. If you will find a proper person, I will agree to pay her wages, as long as I stay, at any rate. I would have some one that can do every thing about house, and then you and I can do all the nursing, sewing, and so on. And by and by, when they are all well, you can go to school if you like."
Susan tried to answer, but was unable to control her voice for a minute or two. At last she said—
"I cannot say how much I am obliged to you: I am sure I don't know what we should have done without you. I will find some one to-morrow."
"But what will mother say?" asked Edah. "I am afraid she will think as she did about Pauline, that I interfere too much: I felt very badly about that, though I really think that as long as she knew from the beginning—"
"Pshaw!" interrupted Susan. "That was not it. She happened to feel just so, that was all. You must not mind what she says when she is worried, for no matter how she feels, she just speaks it right out. She will be right glad, I know, and very much obliged to you. As for father, he won't say any thing as long as we don't ask him for money."
"Don't ask him, then," said Edah: "we can manage that easily enough. I will pay you three dollars a week for my board, and get what is wanted for Pauline, and that will do something towards household expenses. But I must go back to Polly, or she will be crying."
The arrangement was communicated to Mrs. Champlin, who saw no objection to it. And a capable middle-aged woman was soon installed in the kitchen. The change was an agreeable one in every respect, for with the best intentions in the world, Susan was not much of a cook, and Biddy's ideas on the subject were very vague. Ruby-Anne cooked, washed, and cleaned to admiration, and the whole house soon assumed a more comfortable aspect.
Susan seemed for a while fairly shamed out of her ill-humor, and Edah felt herself much more pleasantly situated at home than she had yet been. Pauline improved rapidly, and in a little while seemed as well as ever, and Mrs. Champlin appeared to be gaining strength under her improved fare. The poor baby, however, did not partake of the general amendment: it continued a sickly little creature, and required a great deal of care.
"Sam," said Edah, one Saturday morning, after Pauline had quite recovered, "do you think we could manage to go over to Raeburn to church to-morrow?"
"I don't know," said Sam; "I suppose you could not walk over, could you?"
"I am afraid I could not walk there and back," replied Edah. "But I really want to go to-morrow very much, and I wish we could contrive it."
"Why do you want to go to-morrow particularly?" asked Susan.
"It will be Communion Sunday, I presume," said Edah; "it is the first Sunday in the month, and you know I have not been to church since I came here."
"They do have Communion the first Sunday in the month, I know," said Sam. "I presume I could get some sort of a 'gohicle,' though perhaps not a very smart one—not much like Mr. Liston's carriage; but I suppose you won't mind its not being very handsome."
"I do not care what it is, so it is clean and safe," said Edah; "but I have quite set my heart upon going."
"I will do the best I can," said Sam.
And he accordingly exerted himself to such good purpose that at teatime, he told Edah he had engaged a horse and wagon for the next morning.
"You will have to be ready early though," he added, laughing, "for the horse is not what you would call a fast one, by any means."
Mrs. Champlin seemed to wonder that people should take so much pains to go to one church instead of another, but she made no objection. She did not know much about Episcopalians, she said, but she had always supposed they were pretty much the same as Roman Catholics. Sam was wonderfully taken with them, and very often went to Raeburn to church, and sometimes she felt troubled about it, for she would not like to have him turn out a papist.
"They are no more alike than Presbyterians and Mormons are alike," said Sam, rather sharply; "not that ever I could see."
"You need not be so sharp, Sam," replied Mrs. Champlin, smiling. "I said I did not know much about them."
Sam was about to return a still sharper answer, when an entreating look from Edah stopped him, and he only muttered that he wished people would not talk of what they did not understand.
"I like them, any way," said Pauline, in her sharp way, "for sister says the Episcopal Church is her church, and I am going to have it for mine too when I grow up."
"Well done, Polly!" exclaimed her father, laughing. "Stick to your friends. But if you are a Churchwoman, you will have to learn the Catechism, and how will you like that?"
"Sister will teach it to me, I know," said the little girl. "She has taught me some hymns out of her church book already, and she tells me beautiful stories out of the Bible, when I am going to sleep. Sister will teach me the—I don't know how to pronounce it—won't you?"
"If mother is willing," replied Edah.
"Teach her all you can," said Mrs. Champlin; "no one else takes any pains with her. I don't know what the poor child will do when you go away, I am sure."
"Or any of the rest of us," added Sam.
"You will do as you did before," said Susan, rather sharply. "Edah is very good to be sure, but she is not the only person in the world."
A fortnight before, Sam would have taken advantage of this speech to provoke Susan into a regular rage, but now he let it pass, and adroitly turned the conversation upon some new shirts she had been making for him, declaring that he liked them better than any he had ever had. This compliment put Susan in a good humor at once, and she was very pleasant all the evening.
The next morning, at a little after nine, the "gohicle," as Sam was pleased to term it, was at the door, and Edah appeared, ready dressed, and with her Prayer-Book in her hand. She could not help laughing, as she seated herself in the old-fashioned one-horse wagon, and thought of what Miss Concklin would say to such a conveyance. It was clean, however, and tolerably easy, and the old horse started off at a better pace than his appearance had promised.
When they reached the top of one of the hills which surrounded the village, Sam stopped to let the horse rest, and to give Edah an opportunity of admiring the beautiful prospect spread out beneath them. On one side lay the village they had just left, with its neat white houses peeping out from among the trees, but, alas! with no church tower or spire to point towards heaven. In the opposite direction lay Raeburn, nestled in a nook of the green hills, just where two clear brawling streams came winding down between high wooded banks to meet the bright river, which now glanced in the sun, and now disappeared under the shadow of the bank, as it wound from side to side of the narrow green valley.
Here and there on the hillsides arose tall columns of smoke, showing that the autumn "burnings" had begun, and the air was filled with the indescribable hum and murmur of a calm day in the middle of August.
As they gazed and listened, the faint sound of the bell arose from the distant church tower, and Sam started the old horse, who seemed to have employed his interval of rest in taking a quiet nap.
"We shall get there in good time," he said, in answer to a question from Edah; "they always ring the bell an hour before church."
"Is there a Sunday School at Raeburn?" asked Edah.
"Yes, a pretty good one, I believe, and Miss Annie Laurence has one at the Mills, near her father's house—Spring Bank, as they call it. There has never been one at Brooksville, which has always been a heathenish kind of place from the first."
"But who are the Laurences, Sam? I have not heard of them before."
"Oh, Captain Laurence is the richest man in all this country. He owned all the valley when he came here, about forty years ago. There was not a house anywhere round when they settled here, and they had to send a wagon forty miles for every bit of groceries they used. Mrs. Laurence is the loveliest old lady—every one round here fairly worships her and her daughters. There are two of the young ladies still unmarried, but one of them is lame, and does not go out much, except to church. Miss Annie goes everywhere—sometimes on her pony, and sometimes on foot, and she knows every poor person for ten miles round. There isn't one of the lumbermen—and they are a rough set enough—that don't take off his hat to her, and Mrs. Laurence and her daughters have more influence among them than all the men in the county. They are very rich now, and can do what they please, but there was a good while before this railroad was made that they were very much straitened. You will see them at church this morning."
As Sam had foretold, they arrived at church in excellent season, before the last bell had commenced ringing. As Edah was standing in the porch, waiting for Sam, who was disposing of the old horse, she saw Mr. Willson approaching and she was hesitating whether or not to introduce herself, when Sam came up, and saved her the trouble.
"This is my oldest sister, Mr. Willson; the one I told you of, you know. She has come to stay a couple of months with us."
Mr. Willson shook hands with Edah, and expressed his pleasure at seeing her.
"So you have brought your sister to church this warm day. Did you not find the ride rather a fatiguing one, Miss Champlin?"
"Oh, no, sir," said Edah; "it was a very pleasant one to me. I am not much accustomed to hills, and take great delight in them. You would have seen me at church before but for my little sister's illness. But hearing from Sam that this was Communion-day, I felt that I must come, if possible."
"You will take a seat in our pew, if you please, and I shall insist on your dining with us after church, and going home in the cool of the day."
They took their seats accordingly, and as they did so, the little bell began its last summons. The people of the village and the neighborhood began to drop in, and the church was soon well-filled. Mrs. Willson, a motherly sort of personage, with two pretty daughters, looked rather surprised at seeing a stranger in her pew, but soon guessed who she must be, and made her very politely welcome.
Edah felt a little annoyed at the staring of the congregation, but she reflected that they were not much accustomed to seeing strangers, and therefore excusable. Mr. and Mrs. Laurence and their daughters arrived just as the bell stopped ringing, and took their places in a large square pew opposite that of the Rector. Edah was rather surprised to see such elegant-looking people, and hoped she might make their acquaintance before she left Brooksville.
When the service commenced, there were so few responses that Edah felt half afraid to raise her voice as she was accustomed to do at home, but she was encouraged by being joined by the family opposite, and soon felt at her ease. Edah was pleased to observe how attentive Sam was, especially to the sermon. During the Offertory, he asked her, in a whisper, if there would be any thing improper in his staying through the Communion Service.
"Certainly not," replied Edah.
And he resumed his seat accordingly, after having politely made way for the youngest Miss Willson.
The number of communicants was small, and the service proportionably short, and Edah missed those opportunities for mental devotion which are enjoyed when there are a number of groups to approach one after the other. She enjoyed the service very much, however, and felt as if she collected strength for a long time to come.
She was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Laurence after church, and received from Mrs. Laurence a cordial invitation to visit them.
"I seldom make calls, except upon the sick," she said, "but I shall be very glad to see you at our house, and Annie will have the pleasure of calling in a few days. You must not go away without seeing all the beauties of this wild country."
Edah expressed her thanks, and said she should be very happy to accept the invitation, if possible, but added that her mother was very feeble, and needed a great deal of attention.
The carriage now appeared, and the Spring Bank party departed, and Edah and her brother accompanied Mr. Willson home.
"Do you intend to remain here long?" asked Mrs. Willson, at dinner.
"I did not think of staying more than six weeks when I came," said Edah, "but at present I am rather undecided. It will depend upon the state of mother's health."
"You had better spend the winter with us," remarked Mr. Willson. "We can offer you no special inducement in the way of society, though there are some pleasant people about here; but you could make yourself exceedingly useful, if that is any argument."
"I have thought myself that I might remain here some time longer than I at first intended, though it is very uncertain. But in what way could I make myself useful?"
"You might establish a Sunday School in Brooksville, like Miss Laurence's at the Saw-Mills, and perhaps you might aspire to having a church there in time. I advise you to take it into consideration, at any rate."
Sam and Edah arrived at home in very good season, and found Pauline leaning over the gate watching for them. Tea was ready on the table, and they sat down as soon as Edah had taken off her bonnet, and brushed away the dust.
When the meal was over, Susan seated herself with a book, and Edah employed herself in teaching Pauline a hymn, promising to sing it for her as soon as she could say it.
NEW FRIENDS.
THE day but one after Edah's expedition to Raeburn, she was at work in the little parlor, engaged in cutting out some garments for Pauline, who was sitting conning her spelling-book, in which she had made considerable progress sines her illness. Mrs. Champlin rarely left her room till after dinner, and Susan had gone out to do some errand in the village. Suddenly Pauline uttered an exclamation—
"See, sister, what a beautiful carriage is stopping here, with two ladies in it, and a black man driving, and they are getting out! What beautiful horses!"
Edah looked out; and recognized Captain Laurence's carriage, which she had seen at the church door the Sunday before, and she saw that Mrs. and Miss Laurence were preparing to descend. Hastily drawing her work into smaller compass, and glancing at the little glass to see that her own dress was in order, she advanced to the door to meet them, followed by Pauline, whose ordinary shyness was conquered by her curiosity.
Mrs. Laurence had been pleased with Edah's appearance the Sunday before, but she was not altogether prepared to find her so finished and graceful in her manners as she now appeared.
After a few minutes conversation, Edah excused herself, and went up stains to call her mother, but Mrs. Champlin declined descending, and, indeed, the bare idea seemed to throw her into such a flutter of nervous agitation that Edah did not press the matter, but went back to her visitors.
She found Mrs. Laurence talking to Pauline, and Annie looking at the books on the table—mostly her own property, and among which were several French and German volumes.
"Do you read German, Miss Champlin?"
"Yes," replied Edah; "I have rather a passion for it just now, and brought some new books with me, but, as you may imagine, I have had but little time for reading."
"You must persuade Miss Champlin to come and help you out of some of your difficulties, Annie," remarked Mrs. Laurence. "My girls and boys are quite German-mad just now, but having no teacher, they do not make very rapid progress. Have you made many acquaintances here?"
"Very few," replied Edah. "Some of the neighbors were very kind during Pauline's illness, but I have scarcely been out at all. I should not imagine that there was much society here, from what I have heard and seen. I feel the want of a church more than any thing."
"Yes, it is a great pity that there is none here. Mr. Willson has sometimes held a service in the school-house, and I believe it has been well attended; but his health is not very strong, and he has charge of two parishes already, so he cannot do much for Brooksville. I believe there is not even a Sunday School here at present."
"Sam told me, Miss Laurence, that you had one at the Mills every Sunday afternoon," said Edah, "and I have been quite desirous to hear more about it. Will you tell me something of your mode of proceeding?"
"Oh, it is very simple. I began with about ten children who lived in the immediate neighborhood, and who met me in the district school-house every Sunday afternoon. Now my number has increased to forty, some of whom live at quite a distance. We meet at three o'clock in summer, and at two in winter, and after prayers and singing, I hear them recite lessons of three or four verses from the New Testament, often setting the older children to hear the younger ones, and I ask them questions, and explain to them the lesson for the following Sunday. Then comes a short recess, after which they recite the Apostles Creed and some part of the Commandments, and then comes singing again. They then exchange their books, or take their little papers, and go home. Our whole session lasts about two hours."
"Do you not find it difficult to fix the attention of so many?" asked Edah.
"I have had very little trouble thus far, and, indeed, I have succeeded beyond my hopes. Many of the parents have become interested in the undertaking, and drop in towards the close of school, ostensibly, of course, to take Billy or Nancy home with them, so I often have quite a congregation. I find it something of a trial to stand up and speak before so many; but I do not like to discourage their coming, and so I keep on, though I often wish that some gentleman would take my place."
"I think the school has done a great deal of good," remarked Mrs. Laurence. "It has been the means of bringing a good many families to church, and under the influence of the Rector, who could have been reached in no other way."
"If I were likely to remain here, I think I would try to begin something of the kind," said Edah; "but my stay is very uncertain. Polly dear, there is sister Susan coming in: go and ask her to come here."
Susan entered the room, after she had disposed of her bonnet and shawl, and Edah presented her to the ladies. But all Mrs. Laurence's kind attempts to draw her into conversation were unavailing: she preserved an absolute silence, or replied only in monosyllables. At last, the visitors rose to go, not, however, before it was arranged that Edah should come over the next Saturday, and spend Sunday at Spring Bank.
"We shall send the carriage for you early on Saturday," said Miss Laurence, "and you may expect to be attacked with grammars and dictionaries the moment you enter the house. Poor Addison will be quite comforted at the prospect of some relief, for I left him in a fit of black despair over a scene in Wallenstein."
Edah laughed, and promised to render all the assistance in her power to the distressed young gentleman, and the ladies finally departed.
"Mrs. Laurence left her kind regards for you, mother," said Edah, entering her mother's room, "and hopes she shall have the pleasure of seeing you at Spring Bank as soon as you are well enough."
"I am much obliged to her, I am sure," god Mrs. Champlin, rather shortly.
"They are very condescending indeed," said Susan; "we might have lived here to the end of time without their troubling themselves about us, if you had not come."
"That is hardly fair, Susan," returned her mother. "Mrs. Laurence came and called on me when I was first married, and invited us there, but we never went, even to return their calls. I always felt as if they were quite too grand for me to associate with, but if they have taken a liking to Edah, I am glad of it, for it will give her some society such as she is used to."
"Well, for my part, I don't like to be patronized," said Susan, rather sharply.
"I am sure Mrs. Laurence's manners are not at all patronizing," said Edah; "and certainly she did her best to be polite to you, but you would not say a word. I was really vexed with you."
"You wanted me to display my ignorance and awkwardness as a set-off to your elegance, I suppose," said Susan; "but I knew better."
"For shame, Susan; you are really downright uncivil to Edah."
"Edah gets plenty of flattery without my help," replied Susan. "She would be quite spoiled, if I did not contradict her sometimes."
"Thank you, Susan," returned Edah, laughing good-humoredly, though the color had risen at her sister's rudeness. "I don't think you will ever do much harm in that way; if I did not know that your bark was worse than your bite, as Ruby-Anne elegantly says, I should be really afraid of you. But have you any objections to my accepting the invitation, mother?"
"Not at all, my dear; I shall be very glad to have you go. The Laurences are really excellent people, and very fond of books and all such things, and you will enjoy yourself very much."
The week passed quickly away, as it always does with busy people, and Edah was busy enough just now in replenishing Pauline's wardrobe, and in helping Susan to refit hers, which was scanty enough. Edah would have been glad to be permitted to furnish her with some materials for new garments, but this Susan steadily refused.
"You do as much as you ought, and more than your share, in clothing Pauline. Father knows how much I am in want of clothes, for I have told him time and again, but he finds it pleasanter to spend what money he gets in liquor and cigars than to lay it out for his family. It is a sin and a shame, and it's a wonder if I don't tell him some day."
"Pray don't," said Edah; "you would only make things worse."
"I don't suppose it will do any good; but it is enough to drive one mad to see him losing his time, and wasting what little he does earn, while we are really suffering for the necessaries of life. But as for having you spend all your money in buying things for us, I won't, and that's all about it: not but that I am very much obliged to you for the offer."
After some consideration, Edah made up her mind to speak to her father herself upon the subject of Susan's wardrobe, and she took an opportunity when they were alone together one afternoon.
"Father," said she, "do you know that Susan has hardly clothes enough to make her comfortable?"
"Why don't she go to work, and make some then," asked her father, lighting his cigar.
"She has nothing to make them of, and no money to buy materials," replied Edah.
"Let her set about something useful, and earn them then. She is old enough to provide for herself instead of hanging about doing nothing from morning till night."
"Doing nothing?" said Edah indignantly; but recollecting herself, she went on quietly. "I do not think you have any idea how much work it is to take care of mother and the baby. It is one person's work to attend to them, and Polly needs almost as much care just now as Eddy."
"You make a perfect fool of that child, running after her so much," exclaimed her father, angrily: "as for your mother, she is more notional than any thing. If she had any energy, she would be well enough."
Edah's temper had nearly reached the boiling point; she dared not speak, lest she should say something very unbecoming, and prudently kept silence.
"If Sue is so very destitute, why don't you make over some of your own finery to her? I am sure you are well enough provided, and old Liston has nothing to do but to buy you more, when that is gone. He can well afford to let us have some of the money he has cheated his clients out of."
Edah's indignation would certainly have boiled over at these words, but on looking at her father, she saw that he was excited by drinking. She took up her work, and was going out of the room, when he called her back.
"Don't be in such a hurry," he said. "If the girl wants clothes, she must have them, I suppose. There are five dollars for her, and she must make it do as well as she can, for it is all she will get from me. If she wants more, she must go to work and earn it."
Edah took the bill, and thanked her father, though it was rather difficult for her to do it with a good grace.
As soon as she had composed herself a little, she showed the money to Susan, proposing that they should go out directly, and buy what was most needed. Susan joyfully consented, and they set out on a shopping expedition, which was not very extensive in its range, as there were only two shops in the place.
Susan showed a great deal of prudence in disposing of her small amount of money, and Edah, who had never been accustomed to any exact economy, was surprised to see how far five dollars might be made to stretch.
The rest of the day was spent in cutting out work and sewing. Sam came in while they were busy.
"I wish you would give me some sewing," he exclaimed; "you seem to be having such a nice time over it."
"Suppose you get a book and read to us," said Edah; "that will help us a great deal. I can sew twice as fast with some one reading."
"That is a good idea," remarked Susan: "do, Sam, there's a good fellow, and you shall have some pancakes and maple sugar for your supper."
Sam took his book accordingly, and the afternoon passed very pleasantly for all parties. Susan provided the promised pancakes, which were pronounced capital, and the reading was resumed in the evening, Edah herself taking the book, when Sam appeared tired.
"How beautifully you read!" said Mrs. Champlin. "It is a real pleasure to hear you."
"There, mother," said Sam, laughing, "you never said a word about my reading."
"Oh, well! You do the best you can, and that is all one can expect; but I suppose you don't pretend to come up to Edah."
"Indeed, I think Sam reads very nicely," said Edah, "and he has certainly been very obliging this afternoon. But it is bedtime—" looking at her watch: "How fast the evening has gone! Suppose," she added, with some hesitation, "we finish our reading with a chapter from the Bible."
"A good thought!" said her mother. "Sam, bring your sister the book."
Edah selected a chapter from the New Testament, and read it aloud. No remarks were made at its conclusion, and after a moment's silence, the party separated, Edah feeling quite satisfied with the way in which the day had been passed.
Two hours later she heard her father's step at the door, and knew but too well in what condition he was likely to be. She was about descending to let him in, and had put on her wrapper for that purpose, when she heard Sam go down, and by mingled force and entreaties, persuade his father to lie down on the sofa instead of going into his mother's room. Poor Sam! It was not the first time he had been a witness of his father's degradation.
Edah no longer wondered at her mother's frequent irritability and constant depression of spirits, and she resolved to do all in her power, while she remained at home, to lighten the burden which weighed her down. She prayed, though with an almost despairing faith, for her father's reformation and conversion, and then lying down, she endeavored to forget her troubles in sleep.
By nine o'clock on Saturday morning, the carriage was at the door to convey her to Spring Bank, and bidding her friends good-by, she seated herself in the roomy family barouche, and was soon at the door of Mr. Laurence's substantial, old-fashioned stone house. Miss Laurence and her brother came to the door to welcome her, and conducted her into the parlor. Edah felt herself restored, as it were, to her native air. The handsome curtains and carpets, the rich old-fashioned furniture, the piano, and the numerous books and portfolios scattered about the large apartments, all seemed like old friends.
Louisa Laurence, the lame sister, was fully as attractive in her appearance as the other ladies of the family, and Edah felt herself at once at home.
After a few minutes' conversation, Edah was shown to her bedroom, and having refreshed herself by a bath and a change of dress, she descended once more to the parlor. This room opened, with large long windows, upon a wide piazza, from which a terraced bank descended nearly to the margin of the river, which here rolled its clear waters in a winding course through beautiful meadows, dotted here and there with large trees, and speckled with grazing cattle and young horses. The view was limited by high pine-covered hills, of no very friendly aspect, which shut in the valley on all sides, and seemed to leave no place for the river to get out.
The young people were soon engaged in a German lesson, and between reading, laughing, and talking, the hours passed swiftly away till dinner-time, when Captain Laurence made his appearance. He was a tall, stately old gentleman, with fine manners, and a noble head and face, and Edah was greatly taken with him at first sight.
After dinner, the youthful party sallied out to explore the grounds, and especially to visit the spring, from which the place took its name. This spring poured out in a copious stream from among some loosely-piled rocks, about half-way down the natural terrace on which the house was situated, and ran with a broad and clear but shallow current across the meadow into the river. The spring itself was protected from the approach of cattle by a pretty rustic railing, and seats of the same character were placed around it, under the shade of some fine old forest-trees that overhung the rippling waters.
"What a lovely spot!" exclaimed Edah.
"This spot, you must know, Miss Champlin, is my sister's sanctum," said Addison Laurence, in a tone of mock earnestness. "In this sacred inclosure, visited only by singing birds and gentle breezes, and serenaded by the murmuring murmur of the murmuring stream, she spends her hours in pensive retirement, far from the vulgar cares—"
"Now, Addison, hold your peace! This tormenting brother of mine, Miss Champlin, takes it upon him to hold me up as the most sentimental of young ladies, whereas I am one of the most active, bustling, practical housewives in this world, as he knows right well. But because I have once or twice chosen to walk out here by moonlight, he represents me as a perfect Lydia Languish."
"You do not look much like it, that is certain," retorted her brother, laughing. "What with your long walks and your pony-rides, you more resemble Miss Hoyden."
"If a love of moonlight be a symptom of sentimentalism, I must plead guilty to the charge myself," said Edah. "I should like to see this prospect as it looked by moonlight fifty years ago."
"You would have seen a wild plain," returned Addison, "and instead of the lowing of cows and the bleating of sheep, you might chance to be serenaded by a panther crouched in the lower limbs of that old oak, or a chorus of wolves from the neighboring swamp. Even within my recollection, the wolves have come down within a mile of the house, and I well remember hearing their doleful music on many a still winter's night."
"What is it like?" asked Edah.
"Like no other noise you ever heard. It is worth while to hear them for once, for the sake of knowing what fearful sounds can be produced by brutal organs. But if you love wolf stories, Miss Champlin, you must persuade my father to tell you some of his early experiences in this country; and now, Miss Languish, it is time we were retracing our steps, if we are to reach home before dark."
The evening was spent delightfully to Edah, between music, lively conversation, and the wolf and Indian stories of the old Captain, who was delighted with having a new listener to his oft repeated tales. Edah was much pleased with the manners of these young people towards their parents and each other. Annie seemed to devote herself especially to Louisa, watching her every motion, anticipating her wants, and hardly, as it seemed, giving her time to form a wish, while Louisa, on her part, seemed fully to appreciate her sister's kindness. She did not, as is some times the case with confirmed invalids, receive every attention as only her due, nor was she indifferent to the trouble she caused to those about her. The deformity of her figure was not at all observable, except when she walked; and as she sat in her large chair, Edah thought she had never a more lovely picture of gentle contentment.
As the clock struck ten, the music suspended, and the work put away. Addison brought a small table to the side of his father's chair, upon which he placed a Bible and Prayer-Book. The servants were called in, and after the singing of the evening hymn, in which all joined, Captain Laurence read a chapter in the New Testament, and then all united in prayer.
Edah's thoughts wandered a little. She could not help contrasting the household in which she then was with that to which she must soon return, and the wish arose in her mind that the lines had fallen to her in as pleasant places as they seemed to have done to Annie Laurence.
"We breakfast in good season on Sunday morning, Miss Champlin," said Mrs. Laurence, as they separated for the night, "in order that the servants may be able to go to church, if they wish."
"And we dine in good season, that Annie may have time to go to her ragged-school at the Mills," added Addison. "I presume, Miss Champlin, you will be expected to visit that wonderful institution, and hear my pious sister hold forth like a preaching woman-Friend to lumbermen and their dirty ragged children."
"I hope to do so, at any rate, if your sister will permit me," said Edah, feeling that she did not like the superfine Mr. Laurence any the better for this speech. "I am very much interested in the account she has given me of her labors there."
"Oh, there is no fear but she will let you. She is as proud of her school as my father of his colts and young cattle—only the colts are the more respectable of the two."
"You must not mind what Addison says," said Annie, laughing, though Edah thought she seemed a little hurt. "He gave me ten dollars to provide books and so forth for my ragged regiment, without my even asking him."
"Why, as long as you persist in spending your time so, I think it is better to do the thing creditably; and after all, it is a harmless amusement enough. Everybody likes to have something to patronize—it is human nature!"
"But not the nature of Mr. Addison Laurence, I suppose," said Louisa.
"Oh, I bestow it all on my horses and dogs, saving what little I find it desirable to expend on yourself, my fair lady. But I must needs be allowed my liberty at present, for when Dick comes home, the majority will be so strong against ma that I shall not dare to open my mouth from one week's end to another."
"If you keep silence for an hour at a time, it will be what you have never done in your life before," said his mother; "and now please to take your candle and disappear. You have illustrated yourself sufficiently for one night."
Edah did not feel at all sleepy when she reached her room, and she sat down to think over the events of the day. What a long day it seemed! She could hardly bring herself to believe that she had been only twelve hours at Spring Bank, and she began already to dread the time when she must return to her father's house. This feeling increased as she went on contrasting the two families in her mind, and she began to feel as if it were impossible for her to return to Brooksville to live.
"But how foolish I am!" she said, rousing herself from her reverie. "If this is the way I am going to be affected by the visit, I had better have stayed at home."
Then repressing by a strong effort any further indulgence in the same train of thought, she fixed her mind upon her Bible reading, and after praying especially to be delivered from the temptations of wishing to lay down the cross, she soon fell asleep.
The bell rung in good season next morning, but Edah was up and dressed before it sounded, and when she descended to the drawing-room, there was no one there. She was standing at the open window, enjoying the beautiful view, and drinking in the fresh morning air, when Annie joined her.
"I have been looking for you," she said, kissing her, "but you are too prompt for me. Is not this prospect beautiful under the morning sun? How strange it is that people can prefer to shut themselves up in cities, when they can have such beautiful sights and sounds, at so much less expense."
"But in winter," said Edah, "do you not feel it rather dismal here when these hills are covered with snow? I should think they would then be rather unfriendly in their aspect."
"Not to me," replied Annie. "I was born and brought up among them, and these bristling pine tops, which look so dreary to strangers, always seem to welcome me back, like old friends, when I have been away a while. Before the railroad was made, indeed, we were a good deal out of the way of society in winter, but we had a very large family at home then, and a governess to keep us at work. If we did not get many new books, we made the most of what we had; and though our papers and letters were often two weeks old before they reached us, they were all the more welcome when they came. But now that my sisters are married, and Henry and Dick are away, we do not regret that the means of communication are more easy."
"Then you have other brothels and sisters besides Miss Louisa and Mr. Laurence!"
"Dear me, yes! Did you not know it? I have two married sisters living in Boston, and two brothers older than Addison. Henry is in the Navy, and Richard is studying in New York. He will be ordained in the fall, and then he is coming home to make a visit. I hope you will see him. He is very different from Addison, who pretends to stand in great awe of him. Harry has been away so much that I scarcely feel acquainted with him. He has a sweet little wife, who usually spends her summers with us, but she is on the sea-coast this year. And now you have our family picture-gallery displayed, and my exposition is ended in good season, for there is the bell. We will go into the breakfast-room, if you please."
All the family, including the servants, were collected in the breakfast-room, as our two young ladies entered, and as soon as they had taken their seats, prayers and a lesson were read by Captain Laurence as before. Addison made his appearance when breakfast was half over, apparently in no very good humor.
"Do you not think, Miss Champlin, that it is a barbarous practice to have breakfast so early on Sundays?" he said, as he took his seat.
"On the contrary, it seems to me a very good arrangement," replied Edah; "especially when one lives at a distance from church, as it leaves the servants time to get ready."
"Much they care about it," muttered the young gentleman. "But really now, don't you think the human constitution was originally so formed as to require an extra quantity of sleep every seventh day?"
"I shall not dispute the point," said Edah, good-humoredly; "I can only say it is not so with mine."
"Oh, I see the girls have gained you over to their side entirely. The majority against me was bad enough before; it is overwhelming now. I have no longer any thing for it, but to confess myself a heathen man and a publican. Mamma, I am ready to rise at three, next Sunday, if it so please you."
"Half-past seven will do for a beginning, my son; and now, if you have finished your coffee, we will adjourn, for I see it is verging towards nine o'clock."
The ladies rode to church in the barouche, while Captain Laurence and his son followed on horseback. Edah was much pleased to see Sam waiting for her in the porch, when they descended from the carriage.
"How are all at home?" she asked, as she shook hands with him.
"All about as usual," replied Sam. "I heard baby cry a good deal in the night, and Polly has completely wearied us all, asking when you will be home."
"Allow me to introduce you to my brother Samuel, Mrs. Laurence," said Edah, presenting him to that lady.
Mrs. Laurence shook hands with him kindly, as did also Mr. Laurence and Addison.
"Will you not return to Spring Bank to dinner?" asked Mrs. Laurence. "We shall be very happy to have you do so. I have often observed your brother in church, Miss Champlin, and have been desirous to make his acquaintance. You must come with your sister, Master Samuel, and make us a visit."
"And then, if you like fishing, we will find some first-rate trout streams," added Addison; "though I dare say you know all in the neighborhood already."
Sam expressed his thanks, not at all awkwardly, but said he must return home after church, as he would be wanted.
Edah felt proud and pleased to see him appear so well, and to perceive that he had made a favorable impression, for she had grown very fond of the boy. There was a good deal of staring and whispering, as she took her seat with the Laurence family, and she began to think she must be a person of considerable importance.
Mr. Willson was not a remarkably talented preacher, and his manner was not impressive; but Edah was pleased and interested with the sermon, which was both plain and practical. She could not help thinking that it must be very hard work to preach to such a listless, inattentive congregation, and she thought of a remark she had once heard a clergyman make:
"People are loud in their demands for smart preachers," he said, "but they never reflect that preachers have an equal desire for smart hearers."
In the Laurence family, however, he had as attentive listeners as any one could desire.
They dined early, as Addison had prophesied, and then Annie invited Edah to accompany her to her school, an invitation which she gladly accepted, and they were soon on their way "across lots," as we say in the country, preferring the green meadows and river banks to the dusty high-road. Mr. Laurence had taken the pains to have several gates made, and some bridges built over the little streams in the way, for Annie's accommodation, for he was very proud of his daughter's earnestness, though he sometimes professed to think that she carried it a little too far.
A walk of half a mile brought them to a small stone school-house, on the banks of a pretty rapid stream, which came down to meet the river, and on which were built a flouring-mill and two saw-mills.
A number of children were already collected around the door and under the trees which shaded it, and more were seen coming along the road, or over the fields, all hastening not to be late. Annie went round among them, calling them all by name, and inquiring after fathers and mothers, aunts, sisters, and grand-parents, till Edah wondered how she could remember so many different names. Looking at her watch, she announced that it was time to begin school, and accordingly the children flocked into the school-house, and seated themselves in an orderly manner—two or three tall girls seeming to take a certain supervision of the littler ones.
There were about thirty present in all. The exercises commenced by calling the roll, to which the children responded. At the name of the first absentee, Annie stopped:
"Has any one seen Nancy Wood to-day?"
"I see'd her as I was a-coming along," responded a little white-headed, bare-footed Irish boy, "and she said she would not come to-day, because her daddy was sick; but she wanted me to tell you she knew her lesson, and would you please send her a book, and I am to tell her what is the next lesson."
Pat seemed quite abashed at having made such a long speech, and hid his face behind his sister as he concluded.
"Nancy shall have a book," said Annie, smiling, "and I am much obliged to Patrick for offering to take it to her;" at which Pat held up his head again, and appeared very highly delighted.