Earlier text: THE RELIGIOUS MISS R.“They’ll be perfectly splendid, of course,” said Kate Cox. “Connie Livingston is going to wear India mull, with puffs and quillings and lace, and Fan Ellis is to have pale blue silk; she knows what’s good for a blonde, and Isa True, white crape.” “And what is Lou’s?” asked Kate’s audience. “Oh, mamma and she are not agreed yet. Lou wants silk and mamma says white is the only proper thing; she was a Holyokite, you know, and the law there was white and blue sashes.” “Somewhat different style, though, I fancy, from the white of to-day, when your mamma graduated.” “Just think of it, girls! Her dress was white Swiss muslin, full round waist, plain skirt and puffed sleeves, and her blue sash—she has it yet—is not as wide as my finger is long. How they must have looked!” “My mother says it was a great deal more sensible than the present way,” remarked Cathie Floss. I never should dare to graduate now, for fear of being the dowdy of the class. All you hear the Seniors talk about is just dress, dress.” “Oh, it’s splendid, I think,” said another. “Almost as good as one’s first ball. I mean to make a sensation when my turn comes, and be got up regardless for once.” “It will be her only hope,” whispered Kate; “the sensation never’ll come from the inside of her head. But it’s stopped raining girls; let’s go.” And the merry group scattered down the stairs and homeward. Meanwhile, in the dressing-room adjoining, Chris sat on the floor listening to the lively chatter with a sudden dread numbing her heart. Her head had been so full of Mental Philosophy and Literature and Essays that she had forgotten she was to graduate in a dress, and now—silk and India mull! Poor Chris might as well expect a piece out of the blue sky as either of those. It had been such a happy life to study the dear books and feel that every day was bringing nearer the time when, as a teacher, she could help the patient,281 hard-working father and mother, and give the little ones a chance in the world. She had known they were poor and her classmates rich, but that had never troubled her sunny nature before. Everybody was good to Chris. Even the haughty Fan Ellis found it convenient to get her help over hard places, and as for Connie Livingston, whom Chris worshiped in a girl fashion, hadn’t she many a sweet little note and kind word treasured away of hers? But this dress question. Connie in India mull with ruffles and lace was set entirely away. The little plain home in a poor street was reached at last, and Chris went in to find the busy mother with hands and lap full of mending and foot outstretched for baby to stand by. He crowed and shouted at sight of his sister, and Chris took him up and went to the window. “Mother,” she said, after a while, “what am I going to wear to graduate in?” The mother sighed. She had thought of that a great deal. “I don’t know, daughter,” she said at last. “I did hope to get you a neat white, but times are so hard and father’s wages are lowered282 and you have outgrown everything.” “Yes,” said Chris, “what can it be then?” “I don’t see, dear, how it can be anything more than light calico.” “But the others are silk and mull and crape.” “Yes, dear, I know, and so does He who had not where to lay his head. Think it over in that way. You know, Chris, mother would if she could,”—and the voice trembled. “Yes, mother, never mind; It’ll be all right I guess.” But Chris sat the baby down and went up to her little room. She did not care much for supper, and the children wondered what made her so still. When she went up to bed, and Liz and Cora were sound asleep, the poor child sat down by the open window to think it out. But the great tears welled up, and finally the head sank on the window-seat and the aching heart said all the time, “It’s very hard, very hard,” and the tears rolled faster and faster.283 “When shall I go to look for my bonny calico, mother?” she asked in the morning. “Do you think you can be satisfied, Chris?” And such an anxious question as it was. The mother had lain awake too that night. “Of course I can, mother. It’s me, not my dress, people must admire for once.” “Here is the money, then. I have saved it as I could.” Chris thought so when her pocket was weighed down with the nickels. But she realized, too, what the “savings” of her mother had been. Liz wanted to go, so her sister waited to comb the tangled hair and find the lost hat before starting out, throwing back kisses to Cora and baby. “I was afraid Chris would be broken-hearted quite,” said the mother fondly; “but I do believe she’s the best girl ever a mother had.” And, meanwhile, up in a great block of stores Chris and Liz were turning over the many piles of prints, selecting first one and then another, until fairly bewildered with so many. “I think I’ll have this,” said Chris at last, choosing a white ground with a delicate sprig of black. “O Chris, take this. See, it’s almost the same, but it’s blue, and so pretty.” “But I like this better dear.” “Oh, no, this is so lovely.” Now Liz was a girl of only eleven, and though the black did seem the prettier Chris thought it did not matter so much as pleasing her sister. So Liz was gratified, the little bundle made up, and they went out. Just in front of the steps an old man was tottering along by the aid of an umbrella, and a careless newsboy brushed that from his hand as the girls came out of the glass doors. Chris sprang and picked it up and as she turned from handing it back, almost ran against an elegant lady who had just alighted from a carriage. “Good morning, Chris,” said a young girl following the lady. “Good morning, Connie,” answered Chris, blushing and stepping out of a party’s way in time to hear Connie say:— “Mamma, that’s the girl I’ve told you about in our class.” “A very sweet face,” said Mrs. Livingston, and Chris blushed now in earnest. They were very busy days that followed. The dress got along but slowly, for lessons and baby must have the first places of course, but in that plain home the delicate print with its neatly-laid plaits, was the brightest thing that had come in for many a day, excepting the faces, and the children admired and thought it wonderful. It was almost examination-day, and Chris had stopped one night where she could have the quiet school room to go over the topics of that long Literature that was to be the final recitation of the Seniors, when she heard Fan Ellis’ voice:— “I do wish some one would go over these topics with me. I never can recite unless I go over them once out loud. Wont some one hear me?” But the girls all had too much business of their own, and they realized what hearing Fan, the dunce of the class, would be. Chris saw her coming out of the dressing-room with tears on her cheeks. That touched her. “What is it, Fan? can I help you?” she asked from her corner. Fan turned. “Is that you, Chris? I want to go over my topics with some one, and the girls are all too busy. They have time enough for me when I have a treat.” “O Chris, that’s good! When?” “Now and here,” was the reply. It was almost dark when the two girls left the school building, and the topics only two-thirds through then. “We’ll finish to-morrow night,” said Chris. “Thank you, Chris; I never studied so hard before, but you see my father is to be here, and he says if I do well he will give me a watch and chain, but if not I cannot have one for two years.” “I hope you will,” said Chris heartily, “and I guess you will, too.” But she wondered about her own lesson until she found that helping to fix it in Fan’s mind had been better for herself than any amount of study and so she was fully repaid. It was the night before graduating day, and Chris came home late to find the dress still unfinished. Baby had been sick all day and the mother looked pale and anxious. “Only one ruffle more for the overskirt,287 dear,” but Chris knew that was three hours of hard work and it was already nearly nine o’clock. She went up to her little room a moment and then came back. “Let me try it all on, mother,” she said then; “the children want to see it before they go to bed;” and after all had been duly admired, she said, “There is enough on it now, mother; and we’ll hang it up till morning, when I’ll come out like a queen, see if I don’t.” “But you wanted another ruffle, dear.” “I did—but do not need it. You are tired, and it will do as it is. We’ll have a good sleep, and I hope the baby will be all right in the morning. And the look of glad relief that came to the tired mother’s face was ample reward for the girl’s self-denial.” But Chris was not to do all the good work of the world. While she was reading her essay that night to the professor, Connie Livingston called a secret session of Seniors in the dressing-room. Chris’ eight classmates were on hand. “Girls,” said Connie, “I’ve found out something splendid to do. Do you know Chris288 has got to graduate in a calico. Our sewing girl knows them, and she has seen it. She says it is just as sweet as a calico can be, but Chris felt dreadfully about it at first, of course, then she gave it all up. Now you all know Chris is just as good as she can be and has helped every one of us at some time.” “That’s so,” said Fan Ellis, who had caught an approving smile from her father at the close of the long dreaded examination. “And she’s got a splendid essay,” continued Connie; “Miss Markham says so; and now let’s each one engage one or two friends to throw her bouquets, so she’ll be sure to have as many as anybody and be as happy as she deserves; will you agree?” The girls promised in chorus. “And let’s get her a fan,” said one, “a pretty, plain white one. She’ll be so pleased.” So that was settled, and kept a surprise for Chris. It must be confessed that she made a very pretty picture at home, the trim black-kid boots, the neat dress with ruching at the throat and a pale rose bud in place of jewels; but as she came to the great building and saw the crowds of gayly dressed ladies and elegant gentlemen going up the steps her289 heart sank a little, and she stole up the back stairs to the recitation-room where the class were to meet. They were all there when Chris opened the door, glorifying the room she thought for a moment, with the bright flash and glimmer of their trailing robes. “Here she is, girls!” exclaimed Connie, catching sight of the figure in the door. “How late you are, but come here, please, we have something sweet to tell you. Come, Fan.” “Please accept this, Chris, from your classmates,” said Fan gently. “We all wanted you to remember us,” and the daintily-gloved hand laid the pretty box in Chris’ ungloved one, and then they all eagerly watched the little blushing face with smiles and tears chasing over it as she unfolded her gift, and were more than thanked. Then Connie led her into the dressing-room. “I brought a flower on purpose for your golden locks, dear; let me put it in. There, that’s lovely!” “You thought of me?” said Chris, lifting wondering eyes. “Why, of course, you pet! You have helped me to be a better girl, Chris, and I thank you for it always.” Then they all went down together and took their seats on the platform, and as one after another came forward to that most dreaded ordeal, reading her essay, and was thanked by thoughtful friends with bouquets and applause, Chris was so happy for each, and over her fan, and Connie’s kiss, that her speaking face was fairly radiant; and when her name was called, the seventh on the list, she had no thought of fear, but her sweet, clear tones rendered the essay full of feeling. It was tender, and pathetic, and many hearts were touched by its simple words, but when it was finished, and Chris turned to go, there was a perfect storm of applause, led by Judge Livingston, and the bouquets came fast and thick. Chris sat down with her lap full, in a perfect maze, while every one of her classmates found occasion for the handkerchiefs they had provided only for ornaments. And so Chris learned that wearing love in the heart makes fair in all eyes the simplest dress. ANDREW LEE came home at evening from the shop where he had worked all day, tired and out of spirits; came home to his wife, who was also tired, and dispirited. “A smiling wife, and a cheerful home—what a paradise it would be!” said Andrew to himself as he turned his eyes from the clouded face of Mrs. Lee, and sat down with knitted brow, and a moody aspect. Not a word was spoken by either. Mrs. Lee was getting supper, and she moved about with a weary step. “Come,” she said at last, with a side glance at her husband. There was invitation in the word only, none in the voice of Mrs. Lee. Andrew arose and went to the table. He was tempted to speak an angry word, but controlled himself, and kept silence. He could find no fault with the chop, nor the sweet homemade bread, and fresh butter.292 They would have cheered his inward man, if there had only been a gleam of sunshine on the face of his wife. He noticed that she did not eat. “Are you not well Mary?” The words were on his lips, but he did not utter them, for the face of his wife looked so repellant, that he feared an irritating reply. And so in moody silence, the twain sat together until Andrew had finished his supper. As he pushed his chair back, his wife arose, and commenced clearing off the table. “This is purgatory!” said Lee to himself, as he commenced walking the floor of their little breakfast-room, with his hands clasped behind him, and his chin almost touching his breast. After removing all the dishes and taking them into the kitchen, Mrs. Lee spread a green cover on the table, and placing a fresh trimmed lamp thereon, went out and shut the door, leaving her husband alone with his unpleasant feelings. He took a long, deep breath as she did so, paused in his walk, stood still for some moments, and then drawing a paper from his pocket, sat down by the table, opened the sheet and commenced reading. Singularly enough the words upon293 which his eyes rested were, “Praise your wife.” They rather tended to increase the disturbance of mind from which he was suffering. “I should like to find some occasion for praising mine.” How quickly his thoughts expressed that ill-natured sentiment. But his eyes were on the page before him, and he read on. “Praise your wife, man, for pity’s sake, give her a little encouragement; it won’t hurt her.” Andrew Lee raised his eyes from the paper and muttered, “Oh, yes. That’s all very well. Praise is cheap enough. But praise her for what? For being sullen, and making your home the most disagreeable place in the world?” His eyes fell again to the paper. “She has made your home comfortable, your hearth bright and shining, your food agreeable; for pity’s sake, tell her you thank her, if nothing more. She don’t expect it; it will make her eyes open wider than they have for ten years; but it will do her good for all that, and you, too.” It seemed to Andrew as if these sentences294 were written just for him, and just for the occasion. It was the complete answer to his question, “Praise her for what?” and he felt it also as a rebuke. He read no farther, for thought came too busy, and in a new direction. Memory was convicting him of injustice toward his wife. She had always made his home as comfortable for him as hands could make it, and had he offered the light return of praise or commendation? Had he ever told her of the satisfaction he had known, or the comfort experienced. He was not able to recall the time or the occasion. As he thought thus, Mrs. Lee came in from the kitchen, and taking her work-basket from a closet, placed it on the table, and sitting down without speaking, began to sew. Mr. Lee glanced almost stealthily at the work in her hands, and saw it was the bosom of a shirt, which she was stitching neatly. He knew that it was for him that she was at work “Praise your wife.” The words were before the eyes of his mind, and he could not look away from them. But he was not ready for this yet. He still felt moody and unforgiving. The expression of his wife’s295 face he interpreted to mean ill-nature, and with ill-nature he had no patience. His eyes fell on the newspaper that lay spread out before him, and he read the sentence :— “A kind cheerful word, spoken in a gloomy home, is like the rift in a cloud that lets the sunshine through.” Lee struggled with himself a while longer. His own ill-nature had to be conquered first; his moody, accusing spirit had to be subdued. But he was coming right, and at last got right, as to will. Next came the question as to how he should begin. He thought of many things to say, yet feared to say them, lest his wife should meet his advances with a cold rebuff. At last, leaning towards her, and taking hold of the linen bosom upon which she was at work, he said, in a voice carefully modulated with kindness:— “You are doing the work very beautifully, Mary.” Mrs. Lee made no reply. But her husband did not fail to observe that she lost, almost instantly, that rigid erectness with which she had been sitting, nor that the motion of her needle hand ceased. “My shirts are better made, and whiter296 than those of any other man in our shop,” said Lee, encouraged to go on. “Are they?” Mrs. Lee’s voice was low, and had in it a slight huskiness. She did not turn her face, but her husband saw that she leaned a little toward him. He had broken through the ice of reserve, and all was easy now. His hand was among the clouds, and a few feeble rays were already struggling through the rift it had made. “Yes, Mary,” he answered softly, “and I’ve heard it said more than once, what a good wife Andrew Lee must have.” Mrs. Lee turned her face toward her husband. There was light in it, and light in her eye. But there was something in the expression of the countenance that puzzled him a little. “Do you think so?” she asked quite soberly. “What a question!” ejaculated Andrew Lee, starting up and going round to the side of the table where his wife was sitting.—“What a question, Mary!” he repeated, as he stood before her. “Do you?” It was all she said. “Yes, darling,” was the warmly-spoken297 answer, and he stooped down and kissed her. —“How strange that you should ask me such a question!” “If you would only tell me so now and then, Andrew, it would do me good.” And Mrs. Lee arose, and leaning against the manly breast of her husband, stood and wept. What a strong light broke in upon the mind of Andrew Lee. He had never given to his faithful wife even the small reward of praise for all the loving interest she had manifested daily, until doubt of his love had entered her soul, and made the light thick darkness. No wonder that her face grew clouded, nor that what he considered moodiness and ill-nature took possession of her spirit. “You are good and true, Mary. My own dear wife. I am proud of you—I love you—and my first desire is for your happiness. Oh, if I could always see your face in sunshine, my home would be the dearest place on earth.” “How precious to me are your words of love and praise, Andrew,” said Mrs. Lee, smiling up through her tears into his face.298 “With them in my ears, my heart can never lie in shadow.” How easy had been the work for Andrew Lee. He had swept his hand across the cloudy horizon of his home, and now the bright sunshine was streaming down, and flooding that home with joy and beauty. We built us grand, gorgeous towers
Out toward the western sea,
And said in a dream of the summer hours,
Thus fair should our record be.
We would strike the bravest chords
That ever rebuked the wrong;
And through them should tremble all loving words
That would make the weary strong.
There entered not into our thought
The dangers the way led through,
We saw but the gifts of the good we sought,
And the good we would strive to do.
Here trace we a hurried line,
There blush for a blotted leaf;
And tears, vain tears, on the eyelids shine,
That the record is so brief.
I shall not soon forget the family of Israel Day, who lived neighbor to my father when I was a boy. Mr. Day was working out as a laborer, and as he had a large family dependent upon his earnings for support, and sometimes it was difficult in our neighborhood to find employment, the family was poor, and the strictest economy had to be practiced to furnish the bare necessities of life. I often wondered how it happened that such a man as Mr. Day should be so poor. He had no intemperate or extravagant habits, and was a man of more than common education, and there was an air of intelligence and refinement about the entire family that commanded the respect of their neighbors. Mr. Day was industrious, but always seemed to me a man who had no ambition in life, and who expected and desired no more than a mere subsistence for his family. No300 one in the neighborhood knew anything of his history. The family had come from another State a few years previous, and while polite and friendly they were very uncommunicative as to their former life, and there was something about them that forbade inquisitiveness. I was at this time sixteen years old, and on very intimate terms with Mr. Day’s family. At the time of my story he was helping my father on the farm for a few days and boarding with us. One day when we came in from our forenoon work, we found ’Squire Black was to take dinner with us, and as he was reputed to be the wealthiest man in the township we felt quite honored. He was a very genial man and an excellent talker, and had an adroit way of flattering and making every one feel easy in his company. On this occasion he made himself very agreeable; he praised the neat appearance of the farm and buildings, complimented mother on her good cooking, called me a fine, manly fellow, gave some small change to the children, and by the time dinner was over had gained the good will of the entire family. After dinner Mr. Black asked to see the301 stock and examine the arrangement of the barn and outbuildings, and as father took pride in having good, well-fed stock and one of the most conveniently arranged barns in the county, he was glad to show him around, and was much pleased with the hearty commendation which Mr. Black bestowed upon them. He finally made known the object of his visit; he had found a piece of very desirable property for sale, low, so that there was no question that within less than a year he could clear several thousand dollars on it, but he must pay all cash down and he lacked two thousand dollars of having enough money to pay for it. He wished father to become security for him for one year, as he had found a party who was willing to lend him the amount if his signature could be had to the note. He did not give father time to think or scarcely to answer his questions, but took out his pocket-book and handed him a paper supposing it to be the note which he had drawn up, and signed by himself, all ready for father’s signature. I verily believe that if the paper had been what ’Squire302 Black thought it to be, father could not have refused to sign it; but it so happened that he had made a mistake and left the note at home and had substituted for it another paper. A shade of vexation passed over the ’Squire’s face when he discovered the mistake, but he at once recovered his good humor and said, “Never mind; I will call again this evening,” and hastily mounted his horse and rode away. Father looked troubled, and turning to me said, “I do not like to indorse for any one, but ’Squire Black will be insulted if I should refuse, and as he is rich I suppose there can be no risk about it. It is only complying with a legal form and I suppose I shall be obliged to do it; but I wish he had not asked me to do so.” Before I could reply, the barn door opened and Mr. Day came out; he was pale and deeply agitated, and when he spoke I should not have recognized his voice. Calling my father by name he said, “I believe that you are in danger, and if you will listen to me I will give you a chapter from my own history that I had never intended should be known to any in this neighborhood.” Father motioned for me to leave, thinking that Mr. Day wished to speak to him alone. He noticed it, however, and said, “No, let him stay, for one cannot learn too soon the lesson that my experience teaches. I would be willing that it should be published to the world if thereby some could be saved from my bitter experience. I overheard, as you know, what ‘Squire Black said to you. Listen to my story and then decide as to whether you will put your name on his note. “Fifteen years ago, when I was married, I was not the poor man that you now know me to be. My father gave me as my share of his property two thousand dollars, which I had increased to three, and my wife received as her wedding portion one thousand dollars. We were both strong and willing to work, and ambitious to succeed in the world, and we bought a good farm, running in debt a few hundred dollars. For several years we were greatly prospered. We had good health, and the seasons were favorable, so that we grew heavy crops and obtained fair prices for them. “At the end of five years we had paid off our debt and had nearly one thousand dollars304 in bank, and we felt that it would be safe to build a new house, although we expected to put more than the amount of money on hand into it. “In the meantime there had come into the neighborhood one of the most companionable men I ever met. He was familiarly known as Capt. Cole. He had been a lawyer, but had been appointed by the General Government to a lucrative office which he held for some years, and had the reputation of being very wealthy. He lived in good style, and was a general favorite in all the community. “When my house was finished I found myself in debt seven hundred dollars, and as I had given the contract to a carpenter, he to furnish everything, he needed all his money. I went to the bank to borrow the amount until I could find some one who would let me have it for one or two years, and not being accustomed to borrow money it did not occur to me that an indorser would be necessary, until the cashier of the bank informed me that it was their invariable custom to require security. Capt. Cole, who happened to be in at the time, overheard the conversation and came forward with a pleasant ‘good morning,’305 saying, ‘I shall be only too happy to indorse for my friend, Mr. Day.’ I felt both grateful and flattered, and when a few months later I happened to be in the bank when he wanted an indorser, I was glad to return the favor. “We had two years of prosperity, and I paid the debt on my house. I now determined to build a fine barn, and as I had always paid my debts easily and could not well get along with my old barn until I had saved the money to build the new one, I determined to borrow one thousand dollars, and happening to meet Capt. Cole I asked him if he knew where I could get that amount for three years. He told me he did, and offered to become my security. The money was borrowed and my barn begun. “A few weeks later Capt. Cole called to see me. Like ’Squire Black to-day, he seemed delighted with everything he saw. His flattery put me in the best possible humor, and when he asked me to indorse a note of $5,000 for sixty days, and assured me that he could meet it (or even twice as much) promptly, to the day, I consented against my better judgment, and affixed my306 signature to the note. That act ruined me. Before the sixty days expired I learned that he was bankrupt. My farm was sold at a sacrifice, under the hammer, and when I paid the thousand dollars which I had borrowed to build the barn with, I was left penniless. “With my history in your possession, do you wonder that I was alarmed to-day when I saw you about to fall into the same trap? I tell you I have a right to feel deeply on this subject. Would that I could make my voice be heard by every young man in the land. I would say to him, shun as you would a serpent this evil which has brought ruin to so many families. I realize fully what it means to put my name on another man’s paper, and it is just this—that I assume all the risks of his business, without any voice in its management or any possible chance of profit if he is successful; but with a fearful certainty that if from any cause he makes a failure, my earnings must make it good, even though it reduces my family to beggary. Since my own misfortune I have made this a matter of study, and I find that a very large per cent. of the business failures, of the307 country (and nearly all among farmers) are due to this practice.” The remainder of my story is soon told. My father was deeply impressed by Mr. Day’s story, and before night I was dispatched to ‘Squire Black’s with a note from Father stating that after carefully considering the matter he had decided not to sign the note. In less than a year after this ‘Squire Black was declared a bankrupt, and in the final settlement of his business it did not pay ten cents on the dollar. Father felt that he owed a debt of gratitude to Mr. Day, and he presented him with a good team and helped him to rent a farm. This encouraged him, and he worked so industriously and managed so prudently that in a few years he was able to buy a small farm and has since been able to support his family comfortably. Many years have passed since these events transpired, and I am now passed middle life, but I have never ceased to be thankful for the lesson taught me by Mr. Day, and in fulfilling his wish I would repeat the lesson which the story teaches—never indorse.