The Chautauqua Girls At Home Part 38

"He will be interested in anything that is good," Marion said, with unusual energy even for her.

Flossy turned her pretty head towards her, and eyed her curiously.

"You like him better than you did; don't you, Marion?"

"Didn't I always like him," Marion asked, with averted face and a laugh in her voice.

"Oh, you used to think him stiff, and said you felt all shut up in his presence. Don't you remember our first call at his study?"

"I think I do," Marion answered, bursting into a merry laugh. "Ever so many things have happened since then, little Flossy!"

"Haven't there!" said innocent Flossy.

"It has been such a wonderful year! dating from that day when it rained and you _made_ me go, do you remember, Marion? Do you ever get to wondering what would have been, if we had just stayed on here at home, going to our parties and getting up festivals, and all that, and paying no attention to the Chautauqua meetings?"

"I don't want to think about any such horrid retrospect as that!" Marion said, with a shrug of her handsome shoulders, and a genuine s.h.i.+ver.

Flossy laughed.

"But you know it is only something to think of, to make us more grateful. It can never _be_, _never_. By the way, I suppose it is early to begin to make plans for the summer, at least for those who have no occasion to talk about summer yet;"--this last with a conscious little laugh--"But don't you mean to go to Chautauqua next summer? Mr. Roberts and I are going; we would rather give up a journey to Europe than that.

Can't we all contrive to meet there together?"

"Yes," said Marion, "we--_I_ mean to go."

"Dr. Dennis is going," Flossy said, though why that had anything to do with the matter, or why it occurred to her just then, Flossy did not know. "He told Mr. Roberts that he meant to be there, and to take with him as many of his people as he could. And Eurie told me last night that his friend, Mr. Harrison, of the Fourth church was going. I don't know how Eurie heard that, through Nellis, I suppose.

"Isn't Nellis splendid nowadays? I shouldn't wonder if quite a large company went from here. I wonder if Dr. Dennis will take his daughter Grace. I think she is just lovely, don't you?"

"Very," said Marion; and just here Flossy roused to the fact that she was doing most of the talking, and that Marion's answers were often in monosyllables.

"I dare say I am tiring you," she said, rising. "I forget that you have to talk all day in that school-room, Marion. Are you sure you love to teach well enough to keep at it, year after year?"

"No," said Marion, laughing. "I know I don't; I don't mean to do it; I mean to get a situation as somebody's housekeeper."

"Do you understand housekeeping?" asked innocent little Flossy, with wide open eyes.

"Oh, Marion! are you sure it will be even as pleasant as school teaching?"

"I think so," Marion answered with grave face. "At least, I mean to try.

It depends on whose house you get into, you know."

Flossy's sober face cleared in an instant.

"So it does," she said. "Marion, I have a nice plan, but I shall not tell you a bit about it to-night. Good-bye."

"Oh, the dear blessed little goosie!" Marion said, laughing immoderately as the door closed after Flossy. "Now, I know as well as if she told me, that she is going to beguile Mr. Roberts into offering me a situation in their dove cote, when they set it up. Blessed little darling!" and here, the laugh changed into a bright tear. "I know just what a sweet and happy home she would make for me. If I had only that to look forward to, if it had just opened as my escape from this boarding house, how very thankful I should be! How glad the dear child will be to know that my home is as nearly in view as her own."

As for Flossy, she went down the walk, saying:

"What a dismal room that is? It is too bad for our bright Marion to have to live in it, I know my plan will work. How nice of her to have put it in my head! my head must be for the purpose of carrying out nice things that somebody else proposes. Oh dear! there are so many desolate homes here, on earth!"

A cloud over the bright face for a minute, then it cleared as she said, softly: "In my Father's house are many mansions; I go to prepare a place for you."

After all, that was the place for brightness. This was only a way station; never mind the discomforts, so that many were helped to the right road that the home be reached at last, in peace.

She paused at the corner and looked towards Eurie's home, but shook her head resolutely, she must not go there, it was too late; though she longed to tell Eurie that Marion was going to Chautauqua, and ask her if she did not think it possible for them all to meet there.

Then the inconsistent little creature sighed again, for she remembered Eurie's weary face and the long struggle with sickness, and the long struggle with ways and means to which she was looking forward. There was much in the world that she would like to brighten.

Meantime, Eurie, in her home around the corner was arranging the pillows with tender touch about her mother's head, and drawing the folds of the crimson shawl carefully about her, as she said:

"Now, mother, you begin to look like yourself: it makes a wonderful difference to get a touch of color about you."

A very tender smile preceded her answer.

"Dear child! I will be glad to get well enough so that you may have a chance to get a touch of color about you. You are looking very pale and tired."

"Oh me, mine is the brightest life you can imagine; there is plenty of color down in my heart so long as I can think of our Nell leading the young people's meeting, and father to lead at the mission to-morrow, it will rest me. I have to keep 'counting my marcies.' To crown them all, here you are sitting up at this time of night, with a cap and wrapper on once more, instead of that unbecoming white gown; how pleased father will be!"

"We have many mercies," the low, feeble voice of the invalid said; "not the least among them being, our daughter Eurie; but I could wish that I saw a way for you to have less care, and more rest than you will get this summer. I must be willing to be very useless, your father says, and that means hard work for you. When Ruth Erskine was in this afternoon, looking so quiet, and at rest, nothing to weary her or hinder her from doing what she chose, I just coveted some of the peace of her life for you."

"There's no occasion, mother; I am not by any means willing to exchange my life with hers; I like my own much the best. As for rest, don't you worry; there'll be a way planned for what rest I need."

Yes, and there was being a way planned, even then; though mother and daughter knew nothing of it. How queerly people go on, planning their lives, as though they had the roads opening out into the future, all under their own care!

It was at that moment that Ruth Erskine, the young lady who, according to Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l, had so quiet, and settled, and peaceful a life, that she coveted it for her daughter, stood in the great hall that was glowing with light and beauty, and caught her breath with an almost convulsive sound, as she rested against a chair for support; her face deathly pale, her eyes bright with a calm that she had forced upon herself, in her solemn determination to try to do just the right thing, say just the right words; her ear had caught the sound of a carriage that had drawn up before the door, and the sound of a familiar voice; she knew that she was now to meet--not only her father, but her mother, and sister!

Little they knew about each other even yet, with all their intimacy, those four Chautauqua girls!

But what mattered it, so long as they had given themselves over, body and soul, into the keeping of their Father in heaven, who knew not only the beginning, but the end?

THE END.