Mildred and Elsie

The mother's views coincided with theirs, but Mildred begged to be permitted to go on in the old way, saying constant employment was good for her; she was used to it and liked it.

"And besides," she added playfully, "I enjoy the thought that I am laying a little something by against old age or a rainy day. I am not likely ever to marry, so will do well to be self-helpful; and why should I not have a business the same as if I were a man? I shall be all the happier, the more useful, and the more independent."

So they let her have her way. She was not keeping employment from those who needed it, for there were plenty of pupils for all the teachers in the place. Effie Prescott was now one of these – most faithful and successful, and full of joy and thankfulness that thus she was able to win her bread; for she had not strength to do so in any more laborious way, and her father was poor enough to feel it a relief to have Effie supporting herself.

"And I have you to thank for it," she had said again and again to Mildred; "it is one of your good works, and I shall never cease to be grateful to you for it."

"Indeed, Effie, you owe me nothing," Mildred would reply; "not even gratitude, for you have paid well for all I have done for you. You owe it all, under God, to your own industry, energy, and perseverance in the use and improvement of the talents he has given you."

To the whole household at Mr. Keith's the all-absorbing interest was the fitting up and furnishing of the snug cottage across the street, and the preparation of Zillah's trousseau, in the expense or labor of which each one was determined to have a share.

All these matters were freely discussed in the family, even the little boys and girls being deemed worthy to be trusted not to speak of them to outsiders. Not that any one felt that there was any special cause for concealment of their plans or doings, but they did not wish to have them canvassed and commented upon by the busybodies and gossips of the town, who, like those of other places, always knew so much more of their neighbors' affairs than did those neighbors themselves.

No one rejoiced more sincerely than Mildred in the evident happiness of the affianced pair; no one entered more heartily into their plans, was oftener consulted in regard to them, or was more generous with money and labor in carrying them out. Her sisterly pride in Zillah's beauty was without a touch of envy or jealousy, though she was fully aware of the fact that it far exceeded her own.

"What a lovely bride she will make!" Mildred often whispered to herself. "Wallace may well feel consoled for my rejection of his suit."

She tried hard for perfect unselfishness, and to entirely fill her mind and heart with the interests of the hour, especially as affecting these two; but thoughts of the love that now seemed lost to her, of the dreams of happiness which had been for years gradually fading till there was scarcely a vestige of them left, would at times intrude themselves, filling her with a sadness she could scarce conceal from the watchful eyes of the tender mother who knew and so fully sympathized in the sorrows and anxieties of this her first-born and dearly beloved child.

She knew that even yet there was a constant longing, a half-unconscious daily looking for of news of the wanderer as the mail came in, followed each time by renewed disappointment, and that often the poor, weary heart grew sick indeed with hope deferred.

As spring opened, the day for the wedding drew near, and the preparations for it were almost completed. Mildred's sadness of heart increased, until it cost her a constant and often heroic struggle to maintain her cheerfulness before others; while at times she could not refrain from shedding many tears in the privacy of her own room. One evening her mother, entering softly, found her weeping.

"My dear, dear child!" she whispered, taking her in her arms and caressing her tenderly, "my dear, brave, unselfish girl! you do not know how your mother loves you!"

"Precious mother!" responded the weeping girl, hastily wiping away her tears and returning the caress; "what could I ever do without your dear love! I am ashamed of my depression; ashamed that I should yield to it in this way. Ah, I little deserve to be called brave!"

"It has been a long, hard trial, dear daughter," Mrs. Keith said, softly stroking Mildred's hair, "and you have borne it wonderfully well; as you could not in your own strength, I well know."

"No, never! The joy of the Lord has been my strength, else my heart would have broken long ago; for oh, this terrible suspense! so much worse than any certainty could be!"

"I know it, darling," her mother responded in moved tones; "then would it not be your wisest course to endeavor to convince yourself that either utter indifference or death has ended this for you?"

"Mother, that is not in the power of my will. That Charlie could prove untrue I cannot believe, and something tells me that he still lives."

"Then, dearest, cheer up. Why this increased sadness of late?"

"I hardly know myself, mother dear; I am sure my whole heart rejoices in the happiness of my sister and Wallace; yet somehow the sight of it seems to deepen my own sorrow by contrast. I fear it is because I am selfish."

"I cannot think so," her mother said; "so do not harbor that thought, thus adding to your distress. Try to cast your care on the Lord, fully believing the inspired declaration that 'all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.' He is never for a moment unmindful of one of his children; he has a plan for each one, and suffers no real evil to befall them. 'Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him.'"

"Ah, mother!" Mildred said, smiling through her tears, "I am more and more convinced that all I need to make me perfectly happy is strong, unwavering faith in the wisdom and love of my heavenly Father; then I should rejoice to do and suffer all his holy will, never doubting that what he sends is the very best for me."

There was an additional cause for Mildred's depression just at this time – one felt in greater or less degree by all the Keiths – in the thought that this was the beginning of the inevitable breaking up of the dear family circle – the forming by one of their number of new ties, which must in some measure supplant the old – the tender loves of parents and children, brothers and sisters. Zillah was not going far away, and they did not fear to trust her to Wallace; but their home would no longer be hers, and another, in whose veins ran no drop of their blood, would henceforth be nearer and dearer to her than they.

Except the parents, perhaps no other felt this quite so keenly as Ada – the nearest in age and hitherto the room-mate and almost inseparable companion of the sister who was leaving them.

It was the morning of the wedding day; the ceremony was to take place in the evening, in the parlor of Mr. Keith's house, which the sisters were busily decorating for the occasion with spring flowers from the garden and the woods.

The supply was not sufficient, and the little boys were sent in search of more; the mother and Celestia Ann – who still lived with them, going home occasionally for a few weeks, but always returning and taking up her duties there with renewed satisfaction – were deep in the mysteries of cake-making and kindred arts; so when the door-bell rang Ada answered it.

Standing before the open door was a very pleasant-faced young man, whose dress and general appearance seemed to bespeak him a clergyman. He lifted his hat with a low bow, his face lighting up with a smile of recognition.

"Miss Mildred?" he said half inquiringly, as he held out his hand in cordial greeting.

"No, sir," returned Ada, giving him her hand, but with a slightly puzzled look; "I am Ada Keith."

"Ah! one of the little ones when I knew you – not old enough to remember me, I fear. I am from Lansdale, your old Ohio home."

He handed her a card, on which she read at a glance, "Rev. Francis Osborne."

"Ah, I know now who you are! I have a slight remembrance of a big boy of that name who has had time enough to grow into a man," she said with an arch smile that he thought very bewitching. "Come in, Mr. Osborne; they will all be glad to see you."

He was warmly welcomed and hospitably entertained, as an old-time friend, as one coming from the early home still held in tender remembrance, and as a messenger from Aunt Wealthy, who sent by him a handsome bridal gift – a beautiful gold brooch. Quite unexpected; for the dear old lady had already given generously toward the house-furnishing.

Zillah was greatly pleased. There was already upon a side-table in the sitting-room quite an array of handsome presents from her near relatives and friends – the Dinsmore cousins and others – and Aunt Wealthy's gift was now assigned a conspicuous place among them.

Mrs. Keith's wedding dress of rich, white silk, her bridal veil and orange blossoms, had been carefully preserved, and finding that the dress exactly fitted her, Zillah had chosen to be married in it, in decided preference to having a new one.

It was, of course, made in very old-fashioned style, but she insisted that she liked it all the better for that, and no one who saw her in it could deny that it was extremely becoming.

All the sisters were to be bridesmaids – in the order of their ages – and all to wear white tarlatan. Rupert would be first groomsman; Robert Grange, a brother of Lu, second; Cyril and Don, third and fourth.

A large number of guests were invited and a handsome entertainment was provided. Their pastor, Mr. Lord, had received due notice of the coming event, and promised to officiate.

Seeing him leaving the parsonage early in the afternoon, his mother called to him, asking where he was going.

"For a walk and to make a pastoral call or two," he answered, pausing and turning toward her with an air of affectionate respect.

"Well, Joel, don't forget to come home early enough to dress for the wedding. I shall be ready in good season, and hope you will too."

"Oh, certainly, mother! I'm glad you reminded me, though, for I really had forgotten it."

"And will again, I'm very much afraid," she murmured, between a smile and a sigh, as she watched him down the street.

He walked on and on in meditative mood, till nearing a farm-house, several miles from town, he was waked from his revery by the voice of its owner bidding him good-day and asking if he would go with him to the river for an afternoon's fishing. "I was just setting off for it," he said. "I've an extra pole and line here, and shall be glad of your company."

"Thank you, Mr. Vail, I will: it's a pastime I'm somewhat partial to," the minister made answer.

"Will, Will!" the farmer called to his son, "bring me that other fishing tackle, and tell your mother we'll be back – Mr. Lord and I – for tea about sundown."

Seven was the hour set for the wedding ceremony. At half-past five Mrs. Lord's tea-table was ready and waiting for the return of her son. But six o'clock came, and there was no sign of his approach.

"I'll go and dress; perhaps he'll be here by that time," she said to herself, turning from the window from which she had been gazing with constantly increasing anxiety and impatience.

She made a hasty toilet, hoping every moment to hear his step and voice. But he came not. She ate her supper, watched the clock until the hands pointed to five minutes of seven; then, filled with vexation and chagrin, donned bonnet and shawl and set off in haste for Mr. Keith's.

That gentleman met her at the gate. "Ah, my dear madam, I am glad to see you!" he said, shaking hands with her. "Walk in. But where is Mr. Lord? The guests are all assembled – now that you are here – and everything is in readiness for the ceremony."

"Indeed, Mr. Keith, I'm terribly mortified!" the old lady burst out, flushing like a girl; "it's just Joel's absent-mindedness. He meant to be here in season, I know; but he walked out some hours since, and where he is now, or when he will remember to come back, I don't know. Please don't wait for him another minute, if you can get anybody to take his place."

"Fortunately we can," said Mr. Keith; "so please, my dear madam, do not feel disturbed about that."

He led her into the house, and called Rupert and Wallace from the bridal chamber, where the wedding party were assembled. Then Frank Osborne was summoned from the parlor, where, with the other guests, he sat waiting to witness the coming ceremony. There was a whispered consultation; then Wallace hastened to his bride again, and whispered a word to her, to which she gave a pleased, blushing assent, as she rose and suffered him to draw her hand within his arm.

In another minute or two bridegroom and bride, with the whole train of attendants, had taken their places in presence of the assembled guests, and the ceremony began, Frank Osborne officiating.

He did not seem at all embarrassed or at a loss for words; his manner was solemn and tender, and when the ceremony was over every one said, "How beautiful it was!"

While the bride and groom were receiving the congratulations of relatives and friends, Mr. Lord, having leisurely finished his tea, sat in the farm-house porch, quietly conversing with his host. But a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and he started up in evident perturbation.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Vail; "anything gone wrong?"

"Rather," groaned the minister, glancing at the face of his watch, which he had just drawn from its fob. "I was to have married Wallace Ormsby and one of Mr. Keith's daughters about fifteen minutes ago."

"Better get back to town, then, as fast as you can," returned the farmer, laughing. "I'll harness up and take you."

"Alas, man, it's already too late!" sighed the minister.

"'Better late than never,' though, and they may be waiting for you still."

"Why, yes; that's possible, to be sure!"

"Where shall I take you?" Mr. Vail asked, half an hour later, as they drove into the town.

"Drive right to Mr. Keith's, if you please."

"I thought maybe you'd want to fix up a bit, seeing it's a wedding you're going to."

"Oh, to be sure! yes, certainly! I'm glad you reminded me. I'll go home and dress first."

"And while you're at that I'll go round and tell 'em you're coming – just to keep 'em from getting quite out of heart, you know."

He went, and by the time Mr. Lord's toilet was completed, returned with the information, delivered in tones of amusement and with eyes twinkling with fun: "You've lost the job, sir; somebody else has tied the knot; but they've sent word for you to hurry along and you'll be in time for the refreshments. So cheer up, for that's the main thing, after all, ain't it."

"Really I – I'm ashamed to go now," stammered the minister, looking much mortified and embarrassed.

"Tut, tut, man! better treat it as a good joke," returned the farmer gayly.

"I believe you're right," said Mr. Lord, and proceeded to take the advice.

His apologies and excuses were received with good-humored raillery, mingled with laughing assurances that he need not disturb himself; as things had turned out 'twas all very well; it seemed a pleasant accident that had left the performing of the ceremony to an old and valued friend of the bride and her family.

CHAPTER XVIII

"A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded."Byron.

The next morning Mr. and Mrs. Ormsby started on their bridal trip – a visit to his relatives, to Aunt Wealthy and the old Ohio home.

Their departure left the house strangely empty and desolate, to the consciousness of mother and sisters especially, and Frank Osborne's advent seemed quite a boon. An old friend who could tell them much of others left behind in Ohio, a thorough gentleman, well educated, refined and polished in manner, and an earnest, devoted Christian, he proved a most agreeable companion.

All these years he had fancied himself in love with Mildred, and it was that, more than anything else, which had drawn him thither; yet the first sight of Ada had wholly changed the direction of his inclination.

He had thought Mildred charming in younger days, and could not see that she had lost in attractiveness – the years seemed rather to have added to her loveliness; her form was more finely developed, her countenance sweeter and more intellectual, while she had lost none of the freshness and bloom of youth: yet he found a superior fascination about Ada, and being of an ardent temperament, open and frank in disposition, his manner toward her soon made this apparent to the older members of the family.

Mildred was perhaps the first to perceive it, and that without the slightest feeling of envy or jealousy: she would be glad if Frank proved to be one who could fill Ada's heart; and if an objection to the possibility that presented itself arose in any one's mind, it was merely on the score of unwillingness to part with another member of the newly broken family circle.

They had urged Frank to make a lengthened visit, and he had promised to remain for some days or a week or two.

He had been but recently licensed to preach, and was yet without charge. The first Sunday after his arrival he filled Mr. Lord's pulpit, by invitation, greatly to the delight and edification of his hearers. The next week he preached for a vacant church a few miles distant from Pleasant Plains, and shortly after consented to take charge of it for the next six months.

A worldly-minded man, seeking wealth and fame, would have deemed it a most uninviting field of labor; but Frank Osborne was one of those who are willing to bear hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ, and whose aspiration is to win souls rather than earthly riches or fame. Yet the thought of being near enough to his old friends for frequent intercourse may have had its influence also.

The return of the bride and groom after an absence of some six weeks was a joyful occasion. They were received in their own cottage home, which loving hands had set in perfect order, and rendered beautiful and delightful with the bloom and perfume of flowers. When the tender, loving greetings had been exchanged they made the tour of the house attended by every member of the family, each one anxious to witness and have a share in their pleasure.

The workers had anticipated, as the reward of their labors, great demonstrations of delight from Zillah, and were not disappointed; she seemed to lack words to properly express her admiration of the effects produced or her appreciation of this evidence of their kindness and love.

Nor was Wallace far behind in bestowing a like meed of praise and thanks.

The welcoming feast had been prepared and was partaken of in the house of the parents. After that Zillah began her housekeeping, enjoying it exceedingly; for she was no novice at the business, was defthanded and quick in her motions, had her mother and older sister near enough to be consulted at any time; and utensils, furniture, and the snug cottage itself were all so new, so fresh and clean.

Then Wallace was pleased with everything she did, and the work of a family of two seemed scarce more than play to one used to the numerous household on the other side of the street.

There was a great deal of running back and forth, a constant interchange of good offices. During the hours that business kept Wallace at the office, Zillah and Ada were almost sure to be together in one home or the other.

It was not long before the former discovered that Frank Osborne was a frequent visitor at her father's, and began to suspect what was the particular attraction that drew him thither.

"I was not at all displeased at the time, as things turned out, that Mr. Lord went fishing on my wedding day and forgot to marry me, but now I begin to feel quite grateful to him," she said teasingly to Ada one day as they sat alone together, with their sewing, in her own pretty parlor.

"Why so?" Ada asked, blushing consciously in spite of herself.

"Because in after years it will seem very fitting that my brother-in-law had the tying of the knot between Wallace and me."

"That strikes me as very much like counting your chickens before they are hatched," returned Ada demurely. "If you are hinting at me, please understand that I've always meant to be the old-maid daughter to stay at home and take care of the dear father and mother."

"Oh, yes, but folks often miss their vocation. However, I trust you will not; and I think you were cut out for a minister's wife. And O Ada dear," she went on, dropping her work to put her arms about her sister, "I want you to know the bliss of wedded love. I never was so happy in my life as now. And I do believe Frank is almost as nice as Wallace, or at least nicer than anybody else except Wallace," she corrected herself hastily, and with a merry laugh; "so don't reject him, there's a dear."

"Not until he asks," Ada said a trifle disdainfully. "My promises can go no further than that at present. I have an idea that he was formerly one of Mildred's admirers. So let him try for her; she is far better fitted than I for the duties and responsibilities of the position."

"Now don't be naughty and proud," Zillah said gayly; "you may as well take Mildred's leavings as I, and I can assure you they may be very nice indeed. What may have been in the past," she added more gravely, "I do not know, but very sure I am that now there is no fancy on either side."

"A letter for you, Ada!" cried Fan, coming running in at the open door.

Ada took it quietly and broke the seal.

"Now here's an offer worth having," she remarked with biting sarcasm, as she turned the page and glanced at the signature, then held it so that Zillah could see what it was. "The bald eagle is still in search of a mate."

"I told you so," was Zillah's laughing rejoinder.

"Lend me an envelope, will you?" Ada said, rising with the letter in her hand, a look of quiet, half-scornful determination in her face; "and he shall not be kept long waiting for his answer."

"What shall you say?" Zillah asked as she brought the envelope, pen, and ink.

"Nothing. Silence cannot be construed to mean consent in this instance. There, Fan, please return it to the office," as she sealed the envelope and handed it to the child; the letter inside, Nicholas Ransquattle's address on the outside.

The needles were plied in silence for a few moments; then Zillah said, with a little amused laugh, "You made short work with him."

"It seems to be the way of the family," returned Ada, joining in the laugh.

"Well, only treat Frank as differently as possible – that is, with the greatest favor – and I'll forgive you for this."

Frank was too wise to speak hastily, therefore the more likely to win at the last.

One day in the ensuing autumn Mrs. Keith received a letter from her cousin Horace Dinsmore, saying that he was travelling with his little daughter in the region of the Great Lakes, and could not persuade himself to pass so near Pleasant Plains without paying her a visit: they might be expected in a day or two after the receipt of this communication.

This news was received with great delight by the entire family. Mildred's heart bounded at the thought of again clasping little Elsie in her arms; for through all these years of separation the little fair one had been cherished in her very heart of hearts.

Every preparation was at once set on foot for entertaining the coming guests in the most hospitable manner.

There had been an occasional interchange of letters which had kept each of the two families informed of any event of unusual importance occurring in the other. Horace had written his cousin Marcia on his return from Europe two years and a half before this, again upon his recovery from serious illness a year later, and several times since. In one of his late letters he had spoken very feelingly of his child's recovery from an illness that had nearly cost her life, expressing his gratitude to God for her restoration to health, and that the trial had been blessed to himself in leading him to Christ.

Mrs. Keith had loved him from his early childhood with a sisterly affection, and now there was a new tie between them; for they were disciples of the same Master, servants of the same Lord. And it was in answer to long continued, fervent supplication on her part that this priceless blessing had come to him. What wonder that her heart bounded at the thought of soon seeing him and little Elsie, whom she was ready to love almost as she loved her own offspring, because she was Horace's child, and because of all that Mildred had said of her loveliness of character and person.