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Four Girls at Chautauqua

<h2 id="id00587" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XIII.</h2> <h5 id="id00588">"CROSS PURPOSES."</h5> When people start out with the express design of having a good time, irrespective of other people's plans or feelings—in short, with a general forgetfulness of the existence of others—they are very likely to find at the close of the day that a failure has been made. It did not take the entire day to convince Eurie Mitchell that Chautauqua was not the synonym for absolute, unalloyed pleasure. You will remember that she detached herself from her party in the early morning, and set out to find pleasure, or, as she phrased it, "fun." She imagined them to be interchangeable terms. She had not meant to be deserted, but had hoped to secure Ruth for her companion, she not having the excuse of wishing to report the meetings to call her to them. Failing in her, in case she should have a fit of obstinacy, and choose to attend the meetings, Eurie counted fully upon Flossy as an ally. Much to her surprise, and no little to her chagrin, Flossy proved decidedly the more determined of the two. No amount of coaxing—and Eurie even descended to the employment of that weapon—had the least effect. To be sure, Flossy presented no more powerful argument than that it did not look well to come to the meeting and then not attend it. But she carried her point and left the young searcher for fun with a clear field. Now fun rarely comes for the searching; it is more likely to spring upon one unawares. So, though Eurie walked up and down, and stared about her, and lost herself in the labyrinths of the intersecting paths, and tore her dress in a thicket, and caught her foot in a bog, to the great detriment of shoe and temper, she still found not what she was searching for. Several times she came in sight of the stand; once or twice in sound of the speaker's voice; but having so determinately carried her point in the morning, she did not choose to abandon her position and appear among the listeners, though sorely tempted to do so. She wandered into several side tents in hope of finding something to distract her attention; but she only found that which provoked her. In one of them a young lady and gentleman were bending eagerly over a book and talking earnestly. They were interesting looking people, and she hovered near, hoping that she had at last found the "children" who would "play" with her—a remembrance of one of her nursery stories coming to her just then, and a ludicrous sense of her resemblance to the truant boy who spent the long, bright day in the woods searching for one not too busy to play. But these two were discussing nothing of more importance than the lesson for the coming Sabbath; and though she hovered in their vicinity for some time, she caught only stray words—names of places in the far away Judean land, that seemed to her like a name in the Arabian Nights; or an eager dissertation on the different views of eminent commentators on this or that knotty point; and so engrossed were they in their work that they bestowed on her only the slightest passing glance, and then bent over their books. She went away in disgust. At the next tent half a dozen ladies were sitting. She halted there. Here at last were some people who, like herself, were bored with this everlasting meeting, and had escaped to have a bit of gossip. Who knew but she might creep into the circle and find pleasant acquaintances? So she drew nearer and listened a moment to catch the subject under discussion. She heard the voice of prayer; and a nearer peep showed her that every head was bowed on the seat in front, and one of the ladies, in a low voice, was asking for enlightenment on the lesson for the coming Sabbath! "What wonderful lesson can it be that is so fearfully important?" she muttered, as she plunged recklessly into the mud and made her way in all haste up the hill without attempting any more tents. "Who ever heard such an ado made about a Sunday-school lesson? These people all act as though there was nothing of any consequence anywhere but Sunday-schools. I guess it is the first time that such a furor was ever gotten up over teaching a dozen verses to a parcel of children. I wonder if the people at home ever make such a uproar about the lesson? I know some teachers who own up, on the way to church, that they don't know where the lesson is. This must be a peculiar one. I wonder how I shall contrive to discover where it is? The girls won't know, of course. With all their boasted going to meeting they know no more about lessons than I do myself. I would really like to find out. I mean to ask the next person I meet. It will be in accordance with the fashion of the place. Think of my walking down Broadway of a sunny morning and stopping a stranger with the query, 'Will you tell me where the lesson is, please?'" And at this point Eurie burst into a laugh over the absurdity of the picture she had conjured. "But this is not Broadway," she said a moment afterward, "and I mean to try it. Here comes a man who looks as if he ought to know everything. I wonder who he is? I've seen his face a dozen times since I have been here. He led the singing yesterday. Perhaps he knows nothing but sing. They are not apt to; but his face looks as though he might have a few other ideas. Anyway, I'll try him, and if he knows nothing about it, he will go away with a confused impression that I am a very virtuous young lady, and that he ought to have known all about it; and who knows what good seed may be sown by my own wicked hand?" Whereupon she halted before the gentleman who was going with rapid strides down the hill, and said, in her clearest and most respectful tone: "Will you be so kind as to tell me where the lesson for next Sabbath commences? I have forgotten just where it is." There was no hesitation, no query in his face as to what she was talking about, or uncertainty as to the answer. "It is the fifth chapter, from the fifth to the fifteenth verse," he said, glibly. "All fives, you see. Easy to remember. It is a grand lesson. Hard to teach, though, because it is all there. Are you a teacher for next Sunday? You must come to the teachers' meeting to-morrow morning; you will get good help there. Glorious meeting, isn't it? I'm so glad you are enjoying it." And away he went. Every trace of ill-humor had vanished from Eurie's face. Instead, it was twinkling with laughter. "The fifth chapter and fifteenth verse" of what? Certainly she had no more idea than the birds had who twittered above her head. How entirely certain he had been that of course she knew the general locality of the lesson. She a teacher and coming to the teachers' meeting for enlightenment as to how to teach the lesson! "I wonder who he is?" she said again, as these thoughts flashed through her brain, and, following out the next impulse that came to her, she stopped an old gentleman who was walking leisurely down, and said, as she pointed out her late informant: "What is that man's name, please? I can't recall it." "That," said the old gentleman, "is Prof. Sherwin, of Newark. Have you heard him sing?" "Yes." "Well, that is worth hearing; and have you heard him talk?" "No." "Well, he can talk; you will hear him, and enjoy it, too; see if you don't. But I'll tell you what it is, young lady, to know him thoroughly you ought to hear him pray! There is the real power in a man. Let me know how a man can pray and I'll risk his talking." Eurie had got much more information now than she had asked for. She ventured on no more questions, but made all haste to her tent, where, seated upon a corner of the bed, one foot tucked under her while the unfortunate shoe tried to dry, she sewed industriously on the zig-zag tear in her dress, and tried to imagine what she could do next. Certainly they had long days at Chautauqua. "I shall go to meeting this afternoon," she said, resolutely, "if they have three sermons, each an hour long; and what is more, I shall find out where that Sunday-school lesson is." The next thing she did was to write a letter to her brother Nellis, a dashing boy two years her senior and her favorite companion in her search for pleasure. Here is a copy of the letter: "DEAR NEL: I wish you were here. Chautauqua isn't so funny as it might be. There are some things that are done here continually. In the first place, it rains. Why, you never saw anything like it! It just can't help it. The sun puts on a bland face and looks glowing intentions, and while you are congratulating your next neighbor on the prospect, she is engaged in clutching frantically after her umbrella to save her hat from the first drops of the new shower. Next, they have meetings, and there is literally no postponement on account of the weather. It is really funny to see the way in which the people rush when the bell rings, rain or shine. Nel, only think of Flossy Shipley going in the rain to hear a man preach of the 'Influence of the Press,' or something of that sort! It was good though, worth hearing. I went myself, because, of course, one must do something, and the frantic fashion of the place is to go to meeting. At the same time I don't understand Flossy: she is different from what she ever was at home. I suppose it is the force of the many shining examples all around her. You know she always was a good little sheep about following somebody's lead. "Marion is reporting, and has to be industrious. She is queer, Nel; she professes infidelity, you know; and you have no idea how mad she gets over anything that seems to be casting reproach on Christianity (unless indeed she says it herself, which is often enough, but then she seems to think it is all right). "Ruth keeps on the even tenor of her way. It would take an earthquake to move that girl. "I have had the greatest fun this morning. I have been mistaken for a Sabbath-school teacher who had the misfortune to forget at what verse her lesson commenced! You see I was cultivating new acquaintances, and a Prof. Sherwin gave me good advice. That and some other things aroused my curiosity concerning that same lesson, and I am going to find out where it is. "Did you know that Sunday-school lessons were such remarkable affairs? The one for next Sunday must comprise the most wonderful portion of Scripture that there is, for hundreds of people on these grounds are talking about it, and I stumbled upon a party of ladies this morning who were actually praying over it! "Another thing I overheard this morning, which is news to me, that all the world was at work on the same lesson. That is rather fascinating, isn't it, to think of so many hundreds and thousands of people all pitching into the same verses on Sunday morning? It is quite sentimental, too, or capable of being made so, for instance, by a great stretch of your imagination. Suppose you and me to be very dear friends, separated by miles of ocean we will say, and both devoted Sabbath-school teachers, isn't that a stretch now? Such being the astonishing case, wouldn't it be pleasant to be at work on the same lesson? Don't you see? Lets play do it. You look up the lesson for next Sabbath and so will I. Won't that have all the charm of novelty? Then give me the benefit of your ideas acquired on that important subject, and I'll do the same to you. Really, the more I think of it the more the plan delights me. I wonder how you will carry it out? Shall you go to Sunday-school? What will the dear Doctor say if he sees you walk into his Bible-class? I really wish I were there to enjoy the sensation. Meantime I'm going to look up an altogether wonderful teacher for myself, and then for comparing notes. My spirits begin to rise, they have been rather damp all the morning, but I see fun in the distance. "We are to have a sensation this afternoon in the shape of a troupe of singers called the Tennesseeans—negroes, you know, and they are to give slave-cabin songs and the like. I expect to enjoy it thoroughly, but you ought to see Ruth curl her aristocratic nose at the thought. "'Such a vulgar idea! and altogether inappropriate to the occasion. She likes to see things in keeping. If it is a religious gathering let them keep it such, and not introduce negro minstrels for the sake of calling a low crowd together, and making a little more money.' "Marion, too, shoots arrows from her sharp tongue at it, but she rather enjoys the idea, just as she does every other thing that she chooses to call inconsistent when she happens to be the one to discover it; but woe to the one who comments on it further than she chooses to go. "Flossy and I now look with utmost toleration on the dark element that is to be introduced. I tell Ruth that I am really grateful to the authorities for introducing something that a person of my limited capacities can appreciate, and Flossy, with her sweet little charitable voice, has 'no doubt they will choose proper things to sing.' That little mouse is really more agreeable than she ever was in her life; and I am amazed at it, too. I expected the dear baby would make us all uncomfortable with her finified whims; but don't you think it is our lofty Ruth who is decidedly the most disagreeable of our party, save and except myself!" This interesting epistle was brought to a sudden close by an interruption. A gentleman came with rapid steps, and halted before her tent door, which was tied hospitably back. "I beg pardon," he said, speaking rapidly, "but this is Miss Rider?" "It is not," Eurie answered, with promptness at which information he looked surprised and bewildered. "Isn't this her tent? I am sorry to trouble you, but I have been sent in haste for her. She is wanted for a consultation, and I was told I would find her here. Perhaps I might leave a message with you for her?" "It certainly isn't her tent," Eurie said, trying to keep down the desire to laugh, "and I haven't the least idea where she is. I should be glad to give her your message if I could, but I never saw the lady in my life, and have no reason to expect that pleasure." Whereupon her questioner laughed outright. "That is a dilemma," he said. "I appreciate your feelings, for I am precisely in the same position; but the lady was described minutely to me, and I certainly thought I had found her. I am sorry to have interrupted you," and he bowed himself away. A new curiosity seized upon Eurie—the desire to see Miss Rider. "She must be one of them," she soliloquized, falling into Flossy's way of speaking of the workers at Chautauqua. "He said she was wanted for a consultation. I wonder if she can be one of those who are to take part in the primary exercises? She must be young for such prominent work if she looks like me; but how could he know that since he never saw her? It is very evident that I am to go to Sunday-school next Sabbath anyhow, if I never did before, for now I have two items of interest to look up—a lesson that is in the 'fifth chapter, from the fifth to the fifteenth verse of something,' and a being called 'Miss Rider.'" So thinking she hastily concluded and folded her letter, ready for the afternoon mail, without a thought or care as to the seed that she had been sending away in it, or as to the fruit it might bear; without the slightest insight into the way she was being led through seeming mistakes and accidents up to a point that was to influence all her future. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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