<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
<h3>DISTURBING ELEMENTS.</h3>
<P> THE next anxiety was the baby, who contrived
to tumble himself over in his high
chair, and cried loudly. Eurie ran. Dr. Mitchell
was always so troubled about bumps on the
head. She bathed this in cold water, and in arnica,
and petted, and soothed, and pacified as
well as she could a child who thought it a special
and unendurable state of things not to have
mamma and nobody else. Between the petting
she administered wholesome reproof to
Jennie.</P>
<p>"If you hadn't been reading, instead of attending
to him this would not have happened
I wish I had told mother to lock up all the books<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></SPAN></span>
before she went. You are great help; worth
while to stay from school to bury yourself in a
book."</p>
<p>"I haven't read a dozen pages this morning,"
Jennie said, with glowing cheeks. "He was sitting
in his high chair, just as he always is, and I
had stepped across the room to get a picture-book
for Robbie. How could I know that he
was going to fall? I don't think you are very
kind, anyway, when I am helping all that I can,
and losing school besides."</p>
<p>And Miss Jennie put on an air of lofty and injured
innocence.</p>
<p>"I believe she is sweeping right on the bread,"
said Eurie, her thoughts turned into another
channel. "Go and see, Jennie."</p>
<p>Jennie went, and returned as full of comfort
as any of Job's friends.</p>
<p>"She swept right straight at it; and she left the
door open, and the wind blew the cloth off, and a
great hunk of dust and dirt lies right on top of
one loaf, and the clothes are boiling over on the
others. Nice bread you'll have!"</p>
<p>Before this sentence was half finished, Eurie
sat the baby on the floor and ran, stopping only<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></SPAN></span>
to give orders that Jennie should not let him go
to sleep for anything.</p>
<p>The door-bell was the next sound that tried
her nerves. The little parlor where they had
lingered late, she and Nellis, last evening, when
they had a pleasant talk together, the pleasantest
she had ever had with that brother; now she
remembered how it looked; how he had said, as
he glanced back when they were leaving:</p>
<p>"Eurie, I hope you won't have any <i>special</i>
calls before you get around to this room in the
morning; it looks as though there had been an
upheaval of books and papers here."</p>
<p>Books, and papers, and dust, and her hat and
sack, and Jennie's gloves, and Robbie's play-things;
she had forgotten the parlor.</p>
<p>Meantime, Jennie had rushed to the door, and
now returned, holding the kitchen door open,
and talking loud enough to be heard distinctly
in the parlor.</p>
<p>"Eurie, Leonard Brooks is in the parlor. He
says he wants to see you for just a minute, and I
should think that is about as long as he would
care to stay; it looks like sixty in there."</p>
<p>"Oh, dear me!" said Eurie, and she looked<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></SPAN></span>
down at her dress. It had long black streaks
running diagonally across it, and dish-water and
grease combined on her apron; a few drops of
arnica on her sleeves and hands did not improve
the general effect.</p>
<p>"Jennie, why in the world didn't you tell him
that I was engaged, and couldn't see him this
morning?"</p>
<p>"Why, how should I know that you wanted
me to say so to people? You didn't tell me. He
said he was in a hurry. He isn't alone, either;
there is a strange gentleman with him."</p>
<p>Worse and worse.</p>
<p>"I won't go," said Eurie.</p>
<p>"But you will <i>have</i> to. I told him you were
at home, and would be in in a moment. Go on,
what do you care?"</p>
<p>There was no way but to follow this advice;
but she did care. She set the starch back on
the stove, and washed her hands, and waited
while Sallie ran up-stairs and hunted a towel;
then she went, flushed and annoyed, to the parlor.
Leonard Brooks was an old acquaintance,
but who was the stranger?</p>
<p>"Mr. Holden, of New York," Leonard said.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"They would detain her but a moment, as she
was doubtless engaged;" and then Leonard
looked mischievously down at the streaked dress.
He was not used to seeing Eurie look so entirely
awry in the matter of her toilet.</p>
<p>Mr. Holden was going to get up a tableau entertainment,
and needed home talent to help
him; he, Leonard, had volunteered to introduce
him to some of the talented ladies of the city,
and had put her first on the list. Eurie struggled
with her embarrassment, and answered in
her usual way:</p>
<p>"He can see at a glance that I merit the compliment.
If myself and all my surroundings don't
show a marked talent for disorder, I don't know
what would."</p>
<p>Mr. Holden was courteous and gallant in the
extreme. He took very little notice of the remark;
ignored the state of the room utterly;
apologized for the unseemly hour of their call,
attributing it to his earnest desire to secure her
name before there was any other engagement
made; "might he depend on her influence and
help?"</p>
<p>Eurie was in a hurry. She smelled the starch<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></SPAN></span>
scorching; Robbie was crying fretfully, and the
baby was so quiet she feared he was asleep; the
main point was, to get rid of her callers as soon
as possible. She asked few questions, and knew
as little about the projected entertainment as
possible, save that she was pledged to a rehearsal
on the coming Wednesday at eight o'clock.
Then she bowed them out with a sense of relief;
and, merely remarking to Jennie that she
wished she could coax Robbie and the baby into
the parlor, and clear it up a little before anybody
more formidable arrived, she went back to the
scorched starch and other trials.</p>
<p>From that time forth a great many people
wanted Dr. Mitchell. The bell rang, and rang,
and rang. Jennie had to run, and Eurie had to
run to baby. Then came noon bringing the
boys home from school, hungry and in a hurry;
and Eurie had to go to Sallie's help, who was
struggling to get the table set, and something on
it to eat.</p>
<p>Whereupon the bread suddenly announced itself
ready for the oven by spreading over one-half
of the bread cloth, with a sticky mass.
Then the bell rang again.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"I hope that is some one who will send to the
Valley for father right away; then we shall have
mother again."</p>
<p>This was Eurie's half aloud admission that she
was not equal to the strain. Then she listened
for Jennie's report. The parlor door being
opened, and somebody being invited thither;
and that room not cleared up yet! Then came
Jennie with her exasperating news.</p>
<p>"It is Dr. Snowdon, from Morristown, and he
wants father for a consultation; says he is going
to take him back with him on the two o'clock
train, and he wants to know if you could let him
have a mouthful of dinner with father? He
met father at the crossing half a mile below, and
he told him to come right on."</p>
<p>"And where is mother?" said Eurie, pale and
almost breathless under this new calamity.</p>
<p>"Why, he didn't say; but I suppose she is
with father. He stopped to call at the Newton's.
I guess you will have to hurry, won't
you?"</p>
<p>Jennie was provokingly cool and composed;
no sense of responsibility rested upon her.</p>
<p>"Hurry!" said Eurie. "Why, he can't have<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></SPAN></span>
any dinner here. We haven't a thing in the
house for a stranger."</p>
<p>"Well," said Jennie, balancing herself on one
foot, "shall I go and tell him that he must take
himself off to a hotel?"</p>
<p>"Nonsense!" said Eurie; "you know better."
Then she whisked into the kitchen. Twenty
minutes of one, and the train went at ten minutes
of two, and nothing to eat, and Dr. Snowdon
(of all particular and gentlemanly mortals,
without a wife or a home, or any sense of
the drawbacks of Monday) to eat it! Is it
hardly to be wondered at that the boys voted
Eurie awfully cross?</p>
<p>"Altogether, it was just the most horrid time
that ever anybody had." That was the way
Eurie closed the account of it, as she sat curled
on the foot of Marion's bed, with the three
friends, who had been listening and laughing,
gathered around her in different attitudes of attention.</p>
<p>"Oh, you can laugh, and so can I, now that it
is over," Eurie said. "But I should just like to
have seen one of you in my place; it was no
laughing matter, I can tell you. It was just the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></SPAN></span>
beginning of vexations, though; the whole week,
so far, has been exasperating in every respect.
Never anything went less according to planning
than my programme for the week has."</p>
<p>Each of her auditors could have echoed that,
but they were silent. At last Marion asked:</p>
<p>"But how did you get out of it? Tell us
that. Now, a dinner of any kind is something
that is beyond me. I can imagine you transfixed
with horror. Just tell us what you did."</p>
<p>"Why, you will wonder who came to my rescue;
but I tell you, girls, Nellis is the best fellow
in the world. If I was half as good a Christian
as he is, without any of that to help him, I
should be a thankful mortal. I didn't expect
him, thought he had gone away for the day;
but when he came he took in the situation at a
glance. Half a dozen words of explanation set
him right. 'Never mind.' he said. 'Tell him
we didn't mean to have dinner so early, but we
flew around and got them a bite—then let's do
it.' 'But what will the bite be?' I asked, and
I stood looking up at him like a ninny who had
never gotten a meal in her life. 'Why, bread,
and butter, and coffee, and a dish of sauce, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></SPAN></span>
a pickle, or something of that sort;' and the
things really sounded appetizing as he told them
off. 'Come,' he said, 'I'll grind the coffee, and
make it; I used to be a dabster at that dish
when I was in college. Jennie, you set the table,
and Ned will help; he's well enough for
that, I know.'</p>
<p>"And in less time than it takes to tell it, he
had us all at work, baby and all; and, really, we
managed to get up quite a decent meal, out of
nothing, you understand; had it ready when father
drove up; and he said it was as good a dinner
as he had had in a week. But, oh, me! I'm
glad such days don't come very often. You
see, none of you know anything about it. You
girls with your kitchens supplied with first-class
cooks, and without any more idea of what goes
on in the way of work before you are fed than
though you lived in the moon, what do you know
about such a day as I have described? Here's
Marion, to be sure, who has about as empty a
purse as mine; but as for kitchens, and wash
days, and picked-up dinners, she is a novice."</p>
<p>"I know all about those last articles, so far as
eating them is concerned," Marion said, grimly.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></SPAN></span>
"I know things about them that you don't, and
never will. But I have made up my mind that
living a Christian life isn't walking on a feather
bed, whether you live in a palace or a fourth-rate
board-house, and teach school. I shouldn't
wonder if there were such things as vexations
everywhere."</p>
<p>"I don't doubt it," Ruth Erskine said, speaking
more quickly than was usual to her. The others
had been more or less communicative with each
other. It wasn't in Ruth's nature to tell how
tried, and dissatisfied she had been with herself
and her life, and her surroundings all the week.
She was not sympathetic by nature. She
couldn't tell her inward feeling to any one; but
she could indorse heartily the discovery that
Marion had made.</p>
<p>"Well, I know one thing," said Eurie, "it
requires twice the grace that I supposed it did
to get through with kitchen duties and exasperations
and keep one's temper. I shall think,
after this, that mother is a saint when she gets
through the day without boxing our ears three
or four times around. Come, let's go to meeting."<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>It was Wednesday evening, and our four
girls had met to talk over the events of the
week, and to keep each other countenance during
their first prayer-meeting.</p>
<p>"It is almost worse than going to Sunday-school,"
Eurie said, as they went up the steps,
"except that we can help ourselves to seats
without waiting for any attentions which would
not be shown."</p>
<p>Now the First Church people were not given
to going to prayer-meeting. It is somewhat remarkable
how many First Churches there are to
which that remark will apply. The chapel was
large and inviting, looking as though in the days
of its planning many had been expected at the
social meetings, or else it was built with an eye
to festivals and societies. The size of the room
only made the few persons who were in it, seem
fewer in number than they were.</p>
<p>Flossy had been to prayer-meeting several
times before with a cousin who visited them, but
none of the others had attended such a meeting
since they could remember. To Eurie and Ruth
it was a real surprise to see the rows of empty
seats. As for Marion she had overheard sarcastic<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></SPAN></span>
remarks enough in the watchful and critical
world in which she had moved to have a shrewd
suspicion that such was the case.</p>
<p>"I don't know where to sit," whispered Flossy,
shrinking from the gaze of several heads that
were turned to see who the new comers were.
"Don't you suppose they will seat us?"</p>
<p>"Not they," said Eurie, "Don't you remember
Sunday? We must just put the courageous
face on and march forward. I'm going directly
to the front. I always said if ever I went to
prayer-meeting at all, I shouldn't act as though
I was ashamed that I came." Saying which she
led the way to the second seat from the desk, directly
in line with Dr. Dennis' eye.</p>
<p>That gentleman looked down at them with
troubled face. Marion looked to see it light up,
for she said in her heart:</p>
<p>"Gracie has surely told him my secret."</p>
<p>She knew little about the ways in the busy
minister's household. The delightful communion
of feeling that she had imagined between
father and daughter was almost unknown to
them. Very fond and proud of his daughter
was Dr. Dennis; very careful of her health and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></SPAN></span>
her associations; very grateful that she was a
Christian, and so, safe.</p>
<p>But so busy and harassed was his life, so endless
were the calls on his time and his patience
and his sympathy, that almost without his being
aware of it, his own family were the only members
of his church who never received any pastoral
calls.</p>
<p>Consequently a reserve like unto that in too
many households had grown up between himself
and his child, utterly unsuspected by the father,
never but half owned by the daughter. He
thought of her religious life with joy and thanksgiving;
when she went astray, was careful and
tender in his admonition; yet of the inner workings
of her life, of her reaching after higher and
better living, of her growth in grace, or her days
of disappointment and failure and decline he
knew no more than the veriest stranger with
whom she never spoke.</p>
<p>For while Grace Dennis loved and reverenced
her father more than she did any other earthly
being, she acknowledged to herself that she could
not have told him even of the little conversation
between her teacher and herself. She could,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></SPAN></span>
and did, tell him all about the lesson in algebra,
but not a word about the lesson in Christian
love.</p>
<p>So on this evening his face expressed no satisfaction
in the presence of the strangers. He
was simply disturbed that they had formed a
league to meet here with mischief ahead, as he
verily believed.</p>
<p>He arose and read the opening hymn; then
looked about him in a disturbed way. Nobody
to lead the singing. This was too often the
case. The quartette choir rarely indeed found
their way to the prayer-meeting; and when the
one who was a church-member occasionally came
to the weekly meeting, for reasons best known
to herself, apparently the power of song for
which she received so good a Sabbath-day salary
had utterly gone from her, for she never opened
her lips.</p>
<p>"I hope," said Dr. Dennis, "that there is some
one present who can start this tune; it is simple.
A prayer-meeting without singing loses half its
spiritual force." Still everyone was dumb. "I
am sorry that I cannot sing at all," he said again,
after a moment's pause. "If I could, ever so<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></SPAN></span>
little, it would be my delight to consecrate my
voice to the service of God's house."</p>
<p>Still silence. All this made Marion remember
her resolves at Chautauqua.</p>
<p>"What tunes do people sing in prayer-meeting?"
she whispered to Eurie.</p>
<p>"I don't know, I am sure," Eurie whispered
back. And then the ludicrous side happened
to forcibly strike that young lady, just then she
shook with laughter and shook the seat. Dr.
Dennis looked down at her with grave, rebuking
eye.</p>
<p>"Well," he began; "if we cannot sing"—</p>
<p>And then, before he had time to say further, a
soft, sweet voice, so tremulous it almost brought
the tears to think what a tremendous stretch of
courage it had taken, quivered on the air.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></SPAN></span></p>
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