Mildred at Home: With Something About Her Relatives and Friends.. Finley Martha

herself both obliging and respectful.

      Miss Stanhope found just what she wanted. But Mildred was not ready to go yet, and while waiting for her the old lady and the little girl amused themselves in examining the various contents of a showcase. Annis admired a necklace of amber beads, and Aunt Wealthy bought it for her; also another nearly like it for Fan.

      "Anything else, ma' am?" asked the saleswoman, as she wrapped them up.

      "Yes; one of those little purses," said Miss Stanhope; "it is just what I want for small change and the trunk of my key, which I always carry in my pocket when travelling."

      With a slight smile the saleswoman handed out several.

      Miss Stanhope made her selection, and the query, "Anything else?" was repeated.

      "Oh, yes!" exclaimed the old lady, as with sudden recollection; "have you any remnants?"

      "Remnants? of what?"

      "Dress goods."

      "Oh, no; we keep nothing but trimmings and notions."

      Mildred had finished her purchases, and coming up at that moment, asked, "What is it, Aunt Wealthy?"

      "Remnants."

      "Oh, yes; of course you will want a supply of them," returned Mildred, with a good-humored, slightly amused smile; "and yet what use can you make of them now? Even Annis has grown too large for a remnant to make her a dress."

      "But there's Percy, and Zillah's boy, too," was the prompt reply; "besides, they can be put to many uses about a house."

      "Mightn't a remnant be big enough to make an apron for a lady even?" asked Annis.

      "Yes," said Mildred; "and as I know auntie enjoys buying them, we will look for some."

      They started at once on the quest, and Miss Stanhope was quite elated and triumphant on finding, in two different stores, two remnants of beautiful lawn, exactly alike, which together would make an ample dress pattern for Annis, besides others that could be utilized for aprons for her and Fan, dresses for the baby boys, or patchwork for quilts. Remnants were quite a hobby with the old lady, and she could never feel quite satisfied with the results of a shopping expedition that did not include some bargains in that line.

      Returning to their hotel they found letters from the Oaks and from home awaiting them.

      "Ah, Milly," remarked the doctor, with satisfaction, as he glanced over his, "here are our measures. Rupert sends them."

      "Then they are sure to be right," she responded.

      "Measures for what?" inquired Miss Stanhope.

      "Wall paper and carpets for our new house; it is ready for them."

      "Oh, how nice!" cried Annis, clapping her hands. "May I go with you to choose them, Brother Charlie?"

      "We will be pleased to have your company and the benefit of your taste," was the gallant rejoinder, "Aunt Wealthy's also."

      "Thank you," said Miss Stanhope, absently. "I'm glad you're so near being done with your house, and I think it's a good plan to buy your paper here; but I'm afraid you'll have to put it on yourselves; for though I remember there were some painterers in Pleasant Plains when I was there, I don't think there were any papers at all, and everybody's walls were whitewashed, as far as I can recollect."

      "But you know that was some years ago, auntie," said Mildred, "and a good many luxuries have been introduced since then, paper-hangers among the rest."

      "And the Keith family are so handy that they can easily do such work for themselves, if necessary," laughed Annis. "The boys really did paper our house, and paint it, too. Do you see, Milly," holding up a letter, "this is from Elsie. She says she is having a lovely time all alone with her papa, but misses us ever so much, and hopes we will come back to spend next winter at the Oaks."

      "Tell her, when you write, that we are greatly obliged, but the journey is quite too long to take twice a year," returned Mildred gayly.

      "And we couldn't spend every winter away from father and mother," added Annis. "Oh, how glad I shall be to get home to them, and Fan, and the rest! How soon can we start?"

      "Time's up in another week," answered the doctor, "and I judge, by the rate at which we've been going through the shopping and sight-seeing, that we'll be ready by then."

      Chapter Fourth

      "Gold! gold! gold!

      Bright and yellow, hard and cold!"

– Hood.

      A beautiful spring day was drawing to a close as two persons – a young man and a maiden – seated themselves on a fallen tree on the western bank of the St. Joseph River. They had strolled a long distance from home, leaving the noise and bustle of the town far behind. They were a trifle weary with their walk, and it was pleasant to sit here and rest in the cool evening air, sweet with the scent of wildwood flowers, with the grass green about their feet, and no sound to break the stillness save the song of the cricket, the gentle murmur of the breeze in the tree-tops, and the soft ripple of the water flowing swiftly onward, so bright and clear that it reflected, as in a mirror, its own grassy wooded banks and the rich purple, gold, and amber of the sunset clouds, while the pebbly bottom, with fishes great and small darting hither and thither, could be distinctly seen.

      For some time the two sat there silently, hand in hand, the girl's eyes gazing steadily down into the water, her companion's fixed upon her face with an expression of ardent admiration and intense, yearning affection. It was a noble countenance, at this moment thoughtful and grave, even to sadness.

      "Ada, my love," he said at length, "it is a hard thing I am asking of you. I am ashamed of my selfishness."

      "No, no! do not talk so. How could I bear to let you go alone, you who have no one in the wide world but me?" she answered, in a low, tremulous tone, her eyes still upon the water; then suddenly turning toward him, her face flushing with enthusiasm, her eyes shining through tears, "But it is not you that ask it of me, Frank; no, not you, but One who has every right; for has He not redeemed me with His own precious blood? Is He not my Creator, Preserver, and bountiful Benefactor, and have I not given myself to Him, soul and body, in an everlasting covenant? And shall I keep back any part of the price? Oh, no, no! Let me but make sure that it is His voice I hear saying, 'This is the way; walk ye in it,' and I am ready to leave all and follow Him, though it be to the ends of the earth."

      "My darling," he said with emotion, tightening his clasp of the hand he held, "you have the right spirit; you view this matter in the right light. Yes, we are His, both of us, and may our only question of duty ever be, 'Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?' But if we see it our duty to go, the sacrifice I make will be as nothing to yours, my sweet girl."

      "Yet it will not be small, Frank. To leave forever one's dear native land is no slight thing, especially when it is to live among heathen people – low, cruel, degraded idolators."

      "That is true; and yet – oh, is there not joy in the thought of telling the old, old story of Jesus and His love to those who have never heard it, and who, if we do not carry it to them, may never hear it?"

      "Yes, yes, indeed! and in the thought that we are literally obeying His command, 'Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature.' And how very slight will be our suffering and self-denial compared to His!"

      "But, Frank, how shall we determine this question? How know whether we are truly called to this great work? Ah, it does not seem possible that I should ever be deemed worthy of such honor!"

      "We will continue to make it a subject of constant, earnest prayer," he said, "asking to be guided to a right decision; also we will open our hearts to your parents, and consult them. If they refuse consent to your going, we will see in that an indication that the Lord's will is not that we should go. Laborers are needed here also, and it may be that He will appoint us our work in this part of His vineyard."

      "Yes," she said; "I could never feel it right to go if father and mother should oppose it. Yet I am sure they will not, if they see reason to believe we are called of the Master; for ever since I can remember