^- 



ANSDALE HALL; 



"STAND BY YOUR GOLOES." 



BY 

C, J. G< 




,a,^ 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

lO EAST 23d STREET, NEW YORK. 



30 o 1 ^; \ 



Entered accordiriff to act i ' rcngress, in the year 1868, by 

TnK AMEinrAN TRACT SOCITtlTl', 

In the Clerk's Oflico of the District Court of the District of 
3Iai<sachusott3. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

EICHAKL'S MOTTO, 6 

CHAPTER II. 
BLACKBERRYING, 23 

CHAPTER III. 

ANSDALK HALL 40 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE BLUE MERINO, 60 

CHAPTER V. 
MY VISIT .77 

CHAPTER VI. 
JACK, 01 

5 



i COXTKXTS. 

CIIArTKR VII. 
NKLI.VS ri:..MISK 112 

CHAPTKR VIII. 
RICHAKD-S I.l.TTr.K 132 

CHAPTKR IX. 
WI^TKU 152 

CHAPTKR X. 

RICHAUD AT lloMK. 167 

CHAI'TIIR XI. 
C11IU.ST3IA.S AT Till II Ml .... 182 

CHAPTKR XII. 
THK NKW IIOMK 199 

CHAPTKR XIII. 

C< '•>« i.i .-'io-A, 218 



ANSDALE HALL; 

OB, 

"STAND BY YOUE COLOES." 



CHAPTER I. 

RICHARD'S MOTTO. 

;T was a lovely evening in August, and 
the last red beams of sunlight were 
stealing softly through the fresh mus- 
lin curtains into Aunt Martha's cozy 
sitting-room, lighting up her care-worn face 
as she rested in her great easy-chair, and 
tinging her silvery locks with gold. Aunt 
Martha had suffered from one of her pain- 
ful nervous headaches all that long summer 
day, and the pain was passing away with 

the daylight. 

5 



6 ASSDALK UALL. 

So, at her desire, Richard had wheeled 
the great chair from her darkened bed-room 
to the cheerful western window, while I, 
with arms clasped around her waiat,had sup- 
IKjrted her dizzy steps and seated her com- 
fortably among the soft cushions. Tlieu, 
placing myself on a little stool at her feet, — 
the stool she had covered for me with her 
own hands long years before, — I leaned 
my head against her knee, while she softly 
stroked back my hair. Richard, meanwhile, 
careless boy, had measured liis length oq 
the floor, pushing l)ack the frcsli muslin 
curtain for a better view of tlic sunset. 

*' Ricliard I" said my aunt reproachfully ; 
and Richard with a heavy sigh let fall the 
liglit screen between tlie lovely picture and 
liis admiring eyes, rather tlian make the 
exertion of carefully fastening it back. 

Poor Richard I I pitied him that night. 
He had enjoyed his vacation so much ; he 
had had sucli a flow of joyous spirits 



RICHARD S MOTTO. tl 

throughout it, and now they had fallen fui 
below zero ; for Saturday night and Mon- 
day mornmg were so near together, and 
all the morning he had been superintend- 
ing the packing of his little trunk ; and he 
was to start, the first of September, on his 
return to school. And I must confess that 
quite half my kindly sympatiiy was expend- 
ed on myself; for, whether Aunt Martha 
agreed or no, Richard was the light of the 
old home to me, — Eichard, my precious, 
only brother. 

And so I was thinking, as I sat by Aunt 
Martha's knee, watching the great red 
globe sinking behind the distant tree-tops, 
until it seemed to drop slowly behind the 
mountains which border the grand old 
Hudson. 

At length Aunt Martha laid her hand on 
mine : " Can you see to read something to 
us, dear ? " she said. " I never get time 
to read now, my head aches so often." 



8 AXSD.il.F HALL. 

1 took a little book from the table, a 
book our dear old pastor had given me 
only two days l)ofore. Aunt Martha closed 
her eyes in quiet content ; Richard rose 
and looped back the curtain, and 1 read, — 

•* 'TIa not for inin to trifle ; time is short, 

Aud sin is here ; 
Our life is but the falling of a leaf, 

A dro]jping tear. 
We have no time to sport away the hours ; 
All muat be earnest in a world like ours. 

** Not many lives, but only one, have we, 
One, only one, — " 

" I suppose we know that. Never mind 
tlic rest; you needn't finish it," said Aunt 
Martha rather pettishly. " I don't sec why 
you read such gloomy things. What good 
can they do you ? Don't road them to me. 
You know I don't like them, for I never 
care to bo reminded that life is short ; and 
I don*t 8ee the need of doing it. Why do 
you road them ? '* 

*' You have ratlier odd fancies, little May- 



RICHARD'S MOTTO. 9 

bird," said Richard, with a merry twinkle 
iu his eye ; " tell me why you read such 
effusions as these." 

I blushed at this, and closed the book 
without another word ; for I was a very 
weak disciple, a second Peter, over-fearful 
of confessing my Lord. 

" Why ? " he repeated, glancing slyly at 
me. 

"Why — I like them, I suppose," I 
stammered forth in answer, pulling my ring 
up and down on my finger, and keeping 
my eyes on the ground ; for I could never 
bear to have Richard laugh at me. 

" A very poor reason, I'm sure," he 
said, turning to look into my eyes with a 
smile ; "and you seem rather uncertain 
about it. How is it ; do you pass for a 
Methodist, May-bird ? I wouldn't if I were 
you. I'd " put a veto on it," as old Rey- 
nolds would say, only I like to have you 



10 ANSDALE HALL. 

UilTorent from other people, — with a little 
ipico of oddity, you know." 

''/don't," said Aunt Martha decidedly. 
" 1 want Bertio to do as I bid her. What 
is the name of that book, my child ? " 

Richard took up the book from tlic table, 
where I had placed it, and read, — '• Ryle's 
Spiritual Songs." 

"Then, my dear," said my aunt, " you 
will please give ' Ryle's Spiritual Songs* to 
mo, and read such books as 1 saw with y(ju 
yesterday. I want you to be my own little 
Bertie again." 

'' But, auntie, I'll keep it all to myself," 
I pleaded, timidly. 

" Why do you want it ? " slie asked. 

I hesitated, thinking how I should an- 
Bwer. 

" Pshaw I aunti(3, let her have it," cried 
Ricliard ; " it will make me wretched if you 
<lon't, and I'm siiro you wouldn't add a 
feather to the burden on my heart. Only 



RICHARD'S MOTTO. \\ 

one more evening at home ; " and he sighed 
dolefully. 

Aunt Martha relented, and leaned back 
wearily in her chair. In spite of all the 
trouble he gave her, she did love Richard 
dearly, and he knew it. 

" You must study hard, Richard," she 
said ; " Christmas won't be long in coming." 

•' That's consoling," groaned Richard ; 
" sweeten my midsummer dreams with 
thoughts of Christmas ! Bribe me to give 
up my peaches in the hope of enjoying 
mince-pie ! " 

Aunt Martha smiled. 

" You and Bertha may leave me a little 
while," she said, " for a pleasant twilight 
walk. You must enjoy all the time you 
have at home." 

"That's a brilliant idea. Aunt Mirtha," 
cried Richard, springing to his feet. " The 
very tiling I want, — a walk with Bertha 
once again. I shall have no little May- 



12 ANSDALE HALL. 

bird to walk witli this night week. Come, 
Bertie/' 

I rose, kissed Aunt Martha, caught my 
hun-honnet from the tal)le, and joyfully fol- 
lowed in Richard's footsteps. We passed 
out through the little porch, under the 
grape-arbor, and along tlie graveled path, 
arm in arm, my brother and I. 

The sun liad already set, and the new 
moon had traveled over half her nightly 
path, while the weary little birds, with 
sleepy chirps, were hieing away to their 
nests. 

As Richard turned to close the gate, Aunt 
Martha was leaning forward in her chair 
to kiss her hand from the window. As we 
walked through the gathering twilight we 
fell to talking of her, the dear old lady, — 
my motljcr's aunt, — wlio had taken her 
little orj>hans under her wing when our 
niolhnr died, ten years before, — of a bro- 
ken heart uud a l)lighted hope, the neigh- 



RICHARD'S MOTTO. 13 

bora used to say. I don't know how that 
may have been ; I only know that ten 
years before, and while we were still living 
in our old English home, our father had 
sailed for India in a British man-of-war, and 
that, when she heard of his sudden death, 
she had hastened to leave her adopted 
country, and to place us safely under Aunt 
Martha's care. Then I remember how she 
faded day by day, and became like a lit- 
tle child again in her childhood's home, 
leaning on Aunt Martha for comfort and 
care ; and leaning too, I know, on a strong- 
er Arm, and one more able to guide her. 

Richard had a beautiful miniature of her, 
taken for my father, but unintentionally 
left by him when he sailed for India ; and 
our mother in dying had fastened it around 
his neck. Richard always wore it, though 
hidden from sight, and we often talked over 
it together. It was taken at the time of 
my mother's marriage ; and inclosed in its 



14 AKSDALE HALL. 

case was a boft golden curl, which Richard 
used to assert matched my own. 

So Aunt Martha had taken care of us for 
ten years ; had learned to love us too, I 
think, and had certainly won love in return. 
We had never cared for another home than 
hers ; nor did we feel at all aggrieved wlien 
the neighhors, for the sake of convenience 
perhaps, always called us hy her name. So 
we said notliing unpleasant of Aunt Martha 
in our twilight walk, but were intent on 
extolling her virtues. 

Suddenly, as we turned the road by Ans- 
dale Hall, the finest old mansion in the 
place, Richard asked me abruptly, " Ber- 
tie, are you a Christian ? '* 

I started, blushed, and answered rather 
timidly, "I hope so." 

Richard wliistled, and walked on silently 
for a little wliile ; tlien he smiled in a 
Btrangf^ way. and turned to look into my 
foce. 



RICHARD'S MOTTO. 15 

" You're only a timid little soldier, at 
best, Bertie," he said, " and it's a pity not 
to let you have a smooth road." 

I looked up at him in. a questioning way, 
with an unpleasant consciousness that I had 
not proved a very brave soldier that eve- 
ning. 

" Isn't that what they call Christians ? " 
he said carelessly, stooping to pick up for 
me a branch of red leaves which had 
dropped into the road ; " ' the soldiers of 
the cross ? ' I have heard that name used 
somewhere. What do they fight for, 
Bertie ? " 

" They should fight against sin for Je- 
sus' sake," I answered, almost under ray 
breath. 

" I guess it's the best thing, after all," 
he said musingly ; " the best kind of fight- 
ing, I mean ; and it's "nothing to be 
ashamed of. May-bird ; " and he looked 
down at me in a sad, tender way. 



16 AXSDALE HALL. 

1 saw ill a moment what he ineaut, and 
that he would have stood up for any little 
party at school, to whatever disgrace it 
might have led, far hetter than I had done 
for this great cause of mine ; for it was 
just as natural for him to hold to what he 
professed as it is to the birds to sing ; and 
he would have liked very much to have 
me as courageous in all these things as 
himself. So I was heartily ashamed of 
myself \\o\\\ and not of my " Captain." 

" Never mind, Bertie," he said ; " I don't 
know anything about it." 

" But," I answered with an effort, " I 
know I was a coward, Richard." 

*' And you're only a weak little thing, 
and can't he expected to fight," he said 
cheerfully, coming gradually out from his 
unusual fit of seriousness. 

"But," I answered, " we none of us 
have our oirn strength to fight in ; and 



RICHARD'S MOTTO. 17 

there is just as much strength for me as 
for any one, if I only ask for it." 

" How so ? " he asked curiously. 

" Why, Richie, you know our Captain 
will give it to all," I answered ; " and ^ his 
strength is made perfect in weakness.' " 

We had reached the garden gate as I 
said this, and Richard took both my hands 
in his, and looked down into my face. 

" You're a good little sister," he said 
kindly, " and I don't believe you are 
ashamed of your colors." 

" I wish you would be one of those * sol- 
diers,' Richard," I said timidly ; " I don't 
doubt you would stand by your colors." 

" Nonsense," he cried lightly, letting 
my hands fall at once, and turning to open 
tlie gate. " See, Bertie, you will have a 
glorious moon in a day or two, when I 
shall be going away." 

So Richard, having changed the subject 
entirely, led the way into the little sitting- 



18 ANSDALE HALL. 

rotun again. No one was there but Hul 
dali, however. Aunt Martha "jiad gone 
back to her room, she told us, and wished 
to be alone; and she — Aunt Martha's 
luaid-oi-all-work — was setting the apart- 
ment '- to rights," and would, as she kind- 
ly informed us, prefer our " room to our 
company.'' 

'' And how about supper? " asked Rich- 
ard, as she shut the door upon us. 

'' If you wait long enough, you'll git it, 
like's not," she answered consolingly, show- 
ing her long wry face at the door. 

" Yes, patience, Richie," I said ; " every- 
thing comes by patience. Patience, and 
Christmas itself will be here, and that is 
better than supper." 

"Tliat's a nice little speech," said Rich- 
ard patronizingly, as I slowly mounted the 
stairs to my little room overhead. 

Tt was a very pleasant room, witli a 
beautiful view from tlio window, of the 



RICHARD'S MOTTO. 19 

liver aud the mountains ; and there I used 
to sit and watch the sunset every evening 
when Richard was away from home, when 
I was lonely, and Aunt Martha resting be- 
low. But this evening the sun had set al- 
ready, and even if it had not, I had some- 
thing else on my mind, more momentous 
than watching the sky : that was, to place 
carefully in Richard's trunk the parting 
gift I had been preparing for him during 
so long a time and with so great secrecy. 
It was a little picture — painted under 
Aunt Martha's supervision, and copied from 
one tliat liad belonged to my mother — of 
the little cottage in England where he and 
I were born. The place was very beautiful, 
but I remomlDered it indistinctly : the great 
maple-trcc by tlie front piazza was more 
familiar to me tlian the house itself, for un- 
der its branches Richard and I had always 
played on every sunny day. And every- 
thing was faithfully portrayed in the pic- 



20 ANSDALE HALL. 

ture, — even the rough brown bench where 
I had held my rag-baby, and he had spun 
his top. So I know quite well that he 
would value it, for Richard had a better 
memory than I. 

Stepping softly out of my room, I crossed 
the hall to Richard's sanctum, and raising 
some of the clothes at the top of his trunk, 
I i^aced it under them quite carefully, 
wishing all the while that I might see him 
when lie found it. 

" Bertha ! " cried Huldah from the door- 
way, " don't you go to mussin' up your 
])rother's box ; do you hear ? Fve been to 
work putting the traps into it all the after- 
noon. Come, supper's ready." 

I dropped the lid of the trunk, and, 
passing Huldah, went down to the dining- 
room. 

Richard was stretched on the sofa read- 
ing ; and, walking quietly across the room, 
I peeped over his shoulder, and saw my 



RICHARD'S MOTTO. 21 

own little book, which had been the un- 
conscious cause of so much annoyance that 
afteri:oon. He started as I touched his 
arm. 

" I wasn't reading it, Bertie, on my hon- 
or. I was merely wondering how you 
could." 

" But the hymns are lovely, Richie, some 
of them," I said. 

" Sure it hasn't anything to do with rose- 
colored spectacles ? " he asked. 

" Listen, Richie ; " and I read a verse 
from one of my favorites. 

" It is rather pretty," he confessed. 
" The fact is. May-bird, to be candid with 
you, I didn't want to like them." 

" Then you had no right to judge." 

" No, I hadn't. But wait, Bertie ; let me 
write something here." He opened the 
book at the fly-leaf, and taking out his pen 
oil wrote something, and returned it to me. 



22 ANSDALE HALL. 

I read four words in his clear, firm hand, — 
*' Stand by your colors." 

" Thank ycni, Ricliie," I murmured ; and 
he said no more on the su))jcct. But that 
evening, when I opened my Bible, this verse 
met my eye : — 

" Whosoever shall ])C ashamed of me 
and of my words, of liim shall the Son of 
man bo ashamed, wlien he shall come in 
liis own glory, and in his Father's, and (»f 
the holy angels." 




CHAPTER II. 



BLA CKBERR TING. 



ICHARD and I were both awake very 
J\, early the next morning, and we met 
in the summer-house and had a quiet 
time together before breakfast. We 
were anxious that the day should prove a 
long one, but it seemed to pass very quickly. 
Aunt Martha's headache was too bad to 
allow her to leave her room, so we left her 
in the care of Huldah, and started a long 
time before the bells commenced to toll, 
that we might stroll leisurely to church ; 
but. slowly as we walked, there were only 
four who were earlier than we ; and Rich- 
ard passed tlie time before service in cut- 

23 



^4 ANSDALK HALL. 

ting his name on one of the hymn-book 
covers, wliile I vainly tried to stop him. 

As we came out of cluirch, Nelly Ray- 
den, one of my dearest school-friends, 
touched me on the arm. 

"Oh, Bertie!" she whispered, "Mr. 
Ansdale called on us last evening. He is 
BO entertaining ; and he has invited us all 
to dinner at the Hall. Only think of it! " 

Everybody was curious about that tall, 
dignified gentleman at the Hall. I suppose 
it was owing to the fact that he had been 
in our little village for only one month, 
and seemed a stranger to QVQry one, living 
all alone as he did, save his servants and 
housekeeper. 

"Well, what of it, Nelly dear?" I an- 
swered; "1 don't suppose he will extend 
his sociability to us." Nelly tossed her 
pretty head and kissed her liand in adieu ; 
while Richie and 1 ])assed on. Richard's 
curiosity was excited, however. 



BLACKBERRTING. 25 

" Who is he ? and where did he sit in 
church ? " he asked. 

" I don't think he was in church this 
morning," I said, glancing around among 
the moving congregation. " As to who he 
is, I can't enlighten you very mucli, as I 
have only seen him once myself; and," 
I added, shaking off my timidity for a mo- 
ment, and resolving to " stand by my col- 
ors," " let us not talk about him to-day, 
Richie." 

" The dear little Quakeress ! does she 
talk sermons and hymns all day Sunday? " 
cried Richard with a smile. 

"No, Richie," I answered, " but then I 
do wrong all the time ; and we should not 
even think our own thoughts to-day." 

I had grown bold since the evening 
before ; the weak disciple had asked for 
strength, and had received it. 

Richie shrugged his shoulders. " We 



t ~ 



2C ANSDALE HALL. 

must expect attacks when we are in the 
vicinity of soldiers," he said. 

*' Please don't nuiko light of those things, 
Richie, when tlicy are so serious," I 
ple;ulcd. 

Richard said no more, and neither of us 
resumed tlie subject during his stay ; for 
he started early tlic following morning: 
so early that we had breakfast an hour be- 
fore the usual time on his account. It 
seemed as if we could not let him go. 
Tiio house was lonely without him ; and 
Aunt Martha and Huldah fell back into 
thoir evcry-day mood as soon as the door 
closed on him, and did not regain their 
holiday spirits until the next vacation. 
Perhaps it was somewhat so with Bertha 
too, and she was far less excusable. 

I stood on the piazza and watched him 
ns he went, waving my handkerchief and 
kissing my hand, until not a trace of him 
was visible. It was a lovely morning, 



BLA CKBERR TING. 27 

bright ai_d cool, and only six o'clock as 
yet ; most delightful for a walk, I thought; 
but at the same time came the conscious- 
ness of rooms to be dusted, and — most 
neglected of all since Richie's arrival — an 
hour's practicing to go through. More- 
over, I had commenced a cap for Aunt 
Martha Saturday morning, and must fin- 
ish it that day, as Mr. and Mrs. Winsley, 
great friends of Aunt Martha, were com- 
ing to tea. I turned with a sigh and en- 
tered the door. My work was on the table 
in the sitting-room, and I laughed as I 
looked at it. Richie's hands had been 
there ; for the pure white lace was pro- 
fusely ornamented with one of his neck- 
ties, a bright scarlet one, which I had re- 
peatedly tried to convince him was alto- 
gether unseasonable in August; and which 
he had left, pinned in festoons around Aunt 
Martha's delicate cap. While I was busy 



28 ANSDALE HALL. 

restoring order, Aunt Martha lierself en- 
tered. 

" My dear," she said kindly, " it is a 
lovely morning, and the sun is not very 
high yet; don't you want to gather some 
hlackherries for supper? Ah ! you are busy 
at that cap, I sec : never mind it, dear ; 
you want exercise, and you can finish that 
wlien you come ])ack. Tliere are a great 
many berries about lialf a mile to tlie right, 
beyond the little pine wood, in among 
tlie rocks. Iluldah saw tliem there Satur- 
day. You are not out in the air enough," 
said Aunt Martlia, witli a sigh. 

I was only too delighted. I cauglit up 
my sun-bonnet, which was always at hand, 
and styled tlie " inseparable " by Ricliard, 
and started for tlie kitchen to get a basket. 

" Be you starting for tlic blackberries ? " 
asked Iluldah, as she handed me tlie re- 
quired article. *' You'll have to be mighty 
sharp and not get lost ; for of all the twist 



BLACKBERRTING. 29 

in's and turniii's that ever I saw, them 
roclis are the worst ; I came nigh be in' 
lost myself." 

" Don't be afraid, Huldah," I answered, 
laughing ; " I fancy I know the way around 
our little village pretty well." 

" You've never been to this part," she 
answered, turning again to her washing ; 
" it's easy enough to find, but 'tan't so 
easy to see through." 

Fully confident of my own powers, I 
picked my way through tubs and clothes- 
baskets out into the open air, and started 
on my journey. 

It was a lovely path which I had to pass 
over, and no one was in it at that early 
hour but myself and the birds. I had ven- 
tured to the other side of tlie pine woods 
but once, though I had frequently been as 
far as the entrance, and fancied that that 
one glimpse of the region beyond had 



30 ASSDALK HALL. 

made me fully acquainted with its myste- 
ries. 

The path was quite shady at first, and 
the morning air was cool ; but as I neared 
the wood the air became very oppressive, 
and I was exceedingly glad of the friendly 
shelter of the pines. That, however, was 
of short duration ; and as I reached the 
other side of the little group of trees and 
saw a long stretch of sunshine before me, I 
resolved to rest before I encountered it. 
Seating myself in the cool shade, on the 
root of one of the trees, I found that 
Richie had ])eon there before me, and had 
been exercising his talent for carving, as 
the old forest patriarch informed me by 
displaying the name on his trunk, — *' Rich- 
ard Norton, Aug. 28th, 18G0." 

But resting here was not picking black- 
berries. The day was already becoming 
Intensely warm ; what wotild it be in a 
few liours? So I picked up my basket, 



BLA CKBERB TING. 31 

and most zealously attacked the nearest 
bush ; then I forgot the sun, — for I always 
had a passion for berry -picking, — and for 
an hour or more I wandered on from 
bush to bush witliout even glancing up to 
see where I was, and only noting the flight 
of time as the sun rose higher until his 
rays pierced even my cool white sun-bon- 
net. Finally my little basket was full ; it 
had taken long, as the berries were few 
and scattered. 

'^ Now I will go home and display my 
spoils," I said triumphantly. 

I looked around, but not a landmark 
was to be seen. I was completely sur- 
I'ounded l)y rocks and bushes, as far as the 
shrubbery would allow my eyes to reach. 
I was lost and tired ; Huldah was right, 
after all, and I not so wise as I thought 
myself, 

I wandered around from bush to bush, 
tearing my dress in a dozen places, climb- 



32 ANSDALB HALL. 

ing tlic highest rocks to obtain a view of 
the situation, and heartily wishing Richie 
were with mc. But all in vain ; not even 
tlie low clump of pine-trees was in sight ; 
and finally, completely exhausted, I seated 
myself in despair on a large stone, and 
began using my basket-cover very vigor- 
ously as a fun. So I sat for some minutes, 
and then I heard footsteps approaching: 
possibly my sun-bonnet served as a flag of 
distress, for they were directed toward 
myself. I found it was Mr. Ansdale, of the 
Hull, and I liopod sincerely he could give 
me some assistance. He smiled rather 
humorously, as he approached and saw my 
dubious face. 

" Can't you find any path through this 
labyiintli ? " he asked pleasantly. 

'' No. sir ; I would be very thankful if you 
would show me one ;" and I lifted my pre- 
cious basket and prepared to follow him. 

" Let mo have your basket first ; " and he 



BLA CKBERR TINQ. 33 

took it from my arm. " I see you have 
been like the foolish little mouse, so intent 
on the cheese that you never stopped to 
think how you should escape from the trap 
when you had eaten it." 

I laughed merrily. 

" Never mind," he said, " you are not 
the first mouse of the season, I dare say. 
May I ask your name ? " 

" Bertha," I answered, still plodding on 
through the bushes, and tearing my dress 
at every second step. 

He looked troubled at that. " Let me 
see. Bertha," he said ; " how can we rem- 
edy that evil ? Can't you walk on the 
rocks, and part company with these bush- 
es ? " 

I tried the experiment, and it proved very 
successful. 

" I think I have seen you before," he 
continued ; " I am confident I have heard 
3 



34 ANSDALE HALL. 

of you. Isn't our good pastor greatly ii> 
clined to talk of his little Bertie ? " 

I knew lie was, for he had no children 
of his own, and I had always been his pet 
and darling from a little child. 

** I remember he lias spoken of you sev- 
eral times, and he hinted to me the other 
day that you would be a pleasant visitor 
at the old Hull. So I am inclined to enter 
very unceremoniously on a close friendship. 
We have one common place of meeting, — 
one tiling that should make us friends, 
little Bertie ; we acknowledge one Master, 
one Lord, even Jesus of Nazareth." Ho 
spoke solemnly and gently, and in a sweet 
thrilling tone that went to my heart. " Can 
we meet there, Bertie ? " 

" Oil, yes, sir ! " I answered warmly. 

We walked on in silence for some time, 
until tlie pine wood appeared in the dis- 
tance. 

" Are you fond of study ? " he asked. 



BLA CKBERR TING. 86 

" Yes, sir, very fond." 

" And you go to school ? " 

" Yes, sir ; I shall begin in about three 
weeks." 

" Will you come every morning until 
then and read history with me ? " 

" If Aunt Martha is willing, I shall be 
delighted," I answered. 

" You must ask her," he said ; " I shall 
expect you to-morrow morning, and we will 
lose ourselves in Macaulay, or any author 
you prefer, as a substitute for the rocks and 
bushes." 

" A pleasant substitute," I said readily, 
as I felt the broiling sun on my shoulders 
and the rough rocks under my feet. 

The walk was over at last ; Mr. Ansdale 
parted from me as we turned the corner by 
the Hall, and I ran all the remainder of the 
way home. 

" Aunt Martha ! " I cried, rushing into 
the sitting-room ; " Aunt Martha — " 



S6 ANSDALE HALL. 

Aunt Martha shuddered and raised her 
hand to licr forehead. 

" What made you so late, Bertie ? " she 
asked ; " Huldah was fearful you had lost 
your way." 

" And so I did, auntie," I replied, setting 
my l)askct on the table. " Mr. Ansdale, 
of the Hall, found me, and showed me my 
way ; " and I drew my little stool to her 
feet, and gave her an account of my jour- 
ney, and tlie invitation tendered. 

*' And may I go, Aunt Martha ? " I asked 
eagerly. 

Aunt Martlia raised her hand once more 
to her liead. " I don't know, dear ; I'm 
afraid you would be a good deal of trouble 
fo liini sometimes." 

*' Why, auntie? because I am such a 
very great trouble to you ? " 

"Oil, no, dear! but gentlemen are dif- 
ferently constituted ; little tilings annoy 
them. But you may go and try it if you 



BLA CKBERR TING. 37 

wish ; I am afraid you will be lonely now 
that Richard is gone. You had better take 
your berries to Huldah, and let her look 
them over for tea, and then make yourself 
ready for dinner ; you are very warm, and 
the cap may rest awhile." 

" What have you been doing all the 
morning, auntie ? " 

" Oh ! thinking ; my head was too bad 
to let me work." 

" What were you thinking of, Aunt Mar 
tha ? " and I rose and smoothed her silvery 
hair caressingly, as I asked the question. 

" Not very pleasant thoughts, Bertha ; 
something you read Saturday evening made 
me feel gloomy, and keeps running through 
my brain. Are you not sorry to have 
made me unhappy, Bertha ? " 

I struggled with my false shame, and an- 
swered, " Not if you gain true happiness by 
it, Aunt Martha ; for ' This life is but the 
falling of a leaf, a dropping tear ; ' and it is 



38 ANSDALE HALL. 

not SO much matter, after all, whether we 
arc happy or uiiliapi)y here, for an endless 
life of sufferiug or joy is to come after this ;" 
and I kissed her forehead. 

" It's all true, Bertie," she said, " but I 
don't like to think of it ; " and she turned 
her head away. But whether she liked to 
think of it or not, I knew she did think of 
it, that she could not help it. After a part- 
ing caress to her silver liair, I carried my 
berries to Huldah. 

" Didn't get lost, did you ? " she asked, 
guessing riglitly that I had. 

'' Yes, I did, Huldah," I confessed. 

" Some folks arc mighty wise ; wiser'n 
them that know better'n they do. Some- 
body knew her way all round the place this 
mornin'." 

" I was wrong, Huldah, I know ; but I've 
brought you some berries," I said. 

The berries seemed to mollify her great- 
ly ; and, leaving them, I retraced my steps 



BLA CKBERR tlNQ. 3 9 

to my room, indulging in happy anticipa- 
tions of the visit to Ansdale Hall, and al- 
ready concocting in my brain a letter to 
Boud Richard by the next mail. 




€ 



CHAPTER III. 

ANSDALE UALL. 

jEXT morning the practicing was 
promptly concluded, immediately 
after breakfast ; and as the cap had 
been linislied the evening V)efore, and 
honored our guests by its presence at the 
tea-table, there were no further duties to 
bind me at home ; so, leaving Aunt Martha 
reading in her arm-chair, at half-past nine 
I was on my way to the Hall. 

1 was ushered on my arrival into the 
great library, in the western wing, with the 
ivy twining around and overhanging the 
windows. Richie and I had often looked 
at it from the outside, and thought what a 
gloomy room it must be ; but it was not, 

40 



ANSDALE HALL. 41 

after all. Everything in the room — the 
paper, carpet, chairs, and sofa — was green, 
even to the bouquet on the table, which 
displayed no flower but a lovely white rose- 
bud. Of course, the prevailing color was 
the very thing for a library, and, as the 
sunbeams glancing in through the green 
curtains lighted up the room so merrily, it 
seemed charming to me. I was wondering 
at, and admiring, at a distance, the great 
array of books, when my host made his ap- 
pearance. 

" Ah ! good-morning, Bertie," he said 
pleasantly ; "I am very happy to see 
you ; " and seating himself by me on the 
sofa, he talked for some time on indifferent 
topics. 

" Now are you ready for work ? " he 
asked at last. " What shall we take first ? " 

I glanced around the room rather curi- 
ously. " I don't care, in the least, sir," I 
answered frankly. 



42 ANSDALE HALL. 

" Well, then, shall we hegiu with this ? " 
and he pointed to a large Bible on the 
table. 

I assented ; and, seating himself in the 
great chair, he read the twenty-sixth chap- 
ter of Matthew, and then, closing the Bible, 
began to talk to me about it, of the suffer- 
ings of the long-souglit Messiah, and the 
denial of his self-confident follower. 

" Let us take warning from Peter, my 
little friend," he said, " and strive not to 
deny our Master in thought, word, or 
deed." 

" Why do you say ws, Mr. Ansdale ? " 
T asked quickly ; " do you ever deny him ?" 

" Don't we all deny him, Bertie, when- 
ever we act contrary to his commands ? is 
it not equal to saying tliat he is no Master 
of ours ? All, little Bertie ! we don't mean 
it so ; but the world is large, and its chil* 
dren watch jealously to see how the chil- 



AirSDALE BALL. 43 

dreii of the Master uphold his name, and 
to laugh at their little failures." 

"That is strange," I said; "I never 
knew people did that." 

He smiled again, — a rather strange 
smile. "Now for the history ; what is 
your choice, little Bertie ? " 

" I don't know, sir. I shall be satisfied, 
whatever we read." 

So he chose for me the first volume of 
Macaulay's England ; and I had not been 
so intensely absorbed in anything that sum- 
mer as I was in our morning's occupation. 
It was not altogether the book, for he 
talked quite as much as we read, and his 
conversation charmed me more than the 
reading. He wandered into many differ- 
ent paths of knowledge, drawn on by the 
subject before us : for he had traveled a 
great deal, evidently, and not only remem- 
bered everything he had seen, but was able 
to picture all to others as well. It was 



44 ANSDALB HALL. 

half-past twelve when we closed the book 
for the day, and I rose on the instant to 
prepare to depart. 

" No, no ; I can't let you leave now," he 
said. " Auntie would never expect you in 
this hot sun ; " and lie took my hat from 
ray iiand. 

" But wliat am I to do, sir ? " I asked, 
sorely puzzled. " You wish me to come 
here and read every morning, and I can't 
possibly spare more than two or three 
hours a day." 

" Wliat ! so much care on your shoul- 
ders, and so early iu life ? " he asked smil- 
ingly. 

" Oh ! no, sir, not that exactly ; but I 
don't like to leave Aunt Martha alone so 
long." 

" Yes, } ou arc riglit," lie said ; " still, I 
can't let you leave in this midday sun, 
wlxMi I liave you safe under shelter. Can't 
you come to me in future at the close of 



ANSDALE HALL. 45 

the afternoon ? I will send a messenger to 
your aunt presently to account for your de- 
tention, if it Avill make you more comfort- 
able. You must lunch with me." 

I thanked him, and assented. He left 
me for a moment to summon a servant, 
and then returned. 

" Now I must find something to amuse 
you," he said, " for I have letters to write. 
Do you ever draw ? " 

" Oh ! yes, sir ; I am very fond of it." 

" Indeed ! what have you been doing 
lately ? " 

" A picture of our old home, for my 
brother." 

He looked at me curiously for a moment. 

" You must show it to me, then," he 
said ; " bring it with you some day." 

" Richie has it with him," I answered ; 
" I should be pleased to show you the 
original." 

*' I should like to have you, my child," 



46 AN8DALE HALL. 

he said ; " I see that the home, whatever 
it was like, has left pleasant memories be- 
hind it." 

'' How could you tell that, Mr. Aiis- 
dale ? " I asked ; for I thought I had 
spoken of it very soberly indeed. 

" There was a reflection of some old- 
tirae sunshine in your eyes when you men- 
tioned it," he answered, smiling. 

And then ho drew forth an engraving 
from a large portfolio on the table and 
placed it before me to copy. It was a 
quaint little picture of some children 
crossing a brook ; and I thouglit he must 
have had some memories connected with it, 
from the expression of his face as he looked 
at it. 

" It is just such a brook as I used to 
cross with my sister, right back of the old 
homestead, long years ago," he said with 
a smile ; and then I set to work most zeal- 
ously, and neither of us spoke for somo 



ANSDALE HALL. 47 

time, for I became completely absorbed iii 
my task and was intent on finishing it, and 
he had several letters to write. 

At length, just as the bell was ringing 
for luncheon, Mr. Ansdale sealed his last 
letter and closed the heavy rosewood desk. 
I gave a quick glance toward him, and, 
seeing the row of letters on the table, re- 
called my eyes to my picture once more, 
fearful that I might not be allowed to fin- 
ish it. 

" You look warm and tired, Bertie," 
said Mr. Ansdale, coming toward me ; " let 
the drawing rest for to-day, and you shall 
finish it to-morrow. I want you to take 
luncheon witli me now." 

Of course, as I had no right to disobey, 
I released the picture, very reluctantly, 
and rose to follow him. He quietly re- 
turned the picture to his great portfolio, 
and then led me into the dining-room, or 
rather the little room where he ate wlion 



48 ANSDALE HALL. 

ho was alone ; and there we had a cozy, 
home-like meal together, sitting at opposite 
sides of ihe small round table. 

When we returned to the library, Mr, 
Ansdule took up a little book that I had 
noticed on the table when I first entered 
tlie room, for it was a counterpart of my 
own condemned hymn-book. 

" Bertie, have you ever seen this ? " he 
asked, turning the leaves over slowly as he 
spoke. 

" Oh ! yes, Mr. Ansdale," I answered 
quickly : " I liave one like it at home, and 
read it very often." 

He smiled pleasantly, and kept turning 
over the leaves, until he had found what 
he was searching for. 

" Tlicn, Bertie," lie said, " you have 
doubtless read long l)oforo this the little 
hymn that 1 was about to call your atten- 
tion to ; I noticed it for the first time this 
morning, and it impressed me : this," ^ 



ANSDALE HALL. 49 

and he read my own little favorite, that 
had troubled Aunt Martha on Saturday 
evening. 

Of course I had read it before, but it 
had never seemed so beautiful to me as 
when I heard it read by Mr. Ansdale. 

" I think, Bertie," he said, as he closed 
the book, " that this hymn would do almost 
any one good who should practice it feel- 
ing constantly that there is only one life, 
and no ' time to sport away.' Bertie, 
could we not, ought we not to do more than 
we are doing for the blessed Saviour, who 
has done everything for us ? How is it 
with you ? " 

" I know I do not nearly so much as I 
should, sir," I answered, as I thought of 
the four over whom my influence extended 
more immediately, — auntie and Huldah, 
Richard and Nelly Rayden, — besides all 
the other unemployed means and opportu- 
nities of doing good which my heavenly 

4 



50 ANSDALE HALL. 

Father had granted me ; " but it is some- 
times very hard to do riglit, and very un- 
pleasant," I concluded. 

" Is it right for us to think of that, Ber- 
tie ? * Even Jesus Christ pleased not him- 
self.' Why should we seek only our own 
pleasure ? " 

" We shouldn't, sir," I answered. 

'* We shall be accountable before God for 
all our misused opportunities, Bertie," he 
said gravely ; " do not neglect yours : let 
us make a new resolution to do all we can 
fur Christ. Bertie, dear, believe me, we 
shall tlius be far happier." 

And I did believe him. 

On my way home that afternoon I 
formed many plans for tlie future ; among 
others, that of employing my evenings in 
reading to our good old Huldah. She was 
very ignorant, I knew, about heavenly 
tilings, and no one had " cured for lier 
Roul." Yes ! One had cared for it, — ho 



ANSDALE HALL. 51 

who, having once known and loved all the 
wondrous glory of heaven, left it to be cruci- 
fied on Golgotha ; he had cared for it, and 
counted it among his jewels ; he who knew 
all things saw and ordained from eternity 
what she should be. 

Nelly Rayden met me on the piazza with 
extended arms. 

" I was on the point of leaving," she 
said, " for I have waited an hour for you, 
with my heart ever so full of jealousy. To 
think that you should be admitted to the 
very heart of that mysterious mansion, 
when I have not yet crossed the thresh- 
old ! Come in and tell me all about it." 

I obeyed very willingly, and entered the 
deserted sitting-room ; then she monopo- 
lized Aunt Martha's easy-chair, and bade 
me take the stool at her feet and give her 
an account of my afternoon adventures : 
which I proceeded to do. 

" Why didn't you tell him that I waa 



52 ANSDALE HALL. 

your dearest friend, and wanted to study 
Macaulay too ? " she asked roguishly. 

'' You should have gone blackberrying, 
Nelly." 

" Indeed I should ! " 

" And he is so good, Nelly, — so good a 
Christian, I mean." Nelly looked grave, 
and played with her parasol ; after a long 
pause she said, *' Do you know what I came 
here for this afternoon, Bertie ? " 

" I suppose to talk about Mr. Ansdale," 
I said mischievously. 

" Not quite. Fatlier and motlier are go- 
ing to Niagara on Monday, and I want you 
to come and stay witli Laura and me while 
they are away." 

" And leave Aunt Martha ! " I said in 

m 

surprise. 

'' You can come every day and attend to 
bcr comfort ; and, besides, Mr. Winsley 
lias gone to New York on business, and 
his wife wouldn't need a second invitation 



ANSDALE HALL. « 53 

to let Aunt Martha's company solace her 
for his absence. She will come if you ask 
her." 

" I don't think it will do ; but you must 
ask Aunt Martha," I said reluctantly, for I 
wanted to go very much. 

" Have I not been talking to her all the 
morning ? " she said ; " I only want your 
sanction ; I have talked so strongly to her, 
and have presented so many arguments, 
that she has sought the protection of her 
own room." 

" What did she say ? " 

*' ' Yes,' of course." 

" Truly ? " 

" Truly." 

" And will she ask Mrs. Winsley ?" 

" She says I may," laughed Nelly. 

" Then I'll go." 

" Oh ! you're a darling ; you're a treas- 
ure!" she cried. "Remember next Mon- 
day ; and now good-bye ; " and she caught 



54 * ANSDALE HALL. 

me ill her arms aud covered my face with 
kisses. 

I watched her as she tripped down the 
patlj, so graceful, so light-hearted ; and my 
conscience smote me, oh ! so heavily, for 1 
knew full well tliat I had never tried to 
win lier to my Saviour; and so another 
resolve was formed. 

*' Aunt Martha," I said, as I heard her 
step in the doorway, "do you like tliis plan 
of Nelly's ? You were very kind to consent, 
but do you like it ? " 

"I never love to liave you away, dear," 
she answered gently ; " but I shall get on 
very nicely with Mrs. Winsley ; and it will 
do you good." 

" Thank you, auntie." 

" It lias l)cen so quiet all the morning, 
and I can't get tliat verse out of my liead, 
Bertie. T will sit down here on the step, 
und you sliall get your liymn-book and read 
it all through to me, while I am knitting." 



ANSDALE HALL. 55 

I was very, very glad to obey. Leaving 
Aunt Martha sitting on the doorstep, I ran 
quickly up to my room in search of the 
book, and then sat by her side and read it 
slowly to the end, — that beautiful hymn 
of Bonar. 

" It is very solemn to think that life is so 
short." 

" But, oh ! auntie, it is joy, happiness, to 
feel that life is not in our own hands ; that, 
of whatever length it may be, it is entirely 
yielded up to Him who has died for us ; 
that all, everything, is his, and that death 
will be heaven." 

" I would give all there is left of my lift- 
to feel so," she murmured, bowing her sil- 
very head. 

" You needn't do that, auntie ; Jesus 
gave his life that you might feel so ; it was 
worth more than any human life." 

There were two or three tears glittering 
among the meshes of the knitting-work as 



56 ANSDALE HALL. 

she raised her bowed head ai.d laid her 
hand in mine. 

" You're a good little girl, Bertie ; I am 
going to think about it." 

" I'd rather you wouldn't think so much 
about it until you've done it ; if you want 
the happiness, that's the first step. Aunt 
Martha." 

" Thank you, dear ; you may- leave the 
little book with me. I hope you will have 
a very pleasant visit, and not desert me en- 
tirely." 

" Be sure I shall not, auntie," I said 
earnestly, rising, and kissing her warmly. 
" I won't leave you at all if you say so." 

" I want you to go, love," she answered; 
" I would not have you stay, aftd they will 
probably keep you only about a week." 

So the question of the visit was decided, 
and the next morning Nelly took a long 
hour's walk to Mrs. Winsley's to deliver 



ANSDALE HALL. 57 

her self-imposed message, and received a 
very favorable reply. 

It was not until Wednesday evening that 
T carried out my resolution in regard to 
Huldah. After our early supper our good 
pastor came in, and, well knowing that he 
would approve of my object, I left Aunt 
Martha and him in the sitting-room to- 
gether, and penetrated to the kitchen. 
Huldah was engaged in washing dishes, 
and I approached her very timidly. 

" What be you here for. Bertha ? " she 
said, with a hasty glance at the figure 
darkening her door. 

" I thought perhaps you would like to 
have me read to you, Huldah," I returned. 

" Well, I wonder what queer crotchet you 
will git into your head, next news. Are 
girls allers so full er whims ? There ! don't 
get put out ; I shan't say nuthin agin it if 
you read me a bit arter I git cleaned up, 
but I don't want nobody about now." 



58 ANSDALE HALL. 

Thus rebuffed, I tried to keep back a 
smile at my defeat, and returned to the sit- 
ting-room ; but in the course of half an 
liour I retraced my steps, in hopes of a 
better reception. 

" Well, you ben't put out, be you ? " said 
Huldah, who, with dishes washed and 
kitchen arranged, was seated with her sew- 
ing by the window. " I git cross when I 
have my chores hangin' round so long ; 
now you can go at it." 

" Do you ever read the Bible, Huldah ? '* 
I asked. 

" Law sakes, no, child ! I go to church 
off and on, and I've got a Bible tucked 
away witli my traps up garret ; that's 
enough, a n't it ? " 

"What good does it do you up garret if 
you never look at it? " I asked. " I'm go- 
ing to read from the Bible to you to-night.'* 

" Go ahead," she said sententiously, 
pulling fiercely at her thread. 



ANSDALE HALL. 59 

I opened the book at the eleventh chap- 
ter of John, and read it, without any com- 
ments, to a very interested listener. 

" How do you like it, Huldah ? " 

" It's kinder queer," she asserted ; " of 
course them things ben't all true, though." 

" Why, of course it is true ; every word 
of it is true," I answered. 

" And that man actually walked out of 
his grave ? " 

" Of course he did ; for Jesus was God, 
you know ; and since he made us all in the 
beginning, he could certainly bring any one 
back to life." 

" It must have seemed funny," she said, 
musingly. '' I don't mind if you come in 
to-morror night, if you've got nuthin else 
to do. Only wait till the dishes is washed, 
and you won't git no cross words." 

And I acted on her advice in future, and 
had no " cross words " 



CHAPTER IV 



THE BLUE MERINO. 



(^?fHE week passed very pleasantly and 
quickly away ; but every day was a 
counterpart of the one preceding it. 
In the morning I dusted rooms, made 
beds, practiced, and sewed with Aunt Mar- 
tha ; at four o'clock I repaired to the Ilall, 
and after our early supper read to Huldah, 
who seemed to become more and more in- 
terested. Each afternoon Nelly gave us 
the pleasure of her company for five min- 
utes, if no more, to inform me that it was 
one day nearer Monday ; and to inquire 
aljout tlie Hall, its master, and Macaulay ; 
though I think she was but little interested 
in the latter, except as it related to the 
others. 



THE BLUE MERINO, 61 

The hours at the Hall were very pleasant 
to me ; and I liked them better coming in 
the afternoon, as it is always pleasanter to 
take recreation after work, and the visit 
was a delightful rest; and besides, there 
were other reasons that rendered the after- 
noon far preferable to the morning. The 
drawing that I had commenced was finished, 
and presented with my most grateful ac- 
knowledgments to Mr. Ansdale ; but for 
some reason I had always forgotten to carry 
the other one to him. 

It was Saturday afternoon. The week 
had passed at last, with all its duties and 
pleasures ; and another Sabbath was at 
hand : it seemed much more than a week 
since Richard had left us, but it was not 
quite so long, as yet. 

Supper was ended ; Aunt Martha sat 
on the piazza reading, and I had just taken 
my Bible to repair to ^he kitchen, surmis- 



62 ANSDALE HALL. 

iiig that the dishes were washed and dried, 
when Nelly came dancing up the path. 

" Saturday night, so near to Monday ! " 
she said, kissing me joyously. So near ! 
so it had seemed last Saturday night to 
Richard, with a difference. " Does this 
little lady always bear a Bible with her, 
Aunt Martha?" 

" She's a good little girl," said Aunt 
Martha, sighing; "she uses her Bible for 
others as well as herself." 

" Don't just now, Bertie ; don't be a mis- 
sionary to-night ; I want to talk to you." 

" I was only going to read to Huldah, as 
1 do every niglit." 

" Do you ? good ! I always like to pay 
a visit to Huldah, — come, come. Aunt 
Martha!" l)ut Aunt Martha preferred sit- 
ting on the piazza, and watching us, to go- 
ing ; so Nelly consented to leave her. 

Dear little Nellj ! she made herself at 



THE BLUE MERINO. 63 

home everywhere, — in the kitchen as "well 
as the parlor. 

Wishing a merry good-evening to Hul- 
dah, she seated herself on the window-sill, 
throwing her hat on the floor, to let the 
evening breeze play in her soft waving hair. 

" I like to come here, Huldah," she 
said ; " you're about the neatest bee I've 
ever seen. I tremble every time I set foot 
in your hive, and look for the dusty foot- 
prints ; " and she glanced patronizingly 
around the bright, clean kitchen. 

Huldah's vanity was flattered, and her 
wry face softened into something like a 
smile, as Nelly made this little speech. 

" It ben't over and above clean, arter all," 
she said ; " nothin' like what 'tis some 
days." 

" I'm afraid it would dazzle my eyes 
then," said Nelly. " But now, Huldah, 
you and I are both very bad, and this good 
little girl is going to read to -us ; " and she 



64 ANSDALE HALL. 

smoothed out her dress complacently, and 
settled back iii her narrow seat, all atten- 
tion. 

" I don't know as I be so powerful bad," 
said Huldah crossly. " I've knowed folks 
a sight wus." 

" Oh ! you're no worse than I," laughed 
Nelly, " but she thinks us both bad enough, 
— eh, Bertie? Never mind ; I don't deny 
your goodness, dear." 

"But I am not good," I asserted; "no 
better than you or Huldah. I don't trust 
in my own goodness at all. But the Bible 
says those wlio love Christ and belong to 
him shall 1)0 clothed in his righteousness. 
That is the difference, Nelly dear ; I am 
liis, and have liis goodness in place of my 
own. I want you and Huldah to be his 
too." 

Nelly sighed heavily, and caught at a 
branch of honeysuckle by the window. 

" Forgive me, love, I didn't mean to pain 



THE BLUE MERINO. 65 

you. Now we will hear you read, as Ions; 
as you like, and be as quiet as we can ; 
come, Bertie." 

And when I had finished the eyening's 
portion — for I was going through the Gos- 
pels with Huldah — she took the book qui- 
etly from me and read another chapter her- 
self. 

" Now let's talk about it, Bertie," she 
said; " I like to hear you talk." 

" I don't see into that," said Huldah. 
"T never knowed 'twas wicked to let folks 
look when you guv things away." 

'' Ah ! " said Nelly, " I don't obey that 
rule at all. I can't even give a penny to a 
little ragged cliild l)ut I am looking around 
to see how many notice me. Mij left hand 
always knows what my right hand does." 

I explained to Huldah, — ^_" I think it 
means that we should not give things away, 
or do good, because we want people to se^ 
us, but to please Christ." 

5 



66 ANSDALE HALL. 

" I'd like to do somcthin' to please 
him," she said musingly ; ^' well, we'll 
Bee." 

So Nelly and I loft her in a dreamy state 
over her sewing, and sauntered out tlirougli 
the front porch for a twilight stroll. Arm 
in arm wc walked up the gravel-path, and 
the grassy I'oad Ijeyond the gate, until wo 
reached the Hall, — tlie usual terminus to 
our evening walk. 

" Bertie," she said, as we turned to re- 
trace our steps, " do you know I do want to 
do riglit ? I've been tliinking of it for ever 
so long ; and I laugli at you only because I 
love you. I'd like to change places with 
you; will you? would you if you could? 
Would you be Nellie Rayden, and let mo 
personate Bertie Norton ? I would love 
Nellie Rayden so very, very dearly then, 
and Bertha too : say, Bertie." 

" I wouldn't be any one but myself," I 
answered. 



THE BLUE MERINO. 67 

" Well, I'm going to do right, Beitha ; I 
think of it every day, and when I think of 
it I always want to come straight to you in 
hopes you will say something to me : some- 
times you do, and sometimes you don't, 
but wlien you do I'm so naughty as to 
laugh at you. Haven't I made a clean 
breast ? " 

We sat down in the little arbor together 
and talked for a long half hour. It was 
not hard to talk to her then, because of her 
own confession ; she seemed to like it too, 
— the conversation, the moonlight, and 
everything else about us ; until finally she 
started up, declaring it was too late to go 
home ; that she had known it would be be- 
fore she had finislied talking, — had told 
them so at home, — and was going to spend 
the night with me. I was greatly rejoiced 
to keep her ; hardly anything pleased me 
60 much as to liave Nellie share my room, 
were it only for one night ; and now she 



68 ANSDALE HALL. 

asserted her intention of remaining over 
the Sabbath as well. 

" I was tired of waiting for Monday to 
come, and I resolved to make Saturday 
meet it by commencing the visit myself 
It's all the same to me where we are, so we 
are together, and I know you wanted me." 

That evening, after Nelly was in bed, I 
stood for two or three minutes at my win- 
dow, enjoying the moonlight ; suddenly I 
heard the kitchen door softly open, and a 
dark mufTled figure stepped out from the 
shadow. I knew in a moment it was Hul- 
dah, thougli her hood was closely drawn 
over her face, and her shawl laid aside for 
a heavy cloak. But what could Huldah 
want at tliat time, running away from her 
bc<], willi tliat great l)undlc under her arm? 
My first impulse was to speak to her, but I 
forbore, and after watching her a moment 
in lier walk toward tlie viUage,! turned and 
told Nelly wliat 1 liad seen. 



THE BLUE MERINO. 69 

" Going off to seek her fortune doubt- 
less," yawned Nelly, turning over and clos- 
ing her eyes ; but I had my own conjec- 
tures : Nelly might say what she chose, I 
knew Huldah better than she did ; so I 
stood by the window until I saw the same 
muffled figure returning through the moon- 
light, without the bundle ; then I joined 
Nelly and said no more about it. 

The next morning Nelly woke me very 
early. 

" Bertie," she said, " I am so troubled : 
I have been awake for a long time, think- 
ing, and suffering from the strokes of con- 
science. You know Mrs. McKay, don't 
you ? " she questioned, as I raised myself 
in bed to listen. " You have lieard of her ? 
she lives in that little hovel near the Hall, 
and she's desperately poor. Don't you re- 
member our remarking so often how very 
neat she keeps the premises ? Father as- 
sisted her a good deal last winter, but not 



70 AN3DALE HALL. 

lately. She has been ill and not able to 
work at all, and Saturday morning, while 
mother was away at tlie village, her little 
Katy came to the house, and I was the 
only one disengaged, so I saw her; she 
said her mother had sold her last remain- 
ing dress the niglit Ijefore to get them food, 
and unless its loss was supplied in some 
way slie would l)e obliged to stay from her 
work all day, and they had not enough 
bread for another meal. I promised faith- 
fully to deliver lier message when mother 
returned, but forgot it entirely." 
" What shall you do ? " 
" I'm fearfully perplexed to know." 
'* Go around there after breakfast." 
" I believe Til go if you'll go with me." 
I assented, and thus pacified she turned 
over and resumed her broken slumbers. 

I tliought Huldah looked unusually bright 
that morning as she went about her duties ; 
and something more strange than all else 



THE BLUE MERINO. 71 

struck my vision. Her favorite dress of 
blue merino, wliich had been displayed 
every Sabbath, both summer and winter, 
for years, was missing, and its place sup- 
plied by a brown calico, not half so pretty 
in my eyes, and, I was sure, not in hers. 

" Where's your merino, Huldah ? " I 
questioned. 

" That 'ere mereny's done pretty good 
service ; it's about time for it to be laid on 
the shelf," she muttered. 

" Is it getting too warm?" I asked, — an 
inquiry I had often made before, and al- 
ways received a negative answer. 

"I don't know but it be," she said 
shortly. 

So I ceased my comments, and prepared 
to accompany Nelly, who was already 
dressed for her tardy errand of mercy, and 
impatient to start. She intended to stop 
at Mrs. ^IcKay's first, learn all the particu- 
lars, and their most immediate wants, and 



72 ANSDALE HALL. 

then return home for the means to relievo 
them. 

So we started on our walk, precisely the 
same as that of the night before, — up by the 
way of the Hall. Mr. Ansdale was stand- 
ing by the gate as we passed, talking to a 
ragged little urchin, who, with his hands in 
his pockets, stood looking up at his ques- 
tioner in grave astonishment. I do not 
know what lie was saying to the child, but 
he gave me a pleasant " Good-morning, 
Bertie," as we passed, and Nelly a graceful 
bow. 

" See ! " cried my little fairy, glancing 
back over lier shoulder ; " he is taking 
that little good-for-naught into the Hall. 
I wisli I were in his place, — tlie little boy's, 
I mean." 

"Oh, Nelly I wliat an idea!" 

" I don't l)clicvc tilings are so bad, after 
all," she said, as we neared the little cot- 
tage ; " there is Madame McKay herself in 



THE BLUE MERINO. 73 

a substantial blue merino, washing up the 
breakfast-dishes ; I can see her through 
the window." 

" Huldah's blue merino ! " I cried as 
Nelly opened the door. 

" Mrs. McKay," said Nelly frankly, " I'm 
so sorry ; Katy came yesterday and told 
me what trouble you were in, but I entirely 
forgot to mention it to mamma." 

" Yes, miss ; it's niver matter, miss," she 
said, making a profound courtesy ; " ye's 
very kind, but there's folks kinder. While 
the children and me was cryin' togither in 
the night, a big pack o' does and money 
rolled inter the winder, and drapped onto 
the carpet." 

At which words I glanced down, wonder- 
ing if the " carpet " served its purpose only 
in the night-time, and where she had tucked 
it at present ; but was obliged to conclude 
that it existed only in her imagination. 

" Shure, miss, I jumped from me sate, an 



74 ANSDALE HALL. 

I looked beyaiit the road wid me two eyes, 
an I see summat black moviu' down l:y the 
flail, an for the life o' me I never knowed 
since who me an the childen is to be blessin' 
for the garmints." 

" I wonldn't bless any one, then," I said ; 
" leave that to God." 

" Shiire I'm tliinkin' you're in the right, 
miss," she replied, glancing at me for the 
first time. " 'Twas a kind dade, and a 
merciful." 

" I'm very glad you obtained help, Mrs. 
McKay," said Nelly brightly ; " and if 
there is anything else you have need of, 
you must not fail to ask me for it. I'll not 
forget again." 

" I believe ye, miss ; young folks will be 
young folks, and it's mesel wud wish it. 
Good-day, miss." 

" Nelly ! " I cried as we reached the road 
once more, " do you know that is Huldah'a 
precious blue merino ? " 



THE BLUE MERINO. 75 

" So it is ! I hadn't tliouglit of it. Isn't 
she good ? " said Nelly lightly ; " it was a 
grand idea." 

In our reading that evening, after the 
chapter was finished, Huldah asked me a 
question. 

" Bertha," she said, " I s'pose if folks 
gives a good heap o' things away, without 
anybody's knowin' on't, they's putty sure 
of goin' to heaven, ben't they ? " 

" Why no, Huldah," I answered earnest- 
ly ; " we can none of us go to heaven for 
anything we have done ; we must not trust 
to that at all. Even the best people can 
not do that." 

" Then how will we ever git to it ? " she 
asked. 

" Because Jesus died for us, and we 
have given ourselves to Iiim." 

Huldah sighed and looked down at the 
brown calico. " Then there ain't nary bit 



76 ANSDALE HALL. 

of use in beiii' good an givin' up Uiings," 
she said. 

" Those who love Jesus more than any- 
thing else in the world, Huldah, should be 
willing to give up anything for him, just to 
please him. They will have more happi- 
ness in return than they ever had without 
him ; and Christ says, * If ye love me, keep 
my commandments.' Will you give up 
your own works and come to him, Hul- 
dah ? " 

But Huldah sighed and turned away. 




CHAPTER T. 

MT VISIT. 

ONDAY morning, at ten o'clock pre- 
(1;-}jIL cisely, Mrs. Winsley arrived. By 
Q)\f^ that time I felt decidedly weary, as 
I had been all the morning attend- 
ing to so many self-imposed duties, as Nelly 
called them. But Aunt Martha had one of 
her headaches; and Huldah — brooding 
over the loss of her blue merino, which 
had gone " all for no account " as she said — 
was decidedly cross, and would render me 
no assistance in putting the rooms in or- 
der. There was an additional amount of 
tliat work to do ; for the spare room, which 
was only used on special occasion?, and 
kept closely shut up the rest of the time, 

77 



78 ANSDALE HALL. 

had to be aired, swept, and dusted, for the 
accommodation of Aunt Martha's visitor 
Then there were fresh cake and pies to 
make and bake, for Aunt Martha did not 
wish them done on Saturday, so long be- 
fore Mrs. Winsley's arrival ; and it was 
" wash day," and Huldah totally unavail- 
able. Nelly, pitying my misery, as she 
chose to call it, lent her dainty fingers for 
my assistance ; but they were so little used 
to work tliat they were not of much ser- 
vice, and I could only laugh at her. 

At iQw o'clock Mrs. Winsley's carriage 
drove up, surprising me in my large calico 
apron, profusely sprinkled with flour, with 
half-completed huckleberry pies before me ; 
while Nelly, in a somewliat similar cos- 
tume, was vainly endeavoring to roll out 
some ginger-snaps, that would stick to the 
pin. 

" Flour, Nelly I " I whi-pored in great 
friendliness, for I saw Huldah looking quiz- 



MY VISIT 79 

zicallj at her. " Don't be afraid of the 
flour." 

" I don't think I need," she said, glanc- 
ing dubiously at her powdered apron. 
"Oh! there's the carriage with Mrs. Wins- 
ley, I declare! Some people, — ah! ex- 
cuse me. Miss Bertha, I'm speaking of a 
mutual friend, you know, — some people 
don't pretend to keep fashionable hours." 

" Please go to the door, Huldah," I ven- 
tured. 

" I shan't do no sech thing," she assert- 
ed. " Shan't leave my clothes for nobody." 

^' I will go ! " I cried. '' It is only Mrs. 
Winsley, and she has seen me this way a 
great many times before, so I don't care for 
her ; " and I rushed, apron and all, through 
the passage-way. 

Mrs. Winsley was there truly, and 
greeted me very kindly; but when Aunt 
Martha came — headache notwithstanding 
— to meet her, and I was about to close 



80 ANSDALE HALL. 

the door, I saw another figure ascending 
tlie steps. Mr. Ansdalc ! was it possible ? 
and 1 in my great powdered apron ! 

" Ah ! Bertie," he said, very pleasantly, 
" I am glad to see you are not afraid of 
making yourself useful. I'll not detaiu 
you ; but, knowing that I should not see 
you else to-day, I have come to enlist you 
in a good cause." 

" Won't you please come in, Mr. Ans- 
dale ? " 

" No, no, Bertie, I don't want to keep 
you from your duty ; sit down licre a mo- 
ment and I will tell you what I wisli." So, 
j)Owdered apron and all, I seated myself by 
his side. 

" Did you notice my little friend of yes- 
terday morning? " he asked; "wasn't he 
a briglit little fellow?" 

"I should think so, sir; I didn't notice 
him particularly." 

"Then I shall have to answer for him; 



MT VISIT. 81 

he 18 very intelligent, but very ignorant. 
How long are you going tc remain from 
home ? " 

" About a week, sir." 

"Have you a mind to do a good deed 
on your return, Bertie ? ' Day after day 
filled up with blessed toil,' you know. 
Will you let him come here for an hour 
every day, if Aunt Martha is willing, and 
teach him yourself? If so, I will fill your 
place until you return ; but you will do 
better than I. His mother is very poor, 
but honest, and what she has taught him 
has been good ; but it is little ; she is very 
ignorant herself. It is a good work, Ber- 
tie, and he is anxious to learn. Will you 
doit?" 

" Oh ! yes, sir, 1 am sure Aunt Martha 
can't object ; I shall be very glad." 

" Thank you, dear," he said ; " I wanted 
to know, as I have some plans to arrange. 



82 ANSDALE HALL. 

Good-morning. You will come to me to- 
morrow ? " 

" Yes, Mr. Ansdale." 

" And bring your friend Miss Rayden, if 
she likes." 

" I am sure she would be pleased to go, 
sir." 

"Then good-bye, Bertie." He shook 
hands with me, and I turned toward the 
kitchen. Nelly met me half-way. 

" What have you been doing ? " she cried, 
in a fever of curiosity. 

" Talking with Mr. Ansdale." 

Nelly looked inquiringly at my apron. 

" Yes, I kept it on, Nelly. He wants 
me to bring you to the Hall." 

Nelly clapped her hands. 

" Did you tell him I would be charmed, 
enraptured, delighted ? " 

" Simply pleased, Nelly." 

" 1 will tell him the rest : now come 



MT VISIT. 83 

and finish your pies ; we must be off before 
the sun is too hot." 

Nevertheless, it was decidedly warm be- 
fore all the farewells were said, and we on 
our way. Nelly could think of nothing 
but the Hall, and would talk of nothing 
else ; it was very hard for her to wait until 
the next afternoon for her expectations to 
be gratified. She was very impatient, and 
persuaded me to go half an hour before my 
usual time. She amused me greatly when 
she was actually there ; for she was scarcely 
still a moment, but, after trying a few 
pages of Macaulay, she left us, and flitted 
noiselessly around the library, hither and 
thither, — tried all the window-seats, ex- 
amined all the paintings, and read the titles 
on the books. When we had finished, Mr. 
Ansdale said to her, — 

''1 am afraid you have not enjoyed your- 
self, Miss Nelly, and will be reluctant to 
try Ansdale Hall again." 



84 ANSDALE HALL. 

"Oh! no, Mr. Aiisdalc," she cried; 
" please invite me again ; I am not like 
that stndions little mouse : I prefer motion 
to Macaulay, and paintings to learned dis- 
cussions. The very consciousness of being 
in Ansdale Hall is itself a happiness." 

So she had a smiling invitation to repeat 
her visit ; and after that Nelly accom- 
panied me every day. In the course of a 
day or two she became so much at home 
that slie begged permission to leave the 
library during " that tedious Macaulay-les- 
son," and wander around tlic otlicr parts 
of tlie house, making acquaintance with all 
points of interest ; and so she became 
quite familiar with all the ins and outs of 
the old Hall, wliilc my knowledge was 
j)rin('ipally confined to the lil)rary. 

" Bertie," she said to me, as we were re- 
turning on Saturday afternoon, "it's alto- 
gether the dearest old house that I have 



MT VISIT. 85 

ever seea ; if I could only live there 1 
shouldn't have another thing to ask for." 

" I should have another thing to ask for 
you still," I said. 

•' Bertie," she continued, " you should 
see the parlors ; they are charming ! Of 
course I have not ventured into any of the 
private rooms. Do you know Mr. Ans- 
dale is quite an artist ? A splendid one, I 
should call him. There is a portrait of his 
wife ; she must have been lovely, Bertie. 
He painted it from memory after her 
death ; Rachel, the housekeeper, told me 
so." 

" I should love to see it, Nelly," I an- 
swered ; " but I haven't so much spare 
time at tlie Hall as you." 

So Nelly laughed, and said no more 
about the portrait, or her discoveries at the 
Hall, that evening. 

The next day was the Sabbath, and ex- 
cessively warm ; so, after morning service, 



86 ANSDALE HALL. 

as Laura's room was decidedly the coolest 
in tlie house, she invited Nelly and me to 
bring our books and sit with her. We 
found her reclining on the sofa, in a loose 
wrapper, with a book carefully laid by her 
side. 

'* What are you reading, Bertha ? " she 
asked, as I seated myself in her easy rock- 
ing-chair. 

" Hymns, Laura." 

" Oh ! are you not fond of light reading?" 

" She doesn't like anything but Macaulay 
and hymns," said Nelly slyly. 

'' Ah ! indeed ! do you read Macaulay, 
Bertha?" 

" That is lier reading with Mr. Ansdale," 
said Nelly, answering for me. 

" An excellent plan ; he has very good 
judgment, I should say. But, Bertha, my 
love, I want you to do a deed of kindness. 
Nelly tells me you are such a fine reader, 
and 1 am going to ask if you would be will- 



MT VISIT. 87 

i/ig to read to me ; I would not trouble you, 
but my eyes have pained me so to-day that 
I can scarcely see ; I am paying the penal- 
ty for reading so much lately. Here is one 
of Dickens's latest works, which I have 
never read, and am impatient to com- 
mence ; I don't doubt you would find this 
interesting." 

" What ! read Dickens on Sunday ! " I 
thought : " is that what she means ? Even 
Aunt Martha would never do anything so 
openly wrong as that." 

" Don't you like him ? " she questioned 
blandly ; " I thought all young people did." 

"I have never read a page of his works," 
I answered shortly. 

" Then liere is a fine opportunity for you 
to begin," she laughed ; " you see I am 
very selfish this afternoon, but the heat 
must furnish my excuse. Don't be timid, 
dear, we will bo partial critics ; " and she 
smileil languidly and handed me the vol- 



88 ANSDALE HALL. 

ume. I took it and turned over the leaves 
abstractedly, without thinking wliat I was 
doing. 

" I wouldn't read, Bertie, if I didn't 
want to," said Nelly, who was wandering 
around from one window to another in 
search of a breath of air. *' I should think 
you might see, Laura, that she doesn't feel 
like it, this warm weather ; your eyes have 
always served your jmrpose before." 

" No, she is obliging, and she knows I 
want her to," said Laura coaxingly. 

There was a great struggle going on in 
my heart ; I had not strength in myself to 
refuse, and I did not pray for more. 

" Come, dear, I have not read any, so 
you may l)Ogin with the first chapter, and 
we will have a delightful afternoon, not- 
withstanding tlie heat." 

There was a long silencf. ; my heart beat 
violently, and my cheeks fluslied and 
burned. 



MY VISIT. 89 

" Are you not well ? " said Laura list- 
lessly ; and then I raised the book and 
read, in choking, trembling tones, the first 
page ; while Richard's voice seemed to say 
to me continually, — '' Stand by your col- 
ors ! " After the first page my voice grew 
clearer, and I read several chapters to at- 
tentive listeners. At length Laura fell 
asleep, and Nelly took the book from me 
and led me back to our own room ; then, 
throwing herself on her own little bed, she 
said, " Now I am going to continue the 
story ; I don't believe you care to read, so 
you may go back to the hymns and the 
sofa." 

One week ago I would have entreated 
Nelly not to read that book on the Sab- 
bath ; now what right had I to say any- 
thing about it ? 

I sighed heavily, and took up my little 
hymn-book, but the hymns seemed to pain 



90 ANSDALE HALL. 

mo now, so I closed my eyes, and after a 
long time fell asleep. 

When I opened them Nelly was missing, 
and I heard voices in the entry ; it was 
Lanra's that I first distinguished : — 

*' I was confident that slie would do it, 
but you insisted so provokingly that you 
knew she would not that I was determined 
to prove her. You see I was right." 

" I think you carried it entirely too far," 
said Nelly, — " beyond the bounds of polite- 
ness ; you could have readily seen that she 
was very unwilling, but you would persist. 
I am very sorry ; — sorry for myself, for I 
can't trust her as I did before. It was un- 
kind in you." 

" I don't care ; I like consistency, — the 
appearance of it, at least," said Laura. 

I slipped from the sofa, and made my 
way from a side door down the back stair- 
case, and out into tlie garden. I felt very, 
very unhappy. 1 had been ashamed of my 



MT VISIT. 91 

Saviour, deserted my colors, lost my iuflu- 
eiice with Nelly. I went out into the little 
summer-house, and wept, and prayed for 
forgiveness ; prayed to be restored te 
favor. Then as I rose from my knees a 
sudden thought came to me : I would go to 
the Hall, tell Mr. Ansdale all, and ask his 
advice. As I went in for my hat, Nelly 
met me. 

" Where are you going, Bertie ? " she 
said lightly. " I have been looking all 
about for you." 

I turned my head away, and answered 
briefly, " I am going to the Hall for a little 
while." 

*' What ! not to give an account of your- 
self? " slie asked. " Mr. Ansdale may not 
approve." 

I burst into tears, and, catching up my 
hat, turned from her, and flew down-stairs 
and into the garden, where I stopped for 
a moment to dry my tears, before seeking 



92 ANSDALE HALL. 

Mr. Ansdale. As I drew near the Hall, I 
saw him staiidhig in the gate-way dismiss- 
ing his little proteg(^, and for a moment, 
my heart failed me ; but he held out his 
hand so cordially that I would not have re- 
treated if I could have done so. There- 
fore, at his wish, when I had confessed th.at 
I had sometliing to tell liim, I followed 
him into the library, and related my story. 

" I am sorry for you, Bertie dear," he 
said ; " you have not only done very wrong, 
and denied your Master, Imt you have will- 
fully thrown away the influence for good, 
or a portion of it, that God had given you." 

" Oh, Mr. Ansdale ! can't you say some- 
thing to comfort me ? " I asked. " I think 
God has forcijiven me." 

" I don't doubt it, Bertie," lie answered. 
" He is ever ready to receive the wanderer 
wlio will return to his arms. Try to j)lease 
him in future, Bertie. God is always giv- 
ing us means to gloiify him ; lot us im- 



MT VISIT. 93 

prove them ;" and he put his arms around 
me, wiped away my tears, and kissed my 
forehead. 

"• Now go home," he said, " and tell Miss 
llayden and Nelly how sorry you are ; 
come for your lesson to-morrow afternoon ; 
and on Tuesday I shall send you your 
scholar, if we live until then." So I prom- 
ised to do as he wished. 

I walked home quietly, and met them 
hoth as though nothing unusual had oc- 
curred, but after Nelly had made all her 
inquiries, I told them that I was very, 
very sorry for what I had done, and that I 
hoped not to do so again. 

Laura laughed, but Nelly kissed me. 
" We won't think anything of it, dear," 
slie said ; '• every one does wrong some- 
times." 

" Ah ! but every one shouldn't, Nelly," I 
said, and Nelly turned away. 



CHAPTER VI. 

JACK. 

^P|ULDAH, will you please set Aunt 
rij Martha's room to rights this morii- 
''t^ ing ? she has a headache, and I have 
the parlors to arrange, books to find, 
and so much to do before nine o'clock ! " 
It was early Tuesday morning, and Hulr 
dah, broom in hand, was sweeping the front 
piazza. 

" "What on arth's goin' to happen at nine 
o'clock ? " she asked, stopping midway, and 
gazing at me. 

" Why, Mr. Ansdale is going to bring a 
little boy liero to mc," I answered,'' and I 
want to be ready for him." 

" And wliat be you goin' to do to him ? " 

04 



JACK, 96 

she asked, aghast ; " I an't goiu' to have 
no boys around my house ; so there's aii 
end on't. You kin forgit that, sooner'n 
you thought on't." 

" But I want to teach him, Huldah ; he's 
a poor ignorant little boy." 

" I think some folks better larn more 
themselves, 'fore they goes to larnin' other 
folks." 

" Well, Huldah, I can teach him the lit- 
tle I know, can't I ? Aunt Martha is will- 
ing ; I suppose it will be annoying to you ; 
but God is pleased to have us give up our 
own wills to others, Huldah." 

" You kin take that ere to hum," said 
Huldah ; " why an't you so mighty spry to 
give up your'n ? " 

" I am not the only one concerned, you 
know," I answered. 

" I kinder guess you an't," said Huldah 
dryly, drawing down the corners of her 
mouth ; '• well, I s'pose you kin have your 



96 ANBDALE HALL. 

way, it" you're sot on it. But lock a here, 
Bertha," and Huldah paused and looked at 
mc over her broom-handle, '* I don't see no 
sense in gittin' put under all the time, if 
}0u can't get to heaven for't arter all." 

" Why, Huldah," said I, ''what makes 
you insist on doing some great thing, to be 
saved, wlicn Jesus has done everything for 
you, and heaven is free ? I have a little 
liynm I want to give to you ; it begins, — 

• Nothing either great or Binall 
Remains for me to do ; 
Jesus did it, did it all, 
Long, long ago.' " 

" I don't care a fig for your hymns an' 
Bongs," she said quite vehemently, knock- 
ing the dust from her broom ; "I an't no 
notion 'or sittin' down tlic corner, and hold- 
in' my hands, while salvation comes to me: 
'tain't at all a likely notion ; folks don't 
pick up money in the road. Most like they 
works their fingers to the bone for't." 



JACK. 97 

" I can't help that, Huldah ; Jesus has 
done all the working: can't you believe 
it?" 

" Law sakes, Bertha ! " she answered 
testily ; '' what good's that goin' to do me ? 
I'm bad enough." 

" You mustn't expect to be good of your- 
self, Huldah. You can never become fit 
to enter heaven by your own good works." 

" How then ? " she asked, impatiently. 

" If you give up trying by yourself, and 
throw yourself on his love and mercy for 
salvation, he will not cast you out ; he will 
clothe you in his own righteousness." 

'' I can't make no head or tail out of it," 
said Huldah. 

" When Jesus died on the cross, Huldah, 
when the cruel people spit in his face, and 
beat him, when they laughed at him and 
mocked his sufferings, and when he cried 
out in agony, — it was for us, for you, that 



98 ANSDALR HALL. 

you might be saved. What is all you can 
do after that, Huldah? Isn't that enough ? " 

"Did they do all that? " she said, with 
a vainly suppressed sob, and dashing a tear 
away ; then, by way of apology, she mut- 
tered something about "them pesky flies." 
" Well, Bertha, you might about a'made 
that bed while you've been standin' round, 
but I s'pose I kin make it, if you're sot on 
it." 

"Thank you, Huldah." 

"I don't want no tlianks. I am tryin' to 
be good," she said. 

" But, Huldah, Jesus wants you to do 
right ; only do it to please him, not to win 
heaven." 

Presently, as I was dusting the parlors, 
I heard Aunt Martha's voice calling me 
from the little sitting-room. 

" Yes, auntie," I answered, crossing the 
hall, and appearing in the doorway, with 
my duster, " did you want me ? " 



JACK. 99 

" How is this, dear ? " she said anx- 
iously, bending forward in her chaii ; " I 
gave my permission to your teaching a little 
boy; but didn't you understand me? I 
never meant that you should have anything 
like a scliooL Huldah says you are ex- 
pecting to teach school here. I'm sorry to 
disappoint you, dear ; but really I could 
not have it ; you know my head is so bad 
all the time, and the noise would be dis- 
tressing." 

" Auntie, you and Huldah have made a 
great mistake ; you understood me correctly 
in the first place ; it is only one little boy." 

" Then that is all right, dear," said Aunt 
Martha, pressing licr head and leaning back 
in her chair ; " hadn't you better tell Hul- 
dah so ? She is greatly troubled, and anx- 
ious to please you; she said you expected to 
spend al] the morning in dusting the par- 
lors and hunting for old school-books. I 






^^ 



100 ANSDALE HALL. 

feel greatly relieved ; " and Aunt Mariha 
Biglied and closed her eyes. 

" Is your liead too bad to read, auntie ? " 

" Yes, I had rather think now," she re- 
plied. 

So I left her, discharged my duty to Hul- 
dah, much to the relief of the latter, and 
finislied the parlors before nine o'clock. 
As the clock struck the hour, I heard the 
click of the gate-latch. Straightening a 
chair here, and smoothing a tidy there, I 
passed out of the parlor to the front door. 
No Mr. Ansdale was in sight ; l)ut, march- 
ing in a most independent manner up the 
gravel-walk, appeared my little pupil in 
prospective, holding up his head like a very 
gentleman, and keeping his hands firmly 
in his pockets. 

*' Wlierc's Mr. Ansdale ? " I asked. 

The little fellow took off his cap. " Well, 
ma'am," lie answered, " see'n as I don't 
know who he be, can't tell where he be." 



JACK, 101 

" Why ! the gentleman who was to come 
with you." 

" Oh ! yes, ma'am ; he's took sick, sent 
his love to you, and wants you to come an 
see him." 

" Is he very sick ? " 

" No, ma'am, not partic'lar." 

" Will you come in and take your les- 
son ? " 

" Don't care if I do ; " and he mounted 
the piazza and stood by my side. 

" Can you read ? " I continued. 

" That's 'cordin' as you call it ; not 
mighty nice." 

" What's your name ? " 

" Jack Peters ; what's yours ? " asked tho 
child. 

" Miss Norton. Have you any brothers 
and sisters ? " 

" No, ma'am ; we han't nothin' in the 
world but mother and me, two chairs, two 
plates, two knives, forks, and spoons, a bed, 



102 ANSDALE HALL. 

and an old box ; that's all there is of as ;** 
and his eyes twinkled merrily. 

" How ol(^ are you ? " 

" Nine, goin' on ten. How old be you ? " 

" You may come in, Jack," I answered, 
rather disappointed in my pupil; "you 
may come into the house, and I will see 
what I can teach you." 

He folded his hands demurely behind 
him. " That gentleman said I was to wipe 
my feet," he said, hesitatingly. 

1 pointed to the door-mat, and then, quite 
satitified at having obeyed the directions of 
liis benefactor, he consented to follow. He 
Rccmcd to have already acquired a strong 
affection for Mr. Ansdale, and I wondered 
if I could ever gain such an influence over 
liim as had this acquaintance of a few days ; 
but Mr. Ansdale could influence any one 
as he chose, and it would always be for 
good. 

''Now, Jack," I commenced, when we 



JACK. 103 

irere snugly seated in my little room, 
" what has Mr. Ansdale taught you ? '^ 

" I dun'nOj" he said, rubbing his bump 
of memory into action ; " s'pose you tell 
me ; guess you know better'n I." 

" But, Jack," I said, '' you should re- 
member ; he told you about God, didn't he ? 
Did he tell you what God did for you ? '^ 

" Made me," said he doubtfully. 

" Yes, and what else did he make ? " 

"Made everything," he said ; " trees, I 
s'pose, and flowers, and you ; them bright 
little things up in the sky too ; " and he 
gave me a most sagacious glance from his 
bright, roving eyes. 

" What are those bright little things up 
in the sky ? " I asked with a smile, open- 
ing my Bible to begin the morning's lesson. 

" He said they was 'arths like this. I 
d'pose that's the reason why they shines at 
night and not all day, — 'cause they don't 
light the lamps up there till night, just 



104 ANSDALE HALL. 

when we light ourii on this 'arth ; " and he 
looked gravely from my open window. 
" Sometimes tliey lights the lamps on one 
on 'em afore the otiiers ; then that shines up 
first." 

I smiled at the novel idea, and he seem- 
ed greatly pleased with his own solution of 
the mystery. 

" But wliat else did God do for you, 
Jack ? " I asked. 

He shook his head doubtfully. 

" Didn't he send liis blessed Son to die 
for you ? " 

" J?e said so ; why ? " asked the boy. 

" Why did he do it ? " 

"Yes." 

" Wliy, don't you know you have been a 
very bad boy all your life ? " 

" No badder 'n other boys," he answered 
with a frown, kicking his toes against the 
Bide of my chair. 

" No matter about other boys ; you have 



JACK. 105 

been naughty very often j so had every one 
in this world ; so God was displeased with 
them, and when they died in their sins 
he didn't think it right to take them to his 
pure heaven : would you ? " 

He looked at me intently : " Why didn't 
they be good, then ? " 

" They had been bad, and there was noth- 
ing to wash away their sin ; and still they 
kept sinning ; but God was very patient 
with them, with us, you and me, Jack ; and 
he sent his only Son to this earth, who 
gave his blood to wash the sin away." 

Jack looked very thoughtful. 

" How long did he stay ? " he asked. 

" Thirty-three years." 

" And what did he do all the time ? " he 
asked. " Were the people very glad to 
see him when he came to make 'em good ? " 

" They hated and killed him, Jack," I 
answered. 



106 ANSDALE HALL. 

"Did they kill him too?" he said; "1 
wouldn't if rd been alive." 

" But you make him feel almost as badly, 
Jack, — just as badly as you can, — when 
you don't love him." 

" Do I ? then I'll love him right oflf," ho 
answered eagerly. 

" I hope very much that you will, Jack. 
Now I'm going to read to you about him ; 
listen ; " and I read of his lowly birth 
at Bethlehem, and the bright star that 
heralded it. 

" Wasn't he good ? " he said, as I closed 
the book and laid it aside ; and he seemed 
to take very little interest in any other les- 
sons that morning. 

But I had already begun to love my little 
pupil ; I ha<l taken a deep interest in him, 
which increased from that day forth. The 
affection seemed to be reciprocated, and 
Jack tried to show his love in every imag- 
mable way. Every day thenceforth my lit- 



JACK. 107 

fle table was adorned with £. most fragrant 
bunch of wild flowers, fresh every morning, 
— field-daisies and clover, buttercups and 
wild roses, with occasionally hollyhocks 
from his mother's little dooryard. The 
most tempting apples he could pick up on 
his way were laid as friendship's offering at 
my feet ; and I never left the house that I 
did not meet him, by some incomprehensi- 
ble means, just around the corner, hovering 
between the Hall and the cottage. 

Nelly laughed at us both, but I did not 
care for that. I encouraged Jack's affec- 
tion to the utmost of my ability ; while Mr. 
Ansdale, and Aunt Martha too, in her gen- 
tle manner, encouraged me. I did not 
need much incitement, however. 

Mr. Ansdale, as Jack had told me, was 
quite ill, and I felt that I ought to go that 
afternoon to see him. I found him with a 
severe nervous headache, which continued 
for two or three days. Our Macaulay-lefr 



108 ANSDALE HALL. 

sons were forthwith dropped, and not re- 
sumed again, as school-duties claimed my 
attention. Dear Aunt Martha became 
troubled lest mj time was too fully taken 
up. 

" Bertie, love," she said one afternoon, 
*' are you sure that all these teachings and 
talkings are not wearying you too much, 
and trying your patience ? " 

We were sitting together on the piazza, 
slie with her knitting-work, and I with a 
slate, setting a copy for Jack. 

" Quite sure, auntie," I answered ; " you 
know I'm young, and little things don't tire 
me." 

" Very true," said Aunt Martha with a 
deep sigh, *' but everything tires me ; I 
have to sit all day long in my chair : if 
I move tbout I have a headache in conse- 
quence ; I can't do anything." 

" I tliink you do a great deal, Aunt Mar- 
tha." 



JACK, 109 

" I can't do any good, child ; I have been 
fretful and repining, I know ; but now that 
I'm beginning to love my Saviour — yes, I 
am, Bertie dear," she said, gently stroking 
my hair as I looked up into her face ; " yes, 
I have found my Saviour, Bertie — I feel 
as if I want to work for him. I have been 
doing wrong all my life, and now I want 
to do right, and I find I must sit still ; I 
am bound." 

" Who has bound you, auntie ? " I asked. 

" Why, God, darling ; I suppose I am 
feeling very wrong." 

" He wants you to serve him in this way, 
auntie. This is your work ; don't you re- 
member the little hymn, — 

* More careful than to serve thee much. 
To please thee perfectly * ? 

" That's what you must do, auntie." 

"Please thee perfectly," she repeated: 
" you are right, Bertie; I will not complain, 
but I think still that I might have some 



lie ANSDALE HALL. 

little child come to mc, just as ycu are do- 
ing, dear, and teach him." 

So she might, I thouglit ; I might even 
give her Jack, for she almost loved him al- 
ready ; but then I could not bear to part 
with him. She would soon learn to love 
another, and Jack was so devoted to me ; 
but I glanced over the various ragged 
groups to be found in our village, and I 
was conscious that it would require patient, 
wearisome labor on Aunt Martha's part to 
bring any one of tliem to a state of tolerable 
obedience ; while Jack was very good and 
dutiful already, and I was much more 
able to struggle with obstacles than Aunt 
Martha. Still, I was unwilling to relin- 
quish my little scholar. 

" Well, dear, you will find one, will you ?" 
inquired Aunt Martha: '* how pleasant it 
would be if I could take Jack, and let you 
find one for yourself ! but I'll not ask you 
to give him up." 



JACK. Ill 

1 made no answer, but laid aside the 
slate with its rows of rounded characters, 
and sighed. 

Just then the object of our thoughts ap- 
peared at the gate, with a large bouquet of 
golden-rod and sunflowers, and held them 
triumphantly forward as he rushed toward 
us. 

" Miss Bertha ! Miss Bertha ! " he cried. 

" Yes, dear." 

"The hollyhocks is all gone, but I 
bringed you these." 

" Thank you for bringing them, Jack ; 
they are very pretty," I said sadly. " Now 
sit here and talk with Aunt Martha awhile, 
and she will tell you the reason that I'm 
not going to teach you any more." And I 
left them there on the steps, and turned 
away, witli Jack's great wondering eyes 
fastened on me in grieved surprise ; and 
I crushed the flowers in my hand, and sti- 
fled a sob, as I went up to my little room. 



CHAPTER VIL 

JSELLTS PROMISE, 

^fJCTOl^ER was fast drawing toward its 

^^ close, and winter was unquestionably 
^^I approaching. Everjtliing kept tell- 
ing me that. I did not like winter ; 
the very birds that I loved so dearly seemed 
to warble in ray ear, as they spread their 
wings for flight, — "Summer has passed 
away, Bertie;" and every rustling leaf as 
it dropped to the ground sliivered and said, 
— "Cold, cold!" Yes, it ivas cold, and 
brown, and wintry ; and the fire in oiir lit- 
tle sitting-room had been kindled every 
day for a week, altliougli I had begged 
Aunt Martlia to defer tliat unmistakable 
sign of winter as long as possible, and 
119 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 113 

warm herself by sitting in the sunshine: 
but she loved winter, and I finally ceased 
my entreaties, and studied on the sunny 
end of the piazza every afternoon, until 
the cold winds absolutely drove me to the 
sitting-room and the fire. 

Nelly was not so fastidious as I. Every 
day, with her books, she begged a welcome 
to the little rocking-chair by our bright 
fireside, and every day she repeated a 
dozen times, — " After all, winter is pleas- 
ant, Bertie," though at every repetition 1 
would smile sadly and shake my head, 
with a very dubious air. 

" You ought to be glad, Bertie," said 
Aunt Martha one day, " for winter will 
bring Richie." 

So I consoled myself, as Richie had en- 
deavored to do two months before, with 
the thought of Christmas, and found my 
prospects becoming brighter ; while Nelly 
talked of skating and sleigh-rides, Christ- 

8 



114 AXSDALE HALL. 

mas dinners and sociables, until she fairly 
imagined winter had already arrived. 

It was a bright Tuesday afternoon ; so 
briglit and warm that I had ventured to 
draw back IVom the fire and raise the win- 
dow a little, — for Aunt Martha, strength- 
ened l)y the bracing air, had set off to 
walk to the post-ofBce, — and Nelly and I 
were studying our lessons together, in an- 
ticipation of a visit to the Hall when they 
should be finished. Nelly was very rest- 
less, however, and not much inclined to 
apply lierself to her book. 

" Bertie," slie said suddenly, " don't you 
remember Mr. Ansdale promised to show 
us those curious old paintings to-day ? I 
am so eager to see them ; I am very fond 
of paintings, or anything of the kind. 
Bertie, don't you think I might make au 
artist?" 

*' With application I don't doubt you 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 115 

could, NeLy," I said, without raising m^ 
eyes from my book. 

" With application, of course, dear ; and 
I know you think I will never gain that, 
but I have it for some things. You think 
that I leave everything after one or two 
trials, and never think of anything long, 
but it is not so ; you are all wrong. I sup- 
pose you think I have forgotten all my 
good resolutions of last summer, but I 
have not ; I often think of them, and I am 
sure if I should try I might be an artist, 
application and all." 

And Nelly pushed back the soft mass of 
hair from her forehead, and gazed into the 
fire with a flushed face and dreamy eye, 
like a veritable artist already, or a beauti- 
ful study for the pencil of art. 

" Are you laughing at me, Bertie ? " and 
she looked up quickly, with a world of mis- 
chief in her sunny eyes. " I'll laugh at you 
the next time you talk of being a mission- 



116 ANSDALE HALL. 

ary, and toll you you never could luve the 
application. I'll tell Richie, and make him 
laugh at you too." 

" I wouldn't laugh at you for the world, 
Nelly dear," I answered, closing my hook. 
" I hope you may he as great a painter as 
ever this country or any other has pro- 
duced, if you like. I think you draw 
beautifully already ; I never expect to 
come up to you : and I sliall hope to see 
you a Rosa Bonheur, or even greater. Now 
are you satisfied, Nelly ? " 

" What a pretty speech, to be sure ! I 
didn't ask for all that encouragement ; " 
and Nelly lauglied merrily, and once more 
hent over her book ; while I sat watching 
her, until the door opened and Aunt Mar- 
tha appeared. 

" Only one letter, dear," she said ; " one 
letter, from Richard to you ; " and she 
handed me the brown envelope containing 
one of those letters which were worth fifty 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 117 

others to me, and then seated herself in 
her easy-chair waiting for rae to read it 
while Nelly, too pre-occupied to study 
leaned back dreamily in her corner, fesh 
ioning marvelous pictures in her brain 
which were some day to be laid on canvas 
Richard's letter was frank and affection 
ate, as his letters always were ; but it was 
somewhat different from the others too. 
" They are having a great religious revival 
in school," he wrote, ^' and many of the 
fellows are very serious about it ; there 
were twenty admitted into the church last 
Sabbath." Then he spoke about the 
Christmas holidays, and the great pleasure 
he expected in coming home, and gave me 
a glowing account of some ball-matches 
and cricket, in all which he expected his 
sister to be as much interested as himself. 
And the letter was concluded with mes- 
sages to Aunt Martha, Nelly, and Huldah, 
" with his chief and best love to his darling 



118 ANSDALE HALL. 

sister," after the inanncr in whicli Richard 
always closed liis letters to me. 

" Is he well, dear ? • ' asked Aunt Mar- 
tha, as I closed the letter. 

" Yes, auntie, and speaks a deal about 
Christmas." 

" Dear boy ! " said Aunt Martha with 
a gentle smile ; " we must make it as 
pleasant as we can for him." 

" And he sends his love, auntie, to you, 
and to Nelly." 

" Many tlianks," said Nelly demurely, 
waking out of her dreams ; " some people 
always have plenty of love to spare in a 
letter. He forgot even to bid me good- 
bye." 

"Ah I l)ut you weren't to be seen, Nelly," 
I answered, scarcely thinking of what I 
said, for I had bowed my head on my hand, 
and was silently pondering a certain por- 
tion of that letter ; considering liow much 
good a word from me might do for Rich* 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 119 

ard now, and whether it were not most 
surely my duty to write that word. 

" Ah ! I don't want to," I said to myself, 
" for Richie does n't like to have me speak 
to him about such things ; besides, he might 
laugh at me too ; " and I sighed wearily 
and leaned back in my chair. 

" What are you cogitating. Bertha ? ' 
said Nelly. " We'll not reach the Hall 
this afternoon." 

" Where are your lessons, Nelly ? — fin- 
ished ? " I asked. 

" Put to sleep on the table, together with 
my conscience ; come, don't preach, love ; 
it is wretched for my health, all this appli- 
cation ; get your hat," said Nelly coax- 
ingly. 

" But do study your lessons first," I said ; 
" Mr. Ansdalo will be very likely to ask 
you if you have." 

" And I will pucker up my mouth in my 
most submissive manner, and say, ' Yes, 



120 AKSDALE HALL. 

sir , ' and yoi. can't deny that I've studied 
them, only I don't know tliem jpet. Come, 
I promise they shall be finished by to-mor- 
row morning, Bertie." 

I was thinking of my letter, so I rose 
mechanically, kissed auntie good-bye, as I 
always did, and went with her. It was a 
most delightful day for a walk of any kind. 
To be sure, there were dead, withered 
leaves under foot, and no sweet songs 
greeted us from the trees and bushes, but 
the sky was cloudless, and the sun's warm 
rays just tempered the cool October air. 

" Let's not go," said Nelly. It's pleas- 
anter walking. Come, Bertie, we'll revisit 
the scene of your blackbcrrying expedition, 
and perhaps we shall meet a second Mr. 
Ansdale." 

" I should prefer the old," I said deci- 
dedly. " How quickly our artist has for- 
gotten the curious old j)aintings ! " Nelly 
laughed, and consented to go to the Hall. 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 121 

Mr. Ansdale was awaiting us in the li- 
brary ; but I was afraid that he would not 
have missed us much had we decided to 
go the other way. He was seated by the 
ivy-crowned window, watching the motion 
of the feathery clouds over their azure 
background, — his thoughts apparently as 
far away as the clouds, and as pleasing, 
until we startled him. Then he arose and 
received us cordially, as he always did. 

" I have been thinking of you," he said, 
" not just when you entered, it is true ; for 
my thoughts have taken a wide range this 
afternoon. But you see I have made prep- 
arations for you ; " and he pointed to the 
table, and the works of art placed on it for 
our inspection. 

" Sit down and rest," he said, " and I'll 
tell you where I have been traveling in 
thought." 

" Where, sir ? " asked Nelly, throwing 



122 ANSDALE HALL. 

off her hat, and seating herself uncoremo- 
niously at his feet. 

" To India, Nelly. What do you think 
(;f that ? " 

" I think that you must have been there, 
or your thoughts wouldn't have the cour- 
age to take tlie journey alone," she an- 
swered fearlessly, playing with the tassels 
of tlie window-curtain. "My thoughts 
don't make voyages to such outlandish 
places ; but I've known them to go farther." 

" Where was that, Nelly ? " he asked. 

" I have sometimes thought of heaven," 
slie answered, "and that is very far away." 

" It may not be very far for some of us, 
if we are ready to go there," he said gently. 

Nelly looked thoughtful. 

" Your thoughts have been there, Nelly ; 
arc you prepared to go there yourself ? " 
he said gravely. " If God called you to 
die to-night, have you sought your Sav- 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 123 

iour's righteousness, in which U appear 
before him ? " 

"No, sir," she said frankly. 

" Are you safe, then ? " he asked gently. 

" No, sir ; " and Nelly sighed. " I often 
think of it lately." 

" Will you promise me to be so before 
you go to sleep to-night ? " 

Nelly looked up in utter astonishment. 
" Why ! I can't, Mr. Ansdale," she whis- 
pered. 

" Prayer is very powerful. Promise me, 
and I shall be praying for you. You can 
do nothing of yourself at any time ; but 
God is ready to help you. Ask him now. 
He may take his Spirit from you, you 
know not when." 

" I can't, Mr. Ansdale, I can't promise," 
she said. 

"I want you to make a determination. 
Promise me ; God will answer your pray- 



124 ANSDALE HALL 

Nelly looked over at me as if for help, 
and said desperately, " I promise." 

*' It is a promise," lie said. " I will tell 
you of my Indian travels some other after- 
noon. Now you are rested, and we will 
look at the paintings." 

Very curious indeed they were, copied 
from the world-renowned artists of long 
ago. Nelly seemed to take a kind of rest- 
less, excited pleasure in looking at them. 
But she was nervous and prc-occupied, and 
scarcely heard what Mr. Ansdale was say- 
ing, I know. 

" You have much taste for art," he said 
at length. 

" Yes, sir," said Nelly mechanically. 

" I am very glad ; you must let me see 
some of your sketches." 

"Thank you," said Nelly in a subdued 
way, rising to leave. " It is growing late," 
she said abruptly. 

Mr. Ausdale followed us to the door, and 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 125 

I heard liiin say softly as we went out, "You 
will remember your promise, Nelly ? " and 
Nelly looked up into his eyes in a troubled 
way, and answered " Yes." 

I seated myself at my window, as soon 
as I reached home, to answer Richard's 
letter, — for I made it a matter of principle 
as well as of pleasure to answer his letters 
the day I received them, — that I might 
send my reply by the early morning mail. 
Yet in this letter I spoke of everything save 
that which I should have mentioned ; con- 
gratulated him on his victory at that won- 
derful ball-match, dwelt long on the ex- 
pected Christmas pleasures, — filled three 
pages and began the fourth. " Speak the 
word in season," said Conscience; but, 
" No, I should only displease Richard," I 
answered ; far more careful, for the time, 
of pleasing my brother than my Saviour, and 
forgetting Richard's own motto, which he 



126 ANSDALE HALL. 

had given me. I finished my fourth page, 
and folded the letter. 

" Bertha," said Huldah's voice in the en- 
try, " I'm goin' down street ; if you've got 
any letters writ, I'll fetch 'em along." 

So the letter was quickly sealed and 
given into Huldah's keeping. 

"Your aunt's in the kitchen, a waitin' 
for you ; and you needn't be bothered 
nor nothin', thinkin' about the readin' 
to-night, 'cause I won't be to hum to hear 
it. Keep a mindin' your aunt, now, sos't 
slie don't git out of her cheer. That little 
ragamuffin Jack's a worry in' the ideas out 
of her head ;" and Huldah, fully satisfied 
with having discharged her duty toward 
Aunt Martha and myself, walked off with 
my letter. 

But I felt through it all that I had done 
very wrong, had proved myself an unfaith- 
ful servant to my Lord, and an unfaithful 
Bister to Richard. And as I stood by the 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 127 

window fox' a moment, and saw Huldah 
pass out of the garden-gate with my letter 
in her hand, I called to her, with the half- 
framed intention of writing another in its 
place. But she paid no attention to the 
call, and passed on toward the village, 
while I turned slowly from the window, 
and went down to Aunt Martha. I had 
always been accustomed to ask her for 
some message to Richard, but even that I 
had forgotten, and she noticed it. 

" You have finished your letter, love ? " 
she asked, as I entered and took my seat at 
table. 

" Yes, Aunt Martha ; I'm sorry I forgot 
you." 

" I'm sorry too, dear ; I had a message 
for him ; but never mind." 

" Was it important, auntie ? " I askei. 

*' I wanted to say a little word for his 
good, Bertie, — you understand ; but it can't 
be helped now." 



128 ANSDALE HALL. 

Yes, I understood. Aunt Martha, the 
disciple of a few weeks, would do her dutj, 
and stand by her colors, while I had shrunk 
from the one and deserted the other. 

" You won't write again without telling 
me, Bertie ? " asked Aunt Martha, as she 
quietly sipped her tea. 

" I will try to remember you, auntie ; I 
am sorry." 

" I don't blame you, Bertha ; I should 
have spoken, but you are always so used to 
telling me. I know young people are apt 
to forget ; we can't expect them to be as 
thoughtful as their elders. I had a very 
poor memory when I was young, so I have 
great consideration for you. I would write 
to him myself if I could, but it makes my 
head ache so severely. Did you and Nelly 
have a pleasant time at the Hall ? " 

" Very, auntie," I answered abstractedly. 

" It must be a delightful place ; I should 
like to go there myself. I have not been 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 129 

inside the door for eleven years ; that was 
before I ever saw you, Bertha." 

" You must go again some day, Aunt 
Martha." 

" I want to. Jack talks of it a great 
deal. That boy gets on very nicely, Ber- 
tha; have you found some one to fill his 
place ? " 

I was heartily ashamed to confess it, 
but I had not, and told her so. 

" Why not, dear ? I would not have ta- 
ken him if I had known how much you 
thought of him : you may have him back 
now if you will." 

" No, auntie, it is not that. I have done 
wrong, I know, and I have let myself go on 
wrong." 

" Then you didn't ask God to help you 
go right," she said. " Have you felt right 
lately ? " 

" No, auntie." 
9 



130 ANSDALE HALL. 

" What was it ? Did God leave you, or 
have you wandered from irim, Bertie ?" 

" I have done wrong," I said ; " God 
never leaves us." 

" Then it was not God's will, but yours, 
dear." 

" I will ask him to set me right, auntie." 

" You won't be happy until he has," she 
said softly. " Mrs. Winsley was telling 
me yesterday of a dear little girl, an or- 
phan child. Her mother has a large fam- 
ily to support, and can't afford to give her 
decent clothes to attend school. When 
you feel right, I would go and see her, 
love ; I thought of you immediately, when 
she told me of the child, and proposed the 
plan to her. She* was greatly pleased." 

So was I now. " How old a child, Aunt 
Martha?" 

" About ten years, I believe ; she has 
had some instruction, and can read quite 



NELLY'S PROMISE. 131 

well, but she has little opportunity for im- 
proyement at home." 

" I will go to see her, Aunt Martha, if 
possible to-morrow," I said, rising and 
wheeling back her arm-chair from the 
table and preparing to light the lamp ; 
for in these fall evenings darkness came 
upon us early, and the chill air forbade 
even the thought of an hour on the pleas- 
ant piazza. So, having no Huldah to read 
to, I drew up my stool to Aunt Martha's 
feet, and asked what I should read. 

" The Bible, dear," she said, " and then 
one of Ryle's little hymns." 

I did as she wished ; and as I finished 
reading the latter, auntie took the book 
from my liand and opened it. 

" Who wrote this ? " she asked, pointing 
to my brother's motto. 

" Richie." 

" Dear boy," said auntie with a sigh, as 
she handed me the book ; and then we 
parted for the night. 



CHAPTER VIIL 

RICHARD'S LETTER. 

2K WAS lip very early the next morning, 
SB and out in the garden before break- 
^ fast, picking flowers for the sitting- 
room taljlc. I always loved to rise 
and walk at that liour ; cvcrytliing seemed 
different then from the same place after 
our early meal ; the air felt so much purer, 
and the flowers, laden with dew, were a 
thousand times prettier than the same 
flowers when the snn had dried tliem. 
But tliey had almost vanished now, — go- 
ing, — going, — gone; and the little bou- 
quet of stiff" artemisias tliat I held in my 
hand formed a striking contrast to the 
June roses, the sweet heliotrope, and puro 
13a 



RICHARD'S LETTER. 133 

white lilies that I had gathered so many 
times at that hour. Still, I stood at the 
gate and displayed them triumphantly to 
the eyes of any who were passing. They 
were not many ; we counted few early risers 
among our neighbors. 

Presently I saw Nelly tripping down the 
road toward the gate, her face one gleam 
of sunshine. 

" Bertie," she cried, as she came up to 
me, all out of breath, and burying her face 
in my flowers, " how sweet ! you're half 
fairy, and live among birds and flowers." 

" And you in sunshine," I rejoined, kiss- 
ing her. 

" Yes, I feel sunshiny this morning. 
I'm coming in to breakfast to give you and 
auntie a taste of it. I don't mean that 
you haven't it already, you know ; but one 
can't have too much in the fall." 

" Did you keep your promise, Nelly ? " 

" Indeed I did. I want to tell you all 



134 ANSDALE HALL. 

about it ; come and sit on the piazza with 
me ; " and she wound lior arm around my 
waist. " You see, Bertie, I didn't know 
what to do when I went home yesterday 
afternoon. I thought I had made a rash 
promise that I coukl not keep ; I wanted 
to go off to my room riglit after supper, 
but we had company, — company that I 
could not leave, — and I was not at liberty 
until ten o'clock. Then I went to my 
room, and I prayed, Bertie ; I never prayed 
so before in my life. I felt tliat I had 
neglected God so long that he would not 
hear me ; and I was so sorry, Bertie, and 
determined I would not forget him any 
more. Tlicn I remembered Mr. Martin's 
text last Sabbath, — "Jesus Christ came 
into the world to save sinners ; " and I 
don't know how I did it, Bertie, l)ut I 
just went to liim, and he gave me peace. 
So I went to sleep and dreamed of him, 



RICHARD'S LETTER. 135 

and that he called me his laml . Do you 
think I am a Christian, Bertha ? '' 

" I hope so," I said, kissing her. 

'' Thank you ; " and the sun, overshad- 
owed for a moment, came out in full 
beauty again. 

" Now I must go and tell Aunt Martha 
and Huldah. Oh ! I forgot ; Huldah won't 
care : poor Huldah ! and you must tell 
Richie too " 

Dear little light-hearted Nelly ! We had 
a happy breakfast that morning ; for she 
scattered brightness all around her. 

" I came off before any one was dressed," 
she said, " and I want to run back before 
school-time. Oh, Bertie, I feel so strange 
and happy, as if I had just begun to exist ! 
Those poor, neglected lessons ! do you re- 
member yesterday afternoon ? and there 
are the books on the table yet. I have not 
a moment to spare ; I feel like a bee in a 
plantation of honeysuckles; don't you, Ber- 



136 AN S DALE HALL. 

tie ? " So she seated herself most dili- 
gently to the preparation of her lessons ; 
and I ean Ijcar witness that she had never 
known tliem so well as on that day : but 
those were only the beginning of a long 
series of good lessons. 

I wrote again that afternoon to Ricl.ard, 
althougli I did not doubt he would auawer 
my last letter before receivinf^ tliis ; and 
the letter was again intrusted to Huldah. 
On Tluirsday and Friday I looked vainly 
for an answer to my first ; the delay rather 
surprised me, for Richie was always so 
punctual ; but I almost liopcd lie would 
wait until he sliould receive my last, that 
lie might see I had repented of my fault. 

Saturday came, tliat precious season, a 
golden day in the eyes of almost every 
school-girl, — so, at least, it had always 
been to Nelly and me. After our early 
dinner I arrayed myself for a walk to the 



RICHARD'S LETTER. 137 

flail, intending to stop at the post-office on 
my way. 

As I reached the gate I heard Huldah 
calling to me to stop, and turning back I 
saw that she was coming to meet me. 

" Bertha," she said, " you'd better mail 
this 'ere letter, bein' as how you're bound 
for the office. It slipped my mind t'other 
night ; " and she handed me my second let- 
ter, given her on Wednesday. 

"Oh, Huldah, I am so sorry ! " I said 
reprovingly. 

" So'm I, but it can't be helped now. 
There's no use in cryin' for spilt milk." 

No, there certainly was not. So I placed 
my letter in my pocket and walked on, 
musing sadly over Huldah's thoughtless- 
ness. There was a letter for me at the 
office, from Richard, too, but I delayed 
opening it ; and, thinking that Mr. Ans- 
dale would allow ine to read it at the Hall, 
I carried i> there with me. 



138 ANSDALE HALL 

Mr. Aiisdale was not very well that 
afternoon. I found liim resting on the 
library sofa, deeply engaged in a book, and 
his step was feeble as he rose to welcome 
me. 

" Bright and rosy, Bertie ! you and Nelly 
always bring sunshine with you. Here I 
have been poring over a ponderous volume 
of Bacon, until my head aches, when the 
door flies open and admits a morsel of light 
literature, in the form of one of my fairies. 
Sit down and let me read you, Bertie. Ah ! 
you have somewliat to read as well ; and 
you have no need to wait. I know how 
anxious young ladies always are to pene- 
trate the mysteries of those little manu- 
scripts ; " and then he lianded me a chair 
and bade me read my letter. And as I 
read, his eyes were fastened on my face, 
scanning every flitting emotion. 

It was a very short letter, and it rau 
thus : — 



RICHARD'S LETTER. Iii9 

" Darling Sister, — 

" I have your letter, received on 
Wednesday, lying before me, and I have 
been reading it for the third time ; it is a 
kind and pleasant letter, but I was disap- 
pointed, Bertie. 

" When I wrote you, though I said very 
little of our great revival, yet I felt very 
deeply, and there was no one but you to 
whom 1 cared to speak of it. I thought 
you would encourage me, dear, and show 
me the right way ; but it was a hard thing 
to do, perhaps. And so I willfully, and 
very wrongly, too, shunned those who 
might have done me good, and waited for 
your letter. Bertie, dear, you missed 
standing ])y your colors then. I don't 
blame you now. I should have written 
you what I felt ; but at first I tried to for- 
get that I had ever thought of my soul ; 
yet God remembered me and had mercy on 
me. Let us thank him, Bertie ! And now 



140 ANSDALE HALL. 

that I love my Saviour more than all, my 
sister is a thousaiul times dearer to me 
than ever before, and I forgive her from my 
very heart. Pray for me, and love me, 
darling, and remember our motto." 

I bowed my face on the sofa and burst 
into tears. Mr. Ansdale had been looking 
at me intently during the reading ; now he 
said gently, — 

" Wliat is it, Bertie ? " and I placed the 
letter in his hand. 

Then there was a long silence ; for I 
was weeping while Mr. Ansdale read. Fi- 
nally I heard him fold the letter and place 
it in the envelope ; then, more tenderly than 
even Aunt Martha would have done it, he 
drew me to his side and placed my head on 
his shoulder, smoothing hack the hair from 
my forehead as Richie used to do when I 
cried at parting with him. 

"Dear little Bertie," he whispered, " is 



RICHARD'S LETTER 143 

not God as ready to forgive you as your 
brother?" 

I checked my sobs for a moment, and 
listened to him. 

" Bertie, don't you believe it ? " I made 
no answer, but lay perfectly still in my 
resting-place, until the sobs were quieted. 

" We will ask him," he said ; and, ris- 
ing, he drew me to my knees by his side, 
and prayed for me, earnestly, fervently; 
and when he had finished I breathed a 
voiceless prayer for myself. 

" Now, Bertie, I would advise you to 
write another letter," he said, holding both 
my hands in liis, and looking into my face. 

" I did ; I wrote to him the very next 
day, but the letter never was sent : it 
was not my fault. Dear Mr. Ansdale, I 
am always failing." He placed his arm 
tenderly round me, drew me up close to 
him, and pressed his lips to my forehead. 

" If you keep near to Jesus, you will 



142 ANSDALB HALL. 

grow strong in his strengtli day b/ day, 
darling Bertie ; and we will never fail iu 
heaven. I have never seen this brother, 
have I ? and you have never told me of 
him. What is he like ? " 

"Richie? What zs lie like ?" I said. "I 
think he is like himself only ; but he is 
such a good brother, Mr. Ansdale, — so 
kind, so generous I I should like to have 
you see him." 

" I hope I shall some day, Bertie. When 
will he return ? " 

" At Christmas." 

" Ah ! then I must have you all here for 
a Cliristmas dinner. Will you come ? " 

I think my face must liave answered 
him, for he seemed to consider his invita- 
tion accepted, and bade me good-bye with 
a smile. 

It was a lovely walk home in the soft 
sunset, on the pretty carpet of bright au- 
tumn loaves; for although I would have 



RICHARD'S LETTER. 143 

liked the leaves better overhead, still they 
were pretty anywhere. I walked slowly 
homeward, busied with my thoughts, think- 
ing what a noble Christian Richard would 
make, for he would never need the reproof 
he had given to me, he would pray so con- 
stantly for strength to keep from falling. 
Then, too, it was not his nature to be 
ashamed of anything he loved, or thought 
riglit. " And if it is your nature," said a 
voice within me, " there is all the more 
need that you should ask for strength to 
struggle against it." So I did ask for 
strength, and I received it. 

As I lifted the gate-latch, I felt a hand 
on my shoulder, and turned to meet Nelly's 
bright face. 

" Isn't it fine, Bertie," she said, " for us 
every-day mortals to have our paths strewn 
with flowers, — we'll pretend they are 
flowers, you know, for they are quite as 
brig! .t, — and to walk like queens or prin- 



144: ANSDALE HALL. 

cesses ? You are some royal Saxon lady, 
Bertha, and I — I — " 

"Am Nelly ! " I finished mischievously. 

" Yes, Nelly is so unqueenly, so undigni- 
fied, you can't make anything of it, unless 
you take Helen instead." 

" I don't like that very queenly Bertha, 
Nelly. I wish my mother had given me 
her own name, after waiting so long before 
I was named at all." 

" How was that ? " asked Nelly. 

" I was the only daughter, you know, 
and it was hard to decide on a name for me, 
so they always called me ' baby,' and pet 
names, until at length mamma had almost 
resolved to call me Alice, for herself. But 
she found such a dear friend on the steamer 
coming to America, — a sweet, grave lady 
who was dying with consumption, and who 
took a great fancy to me. She was a com- 
fort to my mother, too, and when she asked 
to change my name and give me hers, that 



RICHARD'S LETTER. 145 

slie might comfort herself with the thought 
that she was still remembered on earth, — 
for she was quite alone, Nelly, — my mo- 
ther was very glad to consent ; yet I never 
remember her calling me Bertha. I think 
I like Alice best." 

" I don't," said Nelly lightly ; " I love 
you as Bertie, and Bertie alone. I should 
quite desert you if you turned about, Ber- 
tie. All the lessons for Monday are fin- 
ished ! — try to realize it, will you ? — and I 
have come to escort you to Mrs. Winsley's 
for a twilight call, and then return and 
help you with supper. Don't go in ; 
come ! " 

" But, Nelly dear, it is almost time for 
supper now." 

"We will only stay ten minutes, — five, 
if you like," she pleaded ; so I yielded, and 
went with her. She continued, — 

" Where have you been this afternoon ? 
I have been uneasy, and wanted to see you 



146 ANSDALE HALL. 

SO much, and yet I was greatly afraid you 
would come ; for I knew if you did the 
temptation to leave my books would be al- 
most irresistible. I am very glad you did 
not." 

" Thank you ! " I said laughingly. " I 
have been to the Hall." 

" What did you do ? " 

*' Read a letter, talked, and — " 

" And what ? " 

" Cried." 

Nelly looked very inquiringly in my face 
for a moment, and then said, "Was the 
letter from Richie ? " 

" Yes," I replied. Richie was my only 
correspondent. 

She did not speak again for some time ; 
Nelly never sought to pry into the secrets 
of others. " I will show you the letter, 
Nelly. I will give it to you when you 
leave to-night, l)ut I don't want you to read 
it now," I said. 



RICHARD'S LETTER 147 

" Don't show it to me at all, dear, if you 
don't want to," she answered. 

" But I do want to, before you go. 
Richie has become a Christian, dear Nelly." 

" Oh, Bertie, I am so glad ! " she said, 
clapping her hands. " Richie, Aunt Mar- 
tha, you, and I ; " and she threw her arms 
around my neck and kissed me warmly. 
" And there is Mrs. Winsley at the door, 
ready to receive us, Bertie. Do you think 
she guessed we were coming ? " 

Yes, Mrs. Winsley was standing on her 
quaint little piazza, her knitting-work in 
her hand, and her face wreathed in its 
brightest smiles, waiting for us to come up. 

I had often been there with Aunt Martha 
before, and sometimes with Nelly, who was 
fond of making visits ; so I felt quite at 
home in her little summer parlor. She 
drew up easy-cliairs for us both by the 
blazing grate, and, seating herself with her 
knitting-work, began to talk to us. 



148 ANSDALE HALL. 

" Bertha," she said presently, " your 
aunt and I were talking of a little girl the 
other day, — one of Mrs. McKay's children, 
who lives near the Hall. She would he a 
smart girl if she were properly taught, and 
your aunt thought you might teach her. 
She is ratlier pert and inquisitive, but you 
can soon break her of that, and make a 
nice child of her, if you try. But don't 
think it will be no trouble ; if you do 
you will certainly be disappointed. Are 
you willing to try ? If you are, I will see 
the mother, and send the child to you." 

" Yes, I should like to teach her, Mrs. 
Winslcy ; I have often seen her, and I like 
her face," I answered. 

" Very well, it is all right, then," said 
tlie old lady, knitting away most vigorously 
on her stocking. 

" Can you knit stockings, children ? " 
bIic asked. 

Nelly looked inquiringly at me 



RICHARD'S LETTER. 14& 

" 1 can wear them out, and mend them," 
she answered, laughing. 

" My husband never wears a stocking but 
those I knit for him," she continued ; "and 
when I was as old as you and Bertha, I 
knit all the stockings for my father and 
eight brothers." 

Nelly opened her blue eyes very wide. 
" But Where's the use, Mrs. Winsley, for 
us ? " she asked ; " we've no one to make 
them for. Father dislikes them intensely." 

" There are plenty of poor people around 
who would like them intensely, child," she 
said. 

" Will you teach me to knit them, Mrs. 
Winsley ? " asked Nelly eagerly. 

" And I will apply to Aunt Martha," I 
cried ; " and then, Nelly, when we have 
once learned, we will make stockings for 
the village." 

" For ihQfeet of the village, dear ? " she 



150 AN SI) ALE UALL 

said archly, endeavoring to take a stitch 
in Mrs. Winsley's work, which was kindly 
yielded to her. 

" I want to make some for Jack, to be- 
gin," she said, " if you won't be jealous, 
Bertie ; he is sadly in want of them." 

The lesson was not long, for Nelly 
learned quickly, and she was soon well ac- 
quainted witli all the mysteries ; and then 
we remembered that we should be late for 
supper, and keep Aunt Martha waiting ; a 
thouglit which was followed by a hasty 
adieu and a still more hasty walk home. 

Tliat evening, after Nelly had left, and 
the reading with Huldah was fmislied, I 
seated myself to write to Richie ; and, 
though l)ed-time was approaching and the 
letter was long, it was completed that even- 
ing and given to Huldali to be sent in the 
early mail. And I dreamed that niglit of 
a grand Christmas dinner at the Hall, 



RICHARD'S LETTER. l5l 

where were Ricliie and Nellyj Mr. and Mrs. 
Winsley, Aunt Martha and I, and seated 
at the head of the table, in that grand old 
dining-room of Ansdale Hall, was its 
owner, smiling upon us all. 




% 



CHAPTER IX. 

WINTER. 

^INTER came on very swiftly when 
summer had once taken leave of 
lis, bringing snow and frost, ice 
and sleet; or, as Nelly said, " sleigh- 
ing, skating, coasting, and bright warm 
fires." She looked on the bright side, and 
I tried very hard to follow her example ; 
but from the time of the first real snow- 
storm, when we knew winter had fairly 
arrived, I began to look forward to the 
first violets. Nelly and I vied with each 
other every spring as to who should find 
them ; and we were usually equally suo 
cessful. 

But the violets were far off now. The 

192 



WINTER. 153 

snow was two feet deep in the little garden, 
and still falling in white masses from the 
dull, heavy sky. Jack had manfully shov- 
eled off our gravel-path, but the snow soon 
covered it once more, and then he made his 
appearance, sliovel in hand, again, — any- 
thing for Aunt Martha and me ; it seemed 
as if the child could not do enough for us. 
I had made the sacrifice long ago, and I 
did not regret it ; yet still I could not help 
wisliing sometimes that I had my little 
pupil back. 

My little girl had come, little Katy McKay, 
and very pert and inquisitive I found 
her at first ; but she was getting over that. 
I shall always remember the day of her 
first lesson ; she seemed to take particular 
notice of every one's dress, and examined 
mine most intently for a long time, while I 
was talking to her. Finally Huldah en- 
tered my room with a message from Aunt 
Martha. Katy looked at her for a moment 



154 ANSDALE HALL. 

with the utmost contempt, and then re* 
marked, " Ye don't wear nice gownds, a 
bit, Miss Hiildah, an' it's niver a bit so nice 
as me own mother's blue meriny, shure." 

Iluldah's eyes flashed fire at this. " You 
little ragamuffin," she said, " I'd like to 
know who give your ma her blue meriny, 
if it wan't myself, — the dress I sot more by 
than all the others put together ! " 

" Katy didn't know you gave it to her 
mother," I ventured by way of pacification; 
but now that Katy did know it, she had no 
mind to keep her own counsel, and that 
very afternoon Mrs. McKay appeared in a 
bright red striped calico, and bearing the 
blue merino on her arm, which she imme- 
diately returned to its former owner ; as- 
serting that slie was fully able now to " buy 
her own clo's, and wouldn't have people in- 
sultin' lier childcr." 

Iluldah looked rather ashamed, I thought, 
as she received the dress from the angry 



WINTER. 155 

woman, but she made no remonstrances. 
However, after Mrs. McKay had left, she 
asked me in private what she should do 
with it, as she could never wear it again. 
I advised her to make a dress for Katy of 
it, and, if there should be sufficient, for her 
little sister as well. But Huldah would not 
do that, and there the matter rested. 

And now the first of December had come, 
and a very cold first day of winter it was. 
The wind drove around the corner of the 
house with furious sweeps, rattled down 
the chimneys, shook the windows, and crept 
through the cracks of the doors ; while 
Aunt Martha and I piled the wood upon 
the sitting-room grate, and Huldah brough"- 
in hot coffee, " to put some warmth in us,' 
she asserted. 

" I can't bear to go to school to-day, 
Aunt Martha," I said, as we seated our- 
selves at table. 



156 ANSDALE HALL. 

" I don't like to have you go either, dear, 
but I suppose you ought." 

" You have no idea what a dreadful walk 
it is, especially down by the old mill ; and 
to-day it will be worse than ever," I said, 
glancing toward the window. 

" Perhaps you had better not go," she 
suggested kindly. " You have so severe a 
cold, too, and your overshoes are badly 
torn." 

I thought for a few moments ; much as I 
dreaded the walk, I disliked to be absent 
from school. 

" Nelly always stops for me, auntie. If 
she ventures, I will." 

" Very well," she answered. 

The sitting-room had not seemed so cozy 
to nie for a long time, and the exchange 
from tlie cold dining-room was delightful. 
Huldali lingered as long as possible around 
the table, inventing little services that she 



WINTEB. 157 

might render us, until her imagination 
seemed exhausted. 

" Miss Marthy," she said, as she finally 
turned to go, " 'tan't fit fur Bertha to go to 
school to-day, no how ; she'd git in a'most 
up to her knees ; you hadn't ought to let 
her." 

'' I don't think I will, Huldah ; it is too 
bad, isn't it ? " 

" I guess you'd think it was, if you'd bin 
round to the post-office, where I've bin, and 
that an't nothin' at all to what it is by the 
mill." 

" You had better not go, Bertie ; if Nelly 
comes we will keep her." 

" If you don't go," said Huldah, stand- 
ing with the door-knob in her hand, — " if 
you don't go, Bertha, I shouldn't mind if 
you come in bimeby and read me a bit 
whilst I'm ironin'." 

As I smiled and assented, Huldah took 



158 ANSDALE HALL. 

her departure. Presently she made a new 
errand, to visit our cozy apartment. 

" The skatin' will be all spiled," she said 
to me, *' and you girls will have to put up 
with walkin'." 

"And sleigliing, Huldah. Oh, auntie, 
do you know Mr. Ansdalc has invited Nelly 
and me to a sleigh-ride on Saturday ? He 
says we may choose our own route, and he 
will lot us have everything as we like ; and 
Nelly and I think it would he delightful to 
go as far as tlie old school-house, the other 
side of the liollow, and carry our luncheon 
with us. Then you know we could kindle 
a fire in the old scliool-room. and be cozy 
and comfortable. What do you say ? Do 
you lik(3 it, auntie ? " 

" Certainly, if Mr. Ansdale approves ; Tm 
never afraid to trust you with him." 

" And yet you have never spoken to him, 
auntie." 

" He has been here but once, you know, 



WINTER, 159 

dear," she answered ; " and you icnow how 
it was then, — how you were in the midst 
of your ginger-snaps." 

" And you in the midst of a headache, 
auntie ; of course you could not see him ; 
but I am going to bring him here some day 
to see you especially." 

Aunt Martha looked pleased, and drew 
her chair from the table close to the fire ; 
so I found my knitting-work and seated 
myself by her side. 

" You see, auntie, I have dropped some 
stitches, and can't pick them up ; what 
shall I do ? I am in such a hurry to finish 
these that I liave hardly patience to knit 
straight along." 

"You shouldn't drop stitches, love," she 
said ; " it makes great trouble in a stock- 
ing sometimes ; just as, when we make little 
mistakes in life, they lead to greater ones, 
until we can scarcely gather up the stitches 
ftt all. Don't you see ? " 



160 ANSDALE HALL. 

" Yes, auntie. How nicely you do it ! 
thank you ; " and I took my stocking once 
more, looking as well as if the stitches had 
never been dropped. Aunt Martha was 
maryelous at knitting. 

" Auntie," I said, " I wonder if you 
would be as good at picking up the stitches 
we drop in life." 

" I doubt it, dear ; they can't often be 
remedied at all." 

Then we sat and mused for a while, and 
still Nelly did not come. 

" Auntie, shall I go ? " 

" Where ? " she asked, starting suddenly 
from her reverie. 

" To school, auntie. What were you 
thinking of?" 

" Only of some dropped stitches, dear ; 
dropped years ago, when I was young. 
Tvo never been able to gather them up. 
No, don't go to school ; the storm is too 



WINTER. 161 

bad. Go and read to Huldah if she wants 
you." 

So I found my Bible and liymns, and ad- 
journed to the kitchen. 

Huldah need not have made so many 
excuses to leave so pleasant a place. It 
was, as Nelly termed it, something of a hive, 
spotless, and bright with a most delightfully 
blazing fire, — in which respect it was not 
like a hive. She drew up a chair for me 
before that very attractive object, and then 
stood looking at me. 

" Do you know. Bertha," she said, " I've 
bin thinkin', and I think I acted kinder 
mean about that blue meriny ; don't you ? 
You see I was put out at the disgrate ful- 
ness of that child, and I never thought 
what I was doin'." 

" I don't think you acted right, Huldah, 
to lose your patience so ; but I think if you 
had given it to her from love to Christ, and 
11 



162 ANSDALE HALL. 

not to earn heaven, you wouldn't have lost 
your temper." 

" That's nonsense, Bertha ; the idee of 
my goin' an givin' myself to Christ just as 
I am, when I han't done nuthin' good fust, 
— when Fm all bad from top to toe. I was 
goin' to do lots of good things, without 
tellin' on't either, but you told me 'twan't 
no 'count." 

" But, Huldah, Jesus does not want you 
to do good first. He wants you to come 
just as you are ; to come now, and then do 
good." 

" Docs it say that in the Bible ? " slio 
asked, irresolutely. 

" Yes. I will read it to you. ' Jesus 
Christ came into tlie world to save sinners.' 
' Come unto me, all ye that lal)or and aro 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.* It 
does not say. Go and be good first ; then 
come." 

" No ! it don't," she answered ; " but it's 



WINTER. 163 

kiiiier hard to think oii't, Bertha, I've been 
so bad heaps of times. I used to have a 
sister, who turned Catholic ; and she'd 
half kill herself, and do all sorts of things 
to git to heaven, and 1 kinder got her idees 
into my head." 

"But, then, they were all wrong, you 
know." 

" I s'pose they was." 

" And now you will do the right way ? 
Ask God to give you a new heart ; you can 
do nothing of yourself: pray for his Spirit, 
and he will give it to you, if you truly 
want it." 

" S'pose you go at the book now," she 
said. 

" What shall I read, Huldah ? have you 
thought of anything you would like to 
hear ? " 

" Read about some old critter like me 
gitthi' good, like I an't," she said. 

I read to her the story of Paul, and 



164 ANSDALE HALL. 

Blie liked it very much. Noiselessly she 
moved around the kitchen, setting down 
the irons so very carerully, and pausing 
occasionally when she was most interested. 
— she had never heard it hefore, — and 
when I had finished she said, — 

" Mebhy, if you leave the book in here, 
I kin spell out at it myself bimeby.*' So 
I left it for her. 

Nelly and I passed that entire day with- 
out seeing each otlier, which was a rather 
novel occurrence. All day the snow fell 
softly, steadily, until, as I looked out of 
the window in the gathering twilight, the 
sky seemed only a darker shading of the 
earth, and the whole, sky and earth, one 
vast fleecy cloud. 

While 1 was standing there I heard steps, 
muffled by the snow, on the piazza, and a 
knock at the door. I darted to answer it. 

" Don't go out in the cold, love," said 



WINTER. 165 

Aunt Martha, shivering over the grate. 
" Huldah will open the door." 

" But I caught a glimpse from the win- 
dow, auntie, and I think it is Jack, with a 
letter ; a letter from Richie, Aunt Mar- 
tha." 

She ceased her expostulations at that, 
and gave me leave to go ; but Huldah was 
before me, and in two minutes I had Jack 
and the letter both in by the fire. 

" Now read, dear, and see what he says." 

That was a very unnecessary injunction 
of Aunt Martha. " Home in three weeks, 
auntie, — three short weeks, — to spend 
two long weeks at home ; " which was a 
rather strange way to render it, as I should 
have learned from experience that the 
weeks at home were by far the shortest. 

Aunt Martha smiled. " You will have 
to introduce him to your new friend," she 
said. 

" Mr. Ansdale ? Yes ; and we will have 



ICG ANSDALE HALL. 

such pleasant times getting ready for him ! 
won't we, auntie ? And then Christuoias at 
the Hall, you know ; of course you will be 
tliere ; '' and Aunt Martha assented to all 
that I said, and rejoiced with me. 

So I folded my letter, put it in my pock- 
et, and returned to my watch at the win- 
dow 




CHAPTER X. 

RICHARD AT HOME. 

JES ! Richard was actually coming. 
For three long weeks I had waited 
patiently, and, school-girl-like, kept a 
card on my bureau, with all those in- 
tervening days marked out on it, merely 
for the delight of erasing one every morn- 
ing, with the pleasant consciousness that 
there were fewer left before the all-impor- 
tant twenty-third ; for Christmas was com- 
ing on Monday, and Richard would antici- 
pate it by two days. 

Tliey were very great events, those holi- 
day visits ; greater even than the days 
themselves. We were so alone in our 
home, Aunt Martha and I, seeing so little 

167 



168 ANSDALE HALL. 

company, luid stepping so little from the 
old routine of cvery-day duties ; whereas 
when Richie came he revolutionized every- 
thing, even Aunt Martha herself. He in- 
nocently transformed our little sitting-room 
into a workshop, wherein he cut and fash- 
ioned all his marvelous machines, and 
other inventions, the which T never under- 
stood, l)ut I took none the less pleasure in 
watching their progress. Then, oh, the 
black footprints he invariahly left in the 
entry every time he ventured beyond the 
doorstep, and the delicate muslin curtains 
that he would wrinkle so in putting back ! 
But Ricliie never noticed these things, and 
although they troubled Aunt Martha great- 
ly, she very seldom hinted her annoyance 
in any way to tlie dear boy. I liked them, 
— these strange innovations ; they gave a 
novel air to the old home, and I only 
wished they might last a little longer. It 
was so pleasant to ccme in from a walk 



RICHARD AT BOMB. 169 

with Nelly to find the unusual appearance 
of misplaced books and chairs, with that 
dear pleasant face by the fireside ; and, 
taking the book or work from his hands, to 
sit down by his side and hear long stories 
of boarding-school life and boarding-school 
frolics. 

He was once more coming home ; and 
all that merry Saturday I had been busily 
at work, " at nothing," Aunt Martha said, 
but I was unwilling to agree with her. It 
seemed very necessary to me that fresh 
cake should be made to honor his arrival, 
even though the box was well stored with 
it already ; and then I wouldn't think of 
yielding my right to sweep and dust Rich- 
ard's room, even to Aunt Martha herself; 
and one wreath, at least, of arbor vitaa 
must be fasliioned — one Christmas wreath 
— for his room ; and Aunt Martha asserted 
that she never saw a wreath before that oc- 
cupied so much time in making. 



170 ANSDALE HALL. 

" I don't believe he will even notice it,'* 
she said. 

*' Oh, I am sure he will ! wliy not^ aun- 
tie ? " I asked iu surprise. " It will make 
a change in that little room to have any- 
thing hung on the white walls." 

" He will soon make change enough there, 
without aid from Christmas wreaths," she 
said, laughing. 

Nevcrtlielcss, it was finished and sus- 
pended, greatly to the admiration of Nelly, 
at least, who came over in the afternoon on 
several little errands of licr own invention ; 
among others, to see how the near approach 
of Christmas was affecting me, she said ; 
but the cliief matter of discussion was Christ- 
mas at the Hall. 

"Who will be there, I wonder?" she 
queried. " I suppose a good many of Mr. 
Ansdale'sown friends, wliom no one knows. 
I hope we shall liave a very merry day, ion't 
you ? Can I help you ? " 



RICHATtD AT HOME. 171 

"Help her!" laughed Aunt Martha. 
" Why, Nelly, she has had the greatest dif- 
ficulty to find work to occupy her own hands. 
The Christmas wreath helped her a little." 

So, finding her services were not needed, 
Nelly flitted off once more. A careful 
little fairy she had become, knitting stock- 
ings by the wholesale for our village poor, 
and venturing out in the worst weather to 
carry them to their destination. That was 
not half ; Nelly was changed into a worker, 
and was a deadly enemy to idleness of 
every kind. 

So, Nelly gone, there was nothing to do 
but to sit down and watch for Richie ; 
although Aunt Martha tried to convince me 
that it was very foolish to do so, as people 
always seem to delay when you watch for 
them. But I had something in my experi- 
ence to contradict this idea ; and, besides, 
I had a strange fancy that if anything oc- 
curred once in a certain place, it was likely 



172 ANSDALE HALL. 

to be repeated there. And so many after- 
noons I had sat by the window of Richard's 
room, — affording a view of the road from 
the depot, — and seen him approach, that it 
seemed as if the very act of sitting by that 
window and watching must be potent to 
bring him. 

" Foolish child ! " said Aunt Martha, 
" he'll not be here for two hours ; get your 
book and try to amuse yourself mcanwliile." 

''But, auntie, tlic sun is setting now," I 
said, gazing out over the hills and beyond 
the river, wliere the bright red globe was 
dropping into its golden cup, as the old 
Greeks fancied. Wliat a pretty idea it was ! 
I should almost like to believe it myself. 
But at least it sinks in a flood of golden 
light, shedding its parting glory over all tho 
landscape beneath. 

" Wbat if the sun is setting?" she an- 
swtM'cd ; "he always retires early in winter, 
and wo have a long time before dark." 



RICHARD AT HOME. 173 

" TV hat a lovely evening, auntie ! " I said. 
" Doesn't the sun put you in mind just now 
of some tired laborer, going home after his 
long day's work with such a red, heated 
face, — a dear, faithful laborer ? " 

" How very unpoetical and matter-of-fact, 
dear ! " said Aunt Martha deprecatingly. 

" Yes, I know it, but he made me thmk 
of that ; how fast he always seems to sink, 
as soon as he gets behind that clump of 
pine-trees ! I don't want to read ; sit down 
here and talk with me, while we watch for 
Richie." 

" What do you want to talk of, dear ? '' 
she asked, sitting down by me, while her 
silvery head was lighted by the soft glory 
of the sinking sun. 

" Talk of what is in our minds and near- 
est our hearts, auntie dear : isn't Richie 
the best boy you ever had anything to do 
with?" 



174 ANSDALE HALL. 

" He is the only one," she answered, 
smiling. 

" Then of course there's no comparison. 
Whom docs Ricliic look like, auntie ? our 
father or mother ? " 

" Not like your mother, love ; you are 
more like her : you are growing like her in 
disposition too. Poor little Alice ! " she 
said. 

" I wonder if Ricliie looks as our father 
did?" I asked. 

" I never saw your father, dear.'* 

"And lie died so suddenly; did my mo- 
ther have no last message from him ? " 

" None whatever, Bertie." 

" And no likeness ? " 

"None." 

" 1 think Ricliie must look like him," 
I said tliouglitfully. 

" Your mother thought he would," said 
auntie. 



RICHARD AT HOME. 175 

" ^ou wore my grandmother's only sis- 
ter, weren't you, Auiit Martha ? " 

" Yes, Bertha, and a very dear sister she 
always was to me ; but I never saw her after 
l.er marriage." 

" I think your father must have been very 
stern," I said musingly, for I knew the story 
of old. 

" But he was always a good father to 
me," said auntie. 

" Oh, see ! Aunt Martha, you were wrong!" 
I cried. 

" What, love ? " she said. 

" Ricliie ! " I cried, rushing heedlessly 
from tlie room, with a great desire to be the 
first to welcome him, and to have that walk 
from the corner all to myself. 

I had an uncertain consciousness that 
Aunt Martha called to me to be sure and 
wear my shawl ; but, although I was far re- 
mov( 1 from a rebellious frame of mind, I 
scarcely tliought what she was saying, and 



176 ANSDALE HALL. 

ran bareheaded down the frozen road, right 
into Richard's arms. 

" What a careless child ! " he exclaimed, 
kissing me, and taking off his overcoat to 
wrap around me. 

" You shan't do it, Richie," I said ; " I 
am so very warm ; " and so a struggle arose, 
in the midst of which, as we continued to 
walk along meanwhile, we naturally ar- 
rived at the gate, when Richie laughingly 
relented, and removed the coat, only to 
catch me up in his arms and carry me into 
tlie house. 

Aunt Martha was waiting at the door- 
step, witli smiles of welcome and looks of 
reproof. 

" I'm so glad to have you back ! " she 
said ; " come in by the fire and warm your- 
self. Bertha lias l)cen watcliing for you 
this liour." 

" Expected <lie train to l)c an hour in ad- 
vance, for your peculiar benefit, eh, May- 



RICHARD AT HOME. 177 

bird ? " he said, seating himself before the 
fire. " I saw you and auntie up at the win- 
dow, and thouglit I'd have the pleasure of 
surprising you ; but I had hardly time to 
think so wlien I saw a wingless fairy flying 
down the road and lighting in my arms. 
You took my breath away, Bertie ; come 
here, dear, and let me look at you." So I 
went and stood demurely before him to be 
looked at. 

" I don't think you're changed very 
much," he said, " in appearance at least ; 
the cold air has given you roses." 

" And you too, dear," said Aunt Mar- 
tha, going up behind him and stroking his 
hair. '' Did you come home for the Christ- 
mas pies we were speaking of last Au- 
gust ? " 

" To be sure," he said laugliingly ; " the 
lime has flown away at last ; it seemed then 
almost as if it never would. But I have 
12 



178 ANSDALE HALL. 

been so busy ; " and be passed bis baud 
tbougbtfully over bis brow. 

"Been studying very bard, Ricbie? " I 
asked. 

" Yes ; I sball be all ready to enter col- 
lege in tbe fall, if I only may go ; " and be 
glanced a little anxiously at Aunt Martba, 
wbo was flitting around tbe room, bitber 
and tbitber, closing tbe sbutters and draw- 
ing tbe curtains. I looked at bcr too ; I 
knew very well tbougb tbat Eicbic would 
bave bis wisb if sbe were al)le to grant it. 

Ricbard said no more on tbe subject, but, 
bending down over me, be wbispcred soft- 
ly, " Standing by our colors still, May- 
bird ? " I looked up and met bis eye. 

" Ob, Ricbie ! I was very, very mucli to 
blame," I said. 

" I do not blame you," be answered ; " I 
know myself bow bard it is always to do 
one's duty." 



RICHARD AT HOME. 179 

" But you do it, Richie," I insisted ; " I 
am sure you do." 

" Not always, I am afraid. We will hsip 
each other, Bertie ; I am an unprofitable 
servant, I fear." 

That was a very pleasant evening, al- 
though I don't remember that we did any- 
thing but exercise our gift of speech ; and 
we seemed to vie with each other as to who 
should say the most, — that is to say, Richie 
and I ; Aunt Martha seemed quite content 
with lying on the sofa and watching us, 
while Richard had thrown himself on the 
carpet by her side, — Aunt Martha had 
named him her " carpet knight," — and I 
had my old stool at the foot of the couch. 

There was a deal to tell, especially con- 
cerning the invitation to the Hall, which 
was a subject of vast import to me at that 
time. But Richard failed to view the ques- 
tion in its most pleasing light at first, and 



180 ANSDALE HALL. 

insisted that he would greatly prefer re- 
maining at home with xVunt Martlia and 
me. But I assured him vciy eagerly that the 
invitation had been aecepted, and that it 
would hardly be kind or polite in him to 
refuse. 

" And I am sure you will like Mr. Ans- 
dale, Richard," I concluded ; " and besides, 
even if you stay at home for the sake of 
Aunt Martha's company and mine, you 
won't have it, for we are both going to the 
Hall.'' 

Richard laughed and shrugged his shoul- 
ders, — " Yery possibly he might like Mr. 
Ansdale, but he much preferred certainties, 
for his part, and he was sure of having 
agreeable company at home if we would only 
stay with him." 

"Richard will chang(j liis mind by to- 
morrow," said Aunt Martha, quietly smiling 
at him ; she was almost as glad as I to get 



ni CHARD AT HOME. 



181 



him back, and very proud of him too, I 
could see. 

And so our first evening passed ; and T 
could scarcely sleep that night for tlie hap- 
phiess in my heart. 




CHAPTER XI. 

CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 

UNT MARTHA was quite right, after 
all, and Christmas morning found 
Richard almost as much interested as 
myself in the proposed visit to Ans- 
dale Hall ; so that long before I was ready 
to start he was walking up and down in 
the garden, waiting impatiently for me to 
join him. 

The excitement of Richard's arrival had 
given Aunt Martha one of her old nervous 
headaches, which her night's rest had 
ftxiled to relieve, and she delil)erated a long 
while whether she should go with us or 
not ; but after keeping very quiet all the 
188 



CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 183 

morning, until tlie pain was greatly les- 
sened, she concluded to join the party. 

We had a pleasant, brisk walk together, 
over the frozen roads, for it was still quite 
early in the day when we started, and the 
sun, though very bright, was a Christmas 
sun after all, and had done little work as 
yet, excepting to gild and beautify the ice- 
pendants and snow-drifts. But the day 
was a peerless one, the very day that one 
could wish for Christmas, with the deep 
white snow under foot, — the fresh-fallen 
gift of our Christmas eve, and the purest of 
all gifts, next to that which was sent us 
nearly twenty centuries ago, — while the 
trees all sparkled with jewels, in exchange for 
their golden leaves, and shook their 
branches in a merry crisp fashion over our 
heads. 

Mr. Ansdale had not invited us to a late 
fashionable dinner, after the usual order of 
Christmas entertainments, lut he had ap- 



184 ANSDALE HALL. 

pointed the old-time hour of two. with an 
urgent invitation, extended to all his guests, 
to anticipate the meal by two or three 
hours, which, for my part, I was not indis- 
posed to do. 

Our little village was really alive with 
sleighs, and these were loaded with very 
merry occupants, we thought ; and I was 
so excited by the cold air and the music 
of the sleigh-bells that I should have en- 
joyed a walk quite through the village, had 
it not been for arriving late at the Hall. 

I need have had no dread of that, how- 
ever, for we were the first among the 
guests to enter the great, old-fashioned par- 
lor, unless, indeed, I except two strange 
gentlemen from tlie city, who had arrived 
at the Hall two evenings before, and in 
whose presence I was quite afraid to speak 
to Mr. Ansdale as I usually did. So, with- 
out waiting an introduction, I withdrew to 
the front window, opening on the road, 



CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 185 

where Nelly and I had often discussed 
school and stocking affairs, and there I 
seated myself to watch for her. 

But Richard was far from sharing my 
diffidence ; much to my joy, he seemed at 
home with Mr. Ansdale from the moment 
that gentleman first spoke to him, and sat 
and talked as freely with the three gentle- 
men as though he had known them all his 
life. Not that lie put himself forward in 
any way, or that he took a very large share 
in the conversation, — I should not have 
liked that at all, — but he was at his ease 
with these wise gentlemen, and interested 
too. 

For myself, I found full pleasure in 
watching the progress of affairs around me, 
a pleasure alloyed only by the absence of 
Nelly. At lengtli, in looking out at the 
beautiful Christmas day, I began to think 
in a musing way of the King who was born 
on Christmas so very long ago, ' — purer 



186 ANSDALE HALL. 

than the snow and brighter than the sun- 
light. 

After a little general conversation Mr. 
Ansdale led Aunt Martha off to the other 
parlor, to look at some strange piece of 
painting or sculpture, and Richard, not at 
all abashed by this desertion, soon became 
greatly interested in a discussion with one 
of the stranger gentlemen ; and I was 
presently aroused from my thoughts by 
seeing the other approach my window. 

" Are you trying to be alone in a crowd, 
little lady ? " he said pleasantly, taking a 
view of the road from over my head ; "you 
have a retiring disposition ; is it so ? or 
a meditative one ? " 

Ricliard's merry laugh reached me at 
that moment, and I answered that I had 
been amusing myself with watching the 
others, until I had fallen to thinking. 

" Watching others has been my enter- 
tainment of late," said my companion ; 



CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 187 

" a very pleasant occupation when one ia 
traveling, but not quite so diverting in 
your case, I should think. 1 should have 
preferred looking at the snow, after all. 
Are you fond of sleighing ? " 

To which I answered warmly in the af- 
firmative. 

" You need to find something of that 
kind to keep you alive in this quiet little 
village," he continued ; " I suppose you 
are somewliat troubled as it is to whilo 
away the time. Am I right? " 

" No, sir ; I think not. I have too much 
to do to have to find means of whiling 
away the time. It flies very fast, I assure 
you." 

I saw his eyes sparkle merrily ; perhaps 
he imagined I was constructing mountains 
out of molehills, in the matter of my duties. 

" It is a comfort," he said, drawing up a 
chair to the window and seating hincgelf 



188 ANSDALE HALL. 

therein, *' to find some one occasionally 
who is not trying to kill time." 

" Do you try, sir ? " I asked, a little won- 
deringly. 

" I confess I have been guilty of it," he 
answered, smiling ; " but I have learned 
better of late. And now, since I have con- 
fessed so much, my little friend, tell me 
what you were thinking of w^hen I came 
up, which gave such a grave look to your 
eyes." 

I blushed and was silent a moment, for 
I felt greatly averse to talking to this 
strange gentleman about those sober 
thoughts of mine, and I was going to pass 
it off with a light word or two, when I 
tliought that even in such a little thing as 
tliat I miglit confess or deny my Lord, 
stand up for my colors or desert them ; 
and so I answered, very low, a ad trimbling 
a little, — 

** I was thinking of what happened so 



CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 189 

many years ago in Bethlehem, sir, on a 
Christmas morning." 

He was silent a moment, and I was fear- 
ful of raising my eyes to his face ; but at 
length he said, very kindly, laying his hand 
on mine, — 

" That is what we all should have in 
mind this Clnustmas morning ; you are a 
brave little girl. God bless you ! " 

And I saw that he knew, after all, what 
a struggle it had been for me to say those 
few little words ; but whether he did or 
not, I felt thankful that I had conquered 
myself. 

He had commenced telling me some- 
thing, I almost forget what, when we both 
turned at an exclamation of delight from 
our host, who was shaking hands warmly 
with another gentleman, — a tall, sun-burnt 
stranger, who seemed to be exceedingly 
welcome. 

" You are the very last one I expected 



190 ANSDALE HALL. 

to litive honor me to-day," said Mr. Aiis- 
dale joyfully. " I scarcely supposed you 
were breathing American air. Mrs. Grey, 
let me iutrodilce to you an old friend, who 
was my companion in India for five years.'* 

Aunt Martha went through the intro- 
duction very quietly, and seemed not the 
least concerned about Mr. Ansdale's trav- 
eling friend ; indeed, I tliouglit she looked 
wearied, as though her headache were at- 
tacking her anew. But I saw Richard look 
searchingly first at Mr. Ansdale and then 
at his stranger friend, as though a new idea 
had suddenly burst upon him ; and he pres- 
ently slipped over to my window, just as 
Mrs. Winsley entered to monopolize Aunt 
Martha. 

" Bertha," lie whispered in my ear, " you 
never told me Mr. Ansdale had been in In- 
dia at all." 

"I couldn't tell you everything in one 
day, Richie," I said lightly ; " he has never 



CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 191 

Bpokeii much of it, — only mentioned il 
casually once or twice." 

So Richard fell to thinking for a few 
moments, while the stranger, to say the 
truth, made himself vastly at home. He 
was certainly a treasure at a Christmas 
party, for his voice was the cheeriest and 
merriest in the room, while his laugh alone 
seemed potent to draw forth echoing peals 
from all the company. Mr. Ansdale shrank 
into a willhig obscurity, while his friend 
gave glowing accounts of Indian jungles, 
wonderful dangers, and hair-breadth escapes. 
While he was in the midst of a marvelous 
story, giving a thrilling account of some 
one's adventure with some wild animal, — 
I forget what ; Richard could tell far better 
than I, for he had aroused from his reverie, 
and was cncliained, eyes and ears, — Mr. 
Ansdale came quietly over to our window, 
and stood tliere in a very thoughtf il mood. 

I saw that he wanted to speak to Rich- 



192 ANSDALE HALL. 

ard, but he probably judged it a difficult 
undertaking, as Richard was so absorbed 
as scarcely to heed his presence. 

At length the strange gentleman con- 
cluded his story, and then, noticing for the 
first time what a very appreciative listener 
he had, he came over to speak to Richard. 

" I think you have not introduced me to 
this young friend, Ansdale," he said, hold- 
ing out his hand to Richard w4th the ut- 
most friendliness ; " he puts me in mind 
of a face that I had somewhere in my mem- 
ory, I forget where." 

" This is a nephew of Mrs. Grey," said 
Mr. Ansdale quietly. " Richard Grey, is 
it not ? " He seemed to speak in a half ques- 
tioning way, as though he doubted what he 
said ; but Richard was so absorbed in ti- 
gers and jungles that he seemed quite for- 
getful, or careless, that Grey was Aunt 
Martha's name, and not his own ; indeed, 1 
think he was only anxious for the introduo- 



CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 193 

tion to be over that the gentleman might 
begin another marvelous story. 

But I wondered greatly that Mr. Ansdale 
should never have heard our proper name, 
though indeed every one called us Grey in 
the village, and Richie quite liked the idea 
of having different names at school and at 
home, so Mr. Ansdale had taken it all for 
granted ; but I thought this was going a 
step too far. 

'' Richie, your name is not Grey,'' I 
whispered softly. 

" Oh ! that makes no difference," he said 
indifferently. 

"But, Richard," I insisted aloud, "you 
have no reason to be ashamed of Norton." 

" Ah ! Norton, — I thought so," said Mr. 
Ansdale, turning in an abrupt manner 
from the window and walking across the 
room. 

" Well," said" the stranger, " I'm sure 
I've seen your face somewhere, my boy; 
13 



194 AKSDALE HALL. 

but 1 ha^c a poor memory, and the name 
doesn't bring it back ; " and then he began 
another story, wliicli failed to interest Rich 
ard as the last had done, for he kept follow- 
ing Mr. Ansdale with his eyes, while thai 
gentleman talked earnestly witli Aunt Mar 
tha in another corner of tlie room. 

I too wondered if Mr. Ansdale could 
have known our fatlier in that strange, dis- 
tant India. 

I had been so interested within that I 
had forgotten to watch for Nelly, and 
was tlierefore quite surprised to see her en- 
ter the parlor at this moment, bright and 
rosy after lier brisk walk. She came over 
and settled lierself by my side immediately, 
as tliongh that were by right her place. 

" I'm sorry to be so late, Bertie," she 
said, *' for I know you wanted me sadly ; 
but I have had so much to do, what with 
looking at my presents, in addition to all 
my other duties, and I felt so happy, that 



CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 195 

1 had scarcely sense to do anything. It 
makes me feel very thankful, Bertie, this 
bright Ciiristmas morning, to think what 
God has done for me since last Christmas ; 
so I have been contrasting the two. I was 
very gay and lively then, — you know I am 
naturally so, — but I wasn't happy after 
all, while now I feel happy and merry too. 
I feel as though I couldn't do enough for 
my Saviour. Don't you thhik it was very 
kind in Mr. Ansdalc to make me promise ? " 

" Yes, very, Nelly," I answered gently. 

" Bertie," she whispered, " who is that 
gentleman telling the strange story, which 
pleases Richard vastly, — the one so rough 
and sunburnt ? I like his face exceedingly, 
and I am sure he is very good too, — a very 
good man ; I can see it in his eyes and his 
pleasant smile. I like to read faces, Ber- 
tie." 

So I came to the conclusion that Mr. 



196 ANSDALE HALL. 

Aiisdale's friend must of necessity be a 
good man. 

The time passed very pleasantly after 
that, for every one seemed happy, and tried 
to make others so, and there was nothing 
to prevent it from being a very merry 
Christmas; indeed, I ranked it as quite 
the happiest in my life. 

Aftei dinner, while we were preparing to 
leave, Mr. Ansdale put liis arm over Rich- 
ard's shoulder and walked up and down 
the great hall witli him, talking quite low 
and earnestly, as thougli wliat he said 
were very important ; and though Richard 
seemed grave, I saw that his cheek was 
flushed with excitement as well. 

Then as we were leaving, and Mr. Ans- 
dalc shook liands witli Richard, lie said, — 

" I shall see you to-morrow forenoon, 
then, my boy?" and RicliarJ readily as- 
Hcnted. 

My curiosity was much excited at this, 



CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL. 197 

yet I had my own thoughts on the subject, 
and resolved that Richard should tell me 
all by the sitting-room fire that evening ; 
so I waited very patiently until we had 
finished our light supper and Huldah had 
retired to the kitchen ; then I drew up my 
chair more closely to his, and asked, — 

" What was Mr. Ansdale speaking of 
this afternoon, Richie ? " 

Aunt Martha was sitting on the opposite 
side of the fire with her knitting-work, and 
she sighed at this question, most unaccount- 
ably, I thought. 

" I meant to tell you, Maybird," said 
Richard eagerly. " Mr. Ansdale knew our 
father well wlien he was in India, and he 
recognized my face the moment he saw it ; 
80 I must look very like him, Bertie." 

"And did Mr. Ansdale see much of 
him ? " I asked, leaning forward to look 
into Richie's face. 

" Yes, Maybird; but he did not know him 



]98 ANSDALE HALL. 

very long, I fancy, and he was not with 
hhn when he died. Mr. Ansdale will tell 
us all about it when he sees us again." 

However, Richie continued to tell me all 
he knew, and auntie listened in silence. 

'' Was that all he said to you ? " I asked 
at length, suspiciously. 

"No, not all," he said, in an embarrassed 
way. " He gave me something to dream 
over Ijefore I speak of it even to you, Ber- 
tie ; " and then Richard pleaded weariness, 
and left us for the night. 




CHAPTER XII. 

THE NEW HOME. 

HE sun arose in dazzling splendor the 
!^ next morning. I watched it slowly 
mounting over the hills and the pine- 
trees, melting the frost-diamonds from 
the branches, and throwing a gilded luster 
over the surface of the snow. It was a 
warm sun for Christmas-time. 

I was happy that morning ; and I stood 
for a long time by my window, thinking 
everything very beautiful and bright, and 
wondering what I should do with myself 
while Ricliard was away ; for he had prom- 
ised Mr. Harold, one of the guests at the 
Hall, and one of Mr. Ansdale's stranger 
friends, that he would skate with him tliat 

199 



200 AXSDALE HALL. 

morning. This arrangement was a very 
unsatisfactory one to me, and I expected 
the morning wonld prove a stupid one, lit- 
tle imagining what wonderful things were 
destined to occur before the close of that 
short winter day, — wonderful at least to 
me. 

He had been gone about lialf an hour, 
and I was busy arranging his room, when 
I heard Nelly's voice below. That voice 
was always a pleasing signal to me, wlierev- 
er I might be, and always, as now, brought 
me quickly to her side. 

" Bertie, I want you to go witli me to the 
Hall. I have a drawing mania at present, 
and I have taken a strong fancy to copy 
that sweet little engraving Mr. Ansdale 
sliowcd us yesterday, — tliat little girl with 
the kittens ; you remember, don't you? I 
am confident he will lend it to me, for he 
couldn't very well refuse, you know. Be- 
sides, I want to ask him some questiona 



THE NEW HOME. 201 

about that adventurous Indian friend : how 
he did talk ! " 

" How you do talk ! " said Huldah, as 
Kelly paused, out of breath ; " I never see 
a girl run on so. Bertlia promised she'd 
read a bit to me sometime to-day." 

" So I will, Huldah ; this very after- 
noon," I said ; " only be patient, and let 
me go now." 

Huldah turned off with a sigh. What 
was the matter with the girl, I wondered. 
There seemed some trouble in her face, 
which I did not at the moment divine, but 
it worried me. 

"Huldah ! " I cried, springing after her 
as she walked toward the kitchen, '' is 
anything the matter ? If you really want 
me to read to you this morning I will stay 
at home." 

" Oh ! no, go ; it don't make no matter," 
she said, with unusual gentleness. 



202 ANSDALE HALL. 

"But I would rallior stay, if it makes 
any difference to you," I said, lingeriag. 

" It don't make none. It'll d<.) just as 
well when you come home," she said coh- 
clusively, waving me off with her hand. " I 
won't listen if you stay, so gt)." 

" Huldali, you must tell me first what is 
the matter with you. I won't go until you 
do." 

" 'Tain't nothin'," she said ; " I'm fetched 
up about myself, I s'pose. There's so 
much bad in me I want to hear somethin' 
good out o' me." 

" I will read to you before I go, Hul- 
dah," I said ; and, resolutely fixed in my 
purpose, I followed her into the kitchen 
and took my accustomed seat. The little 
Bible was tlicre, — it always rested on the 
kitchen mantel now, — and I read the story 
of our Saviour's trial, and the denial of Peter 
in the judgment hall ; of that gentle look 
of sorrow which the Saviour cast upou him, 



TBS NEW HOME. 203 

and the bitter repentant tears of the erring 
disciple, — tlie disciple whose sin I myself 
was so prone to repeat. Huldah listened 
fixedly, and sighed when I concluded. 

" He was mighty good to forgive Peter," 
she said. 

"He is very good to forgive all who re- 
pent." 

" I shouldn't think he could'a stood that 
look," she said musingly. 

" Think that Christ is looking at you in 
the same way, Huldah ; that he was suffer- 
ing for you when Peter denied him." 

" You go now," she said hastily ; " you've 
give me somethin' to think about." 

" Bertie ! " Nelly's sunny face peeped in 
at the door; ''I've waited so patiently! 
What have you been doing ? " 

" Only reading to Huldah." 

" Oh ! that's all right. Have you fin- 
ished ? Come, I am so anxious you should 
Bee your Christmas gift. Jack is deeply 



204 ANSDALE HALL. 

engaged in his literary pursuits with Aunt 
Martha, but lie has brought somethiug for 
you ; and I'm very much afraid his seusi- 
bility will suffer, for I don't believe you 
will keep it ; I wouldn't." 

Of course I was anxious to discover what 
mysterious article this might be, and we 
hastened to the sitting-room ; when Jack 
left his " literary pursuits," and presented 
me with his offering. It was a dear little 
captive snow-bird, caught tlirough some 
incomprehensible means by my former 
scliolar, and inclosed in a willow cage of 
his own manufacture, which, if it was 
rather rough, was still very ingenious. The 
poor little thing did not enjoy captivity, 
even though plentifully provided with the 
good things of this life, wliich Jack liad 
strewn in his j)rison. lie dashed his little 
body against the slender willow bars in the 
most piteous manner, and seemed to look 
pleadingly up into my face. 



THE NEW HOME. 205 

" Jack, it was kind in you to think of 
me, very kind ; I thank you ever so much. 
The cage is right pretty ; did you make it 
yourself? " 

" Yes, ma'am," he said, with brightening 
eyes. 

" It is very nice ; but don't you think the 
dear little birdie feels unhappy ? " 

" Don't like bein' shet up, I guess," said 
the donor, with a merry twinkle in his eye. 

" We wouldn't either, would we, Jack ? " 

" Oh ! he'll git used to it," said Jack. 

My mind took a rapid journey in search 
of some other use to which to devote the 
little willow cage. 

" Who taught you to make the cage. 
Jack ? Do you know what I would like to 
do with it in place of keeping this dear little 
bird in it ? " 

" No, ma'am," he said, with a crestfal- 
len air. 

" I have a pretty little vine in my room, 



206 ANSDALE HALL. 

with nothing to keep it in ; I should like to 
let birdie go, and keep this cage for my lit- 
tle vine to twine around ; and every time 
you come I can take you up to see how it 
is growing." 

This proposition pleased him vastly ; and 
the snow-bird was released from his thrall- 
dom forthwith, to seek his breakfast on the 
pure white ground, while the cage was pre- 
pared for another destiny. Then Nelly 
and I went to the Hall. 

Mr. Ansdale was not alone in the library, 
for the " adventurous Indian friend " was 
seated by his side in earnest conversation ; 
and though Mr. Ansdale received us warm- 
ly, as he always did, yet I had a disagree- 
able consciousness of being an intruder on 
a pleasant conversation. He did not ad- 
dress us again for some time, but conversed 
in a low tone with his guest, while Nelly 
made free with his portfolio of engravings, 
— an established privilege with her, — look- 



THE NEW HOME. 207 

iiig for the picture she had set her heart 
upon. Finally Mr. Ausdale turned toward 
me abruptly. 

" Bertie, where is Richard to-day ? " he 
asked. 

" He promised Mr. Harold to skate with 
him this morning, but he will be here be- 
fore long, sir," I answered. 

" Ah ! I remember," he said, turning 
once more to his guest. Half an hour 
slipped away, a very amusing one to Nelly, 
no doubt, for a portfolio of engravings was 
a most absorbing thing to her ; but T was 
weary, and wanted Mr. Ansdale to talk to 
me. Finally Nelly touched my arm. 

" See, Bertie," she said, " is it not sweet ? 
I am sure he will let me take it." 

u Yery pretty, Nelly," I answered, " and 
I don't doubt he will lend it you, — but 
hark ! wliat is that ? " for there was a great 
noise of opening and shutting doors below, 
heavy feet passing through the hall and up 



208 ANSDALE HALL. 

the btaircase, while a voice, louder than 
the rest, reached our ears, — 

" In the library ; he's in the library !" 

Mr. Ansdale started to his feet at that, 
and at the same moment the library door 
was flung open. There were two gentle- 
men ; I recognized Mr. Harold in a moment 
as one of them; and they were carrying 
Richard in their arms. I sprang forward 
eagerly, but Mr. Ansdale drew me aside, 
and helped, himself, to carry Richard to 
the sofa. 

" He has had a fall on the ice," I heard 
Mr. Harold whisper hurriedly ; " he is only 
stunned, I think." 

Then I stationed myself at the head of 
the couch, firmly resolved that not even 
Mr. Ansdal(3 sliould send me away. There 
seemed a great confusion to me, with peo- 
ple running hither and thitlier, all tryhig 
to do a great deal, and really effecting noth- 
mg. But Mr. Ansdale was perfectly caliUi 



THE NEW HOME, 209 

as lie loosened Richard's clothes, bathed 
his forehead, and drew down the blind to 
let the cool air blow upon him. I had 
never seen Mr. Ansdale's face with that 
expression on it before, — so greatly ex- 
cited and yet so composed. He never once 
left his side, nntil Richard opened his eyes 
and looked around him with a smile. 

" Did I fLill ? " he asked, attempting to 
rise, but kept down by Mr. Ansdale's hand. 
" How droll ! but I don't believe it has 
hurt me. Are you here, little Maybird ? " 
and he smiled lovingly as he glanced 
around at me. 

By that motion and those words of Rich- 
ard I realized tliat he was not really in dan- 
ger, and I felt very like crying when the fear 
M^as lifted from my heart, and the thank- 
fulness filled its place ; so I slipped away 
from his side in a moment and out into the 
conservatory beyond, for I wanted to be 
alone ; and there I fell on my knees 

14 



210 ANSDALE HALL. 

among the sweet flowers and burst into 
tears, thanking God that he had spared my 
brotlier's life, and tliat he had given us 
such a true friend as Mr. Ansdale to lovo. 

I don't know how long I remained there, 
for, strangely enougli to myself, I felt like 
being alone, when the door was opened 
gently, and I heard a step behind me. 

" My little Bertie ! " said Mr. Ansdale 
very tenderly, and as I rose from my knees 
he pnt his arm around me, and pressed me 
closely to his lieart. " My little Bertie, 
Richard has been promising me tliat if you 
are willing ho will come and live at the 
Hall, and let me Ije his fatlier, in so far as 
I can. What do you say? will you come, 
and give me a little liome comfort after my 
wearisome life ? " 

I looked up wonderingly in his face, and 
Bhook my head slowly. 

"• It is all very strange," I said ; " why 
do you want us? " 



THE NEW HOME. 211 

'' Why do I want you, Bertie ? " and lie 
smiled securely, as though he were sure of 
having me, after all ; " because I love you, 
and I shall soon love Richard as well ; be- 
cause you can both make me very happy, 
and I you, I think." 

" But Aunt Martha," I said wistfully ; 
" I never shall leave Aunt Martha, Mr. 
Ansdale." 

" Dear little Bertie," he said ; " did you 
think we had left Aunt Martha out of our 
plans ? I had a long talk with her yester- 
day ; and I think you can persuade her to 
come to the Hall : she sees it will be best 
for you." 

" Dear Mr. Ansdale," I said, " I am so 
glad ! " 

'^ And I want one little favor of you, 
Bertie, — will you learn to call me ' father,' 
in memory of that otlier father whom we 
both loved ? Only one little girl has ever 



212 ANSDALE UJLL. 

called mc by that name, and it is very 
sweet to me, Bertie." 

'• Oh, yes ! " I said ; " I am quite bewil- 
dered, and don't understand it at all : did 
you just think of it this morning, sir ? " 

He smiled, a strange sort of a smile, I 
thought. 

" I have thought that I wanted i/ou, Ber- 
tie, since our first Macaulay-lesson ; and T 
have grown more confident of it every day. 
I had little doubt, too, that I could persuade 
you to come to me, were it not for that 
dear brother of yours, and I had no heart 
to part you in any way." 

*' But you will love Richard dearly for 
himself," I said eagerly. 

^^ Dearly, little Bertie," he aflfirmed, with 
a kindly smile. " I have l>cen well pre- 
pared to love him for a long wliile ; and if 
not, I should liave tolerated liim, for the 
sake of my Uttle daughter. And when I 
found who your father was, I proposed the 



THE NEW HOME. 213 

plan to him at once. Though he demurred 
a little at first, I think he is pleased." 

" I am sure he is," I said musingly, " if 
Aunt Martha only will come." 

Then we went back to Richard, who was 
still lying on the sofa, as much at home 
apparently as though lie had lived in Ans- 
dale Hall all his life, and fully realizing his 
new position, which, for my part, I was far 
from doing. It was rather strange to me 
that he had assented so easily ; but Mr. 
Ansdale had quite won his heart. 

And while we sat talking it over to- 
gether, Mr. Ansdale's " Indian friend " 
came back again, and when he learned the 
state of affairs seemed to take it as a mat- 
ter of course, and congratulated us each in 
turn. It seemed that Mr. Ansdale had told 
him everything before, and explained the 
mystery of Richard's face ; but he had 
seen little of our father, and had forgotten 
him, among the multitude of strange faces 



214 ANSDALE HALL. 

he was always meeting in his travels. But 
Mr. Ansdale told us all about liim, what a 
noble, generous heart he had, and how well 
he had served his country in that distant 
land. 

" And did he ever speak of us ? " asked 
Richard at length. 

" I remember his speaking of your mo- 
ther with a full heart more than once, after 
receiving a letter from England, and of 
some little ones whom he was longing to 
see ; but he was naturally reserved, and 
showed little of his inner life to those 
around him. It was about six months 
from the time that I parted with him that 
I heard of his death ; then I was iu Eng- 
land again." 

So the morning had quite slipped away 
in our talking, and Richard became per- 
fectly at home in the library, although he 
had never entered it before ; and I l)egan to 
think that he regarded Mr. Ansdale as fa- 



THE NEW HOME. 215 

miliarlj as though he were our own brave 
father, returned after many years. 

He was not much hurt by his fall after 
all, and assured me that he would have 
been off the sofa long ago, were it not for 
the mere pleasure of resting there ; and 
that he was ready to skate whenever Mr. 
Harold would join him. But, fortunately 
for Richard, that gentleman was in his 
room, writing letters, and would leave that 
afternoon, notwithstanding Mr. Ansdale's 
urgent invitation that he would remain. 

" I must go home and tell Aunt Martha,'* 
I said at length, suddenly starting from my 
seat by the sofa, and remembering that she 
had been alone all the moniing ; " but 
Richie can stay here." 

" I will let you go on one condition : 
that you bring Aunt Martha back with you 
in half an hour," said Mr. Ansdale. 

To which condition I readily agreed, and 
was permitted to go on my errand. 



216 AXSDALE HALL. 

I was quite breathless when I arrived at 
our cottage, and paused a moment to col- 
lect my senses after Huldali had opened 
the door. If I had not been so greatly ex- 
cited I might liave noticed the unusual 
smile that greeted me, but I only asked, 
" Where is Aunt Martha ? " 

" Be you sick, dear ? " she asked. 

" Oh, no, nuldah ! but I have something 
strange to tell you ; come into the sitting- 
room." 

Aunt Martha was knitting by the fire- 
side, with that sweet look of placid content 
on her face tliat she always wore now, and 
she looked up with a bright smile to greet 
me ; and I could only cry, winding my 
arms around her neck, " Auntie, auntie, 
are you quite willing Mr. Ansdale should 
be our father ? " 

And auntie smiled and stroked my hair, 
wliile Iluldah chipped her hands in con- 
gratulation. 



THE NEW HOME. 217 

" I know it is for your good, dear," said 
auntie. 

And so I sat down and talked it all over, 
quite forgetting my promise, until the 
great clock warned me. 

" Auntie ! we must go back ; he said 
so." 

Aunt Martha could refuse me nothing. 
Huldah ran up for her bonnet and shawl, 
and I helped her put them on. 

" We will be back before very long, Hul- 
dah," I said, as we passed out of the door. 

" You needn't to be afeard of leavin' me 
now. I shan't be lonesome," she said, with 
a peculiar smile ; and I knew by her face 
that Huldah had cast her burden upon ^\\q 
Lord. 



CHAPTER XIII 



CONCLUSION. 



E had a merry time that evening in 
the dear old library ; it had never 



aj-si^o) seemed so pretty and cozy to me be 



fore, for it had never been home, our 
own home. I entered immediately into all 
my rights ; assumed to myself the task of 
dropping the curtains, and drawing my 
father's easy-chair to the fire, receiving a 
kiss as I seated myself at his feet. 

Nelly was there too, — dear little Nelly. 
She seemed to feel perfectly happy in the 
joy of others, and most earnestly implored 
to bo often admitted into that literary re- 
treat as a mem))er of the family, she said. 
It was not the literary character of the 

218 



CONCLUSION. 219 

above apartment that lent it a charm for 
Nelly ; she had no ambition to renew her 
acquaintance with Macaulay, from the day 
she discarded him. So I came to the con- 
clusion that the living attractions, together 
"with sweet associations and pleasant hours, 
painted a halo around the old library walls 
for Nelly. 

Richie had lighted the gas, and had 
drawn liis chair up to the fireside intent on 
the completion of a projected machine, for 
some wonderful purpose that I never fully 
understood, but which was warmly encour- 
aged by Mr. Ansdale, greatly to Richard's 
joy. Poor boy ! he had never found any 
one at liome who could enter into or appre- 
ciate his plans, and he hailed with delight 
this new sympathy. Moreover, Richard 
had his wish : he was going to college. I 
had touched tlie subject inadvertently in 
our conversation, and Richie's newly-found 
sympathizer had instantly taken it up. 



220 AXSDALE HALL. 

" Do you want to enter college, my 
boy ? " he asked. 

"Yes, sir,'' said Richard emphatically. 

" And if you once enter you will be sure 
to go through with honor ? " he questioned. 
" You will not disappoint me if you go, and 
God spares your life ? " 

" No, indeed ! " said Richard with assur- 
ance. " God helping me, you shall never 
be ashamed of me. 

" I was not afraid of that," said Mr. 
Ansdale, " but I would rather, my boy, you 
never entered college than (hat you sliould 
merely graduate with superficial knowl- 
edge, gained by but little attention to 
your books : but I am sure you will not 
do that ; you shall go if you will. But 
where ? " 

" To Dartmouth, sir," said Richard 
promptly. 

*' Be it so. I sliall oppose no obstacle ; 
and I hope to be proud of you yet." 



CONCLUSION. 221 

"But I am very proud of him now," I 
said in a deprecatory tone. " He couldn't 
be much better than he is." 

Richard caught me in his arms at that, 
and kissed me a dozen times in his great 
joy at realized hopes and my warm defense, 
joined together ; while Mr. Ansdale smiled 
indulgently. 

" Yes, Richard is a good boy," he said. 

" Richard never gives any trouble," said 
Aunt Martha, most sincerely ; for black 
footprints, disordered rooms, and tumbled 
curtains were quite forgotten at the moment, 
or, better still, sunk into insignificance. 
'' Richie is a dear boy ; " which assertion 
was bountifully rewarded by the person 
under discussion. 

"^ And now," said Mr. Ansdale, bending 
down and speaking softly to me, " Can't 
we persuade Aunt Martha to quit the old 
house and take up her abode at A:asdal9 
Hall ? " 



222 AUSDALE HALL. 

" Oh I auntie, of course you will." 

" What is that, dear ? '' 

" You will come here to live all the lime, 
and bring Huldah with you ? '' — the latter 
clause being an amendment of my own. 

" Why, my love," she began hesitatingly, 
*' I don't know." 

" Ah I but I know, Aunt Martha ; I 
know you could never live happily without 
Richard and me." 

" That is very true, my dear," she an- 
swered ; " but it would be like tearing out 
my heart to leave the dear old home ; 
though I am willing to give you up, when 
I know it is for your good." 

" There can be no question in regard to 
your l)cing with the children," said Mr. 
Ansdale kindly ; " I never meant to rob 
you of them ; you must certainly live at the 
Hall. But why not keep possession of the 
old plac(\ and lot the whole family, our lit 



CONCLUSION. 223 

tie Nelly included, favor it with periodical 
visits ? " 

Tliis was hailed with great applause, and 
Aunt Martha rested satisfied, giving her 
full and cordial consent to take up her 
abode at the Hall. 

'' Richie and I never imagined last sum- 
mer, when we were admiring tliose dear 
old ivied windows, and wondering how the 
library looked beyond them, tliat the Hall 
would bo our liome so soon," I said, looking 
up at our new father in the firelight. 

" Nor I," he answered smiling, " when I 
rescued a certain perplexed little maiden 
from a labyrinth of blackberry-bushes. And 
now let us tliank God together for the hap- 
piness he has given me." And we knelt 
around tlie fireside, while he implored the 
blessing and protection of " our Father 
who art in lieavon ; " and I felt the hand 
that clasped mine tremble as I knelt by 
his side. 

" Bertie, darling," he whispered, as he 



224 ANSDALE HALL. 

kissed mc when we parted for the night, 
" I hope you may be very happy in your 
new home ; that God will give us all 
strength to serve him as we should, and 
never to forget that we do not belong to 
ourselves or to each other, but to him who 
loved us, and gave himself for us." 

And I remembered Richie's motto, and 
asked God for strength to enable me to do 
everything for his glory in my new home ; 
for, I thought, it is not always when much 
love is granted us, and all things move 
smoothly and softly, that we are nearer 
God and heaven ; but it takes trial, hard- 
ships, and neglect to draw our hearts to 
God's heart, and make the Saviour pre- 
cious ; even as hard words and cold looks 
make tlic wandering child weep for its 
home. But God gives us our blessings, 
and it was liis help that I asked that first 
jiight in my new home, that he would ever 
make all his blessings pure to me for Jesus' 
sake. 



THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY 
REFERENCE DEPARTMENT 



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