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The Family
SUNRISE.
By George Carrington Moseley.
Gently from out the eastern sea,
A waiting world to find;
The day-orb comes triumphantly,
Leaving the dark behind.
Yon far off blue peaks bask in bliss,
Soothed by Aurora's tender kiss.
Caressed by the dew-ladened wind.
Soft dreamy lights the woodlands fill.
The children of nature wake;
From leafy lane to distant hill.
Their unsung silence break.
I scarcely know how they could wait,
Their sweetest messages to relate.
And morning greet so happy still.
1 breathed the splendor of the morn,
And from the beauteous beams;
My heart was no more faint, forlorn,
But filled with golden dreams.
And to my task I addressed my heart,
Resolved, at least, to do my part,
Of that for which the world was born.
MARY ARNOLD'S VACATION.
i*j rticbiica uuu niuci oun.
After Mary Arnold had packed her
trunk for her vacation trip and had
bought her ticket to Crimson Springs,
where she expected "to loaf" for a month,
she received the following letter from her
brother-in-law:
"Dear Mary,?
"Julia is ill with typhoid fever and I
am very alarmed about her. I have procured
a trained nurse, but it is impossible
to find a cook, and the children need
attention sadly. Can you come to us?
I shall meet you at the station tomorrow
morning at nine-thirty. Knowing
you have never failed us in an emergency.
I shall certainly expect you.
"Your distracted brother,
* Frank."
Frank and Julia lived only twenty
miles beyond Crimson Springs, but a vacation
in tneir home under present conditions
would difTer widely from her expected
visit to the Bummer hotel. Pity
and sympathy for her sister mingled
with a terrible heartache for her own disappointment.
She had been teaching all
winter, had economized so closely in order
to have "this one happy summer,"
had spent her hard earned money on a
few pretty clothes to wear at the springs,
on/1 kn/1 1/n/X1//./1 ? ?A- AL
ouu uctu luunru iui naiu gu cageii> LU lilt;
sunny care-free weeks! It was now the
middle of July and ere she could leave
her sister she knew it would be too late
to go anywhere.
There was no thought in her heart of
refusing to answer this call. There was
no one else to go to Julia in her illness,
and no alternative for Mary to consider.
In her sister's family there were four
children; the eldest ten, the youngest
two years of age. Mary loved them all.
She laid away silently and regretfully,
the dainty white ciothes, the soft blue
silk, that represented almost a month's
r *
HE PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SOI
salary, and the pretty hat, which she now
needed not at all. She packed a few serviceable
dark things into a suit case, donned
her last year s serge suit, and departed
for the home of the sufferer.
While on the train Mary scolded herself
severely for her selfishness in pityU
* * ? - - *
ins uc-iocii msieaa 01 me loved one who
lay so ill. For many years Julia and Julia's
family had been a heavy drain on
the single sister. Regularly Mary sent
gifts to them, dresses and little suits to
the children, and sometimes money to Julia.
Frank worked hard, but there were
many calls on his small salary and the
wants of the growing family were never
filled. Mary's longed-for outing had meant
so much to her. however. She had been
teaching for four years, and during that
time had had no real vacation. The
weeks between June and September had
been filled with work at the University
in an adjoining city, work that would
better quality her to be a successful
teacher. So the years had been full of
study and teaching, books and writing,
a never-ending giving of herself. This
summer she had determined to be
"young again for once," to be lazy and
careless for a few weeks, to dress and
to have the amusements that were rightfully
the property of every good-looking
wholesome girl of twenty-five. That was
the dream, and Julia"s disordered household
the reality.
The glad relief and warm welcome on
Frank's anxious face rewarded her somewhat
for her sacrifice, and the joyous
greetings of his brood drove her disappointment
out of her mind, at least for
a time. Julia was too ill for Mary even
to enter her room, but the trained nurse
tofd her that the young sister had come
and she would see her in a few days,
if her improvement continued. Mary's
first glance at the remains of Frank's
five days' housekeeping showed her there
was plenty for her to do. The nurse
had been caring for the patient very attentively,
but outside of the sick room
everything was chaotic. There were beds
unmade, floors unswept, and dishes unwashed.
There were soiled clothes everywhere,
dust lay on tables and chairs,
and the children wailed that there had
been no breakfast except coffee and cold
bread.
It was almost ten o'clock whon
arrived, so she decided to postpone
cleaning until the afternoon and to prepare
' the kiddies" a dinner "what was
a dinner" as Frank, Jr., expressed it.
She dispatched tne two boys to the garden
to gather the vegetables, detailed
young Mary Katherine, aged six, to entertain
baby Gertrude and to keep her
out of mischief, and sent Frank, senior,
to the butcher's for a roast of beef.
When dinner was well under way and
the kitchen cleaned, Mary set the table
and put the dining room in order. Dinner
when served consisted of roast beef
and potatoes, string beans and fresh
corn, tomatoes, biscuit, coffee and pie.
Frank's tired, anxious face had haunted
her while she worked, and when at
dinner he gave her a look of gratitude
?.nd appreciation, the last pang of self
JTH. June 30, 1909.
pity left her heart, and she was glad,
glad she was nere and doing "what she
could."
After a few days, Dr. Mason assured
Mary that Julia would certainly recover,
but said that it would be many weeks
before she would be strong enough to
undertake nousekeeDinc fares aenin
"1 know it has been hard for you. Miss.
Arnold, to take upon yourself an this
care, when you have been so unaccustomed
to it, but I feel sure that your
presence has certainly aided Mrs. Wilson's
recovery, if not actually saved, her
life."
41 am glad indeed that I have been
here," she replied, "to keep house has
been a new experience to me. I have
lived in a boarding house so many years.
It is a not unpleasant change," and with
a, bright smile she left him, saying not
a word about tne month at Crimson
Springs.
Through the days that followed, for
tne invalid days of suffering followed by
weeks of slow convalesence, Mary's
hands were too fun for her heart to
have any regrets. After the nurse left '
and Julia could see her family again, it
was a long time ere sufficient strength
came to her to enable her to dispense
with Mary's assistance. It was the mid
aie or September before Mary had the
courage to ask Dr. Mason about her
leaving.
"Dr. Mason," she said, ' my school begins
early in October and I feel I should
have a little rest before I take up my
duties again. Is Julia strong enough
for me to leave her, now?"
"Miss Arnold," he answered, 'you
have given up all your vacation, haven't
you?"
"Yes, but that doesn't matter. I had
to come. But will it be safe for me to
' leave now?"
"You may go tomorrow, if you wish,
Mrs. Wilson has improved greatly during
the last week. But let me advise
you as a physician, not to enter the
school room until you have fully recuperated
from all this strain. Why not
go to Crimson Springs for two weeks,
anyway?"
Crimson Springs! How she had wanted
to go earlier in the season, but now
her enthusiasm was gone. She had
not intended to say anything to him
about her frustrated plans, but at his
rofomn ? ?>V- -1 - ? ? -
.ctvivuvc, iue wuuie siory came out.
Even the blue silK dress was mentioned,
and how she had planned and dreamed
how bitterly she had laid away the
pretty things she would not need, and
how tired she was!
"I ain more than convinced that Crimson
Springs will be of benefit to you.
You are my patient, whether you think
so or not. Go home tomorrow, get your
things together, and flit to the Springs
Tuesday."
"Dr. Mason, is this a ftemand or a request
?"
"Both. Stay there at least two weeks.
And?this is a request?may I come over
to see you there?"
"Yes, if you want to."