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For Woman’s Work.
AU REVOIR.
“Until we meet again!” how much it means.
“Good bye until we meet again !"
Perhaps e’en now the shadow leans—
The cloud before the coming rain.
“Until we meet again I” Ah, what between
May come to mar a life of nope ;
Or else it may be joy to glean
Along our vision’s horoscope.
“Until we meet again!" with ringing tone
So oft tis said in plavful note;
No thought of waves ’gainst rocks so lone
That wash and fret in constant sport;
Aye, sometimes at our very feet,
“Beware!” writ out on every crest
As if to make the dark complete,—
The coming night that knows no rest.
“Au revoir’’—’twill be, perhaps,
When snows have sifted o’er the hair
And left their whiteness with soft taps,
Among the gold, still lingering there:
When brightening eyes have duller grown,
When palsied hand, not firm, takes yours,
And husky voice in quivering tone
Greets e er so kindly age—ensues.
‘An revoir!” a row of graves
, May lie between this time and then :
There may not be one tie that saves,
And yet a greater one—tis when
New births have taken place of old ;
New voices young, and faces fair;
No whiteness on their hair of gold,
No dullness yet in eyes so rare.
Then why should sadness mar the hour ?
Whate’er betides must be: “alls well.”
What matters it if sun or shower
May ring for us its tolling bell ?
“Until we meet again—a-gain—gain,’’
Echo reverberates in prayer,
And ends in trust, a joyful strain
As peace is wafted on the air.
Mrs. S. C. Hazlett.
For Woman’s Work.
JUDITH GRAYSON S CHRISTMAS
OFFERING.
BY MRS. S. C. HAZLETT.
.OW, IF you have neither love nor
I pity in your heart, for the way
faring and unfortunate, perhaps it
would be better if you did not read
N
this little story, for it is of a “Magdelene”
I am writing; a woman who had fallen,
and who, through the mercy of Christ, had
been redeemed.
Scoffs and sneers will be wholly out of
place here, for just over yonder, where
the roses grow sweetest and thickest in
summer, where the warm sunshine rests
most lovingly, and where the feathered
songsters sing most joyously, gleams a mar
ble cross. It bears this simple inscription.
“Judith, whose gift to God was her Life.
I think Judith Grayson was one of the
most beautiful women I ever beheld.
Beautiful, not merely in a physical sense,
but in a spiritual, ethereal sort of loveliness,
that awed one as he looked upon her.
I have been told that she was not always
like this; that in other years she might
have been called handsome, but not beau
tiful—certainly never lovely. But she was
this latter when I saw her: Tailand slight,
willowy and graceful, with dark hair and
eyes, and skin almost transparent—a dainty,
sea shell pink and whiteness, like a piece
of rare old china. Her eyes were large and
soulful, and lit up with a sincerity and hon
esty of purpose that could not be mistaken.
The tones of her voice were low and musi
cal, her demeanor was modest and shrink
ing.
It is not my purpose to enter into the de
tails of her fall, nor her redemption. It is
of a certain Christmas eve, that marked
the epoch of her history, that I am writ
ing ; a night when she laid down her life
on the altar of God’s goodness to her, as
an atonement for her past.
After knowing her, I never could under
stand how people, women especially, could
shun her and say unkind things about her;
really, I believe that envy had something
to do with it, for oh, she was so very lovely
and so loveable; but perhaps other women
did not know her as I did, because most of
them were afraid to come near her, lest
their garments might touch hers, and they
become contaminated; and then how
thankful they were, that they were not as
others ! Oh, yes, its the way of the world
you know, and old habits and customs are
so hard to break.
It did not snow nor freeze that Christ
mas, it rained ; simply poured down, until
every creek, rivulet, and river in the vi
cinity was a great volumeof water. Bridges
floated away, many houses and much de
struction followed, but as yet no lives were
lost, at least no human lives, in Barrsville
Hollow; this was the pretty little place in
Massachusetts where Judith Grayson lived.
When Judith’s redemption became
known, there was one woman in Barrsville
Hollow, braver than the others, who dared
to offer her a home, and who took her into
her own household, right among her grow
ing boys and girls. This was a Mrs. Ruth
Brown, a woman noted for her broad
charities and kindness of heart; and it was
mainly through Mrs. Brown’s instrumen
tality, that Judith saw the error of her
ways and, bitterly repenting, reformed.
Mrs. Brown was not finely educated,
neither did she have a grana home. A
simple unpretentious woman, a widow with
five children; but she owned her little
house, and the several well-kept acres sur
rounding it.
She was a thrifty, wide-awake little body,
and so neither she nor her babies, ever
suffered for food, fuel or raiment.
“But, what will she do now?” was the
general question all over the village.
Judith knew only too well, what the
villagers said and thought, and felt that
she could never repay this one true friend.
“To take such a woman into her family I”
whispered the gossips, who were perhaps
committing as great a sin in the eyes of the
Father as she. For he lays no particular
stress upon any one sin, but sin.
It would be impossible to express, in
words, what this sensitive woman suffered ;
because her redemption was sure. She felt
so deeply humble, so thankful for His mer
cy and kindness unto heb, and yet, some
how, she could not get over the world’s
scorn ;it stung her deeply. She was mer
ciless to herself, however, and yet when
she remembered that, “tho’ your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be white like wool,” and
saw that the world did not appear to think
so, and did not trust her, she could not
understand it. Ah, what could she expect?
She held herself aloof as much as possible
from Mrs. Brown’s children, fearing she
might unconsciously do them an injury;
but they trusted her, believed in her, and
loved her.
Good Mrs. Brown never, by word nor
deed, gave her cause to think for an
instant that she doubted her, or that she
ever remembered the past, but treated her
as an equal in every way. Mentally, and
in appearance, Judith was Ruth Brown’s
superior, but the former did not think so.
Judith Grayson was entering her twenty
eighth year when she came to live with
Mrs.’ Brown, three
months’fore Christ
mas. They were
sitting around a
large open fire
place, filled with
crackling logs that
threw out a warm
ruddy blaze; Mrs.
Brown and her chil
dren the latter
huddled about there
mother, and talk
ing of Santa Claus,
and wondering what
he would bring
them this time; for
he never forgot
them. Mrs. Brown’s
sweet, honest face
glowed with pleas
ure while the little
ones grew so eager
and glad. Judith
sat apart from them,
near a small table
in the center of the
the room, sewing.
Her head was bent
low over her work,
and her dark eyes
veiled with their
long sweeping lash
es, which hid the
hurt feeling that always lay in their
depths. She sat so still, except for the
moving of her slender fingers, one would
think her a statue. She wore a black
dress, of some soft clinging material, made
very plain. No white collar and cuffs re
lieved its soberness; the neck and sleeves
were trimmed with a narrow edge of black
lace.
As she sat there, her slender figure out
lined against the white wall, she looked
like a rare old silhouette picture. She
apparently heard the conversation going
on around her, but she did not enter into
it; she rarely spoke unless spoken to.
She was wondering, in a yearning sort of
away, what she could give these little
ones, and their brave-hearted mother. She
felt that she must be a great burden, which
she would gladly lighten.
Mrs. Brown “took in sewing,” and in
this way J udith assisted her very materi
ally, “mor’n payin’ for her board,” Mrs.
Brown was wont to say to her friends.
There were a few who, when they learned
of this, no longer gave the sterling little
woman their patronage; but it did not
trouble her, for she was overburdened with
work as it was, and sang away as happy
as ever.
Right in the midst of this peaceful scene
by the fire-side, came the sound of stamp
ing feet, and a loud rapping upon the door.
“Mercy me,” ejaculated Mrs. Brown,
‘‘what in the world is that?” while the
frightened children gathered closer to her
side.
At the first footfall, Judith Grayson had
arisen from her chair, intending to go
from the room; but before she could take
a step, the door was pushed open, and a
tall man, enveloped from head to feet in
water-proof garments—the water running
in little streams from them upon the clean
ly kept floor—stood before them.
The wind blew a perfect gale—putting
■ j
SKeSt/B «a.
Mrs. S. C. HAZLETT BEVIS.
out the lamp, and whirling the ashes from
the fire-place, all over the room. Mrs.
Brown hastened to close the door, while
the man stood, gasping for breath, and
Judith leaned upon the little sewing table
heavily with one hand, every vestige of
color gone from her fair face. She recog
nized the man as a servant, or laborer, at
“Great Place,” the home of Barrsville
Hollow’s wealthiest citizen, the widow
Carson; generally spoken of as “ The
Madam.” The widow Carson had one son,
the instigator of Judith’s ruin years ago;
but he was off beyond the seas now, and
the proud mother hated the unforteaate
girl with all the intensity of a harsh and
cruel nature—blaming Judith, alone, for
everything. Harry Carson was the only
man Judith ever loved, and when he de
serted her she fell rapidly lower, in a hope
less-don’t-care-sort of way.
She was out of those depths now, thank
God, and only a gentle pity for Harry Car
son remained in her woman’s heart.
The coming of this servant at such a
time, awoke saddened memories, and, in
surprise, she, as well as Mrs. Brown,
anxiously awaited the nature of his errand.
“What is it? what’s the matter?” asked
Mrs. Brown; “come to the fire and dry
your clothing.”
The man took a long breath, and. ad
vanced further into the room. “The
Madam is taken suddenly ill, very ill, ” he
answered, “and the servants are all gone to
a merry-making; I want some one to stay
with her, while I fetch the doctor.” He
took off his cap now, and shook the rain
from it.
Mrs. Brown looked at Judith, and Ju
dith’s dark eyes met hers, as if to say
“Which one of us shall it be?” “Great
Place” lay nearly a mile beyond the vil
lage proper, in a sort of sequestered valley,
swered, “and I have
left the Madam too long alone now; she
may be dying.” He hastily put on his
cap again ; “Will you go?” the fellow
spoke sharply as he turned towards the
door.
“Yes, yes, one of us will go,” Judith
Grayson’s sweet voice answered, sounding
as though it was wholly independent of
her will.
Both Mrs. Brown and the man looked at
her in surprise, and then the fellow with a
gruff “very well” hurried out into the
stormy night. As the door-closed, Judith
hastened to put on her rubbers and wraps;
Ruth Brown watching her in a half-dazed
sort of way, as though she dreaded to have
her go, and was powerless to help her. The
children looked on wonderingly. When she
was all ready, Mrs. Brown seemed to re
cover herself, and spoke: “Are you really
going, Judith; there, andon such a night as
this?”
For answer, Judith only nodded her
head.
Ruth Brown crossed the room and, reach
ing up, put her kindly, toil-worn hands on
Judith’s graceful shoulders, and, looking
straight into her dark, earnest eyes, said:
“I am afraid you are undertaking too much,
Judith, and that you will have something
worse than the storm of the elements to
meet, when you enter the door of ‘Great
Place.’ ”
“I do not fear,” answered Judith, calmly,
a look of firm resolve resting upon her
white face.
Mrs. Brown kissed the girl and bade her
“God speed.”
Judith Grayson was out in the night and
the terrible storm, battling with the ele
ments for her life. She could scarcely
keep her feet, and the rain came down in
such torrents she was soon completely
drenched.
As if by instinct she found her way; it
could have been in no other manner, unless
and surrounded by
a heavy of
timber. !
A little '• stream
called Lime Creek,
spanned by a nar
row bridge, also di
vided it from the
village, while the
river lay on the
opposite side of it.
It was a magnifi
cent old place, and
here the “Madam”
lived alone in all
her pride and splen
dor, except for the
servants.
“Is there no one
else you can get,
who lives nearer
‘Great Place?’” Mrs.
Brown asked anx
ioussly; she hardly
cared to go where
she knew she was
far from being wel
come, and she had
no thought of Ju
dith’s going.
“I never thought
of any one else but
you,” the man an-
the Father guided her. As she stepped upon
the frail bridge that crossed “Lime Creek”
arid clung to the slight railing for support,
she felt its waters laving her feet; but she
struggled on, not heeding the tumultuous
sounds, nor feeling the discomfort of cold
or drenched garments. It seemed an
eternity to her, before the bright lights of
“Great Place” shone out upon the dark
night.
The huge gateway was reached at last,
and she leaned against the tall posts for
support, panting'for breath, and trembling
in every nerve. Lifting the cumbersome
iron latch, she opened the heavy gate, with
much difficulty, and stepped into the wide
lawn. Up the broad graveled walk, with
the swishing of the mighty arms of the
great trees above her; up the handsome
marble steps, and, without pausing, turn
ing the knob of the elegantly carved door,
she stood in the stately hall—the home of
her betrayer. The warmth, the fragrance
of rare plants, and the light and color and
magnificence, intoxicated, and nearly over
powered her; she came very nearly falling
to the floor, and would have done so, but a
low growl startled her, and she recovered
herself.
A large dog, of the St. Bernard breed,
came slowly towards her from a recess, and,
reaching her, quietly sniffed her over; as
if satisfied of her right to be there, he
wagged his bushy tail and rubbed his nose
against her. J udith stroked him. fondly.
She looked about her; a silence as of death
and desolation within, while without the
tempest raged with increasing fury. She
was undecided what to do, for a moment;
where should she go to find the ill, and per
haps dying, mistress of all this splendor?
The dog, as if divining her thoughts,
looked up into her face, and then bounded
up the stairway—pausing at the first land
ing, to look back at her.
Comprehending his meaning—evidently
that she should follow him—she started af
ter. He led her to the door of a handsome
ly furnished room, whose portal stood wide
open. Low moans were issuing from this
apartment, and, lying on an exquisitely
carved bedstead of ebony and brass—whose
rich draperies were of rare old satin and fine
lace—was the widow Carson. Judith had fre
quently seen this cold and haughty woman
(although to her knowledge, Mrs. Carson
had never beheld her) and she knew
her at once, though she had changed
in appearance as much as Judith had, but
not for the better apparently. The girl-wo
man, paused, just long enough to remove
her rubbers and soaking wraps, and then
approached the bedside. Mrs. Carson
seemed to be in her death agonies; but Ju
dith was not at all frightened, and went
about doing what she could to make the
sufferer as comfortable as possible. “Wa
ter, water,” gasped the widow, and, from
a silver ewer standing on a heavily inlaid
table, Judith poured a glass of water and
held it to the parched lips. The sick wo
man drank every drop eagerly. After
awhile she seemed to grow more quiet and
the girl had time to think why the man
servant did not return with the physician,
and to feel very anxious about being left
alone so long. There evidently was no one in
the great house, but the sick woman, her
self, and the dog. Two o’clock chimed forth
from the ormula time-piece upon the lac
quered mantel, and while Judith was in the
act of chafing the dainty hands of Mrs. Car
son, kneeling upon the rich Turkey carpet as
she did so, the huge St. Bernard gave a snort
as of fear and bounded out of the room. He
soon returned, and, running to Judith,
clutched at her dress with his teeth.
She understood at once that something
was wrong, and went with him as he led
the way into the hall and partly down the
stair.
With an exclamation of horror, she saw
that, up to the first landing, the steps were
completely submerged with water. Too
well she knew what it meant. The river
and creek, swollen by the rain, had met and
clasped hands. Flying up the remaining
stairs which the treacherous waters were
slowly creeping, up, up, and over, she went
to a large window in the end of the hall at
the top of the stairs; throwing it open she
looked out upon the night. Nothing but
blank darkness met her eye, except where
the lights from the house fell on the seeth
ing deluge.
Dropping on her knees, with no thought
of herself, her prayer was “Oh, God, help
me to save Harry’s mother, for his sake.”
Mrs. Carson’s cries and moans of pain
fell on her ear, and she arose and hastened
to her bedside. She again made the suffer
er as comfortable as she could under the
circumstances, and knowing that there was
no'time to be lost if she would find a place
of comparative safety, even for a little
while, she called the dog, and began
searching for points of possible escape. At
first, the task seemed a hopeless one, but
searching still further, she was rewarded by
finding herself in a small tower at the
utmost height of the tall building, which
she felt would be the greatest point of safe
ty—-for surely the waters would not rise to
this! The house was an old one, but it was