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For Woman’s Work.
DESTINY.
The drop of rain, the failing leaf.
Though feeble each, with mission brief
Still have accomplished heaven’s will,
And left their trace on stream or hill.
O precious thought I that lifts us o’er
The power of chance forevermore;
We cannot live and pass away
And leave no mark of our short stay.
A baptism from God’s own hand
Is on each brow in ev’ry land—
Long for the beautiful, the true,
And He’ll unfold their worth through you!
George Bancroft Griffeth.
For Woman’s Work.
“BEADIE.”
BY KATE CARRINGTON.
HANG the bell at Mrs. Green’s
boarding house, and was shown into
the parlor by a servant. The blinds
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were closed, and I could not distin
guish objects in the room after leaving the
broad glare of the sunlight. It was with
difficulty that I recognized Mrs. Green
when she entered. She was a typical
boarding-house keeper—tall, dark, angu
lar, and owning a stock of practical com
mon sense that enabled her to make both
ends meet, even in keeping boarders for a
livelihood. I asked her for board and
lodging during the college term about to
open, as I was to attend school.
“Beally, I haven’t a vacant place in the
house, my dear, —unless—” and Mrs.
Green hesitated and glanced about the
room. “Unless you can room with Miss
Blisshorn. She has the room next to mine,
which I know you prefer.”
“Who is Miss Blisshorn? Can I see
her ?” I asked.
Following the direction of Mrs. Green’s
glance, I discovered a figure across the
room, and almost behind me. The tall,
straight back of the old cushioned chair
looked no stiffer than the back of the girl
who occupied it. There was something
quaint and old-looking in the pattern of
her dress, and She wore an old-fashioned,
broad collar of hand-made linen embroid
ery, which fell on her shoulders like a
cape A long, heavy braid of golden hair
fell to the floor at her side ; her face was
fair and childish, while her eyes were the
sparkling bright blue ones so seldom seen.
Her hands were toying with some lace
and a needle. By this time I could see
clearly and I thought: “What a blending
of childhood and grandmotherhood !’’ A
crutch stood by her chair; she took it up
and came forward. Mrs. Green introduced
Miss Blisshorn.
“And will Miss Graham always sit with
her back to me, in perfect silence, if I take
her into my room ?” Miss Blisshorn said,
with the air of a judge who was taking
evidence of importance.
“I beg your pardon,” I replied. “On
coming into the dark room from the sun
light 1 did not see you. I am neither si
lent nor reserved, usually.”
“Then I shall be glad to have you, and
Mamma will be delighted to know that
you are with me. Mrs. Green keeps you
set up in the house as her model boarder,
I believe, and lam sincerely glad to know
that you have returned.”
She finished with an elaborate bow, and
Mrs. Green could not conceal her anxiety
to end the interview. The decidedly
graceful bow, the musical ring of the sil
very voice, and the peculiar twinkle of
tbe brilliant eyes made me wonder wheth
er she was old or young, whether she was
acting or only natural. The next mo
ment, wholly ignoring Mrs. Green’s au
thority, she led me away to our room, at
the same time lecturing me in the most
motherly way. I saw her cast a triumph
ant glance at Mrs. Green as we left the
parlor; with an air of precision she in
structed me to call her “Beadie,” as she
hated stiffness —and that was only one of
her many instructions. There was a
strange contradiction between her face
and manner. At first I doubted the wis
dom of our being domiciled together, but
Beadie’s primness continued for several
weeks, and I concluded that the arrange
ment was quite agreeable.
“Haven’t I behaved nicely since you
came?” Beadie said one day as she sat
brushing her long, sunny locks. “I am
growing quite an old woman under your
wing. Mamma will be delighted,and will
never cease to worship you if you tame
me. Professor Teachum says you are
working miracles—whatever they are ; I
never did understand them. I have spells
sometimes and you mustn’t get vexed with
me; it’s only for a little fun, and I can’t
help it. Oh, but I’m getting matronly
under Mrs. Green’s watchful eye—did you
ever notice her eye ? It’s just like the
point of an arrow, only it’s sharper and
blacker. Yes, I’m getting on toward the
pink of primness under your example. I
think the guidance of you two, mixed
with wbat nature made me, will produce a
novelty—that is, perfection, I mean, and
I’m striving to attain it. But you must
keep a weather eye open and step on my
toe occasionally.”
“You have, indeed, behaved well,” I
said, “but your mother told me the other
day, to ‘step on your toe’ every time you
need it, so I’m going to step on it now.
You wander in the garden when you ought
to be at your books. I fear that your
mother will be disappointed in your exam
ination.”
“Yes, that’s all because you won’t let
me talk to you while we study, till my
tongue fairly cleaves to the roof of my
mouth. I’ll do better, see if I don’tl”
Beadie tripped down stairs with the water
pitcher, and I soon heard her humming a
tune in the garden. Mrs, Green came in
and stood with her hand on the doorknob.
“Please tell Beadie not to talk to the
young men at the table, it is so unlady
like; besides, there are strangers here al
most every day.”
“You tell her, Mrs. Green,” I replied.
“It would be out of place for me.”
“No, she wouldn’t like it from me, and
you must tell her or make some plan to
prevent it. There are several strangers
here to-day. Perhaps you can take her
place and give her yours.”
Mrs. Green went down, and I put on
my thinking cap. Beadie and I were the
only school girls in the house, and the
women boarders seldom came down until
we had left the table. I sat at the corner
next to Mrs. Green and Beadie sat next to
me. Across the table and at her side were
several young men in the same school.
She especially liked to force aconversation
with Mr. Dilwood, the one next to her,
because he seemed so reserved and unap
proachable, while the other boys enjoyed
the fun. I had stepped on her toe often,
but that had no effect. I had never
spoken to Mr. Dilwood the whole time.
While I was thinking, the bell rang,
and I found Beadie waiting for me in the
hall. Mrs. Green was at the table, but
the others had not come in. As we were
about to sit down I asked Beadie to ex
change places with me, and Mrs. Green
seconded me earnestly. Beadie took my
place after some hesitation.
“Why, of course I don’t care,” she ex-
Slained, ‘'only I’m afraid it will please
Ir. Dilwood to be rid of me. I enjoy
forcing him to talk; but an earthquake
couldn’t move his high and mighty stiff
ness.”
The young men came in. Mr. Dilwood
looked frightened, as if he expected afresh
encounter, while the others smiled and
looked very wise. By this time I had
heard various accounts of Beadie’s mis
chievous attacks, and was wondering how
the next one would break out. It came in
breaking lamp chimneys. She broke four
in our room in one day, replacing each
with a long tirade on her own careless
ness. “It’s so provoking to have breaka
ble things always stuck in the way I The
bits of glass always fall where they are
not wanted. It’s ridiculous for me to be
so careless, anyhow. Chimneys cost lots
of money—ten cents each. Why, dimes
make dollars! I’ll never break another
while I live, I’ll kiss the Bible on it I”
After that, Beadie was on her good be
havior for a week. On Friday evening I
went to visit some friends, and returned
on Monday morning. There was a note
from Beadie on the bed in our room. She
wrote that she was off to school and would
advise me to come immediately. It was
signed “Your horn of Bliss.” That was
rather suspicious; I naturally wondered
if Beadie had taken a spell in my absence.
When I entered the study hall, school
had not opened. The president sat at his
desk, around which were gathered all the
young men from our boarding house ex
cept Mr. Dilwood, who sat at his desk
seemingly unconscious of any one's pres
ence. Beadie was intent on a lesson at a
far window, likewise unconscious. Many
other pupils were in the room. When I
went in, a smile beamed round, and there
was mischief in the beam. Even the pres
ident was deeply amused, but he spoke to
me at once.
“Come here, Miss Graham, I have some
thing to show you.” The young men gave
way and I approached the desk much in
terested. Professor Teachum drew from
behind the desk a pasteboard box, neatly
wrapped and tied. All eyes were upon
me as he slowly opened it, while the as
tonishment I showed broke the smile into
a roar of laughter and drew a crowd
around the desk. The box contained an
old-fashioned chignon,—one of the largest
and most wonderful chignons—was ad
dressed to Mr. Dilwood, and showed the
post mark of our office. I could do noth
ing but stare. I was wholly confounded.
Mr. Dilwood wore his hair so short that
his head was almost bare. The idea of his
slender, stiff neck and little bullet head
bearing that hideous thing, with its shaggy
net, as a crown I Who could have thought
of it ? It was amusing, but I was too
WOMAN’S WORK.
much puzzled to laugh.
“Did you mail this to Mr. Dilwood last
Friday as you were about to leave town ?”
asked the president.
“No, sir,” I replied, and the truth be
gan to dawn. “I never saw that chignon
before in my life.” Then a feeling of of
fended dignity came over me, and I felt
insulted by such an accusation. My face
burned like fire, while I longed to get the
real offender by the throat for two min
utes. I could see that the professor was
satisfied, but the pupils began to taunt me
with acting to deceive them.
“Mr. Dilwood, did you say that word
was left at the office for this to be returned
to Miss Graham if not delivered?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Mr. Dilwood, with
out lifting his eyes from his book ; and I
felt like wringing some of the stiffness out
of his long neck for bringing it up in school.
No doubt he enjoyed the fun, too, in his
own way. I marched to my desk and sat
down. As the young men most nearly
concerned were new pupils and total
strangers to me, I scorned to deny the
charge the second time, or to seem anxious
to know the guilty one. It had the ap
pearance of a bold advance toward form
ing an acquaintance for which I had not
the least desire. When we reached our
room I closed the door and stood against
it, interrupting Beadie’s noisy chatter.
“Who sent that chignon to Mr. Dil
wood ?” I asked.
“How ever should I know ?” Beadie re
plied, pretending to be amazed.
“Well, I believe you do know; and if
you have the principle I give you credit
for you will tell Professor and Mr. Dil
wood who sent it.’’
“Oh, that would spoil it all I All the fun
is in the mystery of the thing; it would
never do to tell it.”
“Beadie, tell me who sent the thing,” I
insisted.
“Well, I did, of course.”
“Very well, I have nothing more to say
about it. You can do as you please about
acknowledging it. I’ll never tell on you ”
The subject was not mentioned to me
again, but I saw that it was fully under
stood in a few days. How the explana
tion was made, I never knew. I knew
Beadie’s nature so well that I was sure she
would make it a point of honor to explain,
and that the task would not be painful,
for she never seemed to care for “owning
up” any more than for playing pranks.
All through the term, Beadie kept up a
succession of mischievous freaks, too nu
merous and varied to describe, and when
the pupils were furious over some prank,
she acknowledged so frankly, and berated
herself so soundly for being born “in the
wrong time of the moon,” that she was at
once forgiven. She had such a happy,
lovable disposition, and was so frank and
generous that no one could bear malice
toward her. She spared me after the case
of the chignon, but every evening recited
to me her mischief of the day more con
scientiously than she recited her lessons.
I saw that her wit and tact would keep
her out of serious trouble, and only gave
her a gentle caution now and then. I
have never seen another girl who could
carry on mischief as Beadie did, and keep
the respect and esteem of the whole school.
But hers was always harmless fun. When
the examination came, she managed to
pass, but how she had learned anything I
could never tell.
When the next term opened we were in
the same places, and Beadie declared that
she had turned over a new leaf, and would
be so good that none of us would recognize
her old self. But “self” bubbled over in
lees than a week, with some deep mis
chievous scheme, which was accepted as a
matter of course by teachers and pupils.
I think no one else ever loved me with the
worshipful love she gave me, and I re
turned it with a less passionate, perhaps,
but a deep and abiding devotion like that
of an older sister for the pet of the house
hold. I was only a few months older than
she, but my life had made me seem much
older, while she had never known a care
Early one morning there was a tap at
our door; I opened it, and a boy gave me
a yellow envelope. It was for Beadie.
Her face grew
crimson, then
settled into the
wh i t e n e s s of
marble as she
read it. I wait
ed in anxious
suspense till
she finished,but
she did not
speak. “Is
your mother ill,
or any of the
family ?” I ask
ed, as she
sprang up and
began to braid
her hair rapid
ly, seeming io
have forgotten
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’Mil
•« ‘ l ~ V 5' ‘hrt, ’
my presence.
“No, none of them, but—some one else.
I must go home, help me to get ready,
quick.” I caught her hair and finished
braiding it while she unfastened and drop
ped her dress. “Now, dearie, please put
two of my school dresses in my valise with
some underwear, and such other things as
I shall need for two or three weeks. Pack
all my things in my trunk some time soon,
and send it to me when I ask you. Please
go down and tell Jim not to leave me, I,
want to go to the train.”
The carriage was at the door,and I gave
the order to the driver, then ran back to
pick a few more articles from Beadie’s
disordered trunk. Jim called for the va
lise, and Beadie was as neatly dressed as
if she had had hours. We went down.
She was about to leave without a word of
good-bye; then she clasped me closely in
her armsand whispered as she kissed me:
“I will write as soon as possible. Tell
them something—what you please.” Jim
lifted her into the carriage, I put her
crutch beside her, and she was gone.
I returned to our disordered room—now
mine, alone—and began to put away the
many garments lying about the floor.
Such a transformation I Could it be the
little sparkling, careless, spoiled, mischief
making Beadie who gave her orders with
such precision, and changed to a reserved
woman in a moment? Where had her
frankness and childish chatter gone ? Who
was ill, and why did she not tell me ?
What could I say to Mrs. Green and Pro
fessor Teachum ? I was late at school.
Professor inquired the cause of my tardi
ness and Beadie’s absence. I said that
she had a message calling her home that
I thought some one was ill. and that she
was in such haste to meet the train that
she did not explain. Mrs. Green was more
inquisitive, but I adhered strictly to that
explanation and never went beyond it. I
was glad then that Beadie had kept her
secret—if secret it was—to herself, for I
was sure that Mrs. Green would have
forced it from me.
I heard nothing from Beadie for three
weeks, then only a note saying that her
friend who was ill was better, and that she
would return to me soon. I was annoyed
by frequent inquiries, and felt that Beadie
owed an explanation to Professor Teach
um, who was giving her all the privileges
of the school, free of charge. Two weeks
later Mrs. Blisshorn wrote asking me to
come to her for a few days, as it was nec
essary that she should see me before Beadie
returned to school. I went, of course.
Mrs. Blisshorn was a widow in moderate
circumstances. Her home was as cosy and
tidy as woman’s hands could make it,
while its air of refined comfort made one
wish to stay always. Her family consisted
of Beadie and a son some years older, who
impressed me as being very silent and
stern. In the evening, while we sat on
the long piazza, the family gave an ex
planation of Beadie’s absence from school.
She was engaged to be married, without
her mother’s knowledge, to Joyce Har
wood, who was ten years her senior. He
was a good man, in comfortable circum
stances, and was exactly her opposite in
general disposition; he was silent, reserved,
a deep student, and altogether a man of
sterling worth but no displav.
Beadie was to finish her education while
Mr. Harwood made a home for her, and
they kept their secret well until he fell ill
with typho’d fever. In his delirium he
called for Beadie cor stantly, and disclosed
the secret. He could not be controlled at
times, and raved so wildly for Beadie that
the physician ordered her sent for. The
touch of her hand soothed him, and with
her constant presence and nursing he was
convalescent. His mother was with him
all the time; Beadie’s mother, too, was
often there, hut the secret was out. Now,
what must Beadie do ? She had given the
gossips “a feast of fat things,” so to speak,
and Mrs. Blisshorn dreaded the result, es
pecially if a long engagement should ter
minate in a disagreement and estrange
ment instead of marriage. And Beadie
was so childish and thoughtless, she said.
Beadie’s brother was opposed to her mar
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