Newspaper Page Text
2
offer of help.
“Sunbeanr,” —as they called her—had
darted ahead, and they found her by her
mother’s invalid-chair, laughing and chat
tering as usual.
“Mrs. Caruthers is a small, beautiful wo
man; and how much alike are the mother
and child,” was Margaret’s first thought.
She took Margaret’s hand, drew her up
close, and smiled kindly, as her eyes read
the face. Margaret met her gaze with a
look just as kind and gentle, and perhaps
with a touch of pity, for her second
thought had been: “She is not a happy
woman.”
“I am glad you came, my dear. My lit
tle daughter is right; you are the lady
from the enchanted garden, for your pres
ence has already made me feel better.
Draw that low chair up very close to me—
right here, please. lam very glad you
came.”
“And I am glad,” said Margaret, so
quietly and sincerely that Mrs. Caruthers
put out her hand and laid it over Marga
ret’s, while their eyes again sought each
in the other’s soul for some kindred
thought or feeling. Sunbeam had curled
herself down at Margaret’s feet, and her
golden head rested against her knees while
she was trying to catch the yellow shafts
of sunlight that fell through the lace-hung
window. Dr. Caruthers had withdrawn
through an open doorway into the next
room, where he had taken up a book, but
he did not turn a leaf.
“It is hard, being an invalid and not
permitted to see anyone, and Arthur
made me promise not to talk any before he
would ask you to come to me. Do you
mind it, dear, having all the talking to
do?”
“Oh, no. Not when I can tell some
thing of interest, but I see so little of the
world and have so little time for reading,
with sewing from early morning till late
at night. To-day I’ve been working pur
ple flowers and red berries on a bright
green dress for Mrs. Blandshaw, and it
makes me feel none of the brightest.”
Mrs. Caruthers laughed a low little
laugh. She was pleased with Margaret’s
well modulated tones and unaffected way
of speaking. There was much admission
in Margaret’s little speech. Mrs. Caruth
ers was not slow to see it, for she under
stood that Margaret meant she should,
and she was doubly pleased.
“Do you sew, Queenie?” asked Sunbeam,
looking up quickly. “You shouldn’t do it,
for it will stick your fingers sore. I knew
the ogre made you sew. Well, she sha’n’t
any more,” softly patting Margaret’s
hand.
“I sew for her, but she doesn’t make me
do it, fairy, though she does keep me pret
ty closely at it. I’ve been with her now
nearly three weeks.”
“Poor child, don’t you get tired of it?”
asked Mrs. Caruthers.
“Yes, I do, sometimes. lam going next
week to Mrs. Yantis. She is kinder and
more considerate. I only stay a week
with her though, and then comes Mrs.
Givins next. I keep going round in a
circle, like the seasons of the year. ’Tis a
busy life, and a hard one, sometimes, but I
have many little pleasures, and I enjoy
them, as I am so much alone.”
“Alone? Tell me your name, dear.”
“My name is Margaret—Margaret Delan.
Everyone calls me Margaret. I wouldn’t
recognize anything else.”
“Brother called you ‘Queenie,’” put in
Sunbeam. “And your people, Margaret,
where are they?’’
“I’ve no people that I know of. My
father and mother I can just remember.
We lived on a farm —a rented one I think
—and though they were not rich, we had
plenty of everything. Then I lived with
a maiden aunt. She was poor, but she
gave me what advantages she could, and
intended for me to teach but I disliked it
so much that when she died I took up her
work—sewing. I have never regretted it.
I like it really, and it is all that I can do
efficiently. It is hard work, and some
times disagreeable, but I make my bread
independently, and that is a great deal. I
have no friends outside of the households
where I sew, but many of them are very
kind to me. Mrs.,Blandshaw lets me have
a little room, bed, table and chair all to
myself—there I keep all my possessions,
and I call it home. Mrs. Yantis is more
kind socially, and has offered me a home
many times, but she is poor, has a large
family to support, and I would not add a
bit to the burden I fain would help her car
ry. Yes, and I have three other friends:
there is Dave, the newsboy, and Nan his
sister (they are good children,) and Myra,
the poor, sick washerwoman. Igo to see
her as often as I can, but that is not often.
I am much alone still, but I have learned
to make company for myself, and am nev
er lonely.”
Mrs. Caruthers was very much interested
in the queer little recital.
“A Q d you are quite content, Margaret,
for your life to wear on in this monoto
nous routine for the years to come?’ ”
“Ifitseemeth best,” she answered quick
ly. “The Father leadeth me and 1 fear
not to follow. I used to long for a higher
work (a sigh) and dream of bringing king
doms to the Lord, but now I am satisfied; if
I had been suited for the work He would
have given it to me. I have learned, too,
that the humblest task as well as the great
est work may be made to His glory.”
Mrs. Caruthers was looking away out
of the window when Margaret ceased
speaking, but she turned quickly to her
and asked:
“You are a child of God?”
“Yes—oh, yes—surely,” with the tears
standing in her violet eyes.
“Don’t, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you;
but, tell me, what evidence have you that
you are?” Her thin white hand was placed
over Margaret’s again with an earnest
pressure. “No—no—don’t tell me the
‘evidence of His word or the evidence of
his spirit.’ I’ve been told that so much,
and I don’t understand it. Tell me in
your own words and from your own ex
perience.”
“A great peace and quiet and trust in
here,” Margaret answered, laying her hand
over her heart.
“A great love for God and all his crea
tures; a great gladness and joy that I am
His child and that He thinks me worthy of
His humblest service: a perfect willingness
to follow where He leads me, though it be
through the Valley of the Shadow of
Death.”
Mrs. Caruthers was looking out of the
window again.
“Ah! you have the pearl of great
price.”
There were several minutes of silence
between them, and then Margaret started.
“Oh, it is getting so late! What will Mrs.
Blandshaw say!”
“I am sorry I detained you longer
than you should stay, dear, but you will
come again?”
“I will come awhile to-morrow, if you
would like for me to do so.”
“I would like it. I feel that you can
comfort me, and I need you sadly; come.”
“You are not going back into the ogre’s
clutches, Queenie? I will not allow it,”
cried Sunbeam, gathering her dress with
both hands.
“I will come back again, Sunbeam, if
you let me go this time,” promised Mar
garet, as she disengaged herself and with
drew from the room.
“Will you, now, Queenie, and not go
back any more? Say—say!” begged the
child, as she followed Margaret to the im
provised gateway.
Margaret met Mrs. Blandshaw face to •
face in the hall, as she was hurrying up to
her work.
“Well,” she almost demanded, and
Margaret knew she expected an explana
tion.
“I was over at Mrs. Caruthers,” said
Margaret quietly.
“Indeed, I did not know you were ac
quainted with Mrs. Caruthers.” The tone
of Mrs. Blandshaw’s voice said plainly
“such brazen impudence.”
“I went by invitation,” said Margaret,
with a mischievous expression in her eyes.
She knew of Mrs. Blandshaw’s ineffectual
attempt at being received there, and it
was wicked of her.
“Well, I suppose she wanted you to do
some sewing for her?”
“No, merely for conversation. lam go
ing back to-morrow, for an hour.” This was
a thunderbolt to the good lady, and it was
some moments before she could rally.
“And, pray, how did you go? Not by
the street, that way, I hope.”
“No-o-o. I was reading in the garden,
and her little daughter and step-son came
to the fence and said Mrs. Caruthers
wanted me, and I just went through an
opening in the palings.”
“Very improper indeed,but some girls are
very bold about pushing themselves around
where there are young men.” Margaret
hurried on, with her cheeks tingling, while
Mrs. Blandshaw sought her gardener and
bade him fasten on that paling and see
that no more were loosened. Margaret
worked hard all the rest of the day, and
far into the night, belore Mrs. Blandshaw
could suppose that half hour made up.
She was not conscious of having acted im
properly, and soon she dismissed the un
kind words from her mind altogether.
She thought of Mrs. Caruthers much of
the time. She felt that her woman’s heart
was crushed under a heavy weight of sor
row. “Comfort her, O God, with Thy
Spirit,” she murmured ever and anon.
THE next day, at five minutes past
one, found Margaret, hat and gloves
on, leaving Mrs. Blandshaw’s gate. Half
a dozen steps brought her to Mrs. Caruth
ers’, and there; Sunjjqftnq met her with ft
lalq of woe,
WOMAN’S WORK.
A wicked fairy had carried off her An
gelina, and she could find her nowhere.
Margaret helped her search the garden,
round and round, where she had last had
the doll. Finally they found her, and the
fairy proved to be Sunbeam’s own little
woolly dog. He had pulled off all of An
gelina’s lovely hair, and had bitten off her
nose. Poor Sunbeam might have been
more appropriately called Baindrop, then.
Margaret consoled her somewhat, and
then went in through the open win
dow to Mrs. Caruthers’sitting room, where
she had seen her waiting, and watching
their mancauvres in the yard. “Margaret,
you have a kind, gentle heart,” Mrs. Ca
ruthers said, smiling and motioning Mar
garet to the same low chair she had occu
pied on yesterday. “Doesn’t it come nat
ural for you to soothe and comfort? I’ve
been watching you and wishing I could be
comforted like Sunbeam.”
Words of praise were very pleasing to
Margaret. She had heard so tew in her
life. A warm color rose in her otherwise
pale cheeks, and her gaze sank to the
floor.
“You told me your story yester-eve,
dear,” continued Mrs. Caruthers; “I will
tell you mine now, and I know you can
help me. Something told me so when
Sunbeam first began to tell me of you. In
my mind there grew a picture of a gentle,
sweet face, and a tender heart, and I was
not disappointed one bit in you. I’ve
talked with ministers, but they are too
much in the clouds for them to understand
me or for me to understand them. My
step-son is a thorough Christian, but I
cannot talk to him as I will to you. I
will take you down into the depths of this
wicked heart of mine. My father—l
don’t remember my mother—was a Chris
tian, and he tried to lead his only child in
the right way. I joined the church at his
urgent request, not that I understood
what I was doing, or cared to. I don’t
think I realized then that there was
any wickedness in my heart. It was
the thing to belong to a fashionable
church, and I joined it. My husband was
kind and indulgent, and I was ambitious.
We went a great deal into society. My
circle of friends widened and widened, un
til my life was one continual round of
pleasure and excitement. I had no time
for my husband, no time for my children,
and I almost forgot that there is a God.”
Margaret was truly startled. She had
heard of the s'aves of society and. fash
ion, but she had never been brought
to face the fact betore, now only pity
shone in her eyes as they rested on the
stricken woman. “Can’t you realize it,
Margaret? Don’t tell me that I overdraw
my own wickedness, for Ido not. I’ve had
time to think it all out and see clearly how
wicked I have been since I’ve been lying
here. And now comes the part I cannot
understand—to which I cannot be recon
ciled. One evening my husband was
brought home to me—dead. I was fairly
crushed; I thought it more than I could
bear. I knew then that God was terrible
in His anger, and I thougnt He was cruel,
too, to me. In a few months my precious
baby-boy—the very light of my life—
drooped and died, in spite of all my care
and my prayers to heaven for mercy. O,
my baby—my baby!” moaned the almost
frantic woman.
A spasm of pain distorted her delicate
face, and her hands were pressed tightly
over her heart. Margaret sprang to the
bell, and it was answered by Dr. Caruthers
himself. She helped him apply the restor
atives, and gently fanned the patient all
the while, to the Doctor’s surprise, show
ing wonderful nerve and knowledge of
how to act. Then, at his request, she sum
moned the housekeeper, and between them
they carried Mrs. Caruthers to her bed
room.
Margaret waited in the garden until she
could hear from the patient. Dr. Caruth
ers joined her there in the course of half
an hour.
“My mother is better now. You see,
Miss Delan, she has heart trouble, and
when she becomes worried or excited it
brings on one of these attacks.”
“1 am sorry, but I did not know,” began
Margaret.
“O, no, Miss Delan, you are not to blame
—you did not know. 1 rather expected that
she would bring on an attack, so did not
go away. I have warned her often that
she brings on these attacks by excitement,
and that they are dangerous, but she in
sisted that she would control herself this
time. She said to talk to you of her sor
row would help her to bear it. Poor lit
tle Mother—she can’t see yet that the
Hand of Affliction is truly a loving and
merciful Hand.”
“Her heart is too sore yet, Dr. Caruth
ers,” Margaret replied quietly, but the
young man saw and felt the rebuke con
tained in the words, a color ever so slight
arose on his cheek, and he gave a limb of
geared feuah a plight jerk, He had
SEPTEMBER, 1900.
been watching Margaret closely, studying
the expression of her lovely, unconscious
face.
“My Mother bade me ask you if you
would like to give up your present posi
tion and come to live with her. She in
tended speaking to you herself, but this
sudden indisposition prevented it,” said
the Doctor after a pause. Margaret drew
a quick breath, almost a gasp of delight.
“Oh, I would be so glad,” she began,
then added more quietly: “if I can be of
service to Mrs. Caruthers in any way, I
will be only too glad to come, but I must
be kept busy, for I have never spent an
idle day in my life.”
“Ah! but there are times, I think, when
it is a luxury to sit in idleness. She will
talk with you of the remuneration when
she is stronger; and she bade me tell you
that you cannot come too soon. Can she,
Sunbeam?” he asked as the child came
running to them.
“What, Brother?”
“Miss Delan is coming to stay with us.”
“O, goody—goody—ain’t I glad. Ain’t
you glad, Brother?”
“Yes, indeed!” he answered, smiling.
“My engagement with Mrs. Blandshaw
is out to-morrow,” began Margaret, as she
turned to go.
“We will expect you then," said the
Doctor.
“No—a week from to-morrow, if you
please. Mrs. Yantis will look for me next
week, and I cannot disappoint her. She
could not get any one on so short a notice.
Tell Mrs. Caruthers I will come a week
from to-morrow. Good evening! ’
Tne Doctor opened the gate, and then
raised his hat with a “Good evening!”
Sunbeam followed her out, still holding
her hand.
“Then you’ll put some new hair on my
Angelina and fix her nose, won’t you?
You said you could.”
“Yes, I will do that the very first
thing,” promised Margaret readily, and
then hurried home to her work.
“O sweet, pale Margaret! O rare, pale
Margaret!” murmured the Doctor to him
self, as he went up the path t& the house.
Saturday evening came at last, and Mar
garet had put the last stitch in those pur
ple flowers and red berries, folded the
dress, and had then given it a final pat.
Mrs. Blandshaw laid down her fancy
knitting and looked at her over her glass
es.
“The work is finished now, Ma’am.”
“Well, how much do I owe you yet?”
“Three dollars, if you please.”
“Very well. I will not need, your ser
vices any more in the future.”
Every word was very distinct and em
phatic, so there was no danger of Marga
ret misunderstanding.
She was picking up the bits of thread
from the carpet, thinking how best to tell
Mrs. Blandshaw of her altered plans with
out offending her. She paused only for a
moment and then, taking the money from
Mrs. Blandshaw, retired to the little room
that she had always occupied. She had
altogether spent at least a fourth of every
year for the last three years, in this room,
and it felt more like home to her than any
of the other places she sewed, for here
she could be alone with her Bible and her
thoughts, while at other places her room
and often her bed was shared by some
maid of the house. She was sorry that
she had offended Mrs. Blandshaw and that
the lady should think unkindly of her, yet
she could not see how she could explain
without offending still further. Marga
ret bore no resentment in her heart for
any unkind words or reproaches. Tears
stood in her eyes and ran down her cheeks
as she gathered together her few “tricks”
and closed her small trunk lid on all her
worldly possessions; but she had brushed
them away and her face had resumed its
usual sweet expression when she again
presented herself before Mrs. Blandshaw.
“I am very grateful for all your kind
ness, Mrs. Blandshaw,” she said: “I will
send for my trunk next Saturday, if you
will kindly let it stay until then. lam
going to Mrs. Yantis this week. Good
evening.”
Mrs. Blandshaw could not forgive Mar
garet that twinkle in her eye two days be
fore, when she had told of her visit to Mrs.
Caruthers. She was disappointed, too,
because Margaret had taken her dismissal
so quietly; so she went directly to a neigh
bor to talk over what she thought and
what she suspected of Margaret. There
are a good many “Mrs. Blandshaws” in
this world of ours!
The week passed by slowly for Marga
ret, though she was very busy and Mrs.
Yantis was more kind than ever before.
Margaret told her of her new engagement,
and of how it had come about. She re
joiced in Margaret’s good fortune, yet was
sorry to give her up.
Mrs. Yantis was a kind-hearted little
woman, but had a large family and a slen
der purse put ot which to feed and