The following morning I went down to breakfast with some trepidation, and feeling very much like a culprit. Mrs. Flaxman came into the room first, and in her mild, incurious fashion said: "We were hunting for you last evening. Mr. Winthrop wished to see you about something."

I did not reply, neither did she inquire where I had bestowed myself out of reach of their voices. I felt certain Mr. Winthrop's curiosity would be more insistent, and was quite right in my conjectures. He came in as usual, just on the minute, and seating himself, went through with the formality of grace; but before our plates were served, he turned to me and rather sternly said: "Are you in the habit of going out for solitary night rambles?"

"I never did but once," I faltered, too proudly honest to give an evasive answer.

"That once, I presume, occurred last night?"

"Yes."

"Strictly speaking, it wanted just five minutes to nine when you slipped stealthily into the side entrance."

I sat, culprit-like, in silence, while his eyes were watching me closely.

"Don't you think two hours a long time to be loitering about the garden in the dark?"

"You must not be too hard on Medoline," Mrs. Flaxman interposed. "It is an instinct with young folk to stray under the starlight and dream their dreams. No doubt we both have been guilty of doing it in our time." I flashed Mrs. Flaxman a look of gratitude, and wondered at the naÏve way she counted Mr. Winthrop with herself, as if he too had arrived at staid middle-agehood.

"Dreaming under stars and wandering around in attendance on widows are two very different occupations," he said, quietly, and without a break in his voice asked Mrs. Flaxman what he should help her to. I swallowed my breakfast—what little I could eat—with the feeling that possibly each succeeding mouthful might choke me; but full hearts do not usually prove fatal, even at meal time.

I arose from the table as soon as Mr. Winthrop laid down his napkin, and was hastening from the room when I heard him move back his chair; and, swift as were my movements, he was in the hall before I had reached the topmost step of the staircase.

"Just one more word, please," I heard him say. I turned around, resolved to take the remainder of my lecture from a position where I could look down on him. He held out a parcel, saying: "Will you come and get this, or shall I carry it to you?"

I descended without replying, and held out my hand for the roll. He took hold of my hand instead. The firm, strong grasp comforted me, though I expected a severer lecture than I had ever received before in all my life. I looked up at him through tear-filled eyes when he said, in a strangely gentle voice for the circumstances:

"I saw you coming along the Mill Road last night with the Blakes and their lantern. Why were you there so late?"

"I wanted so much to tell the widow Larkum I was in a position now to help her."

He was silent for awhile; then he said:

"I am glad you did not try to mislead me at the breakfast-table. I could not easily have forgiven such an act. Next to purity, I admire perfect truth in your sex."

"Mr. Winthrop, you will believe me that I never went out of our own grounds after night before alone, and I never will, if I live for a hundred years."

"Pray do not make rash promises. I only claim obedience to my wishes until you are of age. I will accept your word until that date, and shall not go in search of you along the Mill Road, or any other disreputable portion of the town again. Your mother's daughter can be trusted."

I tried to withdraw my hand, in order to escape with my tear-stained face to my own room, quite forgetting the parcel I had come down the stairway for.

"We start for New York this afternoon. Mrs. Flaxman accompanies us. She will be congenial society for you, having been a widow for nearly a score of years."

"I do not care particularly for widows. It is the poor and desolate I pity."

"Well, here is the first instalment of widows' money. I give it to you quarterly, purely from benevolent motives."

"Why so?" I asked, curiously.

"If you received it all at once Mill Road would be resplendent with crape and cheap jewelry."

"I suppose I must thank you," I said, hotly; "but the manner of the giving takes away all the grace of the gift."

"You express yourself a trifle obscurely, but I think I comprehend your meaning," he said, without change of voice. If I could have seen his eyes flash, or his imperturbable calm disturbed, my own anger would have been less keen.

"May I go now?" I presently asked, quite subdued; for he had fallen into a brown study, and was still holding my hand.

"Yes, I had forgotten," he said, turning away, and a moment after entered the library and shut the door. I went in search of Mrs. Flaxman, whom I found still in the breakfast-room, and in a rather nervous condition, busy about the china, which she rarely permitted the servant to wash.

"Shall we stay long in New York?" I asked, very cheerfully, the fifty dollars I held in my hand, and the easy way I had got off with Mr. Winthrop, making me quite elated.

"One can never tell. Mr. Winthrop is very uncertain; we may return in a day or two, or we may stay a fortnight."

"You are not anxious to go?" I questioned, seeing her troubled face.

"Not just now, in the height of the pickling and preserving season. Reynolds has excellent judgment, but I prefer looking after such things myself."

She looked wistfully at me while she dried her china. "May I help you, Mrs. Flaxman? It never occurred to me before that I might share your burdens. I should learn to have cares, as well as others."

"I always like to have you with me, dear. Sometimes I try to make myself believe God has given you to me, instead of my own little Medoline."

"Had you a daughter once?"

"Yes; and, like yourself, named after your own dear mother."

"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, and you never told me. Was she grown up like me?"

"She was only six years old when she died, just a month after her father; but the greater grief benumbed me so I scarce realized my second loss until months afterward."

"Is it so terrible, then, to lose one's husband?"

"It depends greatly on the husband."

"The widow Larkum cries constantly after hers, but he was bread-winner, too. A hungry grief must be a double one."

"Did Mr. Winthrop say anything further to you about being out last night?"

"A little," I replied, with scarlet cheeks; "but he will never do so again. I shall not give him cause to reprove me."

"That is the most lady-like course. You are no longer a little girl, or a school-girl either."

I wiped my plates in silence, but my mortification was none the less intense. I realized then, more keenly than ever, that I must preserve the proprieties, and confine myself to the restrictions of polite society. The breezy, unconventional freedom Mrs. Flaxman had for those few months permitted me had been so keenly enjoyed. I fretted uneasily at the forms, and ceremonies of artificial life, while the aboriginal instincts, which every free heart hides away somewhere in its depths, had been permitted too full development.

The china cleansed, and put away, I stood surveying the shining pieces that comprised our breakfast equipage, and like the tired clock in the fable, thought wearily of the many hundred times Mrs. Flaxman had washed those dishes; of the many thousand times they, or others, would go through the same operation, until Mrs. Winthrop's sands of time had all run out, and Oaklands gone to decay, or passed into other hands.

"Isn't it tiresome work washing dishes—the same yesterday, to-day and fifty years hence? I wish I had been created a man; they don't have such sameness in their work."

"Are you sure, dear? Fancy a bookkeeper's lot, or a clerk's reckoning up columns of figures so like there is not a particle of variety; not a new or thrilling idea in all their round of work from January to December, unless we except a column that won't come right. That may have a thrill in it now and then, but certainly not a joyous one. After we return from New York, if you pay attention to a clerk's work in the stores we visit, you will acknowledge a lady's household tasks delightful in comparison. The farmer's life has the most variety, and comes nearest to elementary things and nature's great throbbing vitals; but as a rule they are a dissatisfied lot, and unreasonably so, I think."

"Come to look at things generally, it's a very unsatisfactory sort of world, anyway. I think it's affairs might just as well get wound up as not. There have been plenty of one variety of beings created, I should think, to fill up lots of room in the starry spaces, and there are so many to suffer forever."

"It is hardly reverent, dear, for us to criticise God's plans. It is His world, and we are His creatures; and we may all be happy in Him here, and there be happy with Him forever. Besides, life does not seem monotonous when we are doing His will."

"But I know so few who are doing His will save you, and that poor blind Mr. Bowen. I read my Bible every day, and sometimes I get thinking over its words, and I reckon there will only be one here and there fit to enter Heaven. All our friends nearly would be terribly out of place to be suddenly transplanted to the Heavenly gardens. What could they talk about to the shining ones? The fashions, and social gossips, and fancy work and amusements would all be tabooed subjects there, I expect."

"You do not know many people yet. I thank God there are thousands longing to serve Him. I think, dear, you must have a touch of dyspepsia this morning; your thoughts are so morbid."

"Oh no, indeed; I am quite well. But shall we see any of those people you describe in New York?"

"If we stay long enough, doubtless we shall. I have a few rare friends there whose friendship often gives me the feeling of possessing unlimited riches."

"I wish I had such friends," I exclaimed, with sudden longing. "You and the Mill Road folk are the only ones I have on this side the ocean, and the most I care much for on the other already think in another language from mine."

"Yours will not be a friendless life, I feel certain. I see elements in your impulsive nature that must attract those who love the true and unselfish."

"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, what a delicious compliment to give me, just when I was most discouraged about myself! Mr. Winthrop finds me such a nuisance, and all your pretty and elegant lady friends I know care so little for me that I can't but believe that I am a poor specimen, although you speak so kindly."

"You will be wise to learn the art of not thinking much about your merits. I find these the happiest lives who live most outside of self; and they are the most helpful to others."

"But we have mainly to do with ourselves. How can we help wondering if our particular barque on the voyage of life is to be a success or not?"

"It lies with ourselves whether it is or no."

"But persons like Mrs. Larkum and the Blakes, how can they have a successful voyage, when they are so poor and lowly?"

"You must get the thought out of your mind that being poor and humble makes any difference in God's sight. When Christ visited our planet his position was as lowly as the Blakes; his purse as empty as the widow Larkum's. We are such slow creatures to learn that character itself is the only greatness in God's sight. Our ancestry and rent roll are the small dust of the balance with Him."

"But Mr. Winthrop thinks most of those things—the ancestry and wealth."

"We must not sit in judgment on any one's thoughts, and we must not take any man's gauge of character in the abstract as the correct one; only take the word of God."

I went out into the sunshine to think over Mrs. Flaxman's little lecture; a good deal comforted with the reflection that Mrs. Blake might have more weight in the balances of Heaven than I had thought. The garden was looking very shabby—its splendid midsummer glory had only a few flowers left to show what had been there, and these only the thick-petaled, substantial blossoms as free from perfume as the products of the vegetable garden. I grew melancholy. A premonition of my own sure coming autumn season, towards the end of life, was forecasting its cold shadow over the intervening years which made the November sunshine grow dim; and I gladly re-entered the house. I went very meekly to the library-door and tapped. Quite a long pause, and then I heard my guardian's study door which opened into the library, shut; and a second after he stood before me. I thought he gave me a surprised glance, since it was only the second time I had come into his presence there unsummoned.

"May I take some of the money you gave me this morning to Mrs. Larkum, before I leave for New York?"

"If you have time. Usually it takes ladies some hours to prepare for a journey such as you have before you to-day."

"I am sorry to say I am not a regulation lady. I can get ready in half an hour."

"That is a quality in your sex that will cover a multitude of sins."

"I am glad you have at last found something good in me," I said, sorrowfully.

"You must not personally apply every generalization your friends may make in their conversation."

"Then you give me permission to go?"

"It strikes me you are rushing to the other extreme. I have never interfered with your rambles, except at unseemly hours. Mill Road at mid-day is quite safe for the most unconventional young lady in Cavendish."

I bowed my thanks, and turning away heard the library door shut. I could fancy the expression on my guardian's face as he returned to his books. But, as I put on my wraps, my heart grew lighter although Mr. Winthrop's last observation made me wince. I took a crisp ten dollar bill. Surely, I reflected, that could not be a dangerous sum to entrust the widow with, considering that she had a helpless father, and half-clad children to look after. I took the kitchen on my way and begged a generous slice of meat from the cook to carry to Tiger.

"Most like they'll have their own dinner off it first; they'll think it a sin to give such meat to a dog," I heard her mutter as I left the kitchen. On my way I met Emily Fleming and Belle Wallace. They laughingly inquired where I was going with my bundles; but I assured them it was an errand of mercy, and could not therefore be explained. Miss Emily's plump features and bright black eyes took a slightly contemptuous expression as she assured us I was rapidly developing into a Sister of Charity.

"Better be that than an idler altogether like the rest of us," the more gentle natured Belle responded.

"If you are getting into a controversy I will continue my journey," I said, nodding them a pleasant good morning and going cheerfully on my way, thinking of Tiger's prospective gratification, coupled with that of the widow Larkums.

Going first to the Blakes, I found Tiger stretched out on the doorstep. He wagged his tail appreciatively, but did not growl as I stroked his shaggy coat.

Examining him by daylight, I saw that he was a fine specimen of his species. Daniel explained to me afterward that he was a cross between a St. Bernard and Newfoundland—a royal ancestry, truly, for any canine, and unlike human off-shoots from the best genealogical trees, quite sure of inheriting the finest qualities of his ancestors. I went into the house, the dog limping after me. Mrs. Blake heard my voice and came in in some alarm. She looked surprised to see me sitting by the table with Tiger's massive head in my lap, while I unrolled the meat. She also stood watching, and when the juicy steak was revealed, her own eyes brightened as well as Tiger's. "I haven't seen such a piece of meat in many a day. It minds me so of Oaklands."

"I got it from cook for Tiger," I explained. "It is clean—perhaps you would like a few slices off it."

"I would, indeed. Its a shame to give a brute such victuals."

"Poor Tiger, he deserves something good, after the way he was punished on my account." She brought a knife and plate saying: "We can share wi' each other; I don't want to rob even a dog of his rights." I turned the meat over and found a bone which I cut off and gave him, and then, giving the remainder to her to put out of Tiger's way, I stipulated that he was to have all the scraps that were left. Then I informed her of my gift from Mr. Winthrop, or rather loan, and of the sum I purposed giving Mrs. Larkum.

"Did Mr. Winthrop give you all that money for poor folks?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Well, I've heard he never give anything except through the town council. I've heard he was uncommon free in that way. But, laws! I reckoned the first time I seen you that you'd be able afore long to wind him around your finger. Fine manners and a handsome face, with a good heart, soon thaws out a bachelor heart."

"You were never more mistaken in your life, Mrs. Blake."

"May be so," she said, as if quite unconvinced.

I turned the conversation rather abruptly:—

"Will ten dollars be too much to entrust Mrs. Larkum with at once?"

"Dear heart, you might give her fifty, if you had it. She'd be jest as saving of it as—well as I'd be myself, and I call myself next door to stingy."

"I am so glad; one likes to know the most will be made of what they give."

"If you don't mind, I'll put on my shawl and go with you."

"I was going to ask you to do so."

"I'll jest set on the pot for Dan'el's dinner first. Twelve o'clock soon comes these short days." Mrs. Blake threw a faded woolen shawl over her head, and taking a short path across the field we started for Mrs. Larkum's, Tiger limping after us.

I thought Mrs. Blake's snug kitchen quite a nest of comfort after I had taken a survey of the Larkum's abode.

One roughly plastered room with two little closets at one side for bedrooms had to serve for home for five souls.

I felt a curious, smothered sensation at first, as I looked on the desolate surroundings—the pale, sad-faced mother, the blind grandfather, and ragged children. A dull fire was smouldering in the cooking stove, and beside it sat the grandfather, the baby on his knee, vainly trying to extract consolation from its own puny fist. As I looked at him closely I saw that Mr. Bowen had an unusually fine face—not old looking, but strangely subdued, and chastened. I fancied from his countenance, at once serene and noble, that he had beautiful thoughts there in the darkness and poverty of his surroundings. Mrs. Larkum was mending a child's torn frock, her eyes as red and swollen as ever. Her face brightened, however, when we went in. Mrs. Blake assured me afterward it would be better than medicine to them having one of the quality sit down in their house, I took the baby from its grandfather, and soon the little one was cooing contentedly in my arms, getting its fingers and face nicely smeared with the candies I had brought it. I divided the supply with the two other little ones—the eldest going direct to his grandfather, and dividing his share with him. I noticed that the gift was thankfully received, but placed securely in his pocket; no doubt to be brought out a little later, and divided with the others. I glanced at the blind man's clothing. Clean it certainly was; in this respect corresponding with everything I saw in the house; but oh, so sadly darned, and threadbare. Still, he seemed like a gentleman, and I fancied he shrank painfully within himself as if one's presence made him ill at ease. I resolved to say very little to him on this first visit, but later on try to find the key to his heart. I contented myself with the use of my eyes, and playing with the baby, leaving the two widows to indulge in a few sighs and tears together. My own tears do not come very readily, and it makes me feel cold hearted to sit dry-eyed while other eyes are wet. As I sat quietly absorbing the spirit of the place, my eyes rested on a shelf containing the few cheap dishes that served their daily food. Instantly the desolate fancies I had a few hours before indulged came forcibly to mind. I thought what would it be to cleanse the remains of meagre repasts from these coarse cups, and plates, through days and years, with no glad hopes or joyous fancies to lighten the toil! I was growing desolate hearted myself, and concluded my widowed friend had sighed and wept long enough; so returning the little charge to its grandfather, I went to Mrs. Larkum's side, and slipped the note into her hand, at the same time saying good-bye, and motioned to Mrs. Blake to come home. She arose very reluctantly, being unwilling to miss her friend's surprise and satisfaction. I too was constrained to look at her as she unfolded the note. A flush swept over her face as she saw the number, and handing it back to me, she said:—

"You have made a mistake, and given me the wrong bill."

"Oh no, indeed. I got it on purpose for you."

"But it is ten dollars. Surely you did not mean that."

"Mrs. Blake said you would know how to lay out fifty very wisely," I said, with, a smile.

Her tears, always so convenient, began to flow afresh. Turning to her father she said with a sob, "Father, your prayers are getting answered. The Lord, I believe, will provide."

I saw him gather the baby close to his heart, and then with a gesture of self command he seemed with difficulty to restrain his own emotion. "The Lord reward the giver," he murmured in a low voice; but some way it gave me the feeling that I had suddenly received some precious gift.

"When that is gone I shall have some more for you," I promised.

"Oh, before all this is used up, I must try to get earning myself. But this, with all those vegetables you gave me yesterday, will give me such a start. I will buy a whole barrel of flour, it spends so much better—and get some coals laid in for winter. They are the heaviest expense."

"Yes," I said, impulsively, "and flannels for the children. It will be so much better than crape."

"Crape!" she ejaculated. "I don't need crape for my husband. I have too much mourning in my heart to put any on outside."

I meant some day, when I felt pretty courageous, to repeat her words to Mr. Winthrop. Once outside, I found the glorious expansion of sky and horizon very grateful after the narrow limits of the little cottage. At luncheon Mr. Winthrop asked if I had paid my visit yet to Mill Road. I acknowledged, with a slight crimsoning of cheek, that I had conveyed to Mrs. Larkum a small sum of money.

"No doubt she will have a crape weeper as long as the widow Blake's."

"I did not think you noticed the trivialities of women's attire so minutely."

"I do not as a rule; but in the case of your intimate friends, it is natural I should endeavor to discover their especial charms."

"Mrs. Larkum said she was going to lay out the money I gave her chiefly in flour and coals. I suggested flannel would be much better also to buy than crape. She said she had no need to put on mourning; she already wore it in her heart."

"She is a very sensible woman," my guardian replied.

Then I described, as minutely as I could and with all the pathos I could command, the grim surroundings of this poor family—the grandfather, with his serene, sightless face and strangely deep trust in Providence; the clean, but faded, worn garments they all had on—not one of them, apparently, possessed of a decent suit of clothes; and then their horror of help from the town. Mrs. Flaxman wiped her eyes sympathetically when I repeated the grateful words my gift had evoked, and said with trembling voice: "It just seems as if the Lord sent you there, Medoline."

"Do you think the Ruler of this vast universe has leisure or inclination to turn his gaze on such trivialities? No doubt suns and systems are still being sent out completed on their limitless circles. To conceive their Creator turning from such high efforts to send Medoline with a ten dollar bill to the Larkums, to my mind borders on profanity," Mr. Winthrop said, with evident disgust.

"The infinitely great and infinitely small alike receive His care. Perhaps it required stronger power from God to make you give me the money and then to make me willing to carry it to them, than it does to create a whole cluster of suns and planets. I think our wills limit God's power more than anything he ever created, except Satan and his angels."

"You are quite a full-fledged theologian, little one. I am surprised you do not engage more heartily in home mission work."

"I must first learn to show more patience at home."

He did not make any reply; but as we were speeding on our way that afternoon in the cars, he came to my side and handed me a small roll of bills.

"Would you like to buy that widower friend of yours a warm suit of clothes for the winter? Mrs. Flaxman will show you a suitable furnishing establishment. Philanthropists must do all sorts of things, as you will find."

"You are very kind after all, Mr. Winthrop. I wish I could tell you how grateful I am. Please forgive all my rude speeches—I hope I will never get provoked with you again."

"I most certainly hope you will. A little spice adds greatly to the flavor of one's daily food."

He walked away; and first counting my gift, I found, to my surprise, that it amounted to fifty dollars. I opened my little velvet satchel—my traveling companion for many a weary mile—and laid it safely in one of the pockets. I had plenty of leisure that afternoon for fancy to paint all sorts of pictures. Mr. Winthrop was at the farther end of the car, with a group of friends he had met; and Mrs. Flaxman, a nervous traveler at the best, was trying to forget the discomforts of travel as she sat with her easy-chair wheeled into a sheltered corner, sleeping as much as possible. I watched the rapidly disappearing views from my windows, some of them causing pleasant thoughts, and sometimes re-touching memories so remote they seemed like experiences of another existence, which my soul had known before it came under its present limitations. There were cottages that we flew past, reminding me of the Larkum abode; these I kept wearily peopling with white, sightless faces, and hungry, sad-faced women and children.

When at last my own thoughts were beginning to consume me, Mr. Winthrop came and sat near me.

"Is a journey in the cars equal to an hour spent with your widows?" he asked.

"I have enjoyed the drive. One sees so much that is new, and is food for thought, only the mind gets wearied with such swift variety."

He was silent for some time, then, with a complete change of topic he said,

"I have been glad to hear you practicing so industriously on the piano. Some day you may have a more appreciative audience than Mrs. Flaxman and myself."

"It has helped to occupy my time. I do not know that much else has been accomplished."

"That is not a very wise reason for so occupying your time."

"One must get through it some way. In pleasant weather, getting acquainted with nature, in field and garden and by the seashore, was my favorite pastime."

"It is an indolent way to seek the acquaintance of so profound a mistress:—merely sunning one's self under the trees, or listening to the monotonous voice of the sea, sitting on the rocks."

"In what better way could I discover her secrets?"

"Following in the steps of those who have made her in her varying forms a life long study, and who have embalmed their discoveries in books."

"But I am young yet, and I need first to discover if I have tastes for such pursuits."

"A youthful Methusaleh might make that objection; but your years are too few to pause while making a selection."

"At first when I came to Oaklands, I was perplexed to know how the long days and years were to be occupied."

"Have you since then found for yourself a career?"

"I am finding an abundance of work, if I only am willing to do it."

"You must not get so absorbed in deeds of charity that you forget the duties belonging to yourself and position. Oaklands may not always be your home, with its pastoral enjoyments. You should endeavor to fit yourself for wider and higher spheres of action."

"In the meantime, however, my life must be got through some way. If I can help others to be happier, surely my time cannot be quite wasted; and I may the easier render my final account."

"Ah, that's a perplexing question—our final settlement for the deeds of this life."

I looked my surprise at his tone of voice.

"You have not learned yet, Medoline, to doubt. Very well, never begin. It's horrible having no sure anchor to hold by when death forces one into unknown oceans, or shipwrecks with annihilation."

"Death never can do that, if we trust in Christ, who turned our last enemy into a blessed angel."

"Your faith is very beautiful, and is, no doubt, sufficient for your utmost intellectual needs; and by all means hold to it as you would to your life."

"I think it is the same that St. Paul, and Martin Luther, and John Milton, and a thousand, yes a million other noblest intellects, held firmly. Surely it will serve for me."

"You are satisfied, then, to think with the crowd?"

"Yes, until something more reasonable is given me than God's word and revealed religion. But, Mr. Winthrop, I am only a heard believer. I am not a Christian, really."

"If I believed the Bible as you do, I would not risk my soul one half hour without complying with every command of the Scriptures. You who so firmly believe, and yet live without the change of heart imperatively demanded by the Bible, are the most foolhardy beings probably in the entire universe."

"Are we any more foolish than those who dare to doubt with the same evidence that we possess?"

"Possibly not; but I think you are."

I was silent; for there came to me a sudden consciousness that Mr. Winthrop was right. I had no doubts about the great truths of our religion; and what excuse then could I offer for not accepting them to the very utmost of my human need?