Mildred at Home: With Something About Her Relatives and Friends.

by Martha Finley

  Chapter Fourth.

  "Gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!"--HOOD.

  A beautiful spring day was drawing to a close as two persons--a youngman and a maiden--seated themselves on a fallen tree on the westernbank of the St. Joseph River. They had strolled a long distance fromhome, leaving the noise and bustle of the town far behind. They were atrifle weary with their walk, and it was pleasant to sit here and restin the cool evening air, sweet with the scent of wildwood flowers, withthe grass green about their feet, and no sound to break the stillnesssave the song of the cricket, the gentle murmur of the breeze in thetree-tops, and the soft ripple of the water flowing swiftly onward,so bright and clear that it reflected, as in a mirror, its own grassywooded banks and the rich purple, gold, and amber of the sunset clouds,while the pebbly bottom, with fishes great and small darting hitherand thither, could be distinctly seen.

  For some time the two sat there silently, hand in hand, the girl'seyes gazing steadily down into the water, her companion's fixed uponher face with an expression of ardent admiration and intense, yearningaffection. It was a noble countenance, at this moment thoughtful andgrave, even to sadness.

  "Ada, my love," he said at length, "it is a hard thing I am asking ofyou. I am ashamed of my selfishness."

  "No, no! do not talk so. How could I bear to let you go alone, youwho have no one in the wide world but me?" she answered, in a low,tremulous tone, her eyes still upon the water; then suddenly turningtoward him, her face flushing with enthusiasm, her eyes shiningthrough tears, "But it is not you that ask it of me, Frank; no, notyou, but One who has every right; for has He not redeemed me with Hisown precious blood? Is He not my Creator, Preserver, and bountifulBenefactor, and have I not given myself to Him, soul and body, in aneverlasting covenant? And shall I keep back any part of the price? Oh,no, no! Let me but make sure that it is His voice I hear saying, 'Thisis the way; walk ye in it,' and I am ready to leave all and follow Him,though it be to the ends of the earth."

  "My darling," he said with emotion, tightening his clasp of the handhe held, "you have the right spirit; you view this matter in the rightlight. Yes, we are His, both of us, and may our only question of dutyever be, 'Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?' But if we see it ourduty to go, the sacrifice I make will be as nothing to yours, my sweetgirl."

  "Yet it will not be small, Frank. To leave forever one's dear nativeland is no slight thing, especially when it is to live among heathenpeople--low, cruel, degraded idolators."

  "That is true; and yet--oh, is there not joy in the thought of tellingthe old, old story of Jesus and His love to those who have never heardit, and who, if we do not carry it to them, may never hear it?"

  "Yes, yes, indeed! and in the thought that we are literally obeyingHis command, 'Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to everycreature.' And how very slight will be our suffering and self-denialcompared to His!"

  "But, Frank, how shall we determine this question? How know whether weare truly called to this great work? Ah, it does not seem possible thatI should ever be deemed worthy of such honor!"

  "We will continue to make it a subject of constant, earnest prayer,"he said, "asking to be guided to a right decision; also we will openour hearts to your parents, and consult them. If they refuse consentto your going, we will see in that an indication that the Lord's willis not that we should go. Laborers are needed here also, and it may bethat He will appoint us our work in this part of His vineyard."

  "Yes," she said; "I could never feel it right to go if father andmother should oppose it. Yet I am sure they will not, if they seereason to believe we are called of the Master; for ever since I canremember their most ardent wish for their children has been that theymight be entirely devoted to His service."

  At that very moment the honored parents of whom she spoke, sitting sideby side in the vine-covered porch of their home, resting after thelabors of the day, were talking of their children, and rejoicing in thewell-founded belief that most, if not all, of them had already giventhemselves to that blessed service.

  They spoke of Mildred and Annis, the eldest and youngest, now on theway home after their winter at the Oaks; of Rupert, their eldest son,a prosperous and highly respected man of business; Cyril, absent atcollege; Zillah, with her husband and babe, living just across thestreet; of Ada and her betrothed; and, lastly, of the only two justthen in sight--Don and Fan--down in the garden, seated on a bench undera spreading tree, the lad whittling, his sister watching him, withhands lying idly in her lap.

  There was languor in the droop of her slender figure; the eyes thatrested now upon Don's face, now on his work, were unnaturally large andbright, and though a rich color glowed in her cheeks, her features werethin and sharp.

  "Stuart," said Mrs. Keith, in low, slightly tremulous tones, gazingfixedly at Fan as she spoke, "I am growing uneasy about that child; sheis not well. She scarcely complains, but is losing flesh and strengthvery fast of late."

  "Only because she is growing so rapidly, I think, Marcia," he said;"see what a brilliant color she has."

  "Not the bloom of health, I fear," sighed the mother. "I am very gladDr. Landreth will be here soon. I hope he may be able to do somethingfor her."

  "I hope so, indeed. Perhaps it is change of climate and scene sheneeds. Probably it would have been better had she gone with the otherslast fall."

  "I don't know; it is too late to think of it now, but if Charlierecommends a trip, we must manage to give it to her."

  "Certainly; and in that case you will have to go too, for I doubt ifanything could induce Fan to leave her mother."

  "No; what a dear, affectionate child she is! And how she and Don clingto each other."

  In the pause that followed that last remark Fan's low, clear tones camedistinctly to their ears.

  "Ah, now I see what you are making, Don; a spoon, isn't it?"

  "Yes; it'll be very useful in the journey across the plains."

  "Whose journey?"

  "Mine," he said; then sang gayly:

  "O California! oh, that's the land for me! I'm bound for Sacramento, With the washbowl on my knee."

  "That's the tune of 'O Susannah,'" she said, as he ceased; "but wheredid you get those words?"

  "Haven't you heard it before?" he asked. "They've been singing it allover town; the gold fever's raging, and a lot of fellows are talking ofgoing off across the plains to the California diggings. If they do, I'dlike to make one of the party."

  The parents, silently listening, exchanged glances of mingled surpriseand concern, while Fan exclaimed, "O Don, you can't be in earnest?"

  "You'd better believe I am," laughed the lad. "Why, it would be thegreatest fun in the world, I think, to go and dig gold."

  "Exceedingly hard work, my boy," Mr. Keith said, raising his voice thatit might reach the lad.

  Don started and turned his head. He had not thought of any one but Fanhearing his talk.

  "But we wouldn't mind working very hard indeed for a little while tomake a fortune, father," he answered in a lively tone, springing upand advancing to the steps of the porch, Fan following, and seatingherself upon them.

  "Ah, but who can insure the making of the fortune?" asked Mr. Keithgravely. "Where one will succeed, Don, probably hundreds will failand die of the great hardships to be encountered in the searchfor gold--the exhausting toil, scanty fare, and exposure to theinclemencies of the weather. It cannot fail to be a rough and toilsomelife, full of danger and temptation, too; for the desperadoes andoutlaws from all parts of the country, if not of the world, are alwaysamong the first to rush to such places; and even men who behavedrespectably at home often throw off all restraint there, and act likesavages."

  "Think, too, of the dangers to be encountered by the way, Don," saidhis mother; "a trackless wilderness to cross, supplies of food andwater perhaps giving out, to say nothing of perils from wild beasts andhostile Indians."

  "Oh, mother," he said, "if you'd ever been a boy you'd know tha
t dangerhas great attractions sometimes."

  "But oh, Don," exclaimed Fan, "just think what mother, and I, and allof us would be suffering from anxiety on your account!"

  "Ah, but you'd feel paid for it all when you saw me come home with mypockets full of gold!"

  "Gold far too dearly bought, if you came back to us a rough, hardenedman, instead of the dear boy you are now," said his mother.

  "I've no notion of ever becoming a rough, mother mine," returned thelad in a half-playful tone; "and what is virtue worth that can't standtemptation?"

  "Not much, my son," said his father gravely; "but what mockery to pray,'Lead us not into temptation,' and then rush needlessly into it. Butlet the subject drop, for I am quite resolved never to give my consentto so wild a project."

  The boy's face clouded, but, accustomed to obedience, he ventured noreply. "Here, Fan, I'll give this to you," he said, handing her the nowfinished spoon.

  "Thank you; it is very pretty," she returned, regarding it admiringly.

  "Fan, dear, I think the dew is beginning to fall," said Mrs.Keith, rising; "come in; come both of you. We will adjourn to thesitting-room."

  They did so, and were there presently joined by Frank and Ada, whocame in hand in hand, their faces full of a strange mixture of joy andsorrow. Mrs. Keith sat in a low rocking-chair, softly passing her handover Fan's hair and cheek, the young girl having seated herself on astool at her mother's side, and laid her head in her lap.

  They, as well as Mr. Keith and Don, seemed to be silently musing asthe other two entered. But all four looked up at the sound of theirfootsteps, and Mrs. Keith, noticing the unusual expression of theircountenances, asked a little anxiously, "What is it, Ada, my child?"

  Ada opened her lips to reply, but no sound came from them. Hastilywithdrawing her hand from Frank's she sprang forward, and knelt besideher sister.

  "Mother, oh, mother, how can I ever leave you!" she exclaimed, tearscoursing down her cheeks.

  Mrs. Keith was much surprised, knowing of no adequate cause for suchemotion, especially in one usually so calm and undemonstrative as Ada.

  "Dear child," she said, caressing her, "we will hope never to be toofar apart for frequent intercourse. Frank's present charge is but afew miles distant."

  "But, mother, he thinks he is called to foreign missions," Ada returnedin trembling tones; "can you let me go? Can you give me to that work?"

  The query, so sudden, so unexpected, sent a keen pang to the tendermother's heart. With a silent caress she drew her loved child closer,and they mingled their tears together.

  "What--what is this I hear, Frank?" asked Mr. Keith huskily, startingup and drawing nearer the little group; for Frank had followed Ada, andstood looking down upon her, his features working with emotion.

  With an effort he controlled it, and in a few words gave the desiredinformation. "He had for some time felt an increasing interest in theforeign work, and desire to give himself to it should it be made plainthat he was called of God to that part of the field."

  "Oh no, no!" cried Fan, putting her arms about her sister's neck, "wecan't spare you. Why mayn't Frank work for the Master here as well asthere? Laborers are needed in both places."

  "Very true," said Frank, "and I trust our earnest desire is to beguided to that part of the vineyard where the Master would have us."

  "It shall be my prayer that you may," said the mother with emotion,drawing Ada's head to a resting-place on her breast as she spoke; "anddearly, dearly as I love my child, hard as it will be to part with her,I cannot hesitate for a moment if the Master calls her to go."

  "No, nor can I," Mr. Keith said, sighing and bending down to strokeAda's hair in tender, fatherly fashion.