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

by Martha Finley

  Chapter Sixth.

  "We all do fade as a leaf."--Isa. 64:6.

  Dr. Landreth and Mildred gladly availed themselves of a pressinginvitation to take up their old quarters at her father's until suchtime as their own house should be entirely ready for occupancy.

  There was general rejoicing in the family that that time was not yet;they were so glad to have Mildred with them once more. Nor did sheregret the necessity for continuing a little longer a member of herfather's household, especially considering that this was Ada's lastsummer at home.

  There was always a community of interests among them, a sharing ofeach other's joys and sorrows, a bearing of each other's burdens, andso all were very busy, now helping Mildred prepare bedding and napery,curtains, etc., and now Ada with her trousseau, and everything thatcould be thought of to add to her comfort in the foreign land to whichshe was going; for in due time Frank Osborne received word that he hadbeen accepted by the Board.

  Many tears were shed over that news, yet not one of those who loved herso dearly would have held Ada back from the service to which the Masterhad called her. She was His far more than theirs, and they were His,and would gladly give to Him of their best and dearest.

  Others had given up their loved ones to go in search of gold--thewealth of this world, that perishes with the using--parting fromthem with almost breaking hearts; and should they shrink from a likesacrifice for Him who had bought them with His own precious blood? andto send the glad news of His salvation to those perishing for lack ofknowledge?

  The train of emigrants for California had left at the set time, theirrelatives and friends--in some cases wives and children--parting fromthem as from those who were going almost out of the world, and mightnever be seen again.

  A journey to California is accounted no great thing in these days, whenone may travel all the way by rail; but in those times, when it was byox-teams and wagons, across thousands of miles of trackless wilderness,over which wild beasts and savage Indians ranged, it was a perilousundertaking.

  So they who went and they who stayed behind parted as those who had butslight hope of ever meeting again in this lower world.

  Nearly the whole town gathered to see the train of wagons set forth,and even Don Keith, as he witnessed the final leave-takings, theclinging embraces, the tearful, sobbing adieus, was not more than halfsorry that he was not going along.

  Fan drew the acknowledgment from him later in the day, when sheoverheard him softly singing to himself:

  "'I jumped aboard the old ox-team, And cracked my whip so free; And every time I thought of home, I wished it wasn't me.'"

  "Yes, that would have been the way with you, Don, I'm sure," Fan said;"so be wise in time, and don't try it, even if father should consent."

  "I don't know," he said, turning toward her with a roguish twinkle inhis eye; "I think another part of the song suits me better:

  "'We'll dig the mountains down, We'll drain the rivers dry; A million of the rocks bring home, So, ladies, don't you cry.'"

  "That's easier said than done, Don," Fan remarked, with a grave,half-sad look. "Oh, brother dear, don't let the love of gold getpossession of you!"

  "I don't love it for itself, Fan--I hope I never shall--but for what itcan do, what it can buy."

  "It cannot buy the best things," she said, looking at him with dewyeyes; "it cannot buy heaven, it cannot buy love, or health, or freedomfrom pain; no, nor a clear conscience or quiet mind. It will seem ofsmall account when one comes to die."

  "Don't talk of dying," he said a little uneasily; "we needn't thinkmuch about that yet--you and I, who are both so young."

  "But a great many die young, Don, even younger than we are to-day."

  She laid her hand upon his arm as she spoke, and looked into his eyeswith tender sadness.

  As he noted the words, the look, and the extreme attenuation of thelittle hand, a sharp pang shot through his heart. Could it be thatFan, his darling sister, was going to die? The thought had neverstruck him before. He knew that she was not strong, that the doctorwas prescribing for her and taking her out driving every day, and hehad perceived that the older members of the family, particularly hismother, were troubled about her, but had thought it was only permanentloss of health they feared.

  But the idea of death was too painful to be encouraged, and he put ithastily from him. How could he ever do without Fan? There was less thantwo years between them, and they had always been inseparable. No, hewould not allow himself to think of the possibility that she was aboutto pass away from him to "that bourne whence no traveller returns."

  He was glad that Annis joined them at that moment in mirthful mood.

  "What's so funny, Ann?" he asked, seeing a merry twinkle in her eye.

  "Oh, just some of Aunt Wealthy's odd mistakes. She was talking aboutthat first winter we spent here, when she was with us, you remember;she said, 'The weather was very cold; many's the time I've had hardwork to get my hands up, my hair was so cold.' Then she was tellingsomething her doctor in Lansdale told her about a very dirty family hewas called to see. A child had the croup, and he made them put it intoa hot bath; he was still there the next morning, and saw them gettingbreakfast; and telling about it Aunt Wealthy said, 'They used the waterto make the coffee that the child was bathed in.'"

  "The doctor stayed and took breakfast with them, I suppose?" said Dondryly.

  "Not he," laughed Annis; "he said he was very hungry, and they werekindly urgent with him to stay and eat, but he preferred taking a long,cold ride before breaking his fast."

  "I admire his self-denial," remarked Don, with gravity. "Anything elseof interest from Aunt Wealthy?"

  "Yes," said Annis; "she was speaking of some religious book she hadbeen reading, and said she had bought it from a portcollier. Andyesterday, when I complained that I hated to darn my stockings, shesaid, 'Oh, my dear, always attend to that; a stocking in a hole, orindeed a glove either, is a sure sign of a sloven.'"

  "Then," said Don gravely, "I trust you will be careful never to dropyours into holes."

  "Don't let us make game of dear, kind old Aunt Wealthy," Fan said, in agentle, deprecating tone.

  "Oh, no, not for the world!" cried Annis, "but one can't help laughingat her funny mistakes; and indeed she is as ready to do so as any oneelse."

  "Yes; and it's very nice in her," said Don.

  For a while after that Don watched Fan closely, but noticing that shewas always cheerful, bright, and interested in all that was going on,he dismissed his fears with the consoling idea that there could not beanything serious amiss with her.

  By midsummer Mildred was fairly settled in her own house, and work forAda was being pushed forward with energy and dispatch.

  The wedding--a very quiet affair--took place in September. A few dayslater the youthful pair bade a long farewell to relatives and friends,and started for New York, whence they were to sail, early in October,for China.

  The parting was a sore trial to all, and no one seemed to feel it morethan Fan.

  "Ada! Ada!" she sobbed, clinging about her sister's neck, "I shallnever, never see you again in this world!"

  "Don't say that, darling," responded Ada in tones tremulous withemotion. "I am not going out of the world, and probably we may be backagain in a few years on a visit."

  "But I shall not be here," murmured Fan. "Something tells me I am goingon a longer journey than yours."

  "I hope not," Ada said, scarcely able to speak. "You are depressed nowbecause you are not well, but I trust you will soon grow strong again,and live many years to be a comfort and help to father and mother. Iused to plan to be the one to stay at home and take care of them intheir old age, but now, I think, that is to be your sweet task."

  "I'd love to do it," Fan said; "I'd rather do that than anything else,if it should please God to make me well and strong again."

  "And if not, dear," Ada said, drawing her into a closer embrace, "Hewill give you strength for whatever He
has in store for you, whether itbe a life of invalidism, or an early call to that blessed land where'the inhabitants shall not say, I am sick.'"

  "Yes," was the whispered response; "and sometimes I feel that it isvery sweet just to leave it all with Him, and have no choice of my own."

  "Thank God for that, my darling little sister!" Ada exclaimed withemotion. "I have no fear for you now, for I am sure you are ready to goif it shall please the Master to call you to Himself."

  This little talk took place early in the day of Ada's departure, shehaving stolen into Fan's room as soon as she was dressed, to ask howthe invalid had passed the night.

  They were interrupted by the mother's entrance on the same errand.

  Embracing both as they stood together, "My two dear daughters," shesaid. Then to Fan, "You are up and dressed early for an ailing one, mychild."

  "Yes, mother, I couldn't lie in bed this morning, the last that weshall have Ada with us," Fan answered with a sob, and holding hersister in a tighter clasp.

  "The last for a time," Mrs. Keith returned cheerfully, though the tearstrembled in her eyes. "Missionaries come home sometimes on a visit,you know, and we will look forward to that."

  "And besides that, we know that we shall meet in the Father's house onhigh; meet never to part again," whispered Ada, pressing her lips toher mother's cheek, then to Fan's.

  "But to be forever with the Lord," added Mrs. Keith. "Now, Fan dear,sit down in your easy-chair till the call to breakfast, and after thistry to follow your Brother Charlie's advice--taking a good rest in themorning, even if you have to breakfast in bed."

  Unconsciously to herself as well as to others the excitement of thepreparations for Ada's wedding and life in a foreign land had beengiving Fan a fictitious strength, which immediately on her sister'sdeparture deserted her, and left her prostrate upon her bed.

  Mother and the remaining sisters nursed her with the tenderest care,and after a time she rallied so far as to be about the house again anddrive out occasionally in pleasant weather; but the improvement wasonly temporary, and before the winter was over it became apparent toall that Fan was passing away to the better land.

  To all but Don and Annis. He refused to believe it, and she, with thehopefulness of childhood, was always "sure dear darling Fan would soonbe better."

  For many weeks the mother shrank from having her fears confirmed;often, as she noted the gravity and sadness of the doctor's face, thequestion trembled upon her tongue, but she could not bring herselfto speak it; but one day, seeing, as she thought, a deeper shade ofanxiety upon his face than ever before, she followed him from the room.

  "Charlie," she said, in faltering accents, "I must know the truththough my heart break. Tell me, must my child die?"

  "Dear mother," he said, taking her hand in his and speaking with strongemotion, "I wish I could give you hope, but there is none; she maylinger a month or two, but not longer."

  "Oh, how shall I ever tell her!" sobbed the mother; "her, my timidlittle Fan, who has always been afraid to venture among strangers,always clung so tenaciously to home and mother!"

  "I think she knows it," he said, deeply moved. "I have seen it againand again in the look she has given me. And I doubt not God isfulfilling to her the promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.'"

  "May the Lord forgive my unbelief!" she said. "I know that He is everfaithful to His promises."

  Returning to the sick-room she found Fan lying with closed eyes, a verysweet and peaceful expression on her face.

  Bending over her she kissed the sweet lips, and a hot tear fell on thechild's cheek.

  Her blue eyes opened wide, and her arm crept round her mother's neck.

  "Dearest mother, don't cry," she whispered. "I am glad to go and bewith Jesus. You know it says, 'He shall gather the lambs with His armand carry them in His bosom.' I shall never be afraid or timid lyingthere. Oh, He will love me and take care of me, and some day bring youthere too, and father, and all my dear ones; and oh, _how_ happy weshall be!"

  "Yes, love," the mother said, "yours is a blessed lot--to be taken sosoon from the sins and sorrows of earth. 'Thine eyes shall see the Kingin His beauty: they shall behold the land that is very far off....Thine eyes shall see Jerusalem a quiet habitation, a tabernacle thatshall not be taken down; not one of the stakes thereof shall everbe removed, neither shall any of the cords thereof be broken. Butthere the glorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers andstreams.... And the inhabitant shall not say, I am sick: the peoplethat dwell therein shall be forgiven their iniquity.'"

  "Such sweet words," said Fan. "Oh, I am glad Ada has gone to tell thepoor heathen of this dear Saviour! How could I bear to die if I did notknow of Him and His precious blood that cleanseth from all sin!"

  "Dearest child, do you feel quite willing to go?" Mrs. Keith asked,softly stroking her hair and gazing upon her with tear-dimmed eyes.

  "Yes, mother, I do now, though at first it seemed very sad, very hardto leave you all to go and lie down all alone in the dark grave. But Idon't think of that now; I think of being with Christ in glory, nearHim and like Him. Oh, mother, how happy I shall be!"

  The door opened, and Mildred came softly in. She bent over Fan, hereyes full of tears, her features working with emotion. She had justlearned from her husband what he had told her mother.

  "Dear Milly," Fan said, putting an arm about her neck, her lips to hercheek, "has Brother Charlie told you?"

  Mildred nodded, unable to speak.

  "Don't fret," Fan said tenderly; "I am not sorry, though I was atfirst. What is dying but going home? Oh, don't you remember how Johntells us in the Revelation about the great multitude that stood beforethe throne and before the Lamb clothed in white robes and with palms intheir hands; and how the angel told him, 'These are they which came outof great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them whitein the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God,and serve Him day and night in His temple; and He that sitteth on thethrone shall dwell among them.

  "'They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall thesun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst ofthe throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountainsof waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes'?

  "Mother," turning to her with a glad, eager look, "may I not hope to beone of them if I trust in Jesus and bear with patience and resignationwhatever He sends?"

  "Surely, surely, my darling," Mrs. Keith answered, in tremulous tones."They stand in the righteousness of Christ, and so will all who trulycome to Him and trust only in His atoning sacrifice."

  "Dear, dear Fan," whispered Mildred, caressing her with fast-fallingtears, "I don't know how to give you up. And oh, darling--but I wish Ihad been a better sister to you!"

  "Why, Milly, how could you have been?" Fan said, with a look and toneof great surprise. "I am sure you were always the best and kindest ofsisters to me."

  "No, not always," Mildred said, sorrowfully; "I used to be veryimpatient with you at times when you were a little thing given tomischief. But I feel now that I would give worlds never to have spokena cross word to you."

  "Ah, we must often have made a great deal of trouble with ourmischievous pranks--Cyril, Don, and I"--Fan said, with a slight smile."Don't reproach yourself for scolding us, Milly; I am sure we deservedit all, and more."

  Mr. Keith was told the doctor's opinion that day, but the rest of thefamily were left in ignorance of it for the present.

  It was from Fan herself Don learned it at length. They were alonetogether, and he was talking hopefully of the time when she would beup and about again, and he would take her boating on the river, ridingor driving, and they would enjoy, as of old, long rambles through thewoods in search of the sweet wild flowers that would come again withthe warm spring days.

  "Dear Don, dear, dear brother!" she said, giving him a look of yearningaffection, "do you not know that when those days come I shall bewalking the streets of
the New Jerusalem, gathering such fruits andflowers as earth cannot yield?"

  A sudden paleness overspread his face, his eyes filled, and his lipquivered. "Fan! Fan!" he cried, with a burst of emotion, "it can't beso! You are too young to die, and we can't spare you. You are weak andlow-spirited now, but you will feel better when the bright spring dayscome."

  She smiled sweetly, pityingly upon him, softly stroking his hair withher thin white hand as he bent over her.

  "No, dear Don, I am not low-spirited," she said. "I am full of joy inthe prospect of being so soon with my Saviour. Brother Charlie says itwill not be very long now; a week or two, perhaps."

  "I can't believe it! I won't believe it!" he groaned. "While there'slife there's hope. It can't be that you _want_ to go away and leave me,Fan?" and his tone was gently, lovingly reproachful.

  "No," she said, her voice trembling, "it is pain to think of partingfrom you and the rest, especially our dear, dear mother, and yet I amglad to go to be with Jesus. Oh, how I long to see His face, to bow atHis feet, and thank Him 'for the great love wherewith He hath lovedus.'"

  "But you have a great deal to live for, we all love you so."

  "'In thy presence is fulness of joy,'" she repeated; "'at thy righthand there are pleasures forever more.'

  "'For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle weredissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands,eternal in the heavens.'

  "'Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, whichthe Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day: and not to meonly, but unto all them also that love His appearing.'

  "'For since the beginning of the world men have not heard, norperceived by the ear, neither hath the eye seen, O God, beside thee,what He hath prepared for him that waiteth for Him.' O Don, would youkeep me from it all?"

  "Only for a while," he said, struggling for composure. "It is toodreadful to have you die so young."

  "'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from henceforth,'" sherepeated. "'My people shall dwell in a peaceable habitation, and insure dwellings, and in quiet resting places.' O Don, think of thegolden streets of the New Jerusalem, the beautiful river of the waterof life, the tree of life with its twelve manner of fruits, the whiterobes, the golden harps, the crowns of glory; and that there will be nomore sickness, or sorrow, or pain; no more sin, no night, no need of acandle to light them, nor of the sun, or the moon, the glory of God andChrist lighting it always.

  "Think of Jesus making me to lie down in green pastures and leading mebeside still waters."

  "You seem just as sure, Fan, as if you were already there," he said, inadmiring wonder.

  "Yes, Don, because the promise is sure--the promise of Jesus, 'I giveunto them eternal life, and they shall never perish; neither shall anypluck them out of my hand.'"

  Celestia Ann came in at that moment, carrying a china cup and plate ona small waiter covered with a snowy napkin.

  "Here, I've fetched you a bit o' cream toast and a cup o' tea, Fan,"she said. "I hope you kin eat it. But, dear me, you're lookin' alltuckered out. I'll bet Don's been a-makin' you talk a heap more'n wasgood fer ye. Now ye jest clear out, Don, and let's see if I can't be abetter nurse."

  "I didn't mean to hurt her," Don said gruffly, trying to hide the painat his heart.

  "No, and you haven't," said Fan, gazing lovingly after him as he turnedto go; "if I've talked too much, it was my own doing."

  Don hurrying down-stairs and into the parlor, which he expected to findempty, came suddenly into the midst of a little group--his father,mother, and Mildred--conversing together in subdued tones.

  He was beating a hasty retreat, thinking he had intruded upon a privateinterview, when his father called him back.

  "We have nothing to conceal from you, Don," he said, in tremuloustones, and the lad, catching sight of the faces of his mother andsister, perceived that they had both been weeping. "I suppose you knowthat--" Mr. Keith paused, unable to proceed.

  "Is it about Fan?" Don asked huskily. "Yes, sir; she has just told me.But oh, I can't believe it! We must do something to save her!" he burstout, in a paroxysm of grief.

  "What's the matter?" cried Annis, coming dancing into the room in herusual light-hearted fashion, but startled into soberness at sight ofDon's emotion and the grief-stricken countenances of the others.

  Her mother motioned her to her side, and putting an arm about her,kissed her tenderly, the tears streaming over her face. "Annis, dear,"she said, in broken accents, "perhaps we ought not to grieve, Fan is sohappy, but it makes our hearts sad to know that very soon we shall seeher loved face no more upon earth."

  "Mother!" cried Annis, hiding her face on her mother's breast andbursting into wild weeping, "O mother, mother, it can't be that she'sgoing to die! She can never bear to go away from you!"

  "Yes, dear, she can," was the weeping rejoinder. "She finds Jesusnearer and dearer than her mother, and how can I thank Him enough thatit is so?"

  "We have sent for Cyril," Mr. Keith said, addressing Don, and handinghim a letter. "He hopes to be with us to-morrow. She could not gowithout seeing him once more."

  A little later Don, left alone with Mildred, asked, "O Milly, is thereno hope? no possibility of a favorable change?"

  "None so far as man can see," she answered through her tears and sobs."But with God all things are possible."

  "I've been talking with her," he said presently, when he could controlhis emotion sufficiently to speak; "she told me herself that--that shewas--going away. And she seemed so happy, so utterly without fear, thatI could hardly believe it was our timid little Fan--always shrinking sofrom going among strangers."

  "Yes," said Mildred, "what a triumph of faith! Her fearlessness is notfrom any lack of a deep sense of sin, but because she is trusting inthe imputed righteousness of Christ. She trusts Him fully, and so herpeace is like a river. It continually brings to my mind that sweettext in Isaiah, 'And the work of righteousness shall be peace; and theeffect of righteousness quietness and assurance forever.'"

  And so it was to the very end; the sweet young Christian passed awayso calmly and peacefully that her loved ones watching beside her bedscarce could tell the precise moment when her spirit took its flight.

  There was no gloom in the death-bed scene, and there seemed littleabout the grave as they laid her body tenderly down there to rest tillthe resurrection morn, knowing that the spirit was even then rejoicingin the presence and love of her Redeemer.