These thoughts flitted through the minds of the two daughters as they sat listening intently, reaching out for the help they needed. The preacher said that there were many promises in the Bible concerning prayer but always with a condition. The first was faith. One must believe that God hears and will answer. The second was will-surrender. One must be ready to let God answer the prayer in His way and to leave that way to Him, believing that He will do what is best. Then one must pray with a free heart, out of which hate and sin have been cast; and he quoted the verse: “If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift.”
Louise cast a fleeting, questioning glance toward her sister. Did that mean that she must forgive that hateful, bold Dodd girl? But the speaker went on:
There were gifts for which one may ask with a definite assurance of receiving if one comes asking with all their heart, namely, the forgiveness of sin, the strength to resist temptation, the gift of the Holy Spirit. And one may always be sure that it is God’s will that other souls should be saved, and so we can pray always for others’ salvation, knowing that we are not asking amiss.
But there is a condition in which it is the privilege of every child of God to live, in which one may be sure of receiving what one asks, “If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.”
The two sisters listened most carefully to the simple, clear description of the life that is hidden with Christ in God, the life that lets Christ live instead of trying to please self, and that studies daily the Word of God and keeps the Word constantly in mind. And the preacher spoke with confidence about answers to prayer for daily needs, as if he had known great experience in receiving.
On their way home Louise, walking along with her eyes on the sidewalk, asked shyly, “Nellie, do you s’pose that’s all true, what he preached about?”
“Why, yes—of course,” said the elder sister, hesitating, scarcely knowing where her words were leading her. “Why, certainly,” she added with belated conviction and a sense that, if it were so, she had placed herself in a very foolish position, for she had never lived as if she had believed it, and the little sister must know that.
“Well, then,” with the quick conclusion of childhood, “why do we worry? Why don’t we do it?”
“We—could,” said her sister thoughtfully. “I don’t know why we never did. I guess we never thought about it. Shall we try it?”
“It won’t do to try it,” said the matter-of-fact little girl, “because he said we had to believe it, you know. And trying is holding on with one hand and watching to see. We’ve got to walk out with both feet and trust. I’m going to!”
“Well, so will I,” said Cornelia slowly, her voice low and almost embarrassed. It seemed a strange topic to be talking about so familiarly with a little girl, her little stranger-sister, but she could not let the child get ahead of her. She could not dash the bright spirit of faith.
“That’s nice,” said Louise with satisfaction. “I’ll tell Harry, too. I guess he will; boys are so funny. I wish he’d been in church. But say, Nellie, we can be happy now, can’t we? We don’t need to worry about Carey anymore; we can just pray about it, and it will all come out right.”
Cornelia smiled and squeezed the little hand nestling in hers.
“I guess that’s what we’re expected to do,” she said thoughtfully.
“Yes, and I think God’ll show you what to do about that— that—chicken girl, too, don’t you, if you ask Him?”
“I guess He will.”
The whole family, of course excepting Carey, who telephoned that he wouldn’t be home till late, went to church that night and lingered to be introduced to some of the church people by the cordial minister, who had come down to the door to detain them. They finally went home cheered in heart both by the earnest spiritual service and by the warm Christian fellowship that had been offered them.
That night as Louise nestled into her pillow, she whispered, “Nellie, have you been shown yet? I mean anything about Carey and that girl.”
Cornelia drew the little girl into her arms and laid her lips against the warm, soft cheek.
“I’m not quite sure, dear,” she answered. “I’ve been thinking. Perhaps it will seem strange to you, but I’ve almost come to think perhaps we ought to get to know her.”
“Oh-h-h!” Louise said doubtfully. “Do you really think so? But she’s—why, she’s just awful, sister!”
“I know, dear, and I’m not sure yet. But you see we can’t do a thing till we really get acquainted with her. She may be simply silly and not know any better. She may not have any mother or something, and perhaps we could help her, and then, if we get acquainted with her, we would perhaps be able to make Carey see somehow. Or else we might help her to be—different.”
“Oh-h! But how could we get acquainted with her?”
“Well, I don’t know. We’d have to think that up. Do you know her name?”
“Yes, it’s Clytie Amabel Dodd. They call her Clytie, and it makes me sick the way they say it. She—she smokes cigarettes, Nellie!”
“She does!” exclaimed Cornelia. “Are you sure, dear? How do you know?”
“Well, Hazel Applegate says she saw her on the street smoking with a lot of boys.”
There was a long pause, and the little girl almost thought her sister was asleep; then Cornelia asked, “Do you know where she lives?”
“No, but I guess Harry does. He gets around a lot delivering groceries, you know. Anyway, if he doesn’t, he can find out.”
“Well, I’ll have to think about it some more—and—pray, too.”
“Nellie.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Nellie, you know that verse the minister said this morning about if two of you agree to pray for anything, you know; why couldn’t you and I do that?”
Cornelia pressed the little fingers close. Then it was all very quiet, and presently the two slept.
The next afternoon, while they were getting dinner and working about in the kitchen, the older sister suddenly asked, “When is Carey’s birthday? Isn’t it this week? The twenty-fifth, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Louise gravely. “It’s Thursday. Are you going to do anything? Oh Nellie!” Louise cried in consternation. “You’re not going to invite that girl then?”
“I don’t know,” said Cornelia. “I know it wouldn’t be very pleasant for us, but I thought perhaps it would be a good excuse. There isn’t really any other that I know of.”
The little girl was silent for a moment.
“Wouldn’t it make her think we thought— I mean, wouldn’t she get a notion we liked— That is, wouldn’t she be awfully set up—and think we wanted her to go with Carey?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, dear, and I don’t suppose that part of it really matters if we just get this thing sifted down and find out what we’ve got to do. We simply can’t say anything about her to Carey till we’ve somehow come in contact with her in his presence, or he will think we’ve been snooping about watching him, and he will just be angry and go with her all the more.”
“I know,” sighed the little girl.
“If we have her here,” went on the older sister thoughtfully, “we’ll at least know what they both are doing; and, if she doesn’t act nicely, we’ll have some ground to influence Carey.”
“Yes,” answered the little girl with another sigh. “Have you thought, Nellie, perhaps he won’t like it?”
“Yes, I’ve thought that, too, but I guess it won’t really matter much. It may do good, you know.”
“But he might not come home to supper that night. Or he might get real mad and get up and leave while she’s here.”
“Well, I don’t see that that would really do any harm. I guess we’ve got to try something, and this seems kind of a plain way to
go. If Mother were here, it would be better. Mother would know how to give dignity to the occasion. But I guess for Mother’s sake I’ve go to do something to either improve her or get rid of her before Mother comes home. It would kill Mother.”
“Yes, I know. What do you suppose Father’ll say?”
“Well, I don’t believe I’ll tell Father, either, only that I’m going to have a girl here to supper. It would only worry him if he knew she went with Carey, and you can always depend on Father to be polite, you know, to anybody.”
“Yes,” said Louise soberly. “He’ll be polite, but—he won’t like her, and she can’t help knowing it, no matter how thick-skinned she is; but maybe it’ll do her good. Only I’m afraid Carey’ll be mad and say something to Father or something.”
“No, I don’t think he will, not before a girl. Not before any girl. Not if I know Carey. He may say things afterward, but we’ll have to be willing to stand that. And besides, what can he say? Aren’t we polite to one of his friends? We’re not supposed to know anything about her. When it comes down to facts, little sister, we don’t really know anything about her except that she dresses in a loud way, chews gum, and talks too loud on the street. The other things you have only heard, and you can’t be sure they are true unless you see them yourself, or someone you trust perfectly has seen them. I know she may get a notion in her head that Carey is crazy about her if we single her out and invite her alone, but I’ve about decided it’s the only way. Anyhow, she’s let herself in for things of that sort by getting herself talked about. I believe we’ve got to do something quite radical and either kill or cure this trouble. I’ve thought about asking that Brand fellow, too, and maybe someone else, some other girl. But who would it be?”
Louise thought a moment, then she clutched her sister’s hand eagerly.
“Nellie! The very thing! Invite Grace Kendall! She would make them all fit in beautifully. I’d hate awfully to have her know our Carey went with that Clytie thing, but I guess there isn’t any other way, and somehow I think a minister’s daughter ought to understand, don’t you? And help?”
Cornelia was still struggling with her pride.
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right, little sister. Grace Kendall would understand—and help. I think God must have given you that idea. We’ll invite Clytie and Brand and Grace Kendall and then trust God to show us how to make them all have a good time without suspecting what it’s all about. We’ll just tell Carey that he must come home early because we have a birthday cake and a surprise for him—make him promise to be there, you know; and then we’ll take him into the living room, and they’ll be there waiting. If he thinks it strange and says anything about it afterward, we’ll tell him we invited all the people we knew were his friends, and we couldn’t ask him about it beforehand because it had to be a surprise party. Now, little sister, I think you’ve solved the problem with your bright idea, and we can decide on that.”
Chapter 14
They had the hardest time with Harry when they confided to him their plans and asked for his assistance. It took a great deal of argument and much tact to make him believe that anything good might come out of inviting “that chicken,” as he persisted in calling Carey’s lastest admiration. He had little less scorn for Brand Barlock, but when he heard that Grace Kendall was to be included in the list of guests, he succumbed.
“Aw, gee! It’s a rotten shame to mix her up with that gang, but if she’ll come, it’ll be some party. Gee! Yes, I’ll take your invites round, but you better find out if the minister’s girl will come before you get any of the others.”
The sisters decided that Harry’s advice was wise, and after the children had gone to school and the morning work was done up, Cornelia took her walk to market around by the way of the minister’s house and proffered her request.
“I’m not at all sure you’ll like the company,” she said with a deprecatory smile. “They are some young people Carey got to know last winter, and I want to get acquainted with them and see if they are the right kind. I thought maybe you’d be willing to help make it a success.”
That was all the explanation she gave, but the other girl’s face warmed sympathetically, and she seemed to understand everything.
“Oh, I’d love to come. Shall I bring some games? We have a table tennis that is a lot of fun; you use it on the dining room table, you know. And there are several other games that we enjoy playing here when we have a jolly crowd. Suppose I bring my violin over and we have some music, too. I’ll bring some popular songs; we have a bunch for when the boys come in from the church.”
When Cornelia started home, she felt quite cheerful about her party. Grace Kendall seemed to be a hostess in herself. She offered to come around and help get ready, and the two girls had grown quite chummy. Cornelia hummed a little song and quite forgot that across the miles of distance her classmates were this day preparing for the elaborate program that had long been anticipated for their class-day exercises. Somehow college days and their doings had come to seem almost childish beside the real things of every day. This party, for instance. How crude and homemade it was all to be! Yet it stood for so much, and it seemed as if momentous decisions depended upon its results.
She stopped in an art shop on her way back and studied little menu cards and favors, purchasing a roll of pink crêpe paper, some green and yellow tissue paper, wire, and cardboard. As soon as she had finished the dessert for dinner she hurried to get out scissors, paste, pencils, and went eagerly to her dainty work. Before Louise and Harry came home from school she had fashioned eight dainty little candy baskets covered with ruffled pink paper, and on each slender threadlike pink handle there nodded a lovely curly pink rose with a leaf and a bud, all made of paper, with their little green wire stems twining around the pink basket. Eight little bluebirds, with their claws and tails so balanced that they would hover on the rim of a water glass and bearing in their bills a tiny place card, also lay on the table beside the baskets, the product of Cornelia’s skillful brush and colors. The children went into ecstasies over them, and even Harry began to warm to the affair.
“I guess she’ll see we’re fashionable all right,” he swaggered scornfully. “I guess she’ll see she’s got to go some to be good enough to speak to our Carey. Say, what did the Kendall girl say? Is she coming? Say, she’s a peach, isn’t she? I knew she’d be game all right. Did you tell her ‘bout the other one? You oughta. She might not like it.”
“I told her as much as was necessary. You needn’t worry about her; she’s pure gold.”
“You’re talking!” said the boy gruffly and went whistling upstairs to change his clothes. But Louise stood still, enraptured before the little paper baskets and birds. Suddenly she turned a radiant face to her sister, and in a voice that was almost expressive of awe she said softly:
“But it’s going to be real special, isn’t it, Nellie? I never knew we could be real special. I never knew you could do things like that. It’s like the pictures in the magazines, and it’s like Mrs. Van Kirk’s luncheon. Hazel and I went there on an errand to get some aprons for the Red Cross for our teacher at school, and we had to wait in the dining room for ten minutes while she hunted them up. The table was all set for a luncheon she was going to give that day, and afterward we saw about it in the paper, and she had baskets and things just like that.”
Cornelia stooped and kissed the eager young face tenderly and wondered how she would have borne to be separated all these years from her little sister and brother and not have known how satisfactorily they were growing up.
“What are you going to put into them?” asked the little girl.
“Well, I haven’t decided yet,” said Cornelia. “Probably salted almonds, don’t you think?”
“Oh, but they’re awful expensive!”
“Not if you make them, dear. You and I will make them. I’ve done tons of them at college for feasts. It’s easy; just blanch them and brown them in a pan with butter and salt o
r oil and salt.”
“Oh, can you?” More awe in the voice. “And what will we have to eat?”
“Well, I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to count the dishes and let that settle some questions. We must have enough to go around, you know, and all alike. I wonder if there are enough bouillon cups. It takes eight, you know—Father, Carey, you, and Harry, three guests and myself. Yes, that’s eight. Climb up to the top shelf there, dear, and see if there are enough of Mother’s rosebud bouillon cups.”
“There are nine and an extra saucer,” announced Louise.
“Well, then we’ll have some kind of soup, just a little. I think maybe spinach, cream of spinach soup. It’s such a pretty color for spring, you know, that pale-green, and matches the dining room. It’s easy to make and doesn’t cost much; and then we can have the spinach for a vegetable with the meat course. Now, let’s see, those little clear sherbet glasses, are there enough of those?”
“A whole dozen and seven,” announced Louise.
“Then we’ll use those at the beginning for a fruit cocktail—orange, grapefruit, banana, and I’ll color it pink with a little red raspberry juice. I found a can among the preserves Mother had left over from last winter. It makes a lovely pink, and that will match the baskets.”
“Oh, lovely!” exclaimed the little girl ecstatically. “But won’t that cost a lot?”
“No, dear, I think not. I’ll figure it down pretty close tonight and find out; but it doesn’t take much fruit to fill those tiny glasses, and it’s mostly show, you know—one grapefruit, a couple of oranges, and bananas, and the rest raspberry juice. Spinach is cheap now, you know; and we can make the body of the soup with a can of condensed milk. We can eat cornmeal mush and beans and things for a few days beforehand to make up.”
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