But she found herself talking to the empty hall, for Effie, her face lighted up with pleasure that her new friend had come, flew down the stairs without waiting for brush or collar or any adornment, and never paused till she stood in the doorway and realized her untidy working dress.
Eleanor, too vexed to know what to do, followed her sister downstairs, thinking to apologize for her carelessness, and find out, if possible, what was the matter. The busy mother passed through the hall at that moment, and they all met at the door, just as Lawrence Earle was saying cheerfully, “Good morning, Euphemia. How are you? Not all in after yesterday? Well you are some sport!”
Eleanor wondered with disgust if Lawrence Earle supposed Effie was one of the crowd and had perhaps been the one to invite him yesterday. Likely he had gotten them confused, and she must set him straight at once before Effie got her head turned.
But the young man went on speaking.
“How about it? Do you feel like having a few minutes’ exercise? I brought a baseball over. I’d like to see how my old pupil has progressed. Can you spare her, Mrs. Martin? Or is this a busy time, and should I wait till afternoon?”
“Why no, of course not, go ahead, dear,” responded her mother, heartily glad that some real fun had come to her usually unwelcome daughter.
Effie flew upstairs to make a few changes in her apparel.
“You have a wonderful daughter,” said Lawrence Earle earnestly, looking from Mrs. Martin to Eleanor. “You certainly would have been proud of her yesterday. Not a girl in a thousand could have done what she did!” And then he turned as Euphemia, her eyes bright with pleasure, came flying back downstairs in a clean blouse, which she had hastily donned on the fly, as it were, and they went laughing off together into the yard.
“What does he mean, Mother?” asked Eleanor in an offended tone. “What on earth has Effie been doing now?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said her mother, watching them with half-perplexed pleasure. “He isn’t spoiled a bit, is he? I was afraid he might have changed, with all the adulation he has had.”
“I’m sure I don’t see how you can tell he isn’t spoiled,” said Eleanor discontentedly. “I don’t think he’s very polite, to say the least. He might have asked me to play, too. I’m the oldest daughter.”
“Great cats!” said Johnnie, who had come into the dining room door and was listening. “Nell, you never could throw a ball, nor catch it neither. Wouldn’t you make a great figure out there pitching ball!”
“Why, I thought you scorned ball-playing, Eleanor,” said her mother, innocently surprised. “I don’t suppose it occurred to him that you would care to play.”
“Well, I wouldn’t!” snapped Eleanor shortly. “I was only saying how impolite he was. The idea of his coming over here and making Effie a laughingstock in her own yard. I shouldn’t think you’d allow it, Mother! I should think you’d put a stop to it before anybody sees her! I’m ashamed to have the girls know my sister acts that way.”
“I don’t see what you mean, Eleanor. Your sister is not behaving in any unseemly way, and as far as I can see, she is very graceful in her movements. That little blouse she made out of your old white dress fits her very nicely.”
“No, you never can see any harm in anything Effie does,” said Eleanor. “You don’t care how much humiliation I have to bear on her account. That’s nothing to you.”
“Aw, shucks!” said Johnnie, watching out the window. “If you could sling a mean ball like that, you’d be out there, too; you know you would. You’re just jealous, that’s what you are, Nell!”
“Johnnie! You mustn’t speak that way to your sister!”
“Well! She is!” said Johnnie, vanishing out the back door to slump down in the grass by the edge of the ball space and watch the game, ready to run after the ball if it should elude the skillful catcher’s hand.
Eleanor went discontentedly upstairs to watch the performance from her curtained window, but she managed to be sitting down on the porch when the two finally finished their play and came sauntering toward the house.
Mrs. Martin came through the hall with her arms full of clean laundry, which she was about to carry upstairs as they came up the steps.
“I’ll carry that for you, Mother,” said Euphemia, with new thoughtfulness, springing up the steps. “You don’t mind if I go for a ride, do you?”
Eleanor made eager talk while the visitor waited for her sister to come down, hoping that she would be asked to go along, and resolving to put Effie in her place if she did. The very idea of Effie’s usurping the best new young man in town!
But Lawrence Earle did not ask Eleanor to accompany them, though he was as pleasant as possible while he waited. And as he left, he said to Mrs. Martin, “You won’t worry if I keep her out late this afternoon, will you? I’ve promised to show her a new road that she’s never seen, and Mother told me to bring her back with me to lunch. I think I demonstrated my ability to take care of her yesterday, didn’t I?”And he touched his hat and went away laughing, as if they understood.
Euphemia’s cheeks glowed as she looked back at her mother and sister, but she said nothing, and Mrs. Martin stood looking after them, wondering.
“Something very nice must have happened yesterday, or something rather”—she paused for a word—“dangerous, perhaps.” Her eyes took on an anxious look.
“Nonsense!” said Eleanor sharply. “Something disgraceful, I’ll bet. That girl can stir up more trouble in a given time than anybody I know. I bet she just did this for spite, whatever it was, because she wasn’t allowed to go on that picnic. I might have known, when she came around so softly sweet and asked Papa not to forbid my going, that she had something up her sleeve. I declare, Mamma, I think it’s terrible the way you let Effie disgrace us all!”
There were tears of vexation in Eleanor’s eyes. She stood gloomily beside the window, looking after them and drumming on the sill. “Mamma,” she said, as her mother passed again through the room. “Do you think it’s quite safe to allow such a child as Effie to go off with strange young men? You know Lawrence Earle has been at college, and you never can tell how boys change when they go away from home.”
The mother gave her a look of astonishment. “Why, Eleanor, daughter, what can you be thinking of! Lawrence Earle is one of the finest young men I know. It seems to me, you were very anxious just yesterday to go off with him yourself. I’m afraid if you would examine your heart, you would really find something like jealousy there.”
The mother passed on, and Eleanor went glumly upstairs to settle down to a novel.
She was presently roused, however, to answer the bell. And this time a handsome car driven by a liveried chauffeur was drawn up in front of the house, and a gentleman, holding by the hand a lovely little child, entered and asked for Miss Euphemia Martin. He seemed much disappointed that she was not at home and asked after her health most solicitously. Could he see her father or mother? When Mrs. Martin was summoned from the kitchen, accompanied by the ever-wakeful baby, he overwhelmed her with words of gratitude for her daughter’s prompt and brave action, which had saved the life of his child. He was anxious to know if he had Euphemia’s full name written correctly. He said the little boy had a small gift, a slight token of the gratitude they felt. He had telephoned into the city for it late the night before and had it marked with the name the people who were standing about on the road had given him, so he hoped it was correct. The gift had come by special delivery that morning. And at a sign from his father, the beautiful baby presented to the mother a small white box, carefully wrapped and tied with white ribbon.
Mrs. Martin took the little white package and looked at it curiously, bewildered.
“But I don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t know of anything that my daughter, Euphemia, has done to merit any thanks. There must be some mistake. Perhaps it is another Miss Martin you mean.”
“Oh no,” the gentleman said, “the grocer’s boy directed me here. He sai
d he knew the young lady quite well, and that she was very brave and fearless.”
“But what did she do?” asked the mother, fearful now lest this was another of poor Effie’s escapades that would turn out to be not half so praiseworthy as the stranger seemed to think.
The caller proceeded to tell the story then to the wondering mother and sister, with all the details which he had gathered from the onlookers. And Mrs. Martin’s eyes grew bright with pleasure over the praise her little girl was getting.
“She was always quite fearless,” said her mother. “I am glad it has served to some good purpose. I have sometimes despaired of her ever growing up and settling down. But I rejoice that my daughter was able to save this dear child’s life.” And she laid her hand tenderly on the little golden head of the boy, who looked up at her with a confiding smile, and said, “Hoss wunned an’ wunned! I awful scared! Dirl ‘top him. Nice dirl ‘top horsey!”
When the callers finally left, promising to come again and thank the young lady personally, Eleanor stood watching them ride away with stormy eyes.
“Weren’t there any men around to catch that horse without Effie having to rush forward and make a display of her riding? Effie is always putting herself forward. Here, let’s see what she’s got. Some worthless trinket, I suppose. Such people think they can discharge a debt like that with a few words and a plaything.” And with a most disagreeable expression on her face, she reached out her hand to take the package her mother held.
“Eleanor!” said her mother sternly. “What can have come over you? I am thoroughly ashamed of your actions. You will most certainly not open your sister’s package! It is hers to open when she comes.” And her mother left Eleanor feeling very uncomfortable.
Chapter 10
Out on the sunny road, under a clear blue sky, with a pleasant morning before her, rode Effie. At another time, she might have stopped to think what the girls would say when they saw her companion, and she would have had a feeling of triumph. But her humiliation had been so recent, and this young man’s coming had been so like an angel to her in her utter self-abasement, that she looked upon him with a sort of awe and desired only that she might be worthy of this morning’s great honor. So it was that she rode calmly by the Garner’s place and never saw the two girls sitting on the wide front porch, nor noticed Janet Chipley and Maud Bradley coming down the street, until her companion lifted his hat. She raised her eyes then, and when she saw who they were, the color flamed into her face. Lawrence Earle noticed it, but gave no sign. He had had a purpose in directing their course around this way. A young cousin of his, quite close to the little Chipley sister and the little Garner sister, had unfolded some of her beliefs regarding Effie Martin to him at dinner the night before, when he had told his mother of his afternoon’s experience and the young girl’s part in it.
“Cousin Lawrence,” she had said earnestly, “I think those girls treat Effie Martin real mean. They wouldn’t let her go with them yesterday. I heard them talking. They say she climbs trees and bites her nails and isn’t old enough. But I know she wanted to go real bad. Don’t you think they were mean? They wanted you though, real much. I heard them say you would be the lion of the ‘casion.”
He laughed at the little maid’s earnestness, but some inkling of Effie’s feelings and what she had been through began to dawn on him, and his indignation grew toward those other girls, who he felt needed a lesson. Therefore, he rode with Effie through the main part of town. But out upon the smooth country road, two good miles between themselves and all disagreeable circumstances or memories, he made her forget herself and think only of the beauties about her. He even quoted one or two rare bits of poetry, in order to watch her face and see if their beauty touched her soul and awakened an answering chord. And he enjoyed her wonder and evident delight in all he said. He also discovered that she had been no mean reader herself, for a girl who made no pretension to things literary.
They had a most delightful morning. Euphemia felt that she never had enjoyed herself so much before. It was on her way back that she summoned courage to ask a question. “Would you mind telling me just what you meant yesterday by repeating that verse? How could I make my name fit? I hunted out the verse last night, but I’m not sure I understand.”
“Certainly,” said he, his face lighting up at her question. “Suppose we stop under this tree and you read the verse for yourself in the original. I always carry my little Greek Testament with me in my pocket.”
“Oh, but I can’t read Greek, you know.”
“Perhaps not, but I think you can read your own name. It is in that verse. Do you know that it’s there in the form you wear it in your name? ‘Whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are ’ Those are the exact words.”
They stopped under a chestnut tree, and the young man took out of his pocket a copy of the New Testament in Greek that looked as if it had seen much use. He opened to chapter and verse, as if he knew the way to it well, and pointed out the words to her, reading slowly until she recognized her own name in the strange Greek characters.
“You see,” he said, looking at her eagerly, “all the things which go to make up a good report are summed up here: to be true, to be honest, to be just, to be pure, to be lovely. If we are all these, we are sure to have a pretty good report given of us. But the trouble is most of us are not all, nor even many, of these things all the time. And we find it quite impossible of ourselves to be either, so what are we to do? The Book says, ‘think on these things.’ You know, one’s character generally takes color from what one thinks about most. If I think about and love the world, I am worldly. If I think about evil, I make it easy for evil to develop in me. Now, if you think much on these things that are Christly, they are likely to grow in you so that you literally become of good report. But that is not all. Did you notice the last clause in the next verse? ‘And the God of peace shall be with you.’ So, you see, you don’t have to do it alone. It would be utterly impossible to grow Christly by our own efforts. It is really Christ who works it in us, Christ dwelling in us. And when you begin to ‘think on these things,’ you open your heart for the Christ to come in and dwell there. And He has promised to keep your heart in all peace.”
It was all new to Euphemia. She listened with her soul in her eyes, and afterward she could shut her eyes and seem to remember every inflection, every flash of his eyes, and every curve of his lips as he spoke the words that seemed to mean so much to him. He seemed so eager to impart his own knowledge to her.
All too soon the morning was gone, and they drove back to the Earle house for lunch, and now indeed Euphemia had a taste of unsought triumph. For the Garner girls and Maud Bradley and Janet Chipley came driving past, just as Lawrence Earle turned into his own driveway. And they all saw that the despised Effie Martin was with him, and that they were laughing and talking as if they had been having a good time together. And he was taking her home to lunch! That was plain to be seen, for Mrs. Earle was even then on the porch, waiting to receive her guest. The traffic lights held the girls until they had seen Mrs. Earle come forward and greet Effie affectionately, as if she quite expected her and was pleased at her coming.
“Did you ever!” said Janet Chipley crossly. “Well, he always was odd! So that’s that! Effie Martin, of all girls! But, of course, he doesn’t know what she is!”
“Oh, he’ll find out soon enough,” prophesied Ethel Garner. “Effie Martin can’t keep herself in the background long.”
But what they did not know was that Effie Martin was gone, and there was to be in her place Euphemia Martin, a different girl, as different as if she had indeed been born again.
The beautiful day was over at last, and Lawrence drove her home, leaving her at her father’s door with the promise of coming for her soon again.
Effie came slowly into the house, thinking of all the happy, helpful day, and wondering how she should begin to live her new lesson when she was met by Johnnie, bursting at every pore with information and cu
riosity.
“I say, Eff, hustle along, there, won’t you? There’s a package here for you, and Ma wouldn’t let us open it till you came. A fellow in a big swell car and a pretty little boy that looked like a girl was here and left it for you. Say, I think you were real mean not to say a word about that runaway. You must have had a regular picnic of a time.”
She opened the little white box wonderingly, and found inside another white box of velvet lined with blue, and in this lovely case, a tiny platinum wristwatch, set about with jewels, tiny diamonds, and sapphires. And on the back it was inscribed: To EUPHEMIA MARTIN, IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF HER BRAVE ACTION IN SAVING THE LIFE OF CLINTON CARROL.
She looked long at the dainty, jeweled timepiece and the inscription. Here was a testimony to at least one good action she had done. This “Euphemia” inscribed on the precious metal surely meant “of good report.” She looked at it so long and so thoughtfully that the others, who were impatient to see it, pressed closer and took it from her, and as they handed it from one to another, exclaimed over its beauty and the bounty of the giver and what the younger ones termed “Eff’s luck.” She slipped out from among them, leaving it still in their hands, and stood looking out the window, deeply stirred. What a lovely thing had come to her as a sort of seal and memorial of the new life she was going to try to live.
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