"Oh, G.o.d, our help in ages past Our strength in years to come, Our refuge from the stormy blast, And our eternal borne."

Sure enough! G.o.d our "strength in years to come," even though they be wearisome years. A little "stormy blast" had swept over her. She would fly to her Refuge, and then the "eternal home." What if this life was not just as we would have it, the next one will be; and Edna "laid her down in peace and slept."

"Heigh ho!" said Mr. Winters one bright day, "whom have we here?" A merry jingle of bells suddenly stopped and two gray horses and a handsome sleigh stood in front of the gate. "Mr. Monteith, eh? He has most likely come to take me out riding," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Miss Edna, will you ride?" Mr. Monteith asked when the greetings were over. Edna's eyes sought her mother's for reply. It was not every gentleman, be he ever so great and rich, that this primitive, independent father and mother would entrust with their treasure, their one ewe lamb.

"Yes. Edna might go, but he would be sure to bring her home before dark?"

"Trust me; did I not bring her home before dark once?" he laughingly asked. The two were soon tucked among the robes, skimming briskly over the smooth, hard surface, which is just the next thing to flying. They flew about the streets of the town a little while; met Miss Paulina, who stared at Edna and said to a young lady by her side: "Whoever can that be with Mr. Monteith?" Then their route stretched many miles out into the quiet country. The journey was long, but not tedious. It was beguiled by low-spoken words that kept time to the slow, silvery chime of the bells--the old musical, mysterious words that established a covenant between those two, needing only the word from father and mother and minister to make binding and never-ending.

Mr. Monteith was said, by belles of the town, to be dest.i.tute of a heart--at least all their arts had not succeeded in finding it; even Miss Percival, skilful as she was, had also failed, much to her sorrow. To be sure, the heart was of small account to her, only so that she might be mistress of the stately Monteith mansion, might possess those gray ponies for her very own, and glitter in the silks and jewels and laces that his money would buy. She had no heart herself, because in her very shallow nature there was not room for one. Paulina had failed thus far, but she was not discouraged. Mr.

Monteith's mother was old and feeble; she would die some day, then "we shall see what we shall see"--then, of course, he would need someone to preside over his home; and who so well fitted to adorn it as she, the acknowledged beauty of the town?

When the time of birds and blossoms had come again, and picnics and excursions were revived, Paulina said to her dearest friend:

"What do you think that delightful man has gotten up now? Mr.

Monteith, I mean. He is to have a little breakfast party in the country--just a few of us, you know. We are to go in carriages. I dare say you'll be invited, too. Isn't it a charming novelty? I presume it is to an old uncle and aunt of his, you know," and the b.u.t.terfly girl tripped on without waiting for replies. Accordingly, one balmy June morning, a merry company alighted at "The Pines," and were ushered into a fairy-like room.

Green vines crept and twined along the white walls, drooping over doors and windows, and trailing down the muslin curtains as if they grew there. The flowers were not made into stiff bouquets, but here and there was a handful of roses or sweet-scented violets. The old fireplace lost itself in callas, ferns, and ivies, while the mantel blossomed out into tube-roses and mosses. One of the recesses formed by the large chimney was turned into a leafy bower, the bells of white lilies fringing the green archway.

"Beautiful!" "Exquisite!" murmured the guests. "I verily believe we have come to a wedding," said one.

In another moment Mr. Monteith and his bride stood in the niche under the lilies, and the minister spoke the mystic words that declared them "no more twain, but one."

Edna was not glittering in satin and jewels. Her dress was apparently a soft white cloud floating about her, looped here and there with a cl.u.s.ter of lilies of the valley. A wreath of the same flowers fastened her veil; and the sweet face and luminous eyes that gleamed through its folds seemed just another rare flower.

The formalities and congratulations all over, Mr. and Mrs. Monteith pa.s.sed down the walk under the spreading branches to their carriage.

The apple-blossoms showered fragrant blessings on them as they went their way, and the bridegroom whispered: "Do you remember the first time you and I came up this hill together?"

VIDA.

There was an audible rustle in the large congregation of St. Paul's Church, well-bred people though they were, as their young minister came up the aisle with his bride and seated her in the minister's pew. They not only turned their heads, giving one slight glance, seeing all without seeming to, as cultured people know how to do, but they broke all rules in their code of good manners by a succession of twistings of the neck. It was not easy to settle down content after one short look at the beautiful being who glided by the minister's side. Had he seated a veritable fairy in that pew the sensation could scarcely have been greater. Her beauty was of that rare blonde type--hair of spun gold, eyes of sapphire, and complexion fine and delicate as a rose-leaf. She was youthful and richly dressed, the dark-green velvet suit, white plumes and fine laces, well setting off her marvellous beauty. Her eyes fairly drooped before the undisguised admiration expressed in many faces.

The minister himself saw nothing of it at all. He was annoyed at finding himself actually late, and his thoughts were intent on getting to his place in the pulpit with all possible speed. It was not one of his ambitions to be conspicuous; he was accustomed to slip quietly into his place from the chapel door, and his apparently triumphal march into his church on the first Sabbath of his return, after all the people had a.s.sembled, as if to say, "Behold us now!"

was not to his taste nor of his planning; all this threw his thoughts into a tumult unfitting him in part for his sacred duties.

At the close of service that day, the congregation did not discuss the minister's sermon, they were absorbed in another subject: the minister's wife. The opinions were various. Grave old deacons looked askance at her in her regal beauty as they pa.s.sed out, shook their heads, and repeated to each other the familiar saying, that wise men often make fools of themselves when they come to the business of selecting a wife. One lady said she was "perfectly lovely;" another, that she had "a great deal of style;" another, that "her dress must have cost a penny, and she did not see for her part how a Christian could find it in her conscience to dress like that."

"One would have thought," Mrs. Graves said, "that a man like Mr.

Eldred would have chosen a modest, sensible person for his wife, who would be useful in the church, but then, that was the way, a minister was just like any other man, money and a pretty face would cover up a good many failings." Mrs. Graves was the mother of three sensible, modest girls, who would have made capital ministers' wives. Why will ministers be so shortsighted?

"But, mother," Tom Graves asked, "aren't you pretty fast? How do you know but she is sensible and modest; you never heard her speak a word?"

"Anybody with half an eye don't need to hear her speak to know all about her."

"The idea of a minister's wife," said Mrs. Meggs, "with her hair frizzed, and such a long trail for church!"

"She paints, I know she does!" said sallow Miss Pry. "There never was such a complexion as that born on to a human being."

Those who did not say anything, who made it a rule never to speak uncharitably of anyone, seemed well satisfied to have others to do it for them, and looked and sighed their holy horror that their minister should have shown so little discretion in choosing a wife. Just to think of her leading the female prayer-meeting and being president of the Missionary society, humph!

Ah! if there had been one dear "mother in Israel," with love enough to bear this young thing in the arms of her faith to the mercy seat and plead a blessing for her--with courage enough to try to win her to see the blessedness of living a consecrated life, it might all have been different.

When Thane Eldred first met Vida Irving he was immediately taken captive. So fair a vision never crossed his path before; whatever of enchantment might have been wanting in golden curls and blue eyes was completed by a voice such as few possess, rich, sweet, and fine compa.s.s; had she been poor it might have brought her a fortune. When he heard her sing in such angelic strains the sweet hymns he loved, he took it for granted that the words of fervent devotion but gave voice to the feelings of her own heart. So fair a bit of clay, he reasoned, must contain a soul of corresponding beauty, and he forthwith invested her with all the charms of an angel. A slight misgiving, it is true, sometimes crossed his mind as to whether she could adapt herself easily to the difficult position of a pastor's wife. She had the air of an empress, and the hauteur of her manner was often so great as to gain her positive enemies, and yet the deluded man, with blind eyes, reasoned, "I can mould her to what I will when she is mine; it is the fault of a false education, I am quite sure her heart is all right."

And why did the spoiled beauty condescend to smile upon one, who by his very profession, if closely following in the footsteps of the lowly Master, must needs abjure the vanities and enticements of this world, and live a life of self-denying toil. Not a thought of that kind had ever entered her pretty head. A minister in her estimation was an orator, the idol of a wealthy people, and a gentleman of elegant ease. There was a fascination about this dark-eyed young minister; his graceful dignity and impa.s.sioned eloquence pleased her fancy, so the sudden attachment was mutual.

Early left a widow, with a large fortune, Mrs. Irving devoted herself to her idol, her only child, with unremitting devotion; nothing that would add to her happiness or her attractions was neglected, and now with her education completed, the fond mother looked about her, seeking a brilliant alliance for this rare daughter, when lo! she found the matter settled. Vida's own sweet will had been the ruling power ever since she came into the world, and the mother was obliged to submit to the inevitable with as good grace as she could command under the circ.u.mstances.

A poor minister! who could have dreamed that the daughter would have made such a choice. With this mother's views of life, and life eternal, it is not to be wondered at that she felt bitter disappointment. The prospect, though, was not wholly dark, he was "handsome and talented," and that went far toward consolation; then, too, he would probably be called in time to a large, important church, and have D.D. at the end of his name, and it would sound well to say "My son-in-law, Rev. Dr. Eldred, of Boston, or New York City,"

and to discourse of his brilliant preaching, his wealthy parishioners, the calls he had declined, etc.

St. Paul's Church was situated in a small city of large manufacturing interests, and while there were many families of wealth and position in the church, there were also many who were obliged to toil hard and practice the utmost economy in order to have any left to pay their subscription with. Some of these looked with no kindly eyes on the magnificent changes of toilet that Mrs. Eldred brought out Sabbath after Sabbath; now a sealskin sacque, then an Indian shawl, and suits innumerable of rich silks in all possible tints, suited to all possible occasions.

"It makes a body feel as if they hadn't a thing fit to wear, the way Mrs. Eldred comes out in her silks and velvets," Mrs. Jenks, a mechanic's wife, remarked to her neighbour. I wonder what she'd say to wearing a black alpaca dress seven years running, for her best dress! I declared, it made me feel as if there wa'n't any sort of use scrimping and saving as we do, to pay fifteen dollars a year to support the minister; I told John we better not pay but five next year, and I'd put the other ten on my back. He's got a rich wife, he don't need much salary now. Just to think of her fur sacque, and great handsome shawl, and here I havn't had a new cloak this ten years--have to wear my blanket shawl to church.

"Yes, I think's much!" answered Mrs. Myers, emphatically. "She's as proud as Lucifer, too. Mr. Eldred shook hands with me real friendly like last Sunday, and asked 'How is the little one?'--as he always calls my Tommy--then he introduced me to her, and she turned her head toward me, and looked at me from head to foot, exactly as if she was saying to herself 'Dress, twenty-five cents a yard; shawl five dollars, hat, two dollars;' then she gave me what she'd call a bow may be, she swept her eyelashes down, and tilted her head back, instead of forward, and I thought I saw the least mite of a curl on her lip, (she's got a dreadful proud mouth, anyway;) she didn't offer to put out her hand, not she! she was afraid I'd soil her white kids, with something less than a dozen b.u.t.tons on them."

"Well, it's too bad," Mrs. Jenks said, "and he such a good Christian man as he is--wonder what he wanted to go and marry such a wife for, anyhow; I don't believe he more than half approves of her himself, now he sees how she goes on, but, poor man, he's got to make the best of it now; I shall always think everything of him though, he was so kind to us when Peter was sick."

Mrs. Eldred was not entirely ignorant of the duties expected from a minister's wife, but she had resolved, as far as she was concerned, to ignore them. Because she had married a minister was no sign that she was to be subject to the whims of a whole parish; she could consider herself bound by no rules that did not apply equally as well to every other member of the church. Her mother had forewarned her, and advised her to this course:

"A minister's wife, my dear," said the worldly-wise mother, "is usually a slave. So just put your foot down in the beginning, and don't wear yourself out. Enjoy yourself all you can. Poor child! it is a dismal life at best that you have chosen for yourself, I fear."

Mrs. Eldred did not state her peculiar views to her husband, by any means; she should just quietly carry out her plans, and he would learn to submit in time. Mother said that was the way to manage a husband.

It was Thursday night. The first bell for prayer-meeting was ringing when Mr. Eldred came down from his study. His young wife sat under the drop-light cosily established in a large easy-chair, absorbed in the last number of Scribner. She was robed in a white flannel wrapper, and her long, fair hair was unbound, lying in bright waves about her shoulders. Mr. Eldred contemplated the pretty picture a moment, then he said:

"You look comfortable, my dear: but do you know that is the first bell for prayer meeting?"

"Oh, I am not going to meeting. I am perfectly delighted to have an evening to myself once more, when that indefatigable people of yours are engaged. I am actually worn out receiving calls," she said, languidly.

Mr. Eldred was disappointed. He had thought more than once that day how he should enjoy it; to have his dream realized, Vida walking with him, to his own meeting, and sitting near, singing as none but she could sing. A spice of vanity mingled with it too. How the people would listen and admire! He felt annoyed and was about to protest, but she looked so like an angel in her soft white dress that he had not the heart to find fault. So he kissed her good-bye, and went his way alone.

She accompanied him the next week; to be a disappointment, however.

Her voice joined not in the hymns of praise, she remarking at the close of the meeting:--

"Do you think I could sing in all that discord? It is horrible; it sets every nerve in my body on edge. People always sing that way in prayer-meeting, every one trying to sing, though not knowing one note from another. One old man by me sang five notes below the key; a woman on the other side screamed out as many above; a girl before me had a strong nasal tw.a.n.g. I should think you'd go distracted; and, by the way, what a quant.i.ty of common people attend your church!"

Mr. Eldred looked into the fire and repeated half aloud, "The common people heard Him gladly."

As the weeks went on, it became evident to him that he must abandon the pleasant plans he had formed of companionship in his work. He attended meetings alone, made calls alone, and grew weary of apologizing for Vida.