Mildred at Home: With Something About Her Relatives and Friends.. Finley Martha
able to help her to grow into strong, healthful womanhood."
Both mother and sister looked relieved, and presently they rejoined the others.
Frank Osborne was just taking leave. He must return to the duties of his charge, and might not see them again for several days.
Ada left the room with her betrothed for a few last words.
When she entered the parlor again Aunt Wealthy, making room for her on the sofa by her side, asked, "Are you to be settled near Pleasant Plains, dear?" adding, "I hope so, for it would be very hard for you to go far from father and mother, brothers and sisters, and for them to have you do so."
Ada could not answer for a moment, and when she found her voice it was tremulous with emotion.
"We do not know yet, Aunt Wealthy," she said. "It will be hard to leave home and dear ones, but we are ready and willing to go wherever the Lord may send us."
"Ada, what do you mean?" asked Mildred. "Surely, Frank has no thought of seeking a foreign field?"
"Can't you give me up if the Master calls me away, Milly?" asked Ada, taking her sister's hand and pressing it fondly in hers.
"In that case I would not dare hold you back if I could; His claim is far stronger than mine," Mildred said, with emotion.
Then the whole story came out, and the matter was discussed in a family council.
But they could go no farther than the expression of their opinions and wishes. Frank had already offered himself to the Board of Foreign Missions, and his going depended upon their acceptance or rejection.
"I hope they'll say, 'No, we think you can find enough to do where you are,'" said Annis playfully, but with eyes full of tears, putting her arms around Ada's neck and laying her cheek to hers as she spoke. "I'm sure I don't know what we should ever do without you!" she went on. "I don't like to have you go away even as far as the country church where Frank preaches now."
"Well, dear, we won't borrow trouble; 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,'" Ada said, holding her close, and fondly kissing the rosy cheek.
"'And as thy days, so shall thy strength be,'" added Mrs. Keith. "Our blessed Master will never lay upon any of us a heavier burden than He gives us strength to bear."
"No," said Rupert. "And now – to turn to a pleasanter theme than the possibility of losing Ada – Mildred, don't you want to go and take a look at your new house, you, and the doctor, and anybody else that cares to see it?"
"Oh, is it done?" cried Annis, suddenly forgetting her grief and loosening her hold of Ada to clap her hands with delight.
"Yes, all but the papering and painting," replied Rupert.
"I move we all go in a body," said Mildred gayly.
"So many of us! People would stare," objected Fan, with her usual timidity.
"What matter if they should?" laughed Mildred. "But it is only a step, and there are very few neighbors near enough to watch our proceedings."
"And why shouldn't we be independent and do as we please?" remarked Don loftily. "I vote in the affirmative. Come, let's go."
"A dozen of us, without counting the babies," murmured Fan, with a little sigh. But she tried on the dainty white muslin sun-bonnet her mother handed her, took Don's offered arm, and went with the rest.
As they passed from room to room Mildred's eyes shone with pleasure.
The plan of the house was the joint work of herself and husband, embodying their ideas in regard to comfort and convenience. Rupert had been left in charge of the work during their absence, and had acquitted himself of the trust to their entire satisfaction.
Both returned him warm thanks, Mildred saying again and again, "I am delighted, Ru; you have not forgotten or neglected the least of our wishes."
"I am very glad it pleases you, Milly," he said, with a gratified look. "It has been a labor of love to attend to it for you."
"It is quite done except the work of the papers and painterers, is it not?" queried Aunt Wealthy.
"Yes," said the doctor; "and we will set the painters at work to-morrow; the paperers as soon as our boxes of goods arrive."
Chapter Sixth
"We all do fade as a leaf." – Isa. 64:6.
Dr. Landreth and Mildred gladly availed themselves of a pressing invitation to take up their old quarters at her father's until such time 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 she regret the necessity for continuing a little longer a member of her father's household, especially considering that this was Ada's last summer at home.
There was always a community of interests among them, a sharing of each other's joys and sorrows, a bearing of each other's burdens, and so all were very busy, now helping Mildred prepare bedding and napery, curtains, etc., and now Ada with her trousseau, and everything that could be thought of to add to her comfort in the foreign land to which she was going; for in due time Frank Osborne received word that he had been accepted by the Board.
Many tears were shed over that news, yet not one of those who loved her so dearly would have held Ada back from the service to which the Master had 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 – the wealth of this world, that perishes with the using – parting from them with almost breaking hearts; and should they shrink from a like sacrifice for Him who had bought them with His own precious blood? and to send the glad news of His salvation to those perishing for lack of knowledge?
The train of emigrants for California had left at the set time, their relatives and friends – in some cases wives and children – parting from them as from those who were going almost out of the world, and might never be seen again.
A journey to California is accounted no great thing in these days, when one may travel all the way by rail; but in those times, when it was by ox-teams and wagons, across thousands of miles of trackless wilderness, over which wild beasts and savage Indians ranged, it was a perilous undertaking.
So they who went and they who stayed behind parted as those who had but slight 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, the clinging embraces, the tearful, sobbing adieus, was not more than half sorry that he was not going along.
Fan drew the acknowledgment from him later in the day, when she overheard 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 in his 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 get possession of you!"
"I don't love it for itself, Fan – I hope I never shall – but for what it can do, what it can buy."
"It cannot buy the best things," she said, looking at him with dewy eyes; "it cannot buy heaven, it cannot buy love, or health, or freedom from pain; no, nor a clear conscience