Family Pride; Or, Purified by Suffering. Mary Jane Holmes
bloom of seventeen, with her golden hair waving around her childish forehead, and her deep, blue eyes laughing so expressively with each change of her constantly varying face. Everything animate and inanimate pertaining to the old house was noticed by her. She kissed the kitten, squeezed the cat, hugged the dog, and hugged the little goat, tied to his post in the clover yard and trying so hard to get free. The horse, to whom she fed handfuls of grass, had been already hugged. She did that the first thing after strangling Uncle Ephraim as she alighted from the train, and some from the car window saw it, too, smiling at what they termed the charming simplicity of an enthusiastic schoolgirl. Blessed youth! blessed early girlhood, surrounded by a halo of rare beauty! It was Katy's shield and buckler, warding off many a cold criticism which might otherwise have been passed upon her.
They were sitting down to dinner now, and the deacon's voice trembled as, with the blessing invoked, he thanked God for bringing back to them the little girl, whose head was for a moment bent reverently, but quickly lifted itself up as its owner, in the same breath with that in which the deacon uttered his amen, declared how hungry she was, and went into rhapsodies over the nicely cooked viands which loaded the table. The best bits were hers that day, and she refused nothing until it came to Aunt Betsy's onions, once her special delight, but now declined, greatly to the distress of the old lady, who, having been on the watch for "quirks," as she styled any departure from long-established customs, now knew she had found one, and with an injured expression withdrew the offered bowl, saying sadly: "You used to eat 'em raw, Catherine; what's got into you?"
It was the first time Aunt Betsy had called a name so obnoxious to Kate, especially when, as in the present case, great emphasis was laid upon the "rine," and from past experience Katy knew that her good aunt was displeased. Her first impulse was to accept the dish refused; but when she remembered her reason for refusing, she said, laughingly: "Excuse me, Aunt Betsy, I love them still, but—but—well, the fact is, I am going by and by to run over and see Cousin Morris, inasmuch as he was not polite enough to come here, and you know it might not be so pleasant."
"The land!" and Aunt Betsy brightened. "If that's all, eat 'em. 'Tain't noways likely you'll get near enough to him to make any difference—only turn your head when you shake hands."
But Katy remained incorrigible, while Helen, who guessed that her impulsive sister was contemplating a warmer greeting of the doctor than a mere shaking of his hands, kindly turned the conversation by telling how Morris was improved by his tour abroad, and how much the poor people thought of him.
"He is very fine looking, too," she said, whereupon Katy involuntarily exclaimed: "I wonder if he is as handsome as Wilford Cameron? Oh, I never wrote about him, did I?" and the little maiden began to blush as she stirred her tea industriously.
"Who is Wilford Cameron?" asked Mrs. Lennox.
"Oh, he's Wilford Cameron, that's all; lives on Fifth Avenue—is a lawyer—is very rich—a friend of Mrs. Woodhull, and was with us in our travels," Katy answered, rapidly, the red burning on her cheeks so brightly that Aunt Betsy innocently passed her a big feather fan, saying she looked mighty hot.
And Katy was warm, but whether from talking of Wilford Cameron or not none could tell. She said no more of him, but went on to speak of Morris, asking if it were true, as she had heard, that he built the new church in Silverton.
"Yes, and runs it, too," Aunt Betsy answered, energetically, proceeding to tell what goin's-on they had, with the minister shiftin' his clothes every now and ag'in, and the folks all talkin' together. "Morris got me in once," she said, "and I thought meetin' was left out half a dozen times, so much histin' round as there was. I'd as soon go to a show, if it was a good one, and I told Morris so. He laughed and said I'd feel different when I knew 'em better; but needn't tell me that prayers made up is as good as them as isn't, though Morris, I do believe, will get to heaven a long ways ahead of me, if he is a 'Piscopal."
To this there was no response, and being launched on her favorite topic, Aunt Betsy continued:
"If you'll believe it, Helen here is one of 'em, and has got a sight of 'Piscopal quirks into her head. Why, she and Morris sing that talkin'-like singin' Sundays when the folks git up and Helen plays the accordeon."
"Melodeon, aunty, melodeon," and Helen laughed merrily at her aunt's mistake, turning the conversation again, and this time to Canandaigua, where she had some acquaintances.
But Katy was so much afraid of Canandaigua, and what talking of it might lead to, that she kept to Cousin Morris, asking innumerable questions about him, his house and grounds, and whether there were as many flowers there now as there used to be in the days when she and Helen went to say their lessons at Linwood, as they had done before Morris sailed for Europe.
"I think it right mean in him not to be here to see me," she said, poutingly, "and I am going over as quick as I eat my dinner."
But against this all exclaimed at once. She was too tired, the mother said. She must lie down and rest, while Helen suggested that she had not yet told them about her trip, and Uncle Ephraim remarked that she would not find Morris home, as he was going that afternoon to Spencer. This last settled it. Katy must stay at home; but instead of lying down or talking much about her journey, she explored every nook and crevice of the old house and barn, finding the nest Aunt Betsy had so long looked for in vain, and proving to the anxious dame that she was right when she insisted that the speckled hen had stolen her nest and was in the act of setting. Later in the day, and a neighbor passing by spied the little maiden riding in the cart off into the meadow, where she sported like a child among the mounds of fragrant hay, playing her jokes upon the sober deacon, who smiled fondly upon her, feeling how much lighter the labor seemed because she was there with him, a hindrance instead of a help, in spite of her efforts to handle the rake skillfully.
"Are you glad to have me home again, Uncle Eph?" she asked, when once she caught him regarding her with a peculiar look.
"Yes, Katy-did, very glad," he answered. "I've missed you every day, though you do nothing much but bother me."
"Why did you look funny at me just now?" Katy continued, and the deacon replied: "I was thinking how hard it would be for such a highty-tighty thing as you to meet the crosses and disappointments which lie all along the road which you must travel. I should hate to see your young life crushed out of you, as young lives sometimes are."
"Oh, never fear for me. I am going to be happy all my life long. Wilford Cameron said I ought to be," and Katy tossed into the air a wisp of the new-made hay.
"I don't know who Wilford Cameron is, but there's no ought about it," the deacon rejoined. "God marks out the path for us to walk in, and when he says it's best, we know it is, though some are straight and pleasant and others crooked and hard."
"I'll choose the straight and pleasant, then—why shouldn't I?" Kate asked, laughingly, as she seated herself upon a rock near which the hay cart had stopped.
"Can't tell what path you'll take," the deacon answered. "God knows whether you'll go easy through the world, or whether he'll send you suffering to purify and make you better."
"Purified by suffering," Kate said aloud, while a shadow involuntarily crept for an instant over her gay spirits.
She could not believe she was to be purified by suffering. She had never done anything very bad, and humming a part of a song learned from Wilford Cameron, she followed after the loaded cart, returning slowly to the house, thinking to herself that there must be something great and good in the suffering which should purify at last, but hoping she was not the one to whom this great good should come.
It was supper time ere long, and after that was over Kate announced her intention of going now to Linwood, Morris' home, whether he were there or not.
"I can see the housekeeper and the birds and flowers, and maybe he will come pretty soon," she said, as she swung her straw hat by the string and started from the door.
"Ain't Helen going with you?" Aunt Hannah asked, while Helen herself looked a little surprised.
But Katy would rather go alone. She had a heap to tell Cousin Morris, and Helen