Mildred Keith - Complete 7 Book Collection. Finley Martha
of heathen in fact, and perhaps she considers herself doing missionary work in coming to see me."
"The house and grounds are handsome," Mildred remarked with some surprise, as they alighted at Mr. Landreth's door.
"Outside," Mrs. Dinsmore returned significantly.
Mrs. Landreth was at home and they were shown into the drawing-room.
It was a spacious, rather dreary looking apartment, very plainly furnished and almost wholly destitute of ornament, with the exception of a few old family portraits. The only really attractive objects in the room were a brightly blazing fire and a very fine painting over the mantel.
This last riveted Mildred's attention in a moment, and she exclaimed at its beauty.
"Yes," whispered Mrs. Dinsmore, "it's the one handsome thing in the house, and she's always at her husband to sell it."
"Why?" and Mildred's look expressed unfeigned astonishment.
"Praise it to her and you will hear all about it."
Their hostess entered. She was tall, angular, of sallow complexion, and strong featured. Her black hair, streaked here and there with grey, was drawn straight back from a forehead crossed by many lines.
Caps were much worn even by youthful matrons at that day, but Mrs. Landreth had resorted to no such artifice to conceal from view the partially bald spot on the top of her head; neither did the close fitting, black stuff gown hide one angle of her stiff, ungainly figure.
Her movements were ungraceful, her countenance was solemn as might have befitted a funeral occasion.
"She is certainly far from pleasing in appearance," thought Mildred, furtively scanning the unattractive face, and mentally contrasting it with the dear, bright, cheerful one that had made the sunshine of her childhood's home.
Mrs. Landreth's face served as a good foil even to Mrs. Dinsmore's faded beauty; a fact of which that lady was by no means unaware or intolerant.
The two conversed together for some minutes; Mildred sitting silently by. They were speaking of the weather, then of some common acquaintance of whom she knew nothing, and not feeling interested she half unconsciously suffered her eyes to wander about the room.
"You do not find much to admire here?" Mrs. Landreth said, interrogatively, turning abruptly to her. "There are no pretty trifles scattered here and there as at Roselands."
"I admire that painting over the mantel exceedingly," Mildred answered with a blush, and turning her gaze upon it again; "such a lovely, sunny landscape! it gives one a restful feeling just to look at it."
"Yes, it is a fine painting, but I have often told my husband that I think he committed a sin in putting so much money into an unnecessary luxury; something we could do perfectly well without. The Bible bids us be content with food and raiment; and we ought not to indulge ourselves in anything more; or to spend much on them while there are so many deserving objects of charity in the world. That is why you find me so plain in my attire and in the furnishing of my house.
"Mr. Landreth holds different views and would like house and wife to look as well as those of his neighbors, as he often says; but I must act according to the dictates of my conscience."
"But don't you think it a duty to try to please your husband and make his home attractive?" Mildred asked modestly. "I know my mother considers it hers and her great pleasure also."
"Quite natural then that you should; but doubtless I am an older woman than she; and years should teach wisdom," rejoined Mrs. Landreth, somewhat loftily.
"Yes, madam, I suppose they should, but do you think people are always wise just in proportion to their age?"
"Of course not always. Mr. Landreth is older than I.
"But now to return to the original topic. We are taught that we ought to practice self-denial and to give liberally to the poor. The interest of the money paid for that picture (five thousand dollars) would enable me to largely increase my benefactions, if I had it. And besides how much useful work the artist might have done in the time he spent—wasted one may well say—in painting it."
"I cannot think the time was wasted, or that God would have given him the talent if he were not to use it, or that it is wrong to surround ourselves with beautiful things if we have the means," ventured Mildred, still thinking of her mother's practice and the opinions she had heard her express.
Mrs. Landreth gave her a look that said as plainly as words, "I consider you a very opinionated and silly young person," and Mrs. Dinsmore arose to take leave.
"That woman," she remarked as she threw herself back in her carriage, "has done more to disgust me with religion than anybody or anything else! She is always parading her self-denial and benevolence, always looks as solemn as if it was a sin to laugh, seems unhappy herself and anxious to make everybody else so. If that is Christianity I want none of it! and I know that is just how Charlie Landreth feels!"
"But it isn't Christianity, aunt," Mildred said earnestly. "And do you not know some Christians who are very different?"
"Yes, there's Mrs. Travilla, at Ion, where we are going now. She is always cheerful, quite merry at times, and a great deal better woman, to my thinking, than Mrs. Landreth, though she doesn't appear to think so herself. In fact she's too good for me; gives me an uncomfortable sense of my own inferiority in that respect."
"Are the Landreths poor?" asked Mildred.
"Poor; child," exclaimed Mrs. Dinsmore, laughing. "Wouldn't Charlie and his uncle be mortified if they could hear that question! Poor! no, indeed! Mr. Landreth could afford twenty paintings as costly as that; but he isn't allowed to enjoy one, and the house looks forlorn and comfortless from garret to cellar."
"And is she really so benevolent?"
"She gives a great deal to missions, and to the poor, and the church, but I think it would be well for her to remember that charity begins at home, and to bestow a little kindness upon her husband and his nephew. If they were beggars she would perhaps think it worth while to pay some attention to their comfort; as it is they get nothing from her but sermons and lectures on their worldliness and wickedness."
"But Mr. Charlie Landreth doesn't seem to me like a bad young man," said Mildred, in surprise.
"He isn't," said Mrs. Dinsmore, "he's a thorough gentleman and has no vices; there isn't a finer young man the country round. But he isn't pious; so of course she considers him a reprobate."
"I have heard my mother speak of Mrs. Travilla as a lovely Christian lady and an intimate friend of Aunt Eva," said Mildred, willing to introduce a new topic.
"Yes; and I always feel that she is making comparisons, unfavorable to me of course, between Mr. Dinsmore's first wife and myself. So I can hardly be expected to be very fond of her."
"But isn't it possible that you may be mistaken, Aunt Isabel?"
"I'm not given to fancies," was the ungracious rejoinder.
Then there was a short silence broken presently by a query from Mildred.
"Has Mrs. Travilla any daughters?"
"No; only a son; and he's away in Europe. The families—ours and theirs—have always been intimate, Edward Travilla and Horace inseparable companions, and they went to Europe together."
"It seems odd I should have been here so long without meeting Mrs. Travilla."
"She has been away; went North with her son, and did not return till quite recently. She called at Roselands the same day Mrs. Landreth did and inquired for you."
Mildred was greatly pleased with both Ion and its mistress.
The grounds were extensive, beautiful and well cared for, the house, a fine old mansion handsomely furnished, abounded in tasteful ornamentation; there were articles of vertu scattered through its rooms—rare and costly bits of painting and sculpture. Also less expensive adornments, singing birds and blooming plants and flowers;