The Maiden CHAPTER 1.
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"Anna, dear," said Mrs. Lee in a quiet tone to her eldest daughter, a young maiden over whose head the blossoms of only eighteen happy summers had fallen, "it is time you were beginning to dress for the party at Mrs. Leslie's."
Anna Lee sat sewing near a window, and was bending closer towards the light, as it was beginning gradually to withdraw, before the shadows of an autumn evening. She let the work fall into her lap, and mused for a short time. Then turning her soft blue eyes upon her mother, she said,
"I believe I won't go this evening."
"Why not, Anna? You have made every preparation. What has caused you to change your mind?"
The maiden sat again silent for nearly a minute, evidently debating whether she should go out or not. Company had been invited at the house of an acquaintance, where she had fully intended to spend the evening.
"I don't think I ought to go," she replied, a little evasively.
"Why, dear?"
"I think I shall be happier at home, mother."
"But, we should not always consult our own feelings. Think whether your absence will not take from the pleasure of some of Mrs. Leslie's guests. Some of your young friends will miss you. I think I would go, Anna; if not for my own sake, for the sake of others."
"And may I not stay at home for the same reason? said Anna, going quickly to the side of her mother, who sat in a large chair, her face pale and wearing an expression of languor. She drew her arm around her mother's neck as she spoke.
"You may, if such a reason can keep you at home," replied Mrs. Lee.
"I think it does require me to stay it home. You are not so well today, and I cannot bear to have you worried with giving the children their suppers and putting them to bed. John and Charley are rude to Margaret, and never will let her do anything for them without a disturbance. Your head has ached dreadfully, and has only been easy for the last hour. If you should have to see after the children, the pain will come back, and then you will get no rest all night."
Mrs. Lee did not immediately reply. Her feelings were touched at the affectionate, self-sacrificing spirit of her child. But she could not bear the thought of having her forego the enjoyment of a social evening on her account.
"I think, Anna," she at length said, "that I am a great deal better, and that it will not hurt me in the least to see after the children. So don't think anything more about me, but go and get yourself ready at once."
Anna stood in an attitude and with an expression of irresolution upon her countenance.
"Go, dear!" urged the mother, "I wish you to do so."
"I'll see after the children first."
And Anna passed with light steps from the room.
"Dear, good girl!" murmured the mother, sinking languidly back in her chair, as her daughter vanished from her sight.
Anna went to the dining room, where four children were romping and making a loud noise — some singing at the top of their voices, and others pounding on the floor, and dragging about the chairs. Among them was a little girl named Mary, four years old, who was dancing and singing as loud as the rest. As Anna came in, she became quiet, drew up to her side and took fast hold of her hand.
"John," said Anna, speaking in a mild, yet firm voice to the eldest boy, who was hammering on the floor, "Mother is not well this evening. Your noise will make her head ache."
John looked up at his sister a moment, but did not heed her words. He continued to make as much noise as before.
"I've a beautiful story to tell you all," the elder sister now said.
This had the effect she desired. John threw down his hammer, Charley let go of the chair he was dragging around the room, and all of them gathered quietly around their sister, and looked up eagerly into her face.
Anna told them a touching little story about some children whose mother took sick and died, and left them to be taken care of by strangers, who were not as kind to them as their own dear mother had been. Tears were in the eyes of two of the children. But John, though interested, seemed but little affected by the narrative.
"Tell us another story, Anna," said Mary.
"Yes, Anna, do!" urged the other children.
And Anna told them another story.
"Now another."
"I've told you two good stories. And now I must get you all your suppers."
"You're not going to get my supper," said John, in an ill-natured tone. "I shall eat with father and mother."
"And so shall I!" responded Charley.
"Oh, no," mildly returned Anna. "Mother has been sick today; so you must all eat your suppers together, and go quietly to bed. Your noise disturbs her."
"To bed, indeed! Ha! ha! I'm not going to bed for two hours yet."
"O yes, John, you are. If mother is sick, and wants you to go to bed early — then I am sure you will go."
"I'm going to sit up. If mother is sick, my sitting up won't hurt her. I've got all my lessons to learn."
"You can study them in the morning just as well, and a great deal better. So, John, be a good boy, and eat your supper with the other children."
"No I won't — so there now, Miss! And you need not say another word about it."
Anna sighed, as she turned away from her brother, whose natural disposition was showing its inherent evil tendencies so early, and began to prepare the children's supper. When it was ready, she lifted the two younger children, Jane and Mary, into their places, and then turning to Charley, she stooped over him and whispered something in his ear.
The boy instantly took his place at the table, with a smile upon his face. But John was not to be moved. He resolutely persisted in refusing to eat his supper then.
After Anna had helped all the little ones at the table, she went to where John was sitting in a chair, in a sulky mood, and taking a seat beside him, said, in a calm, mild voice,
"John, mother has not been well all day. She has suffered very much with head-ache, and is only now a little better. I want to go out this evening, but can't begin to get ready until I have given you all your suppers, and seen you to bed. Won't you then, for my sake, eat with the other children now, and then go to bed like a good boy?"
"No, I will not!" This was said very ill-naturedly.
"O yes, John, I am sure you will."
"But I tell you I won't! I'm not going off to bed just because you wish me to do so. Go, if you want to, but don't trouble yourself about me. I'll eat my supper when father comes home."
Anna was grieved, as she often before had been, at John's unkindness, selfishness and self-will. And she even felt a rising emotion of anger; but this she quickly suppressed. Turning from him, she waited upon her brother and sisters who were at the table, and when they were done, took them up into their chamber, and laid them all snugly in their beds; not, however, before telling them several stories, and hearing them say in turn, a little prayer. Kissing each sweet face, she took the lamp, and descended to the dining-room. It was nearly an hour since she had left her mother in her own chamber. She found John still fixed in his resolution to sit up, as he was in the habit of doing. After one or two efforts to dissuade him from his purpose, she left him alone, and went into her mother's room. It was still an hour before Mr. Lee was expected home.
"Why, Anna, dear, why are you not getting ready to go to Mrs. Leslie's?"
"I've just got the children, all but John, off to bed. He wants to sit up and eat with you and father."
"Well, let him. He can go to bed himself when he gets sleepy. So now make haste and put on your things."
Anna went out, and ascended to her own chamber. But she was little inclined to do as her mother had urged her. The effort she had made to induce John to do as she wished him, and his unkind return, had depressed her spirits, and caused her to feel disinclined to go into company. But this she conquered in a little while, and recollecting that she was to be called for at seven, she commenced making the necessary preparations. While engaged in laying out and arranging the clothes she intended wearing, loud and angry words were heard by her from the kitchen, between John and the cook.
Descending quickly, in order to check the disturbance before it should reach the ears of her mother, she found that the perverse boy had been endeavoring to interfere with some of the cook's operations. The cook had justly opposed him, and this produced a contention between them, the result of which was a blow over John's head with the tongs, well laid on, just at the moment of Anna's entrance. John was seizing the stove shovel, when his sister caught his arm. Feeling that he had been in the wrong, and checked by Anna's presence, he let the weapon fall; though not without an angrily uttered threat of what he would do to the cook.
Anna now decided that she would not go out. If her mother had been well, she would easily have managed John. But Anna knew, from the excited state of her nerves, that if she were compelled to leave her room to check such a scene, it would bring back upon her the dreadful headache and sick stomach from which she had all day been suffering.
"It will be wrong for me to leave her, and I will not do so!" she said to herself, resolutely.
The person who was to call for Anna, and accompany her to the party, was a young man named Herbert Gardiner. The fair young face and sweet temper of Anna Lee had won upon his feelings; and, in consequence, he had thrown himself into her company whenever he could do so. As for Anna, all unconfessed to herself, her heart had begun to feel an interest in the young man. The fact that he was to call for her was a strong inducement. But a sense of duty was a much stronger feeling, and she allowed it, as has been seen, to prevail.
Such a state of mind, so far in advance of most young people, was not a mere natural growth — was not the regular maturity of germs of good, hereditarily derived. It was the result of sound maternal precepts, and a most earnest care that the tender mind of her child, in its development, should be molded into a right form. Early had Mrs. Lee taught her first-born the highest and best lesson a human being can learn — to imitate God in seeking to bless others. She had taught her to deny herself, and to study to do good in all the relations of life. It is true, that the mother had a sweet temper to mold; and a natural ground of good from which quickly sprung into existence the seed she scattered with a liberal hand.
Still, Anna had her own trials — her own struggles against her natural evils, that would lift their deformed heads often and suddenly, causing her exquisite pain of mind. But such temptations, and the consequent disturbed state, were good for her. They made her humbly conscious, that in herself, she was weakness and evil, and that only by resisting evil daily and hourly — could she rise into true moral strength and beauty. And it was because she thus, in conscious weakness, strove against all that was not pure, and good, and innocent in herself — that she grew daily purer, better and more innocent.
After fully deciding in her own mind that it was her duty to remain at home with her mother, who was not in a state to see after any of the children, should they awaken and cry, as was often the case, and need attention, she went into her chamber and said,
"I believe, mother, I will remain at home this evening. I shall not feel happy if I go out, and my unhappiness will arise from a consciousness of not having done right. Do not urge me, for I believe to go would be wrong."
"If you feel so, Anna, I will not say one word. Though I cannot but be grieved to think that you are deprived of the pleasure you would have had at Mrs. Leslie's."
"Not more than I shall gain at home, mother. As young as I am, I have many times proved the truth of what I have often heard you say — that the highest pleasure we ever have, is that inward peace which we all feel when we have denied ourselves some promised gratification — for the sake of doing good to others."
The mother's eyes filled with tears as she turned them upon her daughter. She looked, but did not speak the pleasure she felt.
A servant came in at the moment, and said that a gentleman had called for Anna.
"Mr. Gardiner, I suppose," Anna said, as she arose and left the room.
It was Mr. Gardiner, whom she found in the parlor.
"Good evening, Miss Lee!" he said, in a slightly disappointed tone, as Anna came in. "Are you not going to Mrs. Leslie's?"
"No," she replied, "I am sorry that you have been at the trouble to call for me. Mother has been quite unwell all day, and I do not think I ought to leave her."
"So you do not intend going? This was spoken in a still more disappointed voice.
"No, I cannot go tonight. It would be wrong for me to leave my mother — and I try never to do anything that I clearly see to be wrong."
But this noble-minded declaration did not awaken in the heart of Gardiner a responsive admiration. He was disappointed, and he could not conceal the feeling.
After sitting for about ten minutes, the young man went away. The interview was not pleasant to either of them. To stay at home from a party just because her mother was not very well, he considered rather a stretch of filial duty; and she, perceiving the true character of his thoughts, shrunk from him instinctively.
From that time, Anna received his attentions with embarrassment. She did not reason much about it. She only felt repulsed. And that all this was right, will be seen in the next chapter.
Shortly after Gardiner left, Mr. Lee came home. Anna was still sitting in the parlor, in a musing attitude.
"Why, how is this, Anna? I thought you were going to Mrs. Leslie's tonight," he said with kind interest, sitting down by her side.
"And so I was. But you know mother has had a sick head-ache all day."
"Yes. How is she tonight?"
"She's a great deal better."
"Then why couldn't you go?"
"Because the children are very apt to get fretful and troublesome, and sometimes won't let anyone see them to bed but mother or me. So I thought it best to give them their suppers first, and get them quietly put away for the night. After that was done I began to fear that they might wake up, as is often the case, and require attention; and I knew if mother went to see to them, her headache would return. She needs quiet and rest. These will be everything to her. If I had gone out, and anything had occurred on account of my absence, to bring back her illness — I would have felt very unhappy indeed."
"You have done right, my dear," said Mr. Lee, kissing affectionately the fair cheek of his daughter. "I am sorry that you have been deprived of the enjoyment you would have had at Mrs. Leslie's; but it is all for the best. Even in the least things of our life, as I have often before told you, there is a Divine Providence."
"I believe it, father. Already it has occurred to me, that it is for some good, that I have been prevented from going this evening."
"It doubtless is, my child," returned Mr. Lee. "Good always springs from a denial of ourselves in order to benefit others. Ever think thus — ever act thus — and ministering angels will draw near to you, and guard you from evil."
Mr. Lee's voice trembled slightly as he said this.
"But I must go up and see your mother," he added, and turning from Anna, he ascended to Mrs. Lee's chamber.
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