The Shoemaker's Daughters CHAPTER 6.

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"And can it be possible, Anne, that you were treated so unkindly?" said Mrs. Flathers, while she sat sewing with Anne Webster, about a week after she had taken her into her family as seamstress.

This remark was occasioned by a short sketch of the scene which occurred in Mrs. Hardamer's parlor, on the night that Anne was taken so seriously to task, by the mother and daughters; a sketch, given at the request of Mrs. Flathers, who had, from a word inadvertently dropped by Anne, suspected that she had not been rightly treated.

"It happened just as I have stated it, madam," said Anne.

"I have no doubt of it," replied Mrs. Flathers. "My question was only indicative of surprise. But who was the young man, Anne?"

"His name, I believe, was Marshall."

"Marshall!" said Mrs. Flathers, in a tone of surprise. "Does he keep a dry goods warehouse in Market Street?"

"Indeed, ma'am, I do not know anything about him. He seemed like a gentleman; and my impression of him, derived from hearing him converse for half an hour, has made me wonder, more than once, how he could be interested in either Gertrude or Genevra."

Mrs. Flathers was silent for some minutes, and then changed the subject. She was the widow of a rich merchant, who, in dying, had left a very large property entirely under her control. She had three children, all boys, the oldest only about twelve years of age. She was, in every respect, a lady — well educated, and extremely accomplished. But her external accomplishments were not the mere holiday garments of "made ladies" — they were the true expression of internal graces. In Anne, she soon perceived the excellencies of a true and tried spirit; and her heart moved towards her with a pure, maternal tenderness. The more she saw of her — the more she found to admire and to love.

One evening, about a week after this conversation, while Anne was engaged in reading to Mrs. Flathers and the children, a gentleman was announced by the servant as being in the parlor; and Mrs. Flathers withdrew, leaving Anne with the children.

"Why, how do you do, Ralph? I'm glad to see you," said Mrs. Flathers, extending her hand to a fine looking young man, who met her in the parlor. "You're really a stranger; I have not seen you for a month. You must not neglect your mother's old friend, Ralph, or she will get jealous."

"Indeed, Mrs. Flathers, I do owe an apology for my neglect. But I've been a little preoccupied of late, and, you know, when a young man is preoccupied in a certain way — he is apt to neglect his old friends."

"You're quite ready with a confession, Ralph, but I think I'm a little beforehand with you. You think Miss Hardamer quite an interesting young lady. Am I not right?"

"Not exactly," replied the young man, somewhat confused. "But how in the world did you know that I went there?"

"You see that I know it, Ralph, and you will have to be content with that, at present. But, seriously, Ralph, if all I hear about the daughters of Mr. Hardamer are true — I cannot greatly admire your taste."

"Seriously, then, Mrs. Flathers, I neither admire nor respect them."

"Then why do you go there?"

"I've got a little secret to tell you, and when you hear about it, you will understand why I have continued to go there. As far as the young Hardamer ladies are concerned, I have not the least inclination to visit the house. But I called there one evening, shortly after I had been introduced to the Hardamer girls, and they happened to be out. In their place, I found one of the sweetest young creatures I have ever met — so beautiful, so graceful, so modest! I was so charmed with her, that, notwithstanding her evident uneasiness at being compelled to entertain a perfect stranger, I sat for half an hour in her company. On retiring, I was bold enough to ask her name, which she gave without hesitation."

"And what was it?" asked Mrs. Flathers.

"Anne Webster," replied the young man. "On the next evening I called again, in hopes of learning more about the interesting stranger. On asking for her, I was told, with a sneer, that she was only their hired sewing-girl; and they were in high disdain at the idea of her presuming to entertain their company. I have called several times since, in hopes of getting another glimpse of her, but in vain. Last night I ventured to mention her name, and to ask for her. 'We've turned her out of the house, the presuming hussy!' said one of the young ladies, with indignant wrath; 'for we had reason to suspect her of too much intimacy with our guests.'"

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mrs. Flathers, in sincere astonishment, completely thrown off her guard.

"It is true," responded the young man, looking a little surprised at the feeling exhibited by Mrs. Flathers. "And I am sure that she has been thus treated on my account, and it distresses me exceedingly. How gladly would I search her out, if I could only get the clue. What would you advise me to do, Mrs. Flathers — for, really, I am not able to decide myself?"

"Why, my advice would be, Ralph, for you to act with your usual caution and prudence in this matter. You don't know anything about this Miss Webster, and might involve yourself in an improper acquaintance."

"But I could swear to her innocence, Mrs. Flathers."

"You are really more romantic than I had thought you, Ralph. Having withstood so many assaults, it is rather amusing to find you taken, at last, in the meshes of an obscure and unknown sewing girl!"

"You may laugh, if you choose, Mrs. Flathers, but I know your impressions would have been as favorable as mine, if you had seen her. I wonder who she can be, and where she has found an asylum?"

"But, seriously, Ralph, don't you see that you are running off a little wildly. What would your mother and sisters say to your bringing home a mere sewing girl of unknown or of obscure family, and presenting her as your wife?"

"My mother and sisters are sensible women, and know how to appreciate virtue — be it found in the palace — or cottage, among high-born ladies — or humble maidens."

"Then you are really serious, Ralph."

"Of course I am."

"Thinking about marrying a girl you know nothing about, and have never seen but once?"

"As strange as it may seem, Mrs. Flathers, that is the very direction my thoughts are taking. But I am as sure that she is pure and good, as I am that she is prudent and intelligent. I cannot be deceived. I have seen too many young women in my time, and have known too many, not to be able to judge of anyone after half an hour's acquaintance."

"Why, Ralph?" said Mrs. Flathers, "I never knew, before, that you were so vain of your discriminating powers. Most men are satisfied if they can find out a woman's real character, after having lived with her some twenty years, or more! But you can see quite through them in half an hour! You are, really, more of a novice in these affairs, than I had thought you."

"No doubt I seem to you a little demented; but, indeed, I wish you could see this Miss Webster. I'd be willing to leave the matter to your judgment, binding myself to abide the decision."

"Under these circumstances, I might be willing to countenance your romantic love affair."

"But I cannot find out where she is. At Hardamer's I can, of course, learn nothing more about her," said the young man.

"Would you know her, if you were to meet her anywhere?" said Mrs. Flathers.

"Of course I would. Her sweet face is always before me, and her voice has been like music in my ears ever since."

"Really, Ralph! I am concerned for you. I'm afraid Cupid has struck you in the eye, and partially blinded you!"

"Perhaps he has, Mrs. Flathers; but, if that is the case, it is not my fault, if I see with a perverted vision."

"Well, Ralph, I do not know how to advise you at present. But something may strike me, after I think about it; so I shall expect you to come and see me pretty often."

"I shall surely do that, Mrs. Flathers; for there is no one else that I can talk to on the subject so near my heart."

"I was going to say, that I was sorry you had become so infatuated with this mysterious stranger; but in this, perhaps, I would be wrong. I have, however, a young lady here, who is going to reside with me, I expect, for some time, and I flattered myself that you would find her particularly interesting."

"Who is she, Mrs. Flathers?" he asked, with an apparent interest.

"It's of no particular consequence; anything about another than your interesting stranger, would have no particular interest for you," replied Mrs. Flathers.

"Well, I can't say that it would," he said, indifferently.

"That is too bad, Ralph. But I'll punish you for it, see if I don't."

"I'll trust to your tender mercies, madam," said the young man, smiling.

After her visitor had retired, Mrs. Flathers returned to the sitting-room, and joined her family. The reader has, of course, recognized in this visitor as Mr. Marshall. Mrs. Flathers now found herself placed in a new and responsible position. Although her impressions in reference to Anne, were of the most favorable character possible — yet she was tooprudent a woman to be governed altogether by first impressions. Anne's statement of her interview with Marshall had not caused her a serious thought, but her conversation with the latter had awakened up in her mind, a lively concern; more especially, as the fact of Anne's being in her family rendered her responsibility very great. For the present, she resolved to do nothing, but to keep Marshall, if possible, ignorant of the fact, that Anne was in the house, and trust to the developments of time.

Every day Anne became more and more endeared to her, until she had begun to look upon her with the fond and partial eyes of a mother. Above all, did she love her for thedeep and confiding principle of religion by which her whole life was governed. It was not a religion of obtrusiveness, nor of imposing forms of external sanctity. But it was a calm, peaceful, unvarying confidence in the wisdom and goodness of Divine Providence — and a constant obedience to all the commandments, internally, as well as externally.

"Do you never doubt the providence of the Lord, Anne — when passing through the clouds and the shadows?" she said to her, during one of the interesting conversations she was in the habit of holding with her.

"I have rarely doubted of late, Mrs. Flathers," she replied, "though weak human nature has often shrunk and trembled, even as the patient will shrink and tremble when the physician probes a dangerous wound."

"I cannot say, with you, that I do not sometimes doubt," said Mrs. Flathers.

"When we remember," resumed Anne, "that the Lord has taught us, in addressing him, to say, 'Our Father' — we shall perceive that there is really no cause for despondency, be the circumstances ever so much shadowed by uncertainty. In many places in the Bible, we are alluded to under the tender name of God's children. 'Even as a father pities his children' — is the Lord represented as regarding us."

"It is a little strange, Anne, that while conscious of the truth given to us that the Lord is our Father — we cannot feel the childlike confidence that we ought to feel," said Mrs. Flathers.

"This arises, altogether, Mrs. Flathers, from our unwillingness to sacrifice everything for spiritual good. Until this is the case — we cannot feel confidence under what are calledadverse Providences. We will not let a consciousness that Infinite Goodness and Wisdom will do all things for the best — come down into the will, and thus enter fully into the affections of the mind. Until we so fully approve of all that our Heavenly Father does, as to love it — we cannot but suffer painful doubts when the day of trial arrives."

"I readily perceive that it is much easier to understand a truth than to be willing to do it," said Mrs. Flathers.

"And just so far," replied Anne, "as there is a harmony between the will and the understanding — are we in right states of obedience. To do the truth, willingly — is to love it; and when we love to do anything — its performance is delightful to us."

"But it is very hard, Anne, to do what is opposed to our selfish feelings."

"No one knows that better than I do, madam. But, without effort — we can gain no victories. The evil of self-love is too deeply implanted in our minds, to be easily removed. It requires a whole lifetime of temptations and combats — entered into with unflinching resolutions."

"A view of the case that might well discourage a stout heart," said Mrs. Flathers.

"Yes — if there were no delights to cheer and invigorate at every step. But no one is given to see any more of the evils that are in the mind — than just enough to encourage to activity against them. The worst evils of the heart, are mercifully hidden from us, until, from victory to victory — strength and confidence are gained, to enter into the combat with everything that opposes the divine love from the Lord from entering into the heart. And, after every victory, comes a season of delights and repose; when we can lie down, as it were, by cool fountains, amid shady retreats, with birds and flowers filling the air with music and fragrance. There is no delight, Mrs. Flathers, that can equal the delight arising from a willing performance of duty."

"That is true, Anne, and if all of us went simply about discharging every present duty, leaving the past and the future alone — how much happier would we be."

"In that simple act of performing our present duties," replied Anne, "must come all of our real happiness. It is the great secret of happiness. But the prevailing misery in the world, shows how far the true principle of living for happiness is departed from."

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