AFTER breakfast Mabel sat down and wrote a letter to Mrs. Rose, saying she must give up all the work she had undertaken, for she was not fit to do it. But before the letter was finished, her mother came into the room, and Mabel instantly handed it to her.
Mrs. Randolph smiled as she read it.
"Impulsive as usual, Mabel," she said. "But I do not think Mrs. Rose ought to be made the victim of it to this extent, my dear."
"What do you mean, mamma? I thought you wished me to give up all outside work," exclaimed Mabel.
"I did not wish you to undertake it, my dear, but having done so, you cannot throw it up for a mere whim, a mere caprice. Go and see Mrs. Rose, and tell her you have undertaken too much, and ask her to relieve you of the visiting and the Dorcas work, but continue your Sunday-school class for the present."
Mabel did not look very pleased.
"I thought you wanted me to devote my time to helping you, mamma," she said rather crossly.
"My dear, I do wish you to help me, for I am anxious to lessen the household expenses as much as I can." And Mrs. Randolph spoke very earnestly.
"Mamma, what is it? What is the matter?" asked Mabel, noticing the change in her mother's voice.
"Perhaps it is better you should know it," said Mrs. Randolph with a sigh, "but I do not wish to burden you with care and anxiety. Only, if you understand exactly how things are, Mabel, you will be the more ready to help—the more willing to do whatever your father thinks will be best for the future."
"But, mother, what is it?" asked Mabel in alarm, instantly jumping to the conclusion that they were on the verge of ruin. "Are—are we ruined?" she gasped.
Mrs. Randolph could not help laughing at her impulsive daughter.
"Not quite so bad as that, Mabel," she said. "But business is not improving—it is growing less and less every year, while our household expenses are increasing."
"Then, mamma, what are we to do?" said Mabel.
"That is the question your father and I often ask each other—How are the children to be educated, and household expenses curtailed? And it cannot be done without your help, Mabel."
"Oh, mamma, how can I do anything?" asked Mabel earnestly.
"Well, dear, at present I am afraid you can only help us by being as diligent as you can with your own lessons, that you may be able to teach Mary and the others by and by, so as to save us the expense of a governess and masters," said Mrs. Randolph.
Mabel looked greatly disappointed.
"Only teach Mary and the children!" she said.
"My dear, it will be a great help to us—a great relief to me, when you can take this work off my hands. You might begin with some of the easy lessons now, if you wish. But I do not want to burden you while you are still learning yourself." But as she said it, Mrs. Randolph looked wistfully at her daughter, hoping she would offer to hear the children some of their lessons.
But Mabel was in no hurry to undertake the post of governess to her little sisters. She craved some greater work than this, and she said:
"Mamma, couldn't I do something else?"
"Something else, Mabel!" repeated Mrs. Randolph. "What could a girl of fifteen do? But I must not stay talking any longer," she hastily added, "for Mary and the children will be waiting for me."
Again she cast a wistful, lingering look at Mabel, hoping she would offer to take the children's lessons this morning.
But Mabel was feeling too vexed and disappointed to look at her mother, but sat toying with the pen she had been using until her mother left the room. Then she leaned her head down and burst into tears.
"It is hard," she sobbed. "I do want to be useful, and yet it seems that I am not to do anything except learn lessons."
She tore up the letter she had written to Mrs. Rose, and then wrote another, saying she must give up all her work but the Sunday-school class. For, truth to tell, she shrank from going to see either the rector or his wife just now, as her mother had suggested.
When the letter was written, she took out a German exercise and sat down to study it, but soon fell to thinking over what her mother had told her concerning her father's business, and from this she began wishing she could have the assistance of first-class masters like her cousin Isabel had. But then there was all the difference in their circumstances, for while her uncle was every year growing richer, it seemed that they were only getting poorer as time went on. And yet it did seem hard. The more she thought of it, the harder it seemed. For while her cousin had all these educational advantages, she would never need to use them as Mabel herself would, for she had always heard that her aunt was a fashionable, fine lady, without a thought beyond her dress and her dinners and the furnishing of her house, and so Isabel's proficiency in music and languages would be no more than an extra adornment of no real service to herself or anybody else. And Mabel heaved a sigh of envy as she turned to her again.
"It is such awful drudgery doing this alone. Mamma thinks because I had a year or two of it at school, I ought to be able to read both French and German fluently," she grumbled.
But help in this work was nearer than she thought—nearer, perhaps, than she altogether desired. The next evening when Mr. Randolph came home, he brought with him a letter which he had that day received from his brother, Isabel's father, proposing that Mabel should come and share Isabel's lessons for a year, by way of finishing her education.
"What do you think of it?" he asked eagerly as Mrs. Randolph handed back the letter.
It was evident that he was pleased with his brother's proposal, and expected his wife would be the same. "It will be a capital thing for her, I think. For if the worst should come to the worst, and she should have to go out as a governess by and by, she will find it very useful."
Mrs. Randolph looked anxiously at her husband as she said, "I hope this will not be necessary, John."
"Well, I hope not, and I do not think it will. But still, we agreed the other day that Mabel should teach Mary and the little ones, and for this she will need some further instruction herself, and so Henry's offer is really most opportune."
"And you think we ought to accept it for Mabel," said Mrs. Randolph, wondering whether it would be wise to send Mabel to a home where wealth and luxury reigned—whether this would be a wise arrangement for such a girl as Mabel.
Before deciding the matter in her own mind, she resolved to talk to Mabel about it. And so after the children had gone to bed, and while Mr. Randolph was busy over some accounts, she went to Mabel's room and told her of the offer made by her uncle.
"But you will not let me go, mamma?" said Mabel quickly.
"I scarcely know what to do under existing circumstances," said her mother with a sigh.
"But aunt is a gay, fashionable lady, and I should grow worldly too, if—"
"My dear, you may grow worldly in any society. Do not think that worldliness is confined to the frivolous and fashionable people. Certainly if I thought by allowing you to go to your aunt's, it would foster this tendency in you, I would not let you go for all the educational advantages in the world. But there is no necessity for this if you watch and pray against it, and that is what I want to talk to you about, my dear. It will be a great advantage to you to have a year's teaching under good masters, and no one can tell what you may need by and by, and so your father, I know, is very anxious that you should go."
"But aunt is a mere fine lady, I have heard father say," objected Mabel.
"That is probably the fault of her education, and can be no excuse for you. Indeed, Mabel, you will never have the opportunity of being a mere fine lady, so there is some comfort in being poor," concluded Mrs. Randolph with a slight smile.
But Mabel did not smile.
"Mamma, I am afraid I should like it," she said seriously.
"Like to be a fine lady! Well, perhaps you would—I am afraid you would, if the temptation ever came in your way. But it is never likely to come, my dear. The world will claim work at your hands as the price of your right to live in it."
"But I might grow worldly and frivolous."
"Yes, under any circumstances, in any society, you might become worldly; and a worldly woman is the saddest sight under heaven. But now let us understand what this word means. For as I understand it, the poorest as well as the richest may fall into this, and it is by no means confined to the gay fashionable world, as so many imagine. Shorn of its outward surroundings, worldliness is just another name for selfishness. Our own advantage, a pushing of our own claims, a desire and effort to outshine our neighbours and friends, are all so many forms of worldliness and selfishness; and these may be indulged, and often are, I am sorry to say, by religious people and even in religious work."
"Oh, mamma!" exclaimed Mabel.
"I know it by experience, Mabel. I once wanted to reprove a young friend for her love of dress, and so I had my winter bonnet made as dowdy as I well could. And, oh, how proud I was of that bonnet! What hard, uncharitable thoughts I indulged concerning those who wore a bit of bright ribbon! And I thought I ought to be noticed and held up as a pattern. I don't think I ever was so worldly before or since as I was while I wore that exemplary bonnet. And this spirit of worldliness may be carried into anything, spoiling the divinest service. While, if it is one's duty to mix in fashionable society, it may be done—it is done—without contracting a taint of worldliness. For there are those for whom our Master's prayer is constantly being fulfilled, and they are kept 'unspotted from the world.' So you see, my dear, it is the spirit we cultivate in ourselves that determines whether we are worldly or unworldly, and not the outward circumstances of our life."
"But, mamma, outward circumstances do make some difference," said Mabel.
"If we allow them to conquer us, Mabel, it will make all the difference. But we are not sent here to be the slave of circumstances, but to struggle and grow stronger for the fight. Now about your visit, dear. You will have to make up your mind before you go, to strive against yielding to the envious and perhaps covetous feelings that are pretty sure to arise in your heart, if they are not fought against and overcome. This is the form of worldliness you will be specially tempted to yield to, and not that of gay, fashionable society. For you and Isabel will spend most of your time in the school-room, I expect."
"Then you think, mamma, I ought to go?" said Mabel.
"Your father does, my dear, and—and if you were a little less impulsive, a little more willing to yield your own will and your own way, I should think it would be a splendid opportunity for you," said her mother.
"Then you are afraid of me, mother?" said Mabel in a half-offended tone.
"Mabel, dear, I don't want to speak harshly. I know you are full of good intentions, and I believe you desire, above all things, to make your life a useful one, but still I am afraid for you—afraid of the wilfulness and impulsiveness lest they should lead you into irreparable mischief."
Mabel sat with downcast eyes, twisting the corner of her apron.
"Oh, mamma!" she gasped. "I have been trying ever since my birthday to be of some use in the world."
"I know you have, dear, only you have made a mistake as to which part of the world you ought to begin at. Be sure of this, dear, that our duty lies in the work that is nearest to us. When we have done that, if we have time and opportunity for more, then we may do it. But home duties should have our first care and attention under any circumstances."
"And yet, mamma, you think I ought to go away from home?" exclaimed Mabel.
"Yes, dear, as it will fit you for greater usefulness at home. And who can tell what duty may lie before you with your cousins? Try to think that God may have some work for you to do there besides learning lessons and improving yourself."
"But it won't be pleasant, mamma, to go there as a poor relation. If I could have plenty of new dresses and money and other things, I should like to go, but—but—"
And Mabel burst into tears and went out of the room, leaving her mother greatly disconcerted and perplexed. She went back to the dining-room, where she found her husband had so far settled the matter that he had written a letter accepting his brother's offer concerning Mabel, which he handed to his wife, remarking, as he did so, that Mabel had better have some new dresses made before she went away.
He was by no means inclined to take his daughter's wishes into consideration in the matter. The offer was too good to be declined, and so Mabel must accept it whether she liked it or not. This was her father's way of looking at it, and Mrs. Randolph found that she was expected to acquiesce in the arrangement. It was as well, perhaps, that it was so, for secretly Mabel scarcely knew her own mind upon the matter. But when her father talked about the new dresses the next morning, and advised that she should go with her mother to choose them, the last of Mabel's opposition faded, and she was as eager to go on the shopping expedition as she had been to commence district visiting.
The dresses were chosen, and a dressmaker engaged to come and help make them up, and Mabel's study was turned into a workroom for the time being.
"Now, Mabel, you had better take your lessons and do them with Mary, for fear the ink should be spilled on the work," said her mother, as she opened some of the parcels and pushed Mabel's writing aside.
"Oh, mamma, be turned out of my own room!" gasped Mabel.
"Not at all, my dear. I hope you will get your lessons done as quickly as you can, and come and help with the work. There is plenty to do, I can assure you."
Mabel took the pens and ink out of the way, but she secretly determined to clear a little corner of the table for herself the next day, where she could write her exercise without interfering with the work. The dressmaker would be there, but she would not mind. And Mabel carried out her intention, risking the spotting of her new dresses with ink rather than peril her dignity by sitting down to lessons with her younger sisters.
She managed to get through her work without spilling a drop of ink. But just as she had finished, she was called away. And the dressmaker wanting the room occupied by her exercise- put it aside with the pen, but did not see the bottle of ink, and forgot to look for it. And when Mabel came back, she thought no more of it than the dressmaker did.
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