In the Way (26 page)

             
Then in the fall Ellen went away to college. Ruth had a hand in planning where she should go, and helped her with her outfit and sent messages to some of the teachers and pupils who were friends of her own, to be kind to this friend whom she loved, and finally took a short trip just to see her safely established and be sure that she would be happy and under the right influences. Then began a new life for Ellen Haskins, and for a time she drifted out of Summerton life entirely and began to be looked upon by the Sunday-school children as a wonderful being with an unworldly spirit, who was willing to give up everything that life held good to go and preach dry sermons to wicked people who were a great deal more interesting to them unsaved and uncultured.

             
Joseph Benedict had gone away too, and for him the minister and David had prayed and rejoiced and labored much. Robert Clifton had made sure that he was in just the best college that could be found and himself made many arrangements which opened the way for Joseph's broader, better life, and Joseph went with a heart full of high ambitions and holy thoughts to see what the world contained for him. And lo, and behold! the first thing that he came across which fascinated him was the student's volunteer missionary movement, which he joined forthwith, and there were two from the Summerton church, albeit Summerton did not know it yet.

             
Just at this time Summerton was occupied with the lovely ways of the minister's sister and the marked attention which was openly paid her by David Benedict. Summerton of course could not keep still about that, it was not to be expected; but the strangest part out all was that neither David nor Louise seemed to care to try to hide it, as a good many others would have done.

             
Mrs. Clifton had not understood her daughter's new character at all at first; she was so sweet and willing to do what was asked of her, and seemed to have lost all her old dissatisfaction with life. Her mother worried and even cried about her, but gradually her worry changed to a new alarm and she made plans to take her daughter away at once. What was all this that was come upon her? A young farmer, a common, ordinary man with no polish and no manners to speak of, nothing in fact—and who knew how much or how little money behind it?—was constantly with her cherished daughter and that daughter smiled upon him and watched and obeyed his least wish as if it were law, and seemed living in a maze of happiness. Mrs. Clifton became peremptory at once. She decreed that Louise should never see him again, that he should not enter the house and ordered Robert to prohibit him the grounds. She also told her daughter to prepare at once to leave with her for New York on a trip whose time limit should not be set at present. Louise in dismay went to her brother, and together they tried to dissuade their mother from her purpose, for David had already told the minister how his sister had become the love of his life. But it was all to no purpose. Louise tried to be submissive, but she could not keep the tears from coming, and she suddenly discovered to herself what a world of desolation it would be to her without David.

             
And then, just as they thought there was nothing else they could do to persuade their mother to remain quietly in Summerton during the winter with her son and daughter, there stepped in a new influence, and it was no other than David. Robert had thought of Ruth and had talked with his sister about asking her to try her persuasive powers on their mother, but neither would have thought of asking David. Indeed they would have considered his appearance as disastrous to their wishes beyond anything that could have been done. Louise called upon Ruth and mentioned that she was feeling sad that her mother wished her to go away and could not be persuaded to give it up, and that this was to be a farewell call for the winter perhaps instead of a pleasant hour of converse about their various plans of work. Wise Ruth guessed at sonic thing which Louise did not tell, and, troubled over the sorrow this would bring her brother, went to her Heavenly Father with it, and then told David.

             
Then David went out into the starlight and walked to the parsonage and ringing the bell asked to see Mrs. Clifton. She came down, and stranger than all the rest, she was gracious and was conquered. In truth, no one could see David without liking him—I had almost said loving him. Mrs. Clifton was struck by his unusual appearance and character. He told her so frankly that he loved her daughter, and he asked her blessing on his suit so engagingly that she surprised even herself by giving it. Somehow it was given to David in a remarkable way to win hearts, and he won Mrs. Clifton's at once. So courteously did he treat her, so tenderly did he calm her fears about certain little foibles of her own, that fifteen minutes later she went back to her room and Louise, who was sorrowfully packing handkerchiefs by the open trunk, and with a smile on her face and a real motherly tear of mingled joy and sorrow said: “Louie, dear, you may stop packing and go downstairs. Somebody wants to see you in the parlor; and I guess you may as well tell Morton on the way to come and help me put these things away. I suppose I may as well give up this trip now, for I should have to take it alone if I went.”

THERE was to be a great missionary meeting in Summerton. It was a sort of missionary conference. West Winterton,
North Springville, and several surrounding towns were to attend in full force. There was an all-day conference and an evening mass-meeting. Robert Clifton had planned the whole thing, but perhaps the first suggestion came from Ruth Benedict. Of course Ruth and Louise and David had had a good deal to do with the getting of it all up. Summerton church was a bower of beauty. The pulpit was a mass of evergreen and glossy leaves and feathery white blossoms. Every window held a bank of green. There were festoons of lovely ground pine hung from the center of the ceiling and draped to every corner and niche available. Nothing lovelier could have been imagined. Louise Clifton was an adept in decoration. Ruth had drilled and trained some little children in missionary exercises and recitations and singing. Summerton was to be astonished for once over what her children could do. But above all that there was to be a double surprise for the people. The two young volunteer missionaries were to be present and to speak.

             
It is wonderful what a change two years will make in two people. Ellen Haskins had not been at home since she left for college nearly two years before. It had happened that during her first college winter she had heard a great deal about a summer school where there was instruction for Christian workers and especially for young missionaries. Her heart longed to go, and her father gave his permission since if she chose to use some of his money in this way he was well satisfied. Her mother pursed up her lips and thought her daughter might as well come home and help with the canning and get a little of the winter sewing out of the way; but it was made easy for Ellen to go and everything seemed to point in that direction, and so she went. The summer had rushed by all too soon, and with her mind full of wonderful new thoughts and her note book and Bible filled with themes for future study this eager student went back to her college duties. But now they were to come home for an event which was to come off soon, and so Mother Haskins was to have her desire at last, and her pride would not be obliged to live entirely upon the first threadbare glory of her daughter's stated intention for distinction.

             
And they came. Not even Mrs. Haskins knew that Ellen was to speak. Ruth had written her and had persuaded her to put her eager earnestness into words for her home people to hear. Ruth had received from Ellen many long letters full of eager enthusiasm for missions. She felt certain that Ellen could speak about this theme so dear to her heart, and Ellen, after prayer and consideration, had consented.

             
But not even Ruth had counted on the changes that two years away from home and the contact with the college girls and books and all the world she had met since she had left them would make in her. She knew that Ellen's letters had changed, that they were better expressed and better written, and that there was in them an earnest tone which meant much for the future work of the girl.

             
By some mistake or delay of trains Ellen did not arrive until an hour or two before the hour for the meeting. Indeed they began to fear that she would not reach them at all that night and their surprise would not come off after all. But she came just in time to make a hasty toilet and go to the church. There was, of course, no opportunity to see her or note any changes. Robert Clifton had been dubious about allowing her to speak at this important meeting before they had tested her in a smaller one, but Ruth had thought it a good thing and so he had yielded, for in truth he had come to feel that Ruth was generally right. However, she began to feel just the least bit nervous for the girl herself; as the time drew near and she had no opportunity to talk with her. She could only sit and pray for her while the music of the grand missionary hymn rolled down the aisles. There was a great crowd out that night. All Summerton knew that “Joe Benedic” was home from college and they wanted a good chance to watch him. They also knew that some strangers were to speak. The church people were out in full force. The “Brower boys,” who still retained that name together with their former reputation, were there. They had not been to church much of late. They had interests in other directions, but the prospect of a lot of strangers from out of town was alluring. They lounged into the back seats and eyed the speakers as they came upon the platform. There were four or five men with the minister, a young woman with some music in her hand who was to sing, and another woman, tall and almost stately in her carriage and with an unmistakable “style” in her plain, perfectly-fitting, and becoming gown.

             
“I say, she's a stunner!” ejaculated Bill Brower, pursing up his lips in a disgusting pucker to squirt some tobacco juice in just the right spot under the dress of the lady who sat in front of him. “I wonder who she is!”

             
“Well. I'll be eaten alive if that ain't Joe Benedic',” said his brother in answer as he sat and stared in open-mouthed wonder.

Joseph was greatly changed as well as Ellen. It was quite astonishing to hear him introduced as a “student volunteer,” to be told what that mystical title meant, and then to look at Joe Benedict, whom they had known since he was in long clothes and as a barefoot boy, and see him a handsome, graceful, well-dressed young man and hear him talk the smooth easy English of the minister. What was he saying? Deacon Meakins took out his red cotton handkerchief and blew his nose very loud after the first few sentences. Was this really his friend, Mr. Benedict's boy, talking? Why, he was so enthusiastic that the old deacon almost felt he would like to go to a foreign field himself The hard lines around Mrs. Chatterton's mouth relaxed and even Deacon Chatterton himself nodded his approval in a series of jerky, severe bobbings of his head.

              Joseph had early decided to study for the ministry and had not been long in finding out that the foreign field was where his heart would fain carry him. He had been in many meetings ever since he first entered college and he had made a point to hear all the missionaries and good speakers on the subject that came in his way, so he had plenty of experience and knowledge to speak from. He told the audience some of those interesting facts concerning the amount of money spent for luxuries, necessities, drink, and tobacco in this country, and then showed them how little they gave to missions. He had a rod with lengths of colored ribbons representing these different facts. When he came to the black one—close beside the white one indicating the money expended in missions—representing the amount of money spent for liquor in this country and flung the end far out into the audience, Bill and Ed Brower looked in amaze, and Bill said, “I'll be gormed.” Just exactly what that epithet meant nobody ever knew, but Bill always used it when he was particularly overcome and wished to be reverent. He hardly ever swore during his remarks in the church. This word was used to take its place when swearing was inappropriate.

             
When Joseph sat down Ruth wished with all her heart that his speech had been put last, as she felt sure it would make a good impression which would bear fruit if left in the minds of the hearers. She had insisted in preparing the programme for this meeting, and had urged that Ellen be put at the end, for something had told her Ellen would be impressive and helpful as well. Now she began to fear that she had overestimated the girl and that she might fail and spoil the whole. She half wished that Ellen would, even at this late hour, whisper to the minister that she could not speak, Joseph had done so well. Ruth was proud indeed of her brother. Joseph sat down and bowed his head a moment, as it was his custom, to ask the Master's blessing when he had finished a message. The young woman with the music was singing now:

              Hark! the voice of Jesus calling,

             
Who will go and work to-day?

It was strange indeed that Joseph Benedict had not been told that Ellen Haskins was to address the meeting that night. No one had thought to mention the matter to him. He had been much with David during the few hours he had been at home, and David never dreamed it would be of any particular interest to him, nor would it except as it would arouse a kind curiosity. As Joseph began to listen to the singing and raised his eyes to the singer, he became aware of an annoyingly loud whisper. It was just behind him, one of the West Winterton ministers and a stranger whispering together, and Joseph could not but hear what they were saying inasmuch as they were mentioning his name and did not seem to try to speak quietly.

             
“You say the young woman who is to speak next is the wife of this Mr. Benedict who has just spoken? She is a remarkably fine-looking woman. If she can speak as well as she looks she will make a splendid helper for a man in a foreign field.”

             
“No,” said the West Winterton minister, who had a loud wheezy whisper, “I only said they both came from Summerton and from this church. No, she is a single lady. She attended our academy some time since.”

             
“Oh, indeed,” said the stranger, who was an elderly gentleman and seemed to know a good deal about missionary matters. “Well, it is a pity. They won't succeed near so well. They'd better make up their minds to marry. It is a great deal better. I'm told the Board is advising it in all cases. They can do more good.”

             
And then the singing ceased and Joseph looked up, indignation in his heart, to see who was the young woman whose fate was being so summarily disposed of at the direction of a Board.

             
Robert Clifton was introducing the tall young woman. Joseph had only noticed her casually as they had been coming in. He did not in the least know who she was. What did the minister mean? He was saying she was one of their own number, and—Miss Haskins! What Miss Haskins? Not Ellen Amelia, surely! Why, she was she did not look like that! And what a voice! So rich and full and strong, and not the least bit self-conscious. She was in earnest too. She meant every word she said. She was ready to throw every bit of her magnificent energy and talent into the work. Joseph sat up straight and listened, and wondered, and his heart throbbed over the stories she had to tell. Where had she found all this information? What she had to say was new and original. It almost seemed as if she must have been at work in Africa or China or some of the other places she talked about, so familiar was she with their needs.

             
Joseph was not the only one who listened to Ellen's words in wonder and surprise and joy. Her old father sat with the tears streaming down his cheeks, glad to his weak old heart's core that his little Ellen had turned out so beautiful and grand, able to talk as well as the minister. Her mother sat beside him, her lips very stiffly shut, her eyes drooping with humility and pride as if she thought all Summerton was looking at her in admiration that she had brought up such a child. She would not let them think she was over-awed by it, and so she tipped her neck back uncomfortably and her head forward, and would not look up to watch her darling, though she confided to her husband on the way home that she was “jest all of a tremble, lest Ellen'melia should break down and forget her piece.”

             
It is needless to say that Summerton was astonished and that the minister and his sister, and his sister's future husband, and his sister and brother were delighted and charmed beyond measure, and greeted Ellen with overwhelming joy when the meeting at last was over and they had her to themselves. Joseph, it is true, was not very demonstrative. He had shaken hands cordially, and then stepped back to give the others a chance, and while he waited had watched.

             
At home, in his palm-surrounded room he sat alone, later, upon his couch, and thought of the words of the stranger back of him on the platform. At last he said, as he began to prepare for rest, “I shouldn't wonder if that was good advice. I'll follow it.”

             
Knowing Joseph as you do, do you think it was strange that he should stand, the very next evening, at the Haskins door, seeking admission, and asking for the daughter?

             
Ellen came in, the same and yet a new Ellen. She greeted him kindly, not effusively. That was new for her. She used to gush. Ellen's time to thank her first helper had not yet come, and until then she must abide behind a calm reserve. This she well knew.

             
Joseph told his errand at once. Perhaps his language was a little more blunt than that his brother had used some time before, on a similar occasion. He had come to ask her to join hands with him and go to the foreign field. And he had not learned any better in all his two years at college, and his many meetings, and his intensity, he did not know any better than to tell her a part of the conversation he had heard on the platform the night before. Ellen's color came and went. Her heart throbbed painfully, but she kept her self-control. She had not borne this young man's stunning blows of truth several times before in her life for nothing. Presently she gained control of her voice.

             
“No, Mr. Benedict,” she said in a clear voice which seemed to herself to be speaking away off in the clouds somewhere, “it is necessary for you to do that. We shall both work well where we are put, and we shall not make marriages of convenience, either, for the Master's cause. You remember,” and here her voice tried to be light and playful, but there was a suspicious tremble in it, “you remember I 'know you do not care anything for me except for your sister's sake, and the promise,' and this cannot possibly affect either of those.”