Florence at Home | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Apr 27, 1882

Florence at Home.

It was Sabbath morning, and she was standing before the glass, tying the ends of her lovely new sash; and Carrie leaned on her elbow and watched her for a minute, then looked at nothing, and wished she was a little more like Florence. She was pretty, and bright, and everybody admired her. This very morning she was going to do something so nice! In the next square was a new family, just moved in; Florence had already become acquainted with the fifteen-year-old son, and invited him to attend Sabbath-school, and he had laughed, and declared that he didn't go to Sunday-school very often; but at last had agreed to call, and be shown to the church by Florence.

"I don't believe they are people who go to church much," Florence had said, as she drew on her long mits with a pleased air; "but I shouldn't be surprised if I could get him in the habit of going." And then Carrie had sighed, and wished that she could do anything; here she had to stay poked in the house this beautiful day, because she had a sore throat; one was always getting sore throats. "That is all I can do," she told herself drearily, "get a sore throat, and a swelled nose, and red eyes, and stay in the house." Just then the door bell rang, and Master Weston's voice was heard in the hall. Then was Florence in a flutter. "Dear me! there he is, and it is time we were off. Where is my handkerchief? Carrie, haven't you seen my handkerchief? You certainly must have taken it; I laid it right here. I do wish you could let things alone! Mamma, have you seen my Quarterly? I thought it was on the table; where can it be! Oh, dear me, mamma, I should think you might help me find it. I hate to be late. Oh, never mind my money, I can take it next Sunday; mamma, please don't keep me waiting to get it; I shan't go at all if I have to wait much longer. Carrie Marshall, I know you tucked my handkerchief somewhere. Mamma, won't you please let me go this minute? You seem to just want to make me late. I don't care if my hair is too low down; it is just the way all girls wear it. I wouldn't have it flying around my face in the wild way that Carrie does, for anything. Carrie, hand me that book, quick! I shall go distracted!" Then she went out of the room, tripped down the stairs and was off.

Her invalid mother drew a relieved sigh. "I wish Florence were not such an excitable girl," she said, as she moved about picking up many things that the young miss, in her hurry, had sent flying hither and thither. "If she was a little more like you, dear, in some things, I should be glad."

Meantime, Florence was tripping along beside her new friend, as bright as the morning itself. Very anxious she was to be a help to him. She was a Christian girl, and wanted to do good. It was not by any means "make believe." She told him about their nice Sunday-school, what a pleasant superintendent they had, what a "perfectly splendid teacher;" she told him about the young people's prayer-meeting, and asked him to attend; and, with great sweetness and skill, brought her question around until she fairly asked him if he were a Christian. And said, earnestly, "I am sorry," when he told her "No."

Then she said a few sweet, earnest words, that ought to have done him good, and she wondered in her heart why it was that he was simply polite in return, showing not the slightest interest in the subject. If she could have looked into his heart, she would have found just this: "I wonder what this dainty little miss, in her pretty hat and her frizzes, would say if she knew I waited for her in the hall, while she left her room door open, and talked to her mother and 'Carrie'—whoever she is. The talk I heard then and the talk I'm hearing now, don't seem to match. How am I going to know which she means?"

Poor Florence! Her thoughtless, disrespectful words at home that morning, had spoiled the influence of her work abroad. And the worst of it was, she was so used to being careless in this matter that she didn't suspect it.—The Pansy.