p. 286 | A Lesson for Girls

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 21, 1883

A Lesson for Girls.

"Oh, Robert, what a tease you are! Whenever Stella and I settle down for a nice quiet talk, you are sure to spoil it all. I wish you'd go away!" and a very unsightly frown disfigured Ella Ashley's pretty face.

"Very well, Miss Ella, I will go. I don't care to stay with such a cross-patch anyhow. If Fred Grant could only see the beautiful expression on your face, he would be charmed, I know!" and Robert left the room in quite a "state of mind."

"Dear me," sighed Ella, "I wish he had been a girl! How he acts!"

"I expect he hardly knows how to act," replied the kinder hearted sister. "If he acts like a man, you make fun of him because he is only fifteen; and if he romps like a boy you scold him. But he is provokingly saucy sometimes."

"I should say he was! Forever teasing me about that Fred Grant, as if I cared whether he is charmed or not. Rob knows better than to act so. Now just hear him thump that piano and sing at the top of his voice!"

"Never mind; he'll soon tire of that. Let us talk again. You were talking of that literary society in prospect."

Still the music filled the house. "Hail Columbia," "Red, White, and Blue," and "Yankee Doodle," followed each other in quick succession. Then came "Home Sweet Home," impromptu variations, which was intended to be sarcastic, and Robert was tired.

"Wish the girls were not so stuck up," he exclaimed. "They're only two years older than I am anyhow, and not long ago they liked to romp and play as well as any one. But now it's all the time 'Rob, what a tease you are,' and 'Robert do behave yourself,' until a fellow has to clear out to have any peace. I suppose I am hateful. But I wouldn't tease Ella if she didn't fly so quick. My! how she will snap. It's no use to plague Stell, for she don't care a cent. I wouldn't tease either of 'em, if they would use a fellow decently. It seems as if they never wanted to see me around. If I had a brother I would not care. But I guess they'll know when I bother 'em again. I'm too big to be snubbed."

They were orphans, these twin girls and Robert, and had lived for seven years as members of their uncle's family. Mr. Dinsmore, absorbed in business, and being at home only to eat and sleep, left the orphans to the care of his wife. She was a weak, frivolous woman of the world, and left them very much to themselves, caring only that they should be educated and accomplished.

Robert sat alone in the drawing-room. In the parlor the girls were entertaining a few young friends. Rob listened to the singing, and murmur of voices, and the soft ripple of merry laughter, until he longed to go in and enjoy himself with the rest. His hand was upon the door when he recalled a thoughtless speech of Ella's which he had that very morning overheard. "If Rob comes in the parlor to-night I hope he'll behave himself. He is distressingly awkward at times, and really he is old enough to be quite gentlemanly." The boy was proud and sensitive, and remembering Ella's words, he turned from the parlor and left the house.

Down the street he wandered aimlessly, his heart filled with bitterness, under which lay a great desire to find some one who would care for him and his company.

"Hallo, Rob, where ye going?"

"Right straight ahead," replied Robert, as he recognized the voice of Dick Hall, a boy with whom he seldom associated.

"You needn't be so sharp, old fellow, I was going to the Young American Club Rooms, and thought maybe you would like to go along; ever been there?"

"No; what do you do there?"

"Oh, anything in the line of amusements. Come on, it's a nice place to go evenings when you don't know what else to do."

The "club" room proved to be the back parlor of a saloon, which was made pleasant and attractive by books, pictures, tables, and easy chairs.

Both men and boys were lounging in the room. Some were reading as they smoked or sipped their wines.

At one table some boys were playing dominoes; at another a game of cards was in progress, while a glance into an adjoining room revealed a billiard table.

"It's a jolly place, isn't it, Rob?"

"It looks pleasant," replied he, as he recognized a few boys of his "set."

Just then the proprietor, seeing a new customer, came to speak with the boys.

Robert scarcely knew what he said, but when he deferentially inquired, "What shall I get you to drink, young man?" Rob felt that for once he was appreciated, and straightening up, he replied with all the dignity he could command:—

"Wine, sir, wine, if you please."

The proprietor repressed a smile as he stepped from the room to order it, and he chuckled to himself:—

"That's old Dinsmore's nephew—a fine catch. I'll stick to him. Dick must be treated for this. It's not the first one he's introduced here."

"Robert," said Ella, a few months later, "I heard you come in last night just as the clock struck two. You've been out every night for two months, I'd like to know where you spend your evenings."

"It makes no difference where I spend my evenings, so I do not trouble you," and Robert left the room.

"Stella, you did ever see such airs as that boy is putting on? In a short time we won't be able to live in the same house with him!"

"Well, you know he is going to college soon. But seriously, Ella, I feel uneasy about him. Don't you remember, when father died, he said: 'Watch over Robbie, don't let him go astray.' I know that he smokes cigars, and I almost believe that he drinks some."

"You might talk to him, Stella, before he goes to college. It would be awful to have him expelled."

"I think I will if I can, but he avoids us so much that I never find an opportunity to talk to him alone."

"I say, Stanley, I'm tired to death of living in such a straight-jacket as this old college is," and throwing his book down, Robert confronted his room-mate, Stanley.

"I'm tired, too, Rob—just sick of it! Plague take the books. I was never cut out for a scholar. I wish we could have a little fun."

"Well, you can just keep shady, my boy, and we will. I got some money last night from home, and we will have something that isn't down in the 'course of study.' Let me see, how would a supper go?"

"Just the thing, Rob! I'll add an 'extra' or two, and we'll invite a dozen boys or so."

"I'm ready. Anything for a little excitement. This humdrum life is killing me. When shall we have it?"

"To-night, by all means. I heard the professor tell Norman to keep an eye to-night, as he was obliged to be away, and some of the boys might turn the college upside down."

"Ha, ha, that's good! Come on, Stanley, we'll get Bob Slade to get us something to drink. Never'll do for us to be seen bringing anything of the kind."

"Bob's just the fellow. He can get plenty handed right through the back windows of Poole's. His father's store adjoins, you know. We'll go down town and order the things. I tell you, this is boss."

It was a wild, stormy day. The wind, moaning and shrieking, whirled the snow into huge white drifts. But how warm and pleasant it was in the cosy drawing-room where Stella and her sister sat chatting.

Ella, with her lap full of soft, bright zephyrs, was trying to think of something pretty to make. Stella was industriously embroidering a new table spread. Pausing, she smoothed it out, saying:—

"How does that look, Ell?"

"Oh, perfectly lovely! How can you do anything so nicely? You'll soon have it done, too. Hark, there's the postman. I hope he has some letters, it's too stormy for company—such days are dull."

The servant entered with letters and a magazine, and soon the girls were both busily reading.

"Oh! Ella—Ella, what shall we do?"

The cry was full of pain, and Ella sprang up, exclaiming:—

"What is the matter, Stella? Tell me quick."

"A letter from Robbie—oh, Ella, read it!"

And this was the sad, sad letter:—

"DEAR SISTERS: When you read this I shall be far from my native land—a fugitive—a wretch fleeing from punishment. The fact is, I got into a miserable scrape at the college—got drunk and disgraced myself and family. Rather than to hear your reproaches, or witness your sorrow, I have fled; and it will be useless to search for me. I shall never come back. If you think of me as dead, it will be best, for I am worse than dead. My life so far is wasted, and now I am reckless, defiant, and desperate. Oh, girls! You have each other. You don't know what it is to feel alone. YOUR ERRING BROTHER."

Together, with tearful faces, the sisters read the terrible words, while all gladness seemed to fade from their hearts; and over them fell a shadow—the dark shadow of remorse—which never again was lifted.—The Advance.