A SUCCESSFUL SUBSTITUTE.
By Eleanor Kirk
"It is the lady that lives in the nice little cottage upon the hill, ma'am, the pretty lady. She wants to see Mr. Norton." "You needn't speak to him, Betty," said the minister's wife, after a moment's deliberation. "I'll see if it is really necessary first." And so saying she transferred the baby from her arms to the maid's, and hastened to the parlor where in the darkest corner the guest had ensconced herself. "Mrs. Ostrander, I believe," said the minister's wife, extending her hand cordially. "You asked for my husband, I know, but, as he is unusually late in getting to work this morning, I thought I would see if I might not act as his substitute." The tones were gentle and sweet, and the lady's manner had that subtle charm which true unselfish kindness alone can give. "Mrs. Norton," said the visitor, stifling a sob, and making a brave effort to rally, "I came here to see your husband because I didn't know what else to do. I am a member of his church, and I felt that I ought to let him know that I had no business there. I have grown to be a very wicked woman, Mrs. Norton, and I don't believe in anything." "You have been very ill, I believe, Mrs. Ostrander?" said her companion, to all appearance not much shocked by this terrible revelation. "Yes, I've had malarial fever; but that has nothing whatever to do with the change I spoke of," was the desperate response. "And you have not yet recovered your strength," the minister's wife resumed. "Now I want you to take off your hat and rest yourself awhile," she went on cheerily; and without waiting for an answer she untied her neighbor's veil, chatting pleasantly all the while, and then excusing herself for a moment returned with a small tray of refreshments. "I had some cordial sent me awhile ago which did me a world of good, and here are some of Betty's special oatmeal cookies. She is delighted to think there is a probability of your trying them." "O Mrs. Norton, you mean to be kind, I know," said the visitor in a tone of anguish. "But you are under the impression that I am imagining or exaggerating. But I assure you I am not. I tell you that I am so wicked that I loathe all my duties, that at times I almost hate my own children. I haven't the slightest faith in prayer, and there is nothing in the universe to me but cruelty, and all I want is annihilation." A bright red spot burnt on the speaker's hitherto pallid cheeks, the large expressive black eyes grew preternaturally brilliant, and the poor little hands trembled so that her companion covered them with one of her own, and with the other placed the cordial to her lips. "You shall talk it all out after you have taken a little refreshment," said Mrs. Norton, soothingly. "I know your husband would disapprove of your treating me this way," said the visitor, with an impulsive pressure of the warm, firm hand that held hers so steadily. "If my husband knew how you were suffering, Mrs. Ostrander, he would wish that the parsonage was a hospital where you could stay and be nursed back to health and peace," was the sweet answer. "And, moreover, my dear, my husband could never be induced to listen to your confessions of unbelief while you were in such a delicate state of health. He would say to you, 'If, when you are well, you still continue in this frame of mind, we will see what can be done.' You couldn't induce him to-day to hang you or shoot you, or even scold you," the speaker added playfully. Mrs. Norton broke off a piece of the crisp cake, and handed her companion as one might wait upon a fretful child. She was not unacquainted with the main points of the history of her visitor. A brilliant graduate of one of our foremost colleges, she had married a refined, ambitious, and moderately wealthy young man, whom everybody respected and spoke well of. It was certainly a love match, and for a few years nothing occurred to mar the harmony of their relations. Then there were some imprudent investments on the part of Mr. Ostrander, and this trouble was followed by a long illness, and then there were other and more serious losses; and at last it came to pass that the cultured and delicate young wife was not only compelled to practice all sorts of small economies, but to take care of her three children and to do her own housework, including the washing and ironing. She had neither the training nor the strength necessary for the performance of such work, and the result was a complete nervous breakdown. The effect upon the husband had been quite as serious. This case seemed peculiarly out of the reach of human sympathy, or rather human aid. Financial alleviation seemed the only practical basis of help, and that was out of the question. Mr. Ostrander would not even accept a loan from his own brother, so morbidly sensitive was he in regard to the mistakes he had made in the disposition of his own snug little fortune. Mrs. Ostrander nibbled the cake, and occasionally sipped tiny draughts of the cordial, in obedience to the command of her hostess. The tense, drawn look left the pretty, delicate face, and a little more normal and comfortable expression took its place. "Mrs. Norton, what is religion good for, if it cannot sustain us in dark hours?" the visitor inquired, after a thoughtful pause of a moment or two. "You might as well ask what health is good for, if it cannot keep us from being ill," her companion replied. "At present, Mrs. Ostrander, you are an invalid, and because your vitality is low, and your nervous system shattered and demoralized, your spiritual and intellectual forces are also impaired. You need a skillful physician, a kind nurse, and a good sensible friend. To blame yourself at such a crisis for a low religious state is just about as sensible as it would be to expect a man with inflammatory rheumatism to get up and walk off like other men. He has legs, and he ought to walk. You have what you call religion, and it ought to keep you firm, and unmoved in fire and flood, and answer in every emergency in place of health and strength. Now religion can't wash your dishes, or make your children's clothes, and if these exceedingly necessary tasks are not performed, the consequences are hard to bear, as I presume no housekeeper knows better than yourself. But," as her visitor was about to interrupt, "don't imagine that I underrate the power of a true religious life. The value of religion in your case, would consist in its power to ameliorate your condition by teaching you first, last, and always that God does not require impossibilities from his creatures. I know something of your history, Mrs. Ostrander, and I know that it is you and not God who have been a hard taskmaster." "But, Mrs. Norton, as you said a moment ago, dishes must be washed and clothes made. Who would do these things in my house if I did not?" the guest inquired earnestly. "What I was getting at is this," was the pleasant response: "Starting fair in adversity with true religious convictions, good common sense, and good health, one would immediately cast about to see how the work of an establishment like yours could be best adapted to the strength of the mistress. Now, my dear," and the minister's wife smiled archly, and gave her companion's hand a loving pressure, "my husband could not talk to you about tucks and frills and starched dresses, and sewing-machine labor, and heavy washes and agonizing ironings, and the mending and making of fine little garments that night after night keep you sewing and stitching when you should be in bed and asleep"— "But how do you know?" the lady interrupted. "Because I have seen and carefully observed your lovely little children, and I am perfectly aware that such care as is given to them is more than one delicate woman ought to give. Excuse me, but this department of labor should be reduced two-thirds. Plain dresses, frill-less skirts, and sensible gingham aprons for six days in the week are all that you ought to attempt. To put it all in a nutshell, your first duty is to get well, your next to cut down your work at least one-half. You cannot be a happy woman if you have no time to read. You cannot be a healthy woman if you do not have your full complement of sleep. And if you are not healthy and happy, you cannot be truly religious; and if you are not healthy and contented, you cannot be a good mother to your children, a good wife to your husband. You have been doing the work of three women in your family. In future it is your duty to do the work of one woman if you can, and let the rest go." "I shouldn't know where to begin," was the perplexed response. "Why, I haven't left my house in six months," she added, "as long as this, and it would not be possible now, only my mother is with me for a while." "Let us plan a little," said the minister's wife. "I am going to visit my mother in the country for a couple of weeks, and if you will accompany me I will promise to help you plan, and perhaps perform a little when we return. Take your youngest child, and leave the others with your mother. What do you say? I believe I can bring you home almost574well, and then if you desire to be excommunicated, perhaps my husband will oblige you." Mrs. Ostrander smiled for the first time now. She felt differently already. This sweet human sympathy, this disinterested sisterly advice, had eased the strain upon her long rasped nerves, but she hardly dared confess how much better she felt. When Mr. Ostrander met his wife, an hour later, there was so new and bright a light in her eyes that he took the wan face in his hands, and inquired what had happened. 'I went to the minister to confess,' she said, 'and his wife wouldn't let me see him. But she took me in hand herself, John,' she added, with a curious smile, 'and I feel tonight, dear, as if we might have some comfort, even if we are poor. I am not going to do half as much work, and no fretting at all, if I can help it, and I am going to find time to read'— 'And a little time to spend in making love to your husband,' Mr. Ostrander interrupted, with a laugh that was nearer a sob.—Eleanor Kirk, in Congregationalist.