THE HOME CIRCLE | AdventAI

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Jul 18, 1878

THE HOME CIRCLE.

Chris' Graduating Dress.

THEY'LL be perfectly splendid, of course," said Kate Cox. "Connie Livingston is going to wear India mull, with puffs and quillings and lace, and Fan Ellis is to have pale blue silk; she knows what's good for a blonde, and Isa True white crape."

"And what is Lou's?" asked Kate's audience.

"Oh, mamma and she are not agreed yet. Lou wants silk and mamma says white is the only proper thing; she was a Holyokite, you know, and the law there was white and blue sashes."

"Somewhat different style, though, I fancy, from the white of to-day, when your mamma graduated."

"Just think of it, girls! Her dress was white Swiss muslin, full round waist, plain skirt and puffed sleeves, and her blue sash—she has it yet—is not as wide as my finger is long. How they must have looked!"

"My mother says it was a great deal more sensible than the present way," remaked Cathie Floss. I never should dare to graduate now, for fear of being the dowdy of the class. All you hear the Seniors talk about is just dress, dress."

"Oh, it's splendid, I think," said another. "Almost as good as one's first ball. I mean to make a sensation when my turn comes, and be got up regardless for once."

"It will be her only hope," whispered Kate; "the sensation never'll come from the inside of her head. But it's stopped raining girls; let's go." And the merry group scattered down the stairs and homeward.

Meanwhile, in the dressing-room adjoining, Chris sat on the floor listening to the lively chatter with a sudden dread numbing her heart. Her head had been so full of Mental Philosophy and Literature and Essays that she had forgotten she was to graduate in a dress, and now—silk and India mull! Poor Chris might as well expect a piece out of the blue sky as either of those. It had been such a happy life to study the dear books and feel that every day was bringing nearer the time when, as a teacher, she could help the patient, hard-working father and mother, and give the little ones a chance in the world. She had known they were poor and her classmates rich, but that had never troubled her sunny nature before. Everybody was good to Chris. Even the haughty Fan Ellis found it convenient to get her help over hard places, and as for Connie Livingston, whom Chris worshiped in a girl fashion, hadn't she many a sweet little note and kind word treasured away of hers? But this dress question. Connie in India mull with ruffles and lace was set entirely away.

The little plain home in a poor street was reached at last, and Chris went in to find the busy mother with hands and lap full of mending and foot outstretched for baby to stand by. He crowed and shouted at sight of his sister, and Chris took him up and went to the window.

"Mother," she said, after a while, "what am I going to wear to graduate in?"

The mother sighed. She had thought of that a great deal.

"I don't know, daughter," she said at last. "I did hope to get you a neat white, but times are so hard and father's wages are lowered and you have outgrown everything."

"Yes," said Chris, "what can it be then?"

"I don't see dear, how it can be anything more than light calico."

"A calico? O mother!"

"Yes, dear, I know."

"But the others are silk and mull and crape."

"Yes, dear I know, and so does He who had not where to lay his head. Think it over in that way. You know, Chris, mother would if she could,"—and the voice trembled.

"Yes, mother, never mind; It'll be all right I guess."

But Chris sat the baby down and went up to her little room. She did not care much for supper, and the children wondered what made her so still.

When she went up to bed, and Liz and Cora were sound asleep, the poor child sat down by the open window to think it out. But the great tears welled up, and finally the head sank on the window-seat and the aching heart said all the time, "It's very hard, very hard," and the tears rolled faster and faster.

"When shall I go to look for my bonny calico, mother?" she asked in the morning.

"I must begin it soon."

"Do you think you can be satisfied, Chris?"

And such an anxious question as it was. The mother had lain awake too that night.

"Of course I can, mother. It's me, not my dress, people must admire for once."

"Here is the money, then. I have saved it as I could."

Chris thought so when her pocket was weighed down with the nickels. But she realized, too, what the "savings" of her mother had been.

Liz wanted to go, so her sister waited to comb the tangled hair and find the lost hat before starting out, throwing back kisses to Cora and baby.

"I was afraid Chris would be broken-hearted quite," said the mother fondly; "but I do believe she's the best girl ever a mother had."

And, meanwhile, up in a great block of stores Chris and Liz were turning over the many piles of prints, selecting first one and then another, until fairly bewildered with so many.

"I think I'll have this," said Chris at last, choosing a white ground with a delicate sprig of black.

"O Chris, take this. See, it's almost the same, but it's blue, and so pretty."

"But I like this better dear."

"Oh, no, this is so lovely."

Now Liz was a girl of only eleven, and the black did seem the prettier; but Chris thought it did not matter so much as pleasing her sister. So Liz was gratified, the little bundle made up, and they went out. Just in front of the steps an old man was tottering along by the aid of an umbrella, and a careless newsboy brushed that from his hand as the girls came out of the glass doors. Chris sprang and picked it up and as she turned from handing it back, almost ran against an elegant lady who had just alighted from a carriage.

"Good morning, Chris," said a young girl following the lady.

"Good morning, Connie," answered Chris, blushing and stepping out of a party's way in time to hear Connie say:—

"Mamma that's the girl I've told you about in our class."

"A very sweet face," said Mrs. Livingston, and Chris blushed now in earnest.

They were very busy days that followed. The dress got along but slowly, for lessons and baby must have the first places of course, but in that plain home the delicate print with its neatly-laid plaits, was the brightest thing that had come in for many a day, excepting the faces, and the children admired and thought it wonderful.

It was almost examination-day, and Chris had stopped one night where she could have the quiet school room to go over the topics of that long Literature that was to be the final recitation of the Seniors, when she heard Fan Ellis' voice:—

"I do wish some one would go over these topics with me. I never can recite unless I go over them once out loud. Wont some one hear me?"

But the girls all had too much business of their own, and they realized what hearing Fan, the dunce of the class, would be. Chris saw her coming out of the dressing-room with tears on her cheeks. That touched her.

"What is it, Fan? can I help you?" she asked from her corner.

Fan turned. "Is that you, Chris? I want to go over my topics with some one, and the girls are all too busy. They have time enough for me when I have a treat."

"I'll hear you, Fan."

"O Chris, that's good! When?"

"Now and here," was the reply.

It was almost dark when the two girls left the school building, and the topics only two-thirds through then.

"We'll finish to-morrow night," said Chris.

"Thank you, Chris; I never studied so hard before, but you see my father is to be here, and he says if I do well he will give me a watch and chain, but if not I cannot have one for two years."

"I hope you will," said Chris heartily; "and I guess you will, too." But she wondered about her own lesson until she found that helping to fix it in Fan's mind had been better for herself than any amount of study and so she was fully repaid.

It was the night before graduating day, and Chris came home late to find the dress still unfinished. Baby had been sick all day and the mother looked pale and anxious.

"Only one ruffle more for the overskirt, dear," but Chris knew that was three hours of hard work and it was already nearly nine o'clock. She went up to her little room a moment and then came back.

"Let me try it all on, mother," she said then; "the children want to see it before they go to bed;" and after all had been duly admired, she said, "There is enough on it now, mother; and we'll hang it up till morning, when I'll come out like a queen, see if I don't."

"But you wanted another ruffle, dear."

"I did—but do not need it. You are tired, and it will do as it is. We'll have a good sleep, and I hope the baby will be all right in the morning. And the look of glad relief that came to the tired mother's face was ample reward for the girl's self-denial.

But Chris was not to do all the good work of the world. While she was reading her essay that night to the professor, Connie Livingston called a secret session of Seniors in the dressing-room. Chris' eight classmates were on hand.

"Girls," said Connie, "I've found out something splendid to do. Do you know Chris has got to graduate in a calico. Our sewing girl knows them, and she has seen it. She says it is just as sweet as a calico can be, but Chris felt dreadfully about it at first, of course, then she gave it all up. Now you all know Chris is just as good as she can be and has helped every one of us at some time."

"That's so," said Fan Ellis, who had caught an approving smile from her father at the close of the long dreaded examination.

"And she's got a splendid essay," continued Connie; "Miss Markham says so; and now let's each one engage one or two friends to throw her bouquets, so she'll be sure to have as many as anybody and be as happy as she deserves; will you agree?" The girls promised in Chorus. "And let's get her a fan," said one, "a pretty, plain white one. She'll be so pleased." So that was settled, and kept a surprise for Chris.

It must be confessed that she made a very pretty picture at home, the trim black-kid boots, the neat dress with ruching at the throat and a pale rose-bud in place of jewels; but as she came to the great building and saw the crowds of gayly dressed ladies and elegant gentlemen going up the steps her heart sank a little, and she stole up the back stairs to the recitation-room where the class were to meet. They were all there when Chris opened the door, glorifying it, the girl thought for a moment, with the bright flash and glimmer of the trailing robes.

"Here she is, girls!" exclaimed Connie, catching sight of the figure in the door. "How late you are, but come here, please, we have something sweet to tell you. Come, Fan."

"Please accept this, Chris, from you classmates," said Fan gently. "We all wanted you to remember us," and the daintily-gloved hand laid the pretty box in Chris' ungloved one, and then they all eagerly watched the little blushing face with smiles and tears chasing over it as she unfolded her gift, and were more than thanked.

Then Connie led her into the dressing-room. "I brought a flower on purpose for your golden locks, dear; let me put it in. There, that's lovely!"

"You thought of me?" said Chris, lifting wondering eyes.

"Why, of course, you pet! You have helped me to be a better girl, Chris, and I thank you for it always."

Then they all went down together and took their seats on the platform, and as one after another came forward to that most dreaded ordeal, reading her essay and was thanked by thoughtful friends with bouquets and applause, Chris was so happy for each, and over her fan, and Connie's kiss, that her speaking face was fairly radiant; and when her name was called, the seventh on the list, she had no thought of fear, but her sweet, clear tones rendered the essay full of feeling. It was tender, and pathetic, and many hearts were touched by its simple words, but when it was finished, and Chris turned to go, there was a perfect storm of applause, led by Judge Livingston, and the bouquets came fast and thick. Chris sat down with her lap full, in a perfect maze, while every one of her classmates found occasion for the handkerchiefs they had provided only for ornaments. And so Chris learned that wearing love in the heart makes fair in all eyes the simplest dress.—Selected.