AN UNEXPECTED PRIZE by Mrs. F. A. Reynolds

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Oct 16, 1893

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 19, No. 49.

"AN UNEXPECTED PRIZE."

By Mrs. F. A. Reynolds

CHAPTER IV.—HOPE'S SORROW.

IT was now about the middle of May, and the pupils were straining every nerve in these last weeks of the school year. The weather was unusually warm, and many of the more ambitious scholars were "nearly used up," as Hope put it.

One evening after school Ethel Wood, Hope's seat mate and especial friend, came home with her to study some lessons for the morrow. Mrs. Manton noticed that she looked tired and pale, and spoke of it.

"Oh, I am so tired, Mrs. Manton! I should like to go to bed this minute and not get up for a week."

She laughed a little wearily as she finished, but Mrs. Manton looked serious.

"Better do it, my dear! If Hope looked and felt as you do, I should think her more fit for bed than school."

"Oh, I couldn't give up now; I wouldn't, and mamma wouldn't let me! But I am glad school is so nearly done."

The girls went to studying, and Mrs. Manton noticed with concern that Ethel's cheeks flushed high while excited over her lessons, and that she became very pale and languid as soon as she had finished them.

She went home about dusk, Hope going a block or so with her. On her return, Mrs. Manton said: "Why is Ethel so worn out? I should think she would be stronger than you are, and yet you seem quite fresh compared with her."

"I know," returned Hope thoughtfully. "Well, you see, mamma, Ethel is very excitable, and her mother is so ambitious for her, and pushes her all the time. She has as many studies as I have at school, then her mother makes her take music lessons every Saturday, and she practices two hours each

day. She goes to dancing school one evening each week. She has to study until ten o'clock every evening, and then goes right to bed and can't sleep; she says her lessons repeat themselves over and over in her mind. She does not eat either—just drinks a cup of coffee or tea, and nibbles a cracker or so. She doesn't do any housework or take any exercise except her hurried walk to school, and that tires her completely out. Now you know I just have my school lessons, and study only two hours out of school, and practice only what I want to. Then I help about the house, and I sleep well, and eat as much as ever."

"Yes, I see," replied her mother.

When Hope came home at noon next day, she looked grave and troubled.

"Ethel wasn't at school this morning, and I just know she is sick. May I go up after school to see her?"

"Come home first," said Mrs. Manton, "then you may go for a little call."

As soon after lunch as she could get away Mrs. Manton went up to Mrs. Wood's. The girl who answered her ring said, in reply to her inquiry, "Miss Ethel's quite sick, ma'am, and Mrs. Wood's with her."

"Ask Mrs. Wood if I may go up to Ethel's room."

The girl soon returned with a request for Mrs. Manton to "step up to Miss Ethel's room."

She went upstairs, and, stopping at Ethel's door, tapped gently.

"Come in," said Mrs. Wood softly. Mrs. Manton went into the shadowy room and found Mrs. Wood sitting by the bed, holding Ethel's hand.

The sick girl's face was very red and her breathing hurried and difficult. Her eyes were partly open, and her mouth and hands twitched convulsively.

Mrs. Manton went quietly to the bedside.

"Hope said Ethel was not at school this morning," she said, "and Ethel looked so tired last night, I feared she was ill."

"Yes," Mrs. Wood murmured tremulously, "and the doctor says she is threatened with brain fever. She has been delirious all day. She just dropped to sleep, but she isn't quiet."

So many thoughts crowded into Mrs. Manton's mind as she looked at the fever-tortured girl that she had no reply ready, and Mrs. Wood went on. "It is terrible to me to see Ethel so sick any time, but just now it is doubly hard, for it completely ruins her whole school year's work."

"Her year's work has about ruined her," Mrs. Manton could not help saying, as her eyes filled with tears, so she did not see Mrs. Wood's surprised look.

"I don't understand," said Mrs. Wood. "You know I just worship Ethel. She is my only child—all I have—since my husband died. His death nearly killed me. If Ethel should—should die too, I would not live."

Mrs. Manton was startled to see the bitterness that spread over Mrs. Wood's features and crept into her eyes.

"But it cannot be!" she continued. "God would not be so cruel as to take her from me."

Just then Ethel threw up her hands and clasped her head, moaning: "Oh, it aches so! Mamma, I don't want to practice tonight. One, two, three; one, two, three. How many tables for to-morrow? Oh, dear! oh, dear!"

"That is the way she talks all the time," said Mrs. Wood, in tones of anguish.

"Her school has been too much for her," said Mrs. Manton.

"I don't see why," said Mrs. Wood.

"Ethel was never delicate and Hope seems to stand it all right."

"Hope has no outside studies," replied Mrs. Manton. Then, thinking there ought to be no talking in a sick room, she added softly, "I will go now. Hope will run up to inquire this evening, and when you need help, send for me."

She slipped quietly out of the room and was soon at home, where she knelt and thanked God for the health of her family, and asked for the recovery of Ethel, if consistent with his will. Hope was home promptly that evening.

"O mamma! Mrs. Wood's cook told Bertha Allen this noon that Ethel has brain fever. Do you suppose it can be true?"

"I am afraid it is," replied Mrs. Manton. "I was there this afternoon. She is very ill indeed."

"When can I go to see her?" asked Hope, sobbing.

"You may go before dark and ask how she is."

"And see her?" asked Hope, wiping her eyes.

"Perhaps, for a moment. She is delirious. You can do her no good, and seeing her will only sadden you."

Towards dark Hope went up to Mrs. Wood's. She returned very soon, and, entering the sitting room, threw herself down on the lounge, crying in a grieved fashion that touched her mother.

Her mother went to her, and, smoothing her hair, asked gently: "What is it, Hope? How is Ethel?"

"Oh, she is worse! Mrs. Wood let me see her. She was as red in the face as could be, and so hot. She kept throwing herself and talking about her lessons. She doesn't know anyone. Mrs. Wood is terribly afraid Ethel will die. She cries most all the time. Ann told me the doctor said she would kill Ethel with her tears and moans. Oh, do you suppose Ethel will die?"

"I do not know, my dear; God only knows, and it will be for the best, whichever is the result of this sickness."

"Mrs. Wood wants you to come up tonight, mamma."

"Very well; papa and I will go up before bedtime."

There is no need to detail Ethel's sickness. Mrs. Manton almost lived at her neighbor's, dividing with the anxious mother the care of the suffering girl.

Ethel was a favorite, and she had all the care that a devoted mother, a faithful physician, and kind friends could give, but she grew steadily and rapidly worse, and in about two weeks she died. She was rational a short time before she died and realized that she was dying. She asked to see Hope Manton, and she came at once from the schoolroom, bearing loving messages from teacher and classmates.

That evening, after the still form had been robed for the grave, and Hope and her mother were at home, they naturally talked of the death scene.

"Mamma, Ethel was very calm and did not seem afraid to die. How peaceful she seemed after all those days of delirium! But it made me shudder to hear Mrs. Wood talk. She kept saying over and over: 'I just idolized my darling. I worshiped my sweet child. How could God be so cruel as to take her away?' Mrs. Allen said God didn't take her away; that she was killed by ambition. I don't know how that is, but isn't it terrible, mamma, for a mother to worship a child? Why, we should worship only God!"

"You are right, Hope, but do you remember you said not long ago that the first commandment could refer only to heathen? Repeat it, please."

"Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Why, mamma, is that what it means—

that people must not think more of each other than of God?"

"Yes, of each other and of worldly possessions, like fame and wealth. I knew a young lady who was very ambitious for fame. She was very brilliant. She tried writing. Her first book was a nice one, and did not attract much attention. She determined to make her next one noticed. And so it was. Critics literally tore it to pieces. She was terribly mortified. Her disappointment, added to her hard work, killed her. Her god was fame—it disappointed her and she was a victim.

"A man I knew gave his life to gaining wealth. He was successful, but never satisfied, and was constantly scheming for more. Finally, in a great financial crash, he became penniless. Wealth had been his god, and when it failed him he could not stand it, and committed suicide. There is only one God who never fails us, and he it is who says, 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.'"

(To be continued.)