p. 286 | MRS. GASTON'S "DAY."

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 23, 1881

MRS. GASTON'S "DAY."

Mrs. Gaston was one of the cheeriest, liveliest, most hopeful little women that ever lived. But on this particular morning her brow was shaded by something that resembled a frown, her voice had lost its cheerful ring, and there was a mopishness about her movements that did not agree with her usual briskness. To tell the truth, Mrs. Gaston had an attack of the blues.

As soon as her daughter Maud, a bright girl of twelve, had given her a good-by kiss and started to school, and Mr. Gaston and their son were safely out of the way, Mrs. Gaston sat down on the edge of the bed, drew a letter from her pocket, and began to read. But the shade on her brow deepened, and the lines about the pleasant mouth increased, as her eye ran over the page. Then she folded the letter and said aloud: "It's too bad, anyway. I'm not envious, but it is hard to think that Ellen can have everything, while I must drudge and drudge, and have nothing after all. If we had only stayed in Boston, I believe we might have been well off to-day. Just to think of her presents on New Year's—a diamond ring and a silver tea set, and a piano for Mary! I don't want a silver set nor a diamond ring, but I do care for the children. What will they ever be, brought up in the society about here? And as for myself, I am just rusting out."

She sat for a long time with her hands folded in her lap and her countenance the picture of discontent, until, glancing at the clock, she saw it was time to prepare dinner. Getting up in a listless sort of way, she put the room in order and went to work at the dinner, all the while contrasting her humble three-roomed house, with its humble furniture, to her sister's stately mansion in Boston. True, that mansion stood on a very poor foundation, for Henry Graham, her sister's husband, was a wholesale liquor dealer, and by no means an abstainer himself. A very different man from John Gaston, for he was "almost a fanatic about temperance," the neighbors said.

Then, as she thought of the diamond ring, she glanced down at her own hard, stumpy, brown hands, and thought of Ellen's soft, white ones, and sighed again. But her eyes caught sight of the gold band on her finger. It was worn thin, but it was as bright as on the day when John had slipped it there and called her his queen. It was just like John—plain, and honest, and pure: and the sight of it led her back to the days when she and John were first wed.

He was then a book-keeper in the same store where Harry Graham was clerk. But the confinement of his position was wearing on his health. The doctor had said that a change must be made or he would soon be a consumptive. She remembered distinctly how she had urged him to sell out their stock of worldly goods and seek a home on the free wild prairie. John had objected at first to going. He knew what it meant to be a farmer in a new country, and was loth to take her away from kindred and society to bear the toils and privations of a poor farmer's wife. But the subject of his health was dearest to her heart, and she overruled every objection, and hopefully, bravely, urged the change.

But somehow even this failed to comfort her this morning, and time after time she found herself sighing and wishing they were back in Boston.

A loud knock at the door startled her. She opened it quickly, and saw her nearest neighbor. "Good morning, Mis. Gas'on."

"Good morning, Mr. Thomas. Walk in."

"I can't; I reckon my feet's too muddy," he replied, glancing down at his number tens in a questioning way. "I come over, Mis. Gas'on to git ye to come over to our house a spell this afternoon."

"Is Mrs. Thomas or the children sick?" inquired Mrs. Gaston.

"Waal, no. You see the ole woman's kind o' down in the mouth. Got discouraged like, and wants cheerin' up a bit; and you're just the one can do it," and a wan smile lit up the man's face as he glanced at Mrs. Gaston, whose heart palpitated faster as she thought what a poor condition of mind was hers to think of cheering up any one.

But she answered: "Well, I'll come over a while after dinner, Mr. Thomas."

"All right. Thankee. Pears like she's got onsatisfied or sumthin'."

"Oh, no, she hasn't," said Mrs. Gaston, cheerily. "She just wants to talk to some woman. We'll have a good chat. I'll go over as soon as I can, after dinner."

"That's the blessedest little body that ever got into this yer country," soliloquized Mr. Thomas, as he trotted his angular nag over the smooth prairie road. "She never gits down in the mouth, I know she don't, cause there's never a wrinkle in her face, and her hair is never tumbled lookin', and she's allers got a collar on, and John Gaston allers looks like a 'squire instead of a farmer. Mighty high folks fur this country."

Somehow the idea of cheering up poor Mrs. Thomas, and the pleasant intercourse of the family while at dinner, went much towards restoring Mrs. Gaston's spirits, and setting things to rights again.

It was not the first time she had gone to Mrs. Thomas on a similar errand. They had been neighbors for some years, and to Mrs. Gaston's friendly counsel and helping hands they owed many of their comforts. Formerly, they had no ambition beyond bare floors and dusty windows. Mrs. Gaston had suggested rag carpet, and even helped to make one. Then they had taken pattern from her own neat home, and had put forth an effort to make their own home more attractive. Hanging baskets, winter bouquets and rustic frames, had found their way to these rude homes, and now adorned the once dingy, cobwebby walls.

It was like a gleam of sunshine crossing the threshold when Mrs. Gaston appeared before Mrs. Thomas that day. The sad look vanished as she said: "I'd ruther see you comin' in than my mother. The sight of your face always does me good."

"Then I am glad I came. How nice your curtains look!" said Mrs. Gaston, glancing at the windows.

"Yes. I took your plan, and made them out of old sheets and things. They look a heap better'n paper ones; but I reckon they'll need washin' 'bout every week," replied the woman, a flash of gratification lighting up her eyes.

"Oh, they're very little trouble to do up," said Mrs. Gaston. "Then they always look as nice as new when they're clean."

Then sitting down, Mrs. Gaston drew her knitting out of her pocket and commenced knitting away vigorously while she told Mrs. Thomas about the temperance society the young folks and old folks, too, were talking about forming. Then of Mrs. Tucker's new baby; and when everything else was exhausted, she told her about her sister's letter. Told in a way that made her listener think how wonderfully Mrs. Gaston was blessed in receiving such pleasant letters.

"You have given me a world of comfort," said Mrs. Thomas, as her visitor at length rose to go. "Somehow I always feel stronger after having talked with you."

"Do you? Well then we'll have many a good chat, won't we?"

As she walked briskly homeward, she wondered why her heart felt so full of joy, and how even the sunset clouds, which had grown purple and dark in the short twilight, were seemingly tinged with a soft beauty.

"It must be because spring is so near," she said half aloud, as she glanced over the wide prairie, which was already covered with greenish gray, a token that vegetation was beginning to spring up under the warm March sun.

That evening, as the family were all gathered around the cheerful fire, Mr. Gaston said:—

"Mother, what do you think I heard neighbor Stines say to-day?"

"What was it?" asked Mrs. Gaston, while the children looked up from their books in questioning surprise.

"He said John Gaston's wife was the bravest, cheeriest, helpfullest woman in the neighborhood. That his wife would have been discouraged and gone back East long ago only for her. She was always on the bright side and never got the blues."

"We all knew that before, didn't we mother?" said Maud, laying her head in her mother's lap.

But Mrs. Gaston did not reply. She was thinking of her "spell" of the morning, so she only stroked the bright young head and inwardly rejoiced that she had not betrayed herself to them.

"I believe mother's secret lies in this, she is always counting her blessings," said Mr. Gaston, smilingly.

But that night in the quiet of their own room, Mrs. Gaston told her husband her experience of the morning.

"I was wishing myself back, John. I was envious of my sister's comforts, and in cherishing my envy, lost sight of you, of myself, and God. I could not see any Providence in our being out here, deprived of society and friends. But I see now, and am satisfied to fill my appointed place, and God will see to it that our children fill theirs also."