Kathie's Soldiers

CHAPTER IV

LITTLE STEPS BY THE WAY

BUT Kathie found that the regiment's marching off to Virginia had not taken all the interest of life. They had left the woods behind, glowing with rich autumnal coloring, the glorious blue heavens, the ripening fruits, and the changeful scenes, that opened afresh every day.

Her afternoons were quite a delight. Uncle Robert always held himself in readiness, and they had either a ride or a ramble. There were new collections of ferns to make, and with these she often had an entertaining lesson in botany.

October was very pleasant indeed. There was no frost to mention until the middle of the month, and by that time the flowers were safely housed. Hugh Morrison had built a conservatory against the south side of the barn, and promised Kathie bouquets all winter.

Kathie began to look up her old friends as well, and she joined the girls in several nutting expeditions, at which they had rare fun.

Withal she had a brief note from Ada, who wondered if she approved the foolish step Uncle Edward had taken. Papa was positively angry about it! And then the idea of going out as a private, even if it was in a "crack" regiment. However, they really didn't mean to fight, and that was some comfort. He would be at home by the first of January.

But General Grant evinced no desire to go into winter quarters, while at the South and West there was unusual activity.

"It looks as if there might be considerable fighting before Christmas!" declared Uncle Robert.

For the few who chose to find them there were duties enough. Brookside, as well as other places, began to feel the effects of the war. There were soldiers' widows and orphans, the sick and the wounded who were sent home to make room for newer cases. Then the churches at Brookside decided to give a grand Fair and Festival for this benevolent object, to be held Thanksgiving week.

Kathie found her hands quite full. Still she found time to dust the parlor every morning and take care of her own room, and often managed to get half an hour for her music practice. To be sure, she did not dawdle over her dressing, neither was there a waterfall wonderfully constructed, and adorned with puffs and braids.

"I mean to keep my little girl simple in her tastes as long as I can," Mrs. Alston replied to the dressmaker. "Nothing can be prettier than her hair as it is, and I do not feel justified in dressing her expensively when there are so many children suffering with cold and hunger."

"But young girls feel so sensitive on these matters," was the reply. "They all want to look like their companions."

"I hope there are some sensible mothers left," returned Mrs. Alston with a smile.

Kathie was very much interested in getting contributions and making fancy articles, though hers tended rather to the useful. And Aunt Ruth, to her great amusement, made up a dozen stout gingham kitchen aprons with bibs, a stack of kettle-holders, and knitted some dishcloths out of soft cotton.

In the mean while Kathie was delighted with a letter from Mr. Meredith. He was in the gayest spirits and related a host of comical episodes. He had been in several skirmishes, but no regular battle, was well and hearty, and brown as a berry already. Just at the last he said, "I have not forgotten our pleasant ride, and the other fighting we talked about."

Mr. Morrison was doing very well also. Kathie began to think that it was not such a terrible thing to go to war, after all.

As for Rob, his record was pretty fair. He did confess to being a little homesick at first. The Latin was "awful tough work," and some of the rules "rather hard on a fellow who was new to them." But they had a "jolly set of boys," and he liked it first-rate.

So Kathie had no need to worry about her soldiers. She said a little prayer for them night and morning, and thought of them often. But she was so busy and so happy that she was little inclined to look upon the dark side.

The Fair was a decided success. It was held at Mason's Hall and opened on Monday evening. Emma Lauriston, and a number of the larger girls, were in attendance upon the tables. The band came up from Connor's Point and discoursed patriotic music. The hall was large, well lighted, and presented a very gay appearance.

But the most amusement was created by a "Dutch kitchen." Several ladies had transformed a small ante-room into a very attractive place of resort. There were great brown rafters overhead, from which depended hams, flitches of bacon, strings of onions, bunches of herbs, and at the edge were stowed away miscellaneous articles. A great eight-day clock, chairs, and an old brass-handled dresser that might have come over in the Mayflower, while four pretty young girls, in the quaint old costume of their grand-mothers, waited upon the table with all grace and ease. This was crowned with an immense dish of beans and pork, and a stout, rosy Dutch woman was baking waffles. Altogether this was the place for fun.

Kathie had been in and out half a dozen times. Her Fortunatus's purse was full to repletion, and every time she passed the door she saw some children standing there with wistful eyes. It was such a delightful thing to make any one happy.

Sauntering round, she came to a rather oddly arranged table, – Miss Weston's. She was the primmest and queerest of old maids, – a little body with weak eyes and flaxen hair, who always looked at you sharply through gold-bowed spectacles.

"O dear!" she exclaimed, "how you young things do go flyin' round! As for me, I'm that tired I'm just ready to drop. I've been here ever sence two o'clock and never set down a minnit. I fixed all my table myself, and I made nigh onto all the things. Cousin Hitty, she sent me them there child's aperns; but land! what a sight of folly it is to do all that braidin' and nonsense! I never had no sech thing when I was little! Been in the Dutch kitchen?"

"O yes, time and again."

"I'd like to go, I'm sure. I've been standin' stiddy on my feet sence two o'clock. If some one would come along and take my table!"

"Couldn't I?" asked Kathie.

"O, you're so flighty! All gals are nowadays. Why, when I was no older 'n you I had seven bed-quilts pieced, and had begun to lay by sheets and pillow-slips, and had a dozen pairs of as han'some hum-knit stockings as you'd find in a day's walk!"

Miss Weston really did look tired. Kathie was debating whether she should not insist, though this was an out-of-the-way corner, and rather dull.

"Well, I guess I'll go. You won't be likely to sell anything; nothing much sells the first night, and I hain't no nonsense and flummery. Good useful articles, but nobody can see their virtue nowadays. It's the way of the world!" – a little spitefully. "All the prices are marked in plain figgers, and I won't have a thing undersold. O dear, I am a'most beat out."

"I'll do my best," said Kathie, sweetly.

After giving about a dozen more orders Miss Weston moved slowly away, though, truth to tell, she was more anxious to go than she appeared; and whom should she meet just at the entrance but Mr. Denslow, who paid the ten cents' admittance fee. Mr. Denslow, moreover, was a widower, and Miss Weston had not quite given up the hope that the bed-quilts and the stores of linen might some day be called into use.

Kathie took her place behind the table, and, when the moments began to hang heavy, ventured upon a few improvements. The passers-by just gave the place a glance, and preferred to go where there were some pretty girls or some fun. Kathie found it exceedingly dull.

At last Mary Cox spied her out. Charlie Darrell was escorting her round.

"Why, Miss Weston," he said, softly, "where's your specs? And why isn't your hair done up in queer little puffs?"

"What an ugly table!" exclaimed Mary. "How did you come to take it?"

"Miss Weston was so tired."

"She is in the Dutch kitchen, desperately sweet upon Mr. Denslow. It's so seldom that she gets a beau that you needn't expect her for the next hour. What a lovely time you will have waiting!"

Charlie would have been very well satisfied to stay and talk to Kathie, but Mary wanted the amusement of rambling round and laughing with every one; and though Kathie said, beseechingly, "Don't go!" Mary replied, "O, we must!" and the child was left alone again.

Down at the end of the hall they were having a merry time. She saw grave Emma Lauriston laughing, and Aunt Ruth was talking and smiling. Why didn't some one think of her?

"How much fur these caliker aperns?" asked a country woman.

Kathie roused a little at the question, and took her eyes from the entertaining circle.

"Half a dollar!"

"Half a dollar!" – in the utmost surprise. "Why, they ain't wuth it! Ain't more 'n two yards of caliker in 'em, and I kin buy jest sich for fifteen cents a yard."

"But the making," suggested Kathie.

"O, that was throwed in! Always is in char'table objects. Tell you what I'll do, – give three shillin's apiece for two of 'em. It's a good object."

Now Kathie knew that the calico could not be bought for less than eighteen cents a yard, which would give just one cent profit; besides, Miss Weston had charged her particularly not to undersell. "The table is not mine," she answered; "I am keeping it for a friend."

Perhaps the woman considered there was a better chance of bargain-making; at all events she lingered and haggled until Kathie grew nervous, and wished Miss Weston would come.

"Well, you're dreadful dear, – that's all I've got to say"; and the woman flounced off angrily. "It's just the way at these fairs and things; but you can't cheat me out of my eyes, char'ty or not." Then Kathie was left alone again.

Presently Harry Cox ran over. "We're having such fun, and Charlie sent me for you. There's no one here, so why can't you shut up shop?"

Kathie longed to very much. She might keep an eye on the table and have a little fun besides; but it would be deserting her post. No true soldier would do that. "I'm obliged to you, but I think I had better stay; Miss Weston will soon be here."

"She's an old humbug!"

The sights and sounds were so tantalizing! What was Miss Weston doing in the Dutch kitchen all this while?

At last a bit of good-fortune befell Kathie. Mr. and Mrs. Adams and Mr. Langdon came along. Mr. Langdon had been away from Brookside for several weeks, and had a host of questions to ask.

"But what are you doing over here? You look as if you had quarrelled with your neighbors, and gone off in disdain."

Kathie explained that it was not her table.

"Have you sold anything?"

"Not a penny's worth!"

"Then I must patronize you a little," declared Mrs. Adams.

She found a number of useful articles, and some that she could give away to her poor parishioners. Kathie was quite proud of the four dollars in the small cash-box.

At last she was relieved, and gave a great breath of thankfulness.

"Is that all you've taken in?" asked Miss Weston, rather sharply. "Are you sure you've been here all the time? But you never can find any one who will do for you as you do yourself."

"I did not have but one customer," returned Kathie, in justification; and she felt that Mrs. Adams had made her purchases from a sense of personal friendship.

"I might better 'a' stayed with my table," was the ungracious answer; and that was all the thanks Kathie received for her kind deed and the discomfort. But she solaced herself with the consciousness that a great many good deeds meet with no reward in this world. Miss Weston must certainly have had some pleasure, or she would not have stayed so long.

Kathie was glad to get back to her mother and Aunt Ruth. The great source of amusement over here was the confectionery table with packages of "gift" candy, each parcel of which contained a present, and some of them were exceedingly comical.

"We have had such fun!" exclaimed Mary. "You don't know what you have missed!"

But Charlie glanced up and met Kathie's eyes with a look that seemed to understand it all; and Miss Jessie said afterward, "I think you were very good to keep Miss Weston's table such a long while. I didn't know but she meant to spend the whole evening in the kitchen."

At ten o'clock they began to put everything in order for closing up. The evening had been a wonderful success, considering that it was the first. Kathie was full of delight and excitement, and declared that she did not feel a bit sleepy, though it was after eleven when she went to her room.

The sleepiness came the next morning. Lessons were rather dull work, and she counted the moments eagerly until school closed. At first she had half a mind to run over to the hall to see how matters were progressing.

"But then it will be so much gayer this evening," she thought to herself, "and I must study my lessons a little."

She had sufficient courage to refuse all entreaties, and walked home by herself, trying to recall several subjects on which she had not been very perfect to-day. Mrs. Wilder was a little indulgent, for she knew how much the Fair had engrossed their attention.

The house was very quiet, so Kathie studied and had a good long music practice before mamma and Aunt Ruth returned. But as they were planning at the supper-table Mrs. Alston said, "I would rather not have you go to-night, Kathie."

"O mamma, why?" – with a touch of entreaty in her voice.

"You were up late last night, and you will want to be there again on Wednesday evening. You certainly need a little rest between."

"But last evening was like – lost time to me, or pretty nearly. I stayed at Miss Weston's table in that dull corner for more than an hour, while the other girls were enjoying themselves."

"Was it really lost time?" and a half-smile crossed Mrs. Alston's face.

Kathie bethought herself. "I suppose it ought not to have been, but it was very dull."

"Are you sorry that you did it?"

"Why, no," – in a tone of faint surprise. "And yet she did not seem very much obliged to me. Not that I cared so much for the thanks," – rather hastily.

"I was glad to see you willing to give up that much of your pleasure. Miss Weston is peculiar, but she was very ready to help everybody all the afternoon, and had her pins, scissors, strings, tacks, and hammer always ready. She did a great deal of work."

"But what a pity she cannot be – "

"Well," said Uncle Robert, filling the long pause.

"A little more gracious, I believe I was going to say, or not quite so 'queer.'"

"It is unfortunate, when Miss Weston is so good-hearted in the main. But then she always talks about the trouble she has taken, the hard work she has done, and really dims the grace of her kind deeds."

"I came very near doing it myself," admitted Kathie, quite soberly.

"I do not believe Kathie desired any extra indulgence to-night because she gave up hers last evening," exclaimed Uncle Robert, with that namelessly appreciative light in his eyes.

"O no, do not think that of me, mamma, only I should like to go to-night. All the girls are to be there."

"Three nights' dissipation in succession is rather too much for a little girl, unless there was an urgent necessity. You will enjoy Wednesday evening all the better for having had a rest."

Kathie entreated no further, but it was a great disappointment, the more so because it had come so unexpectedly. And it seemed to her that she felt rested and bright enough to keep awake until midnight. She had studied all her lessons too.

However, she kissed her mother cheerfully. Aunt Ruth was tired, and did not mean to go either.

"You might put me to bed," exclaimed Freddy, lingering in the sitting-room.

Kathie somehow could not feel generous all at once. The idea of nursing her disappointment awhile looked rather tempting.

"Why, I never do it now," she answered.

"No, you don't," – considerably aggrieved. "Nor ever tell me stories, either! And it's so lonesome since Rob went to school."

Kathie had a faint consciousness that not to think of herself would be the best thing she could do.

"And you never told me about the Fair, either!"

"Well, run up to bed, and I will come presently," she said, in her bright, pleasant way.

Freddy kissed Aunt Ruth and went off in high feather. It was quite like old times to sit beside him and talk, and Kathie was not a little amused by his questions, some of which were very wise for a little head, and others utterly absurd. Then came some very slow, wandering sentences, and Kathie knew then that dusky-robed Sleep was hovering about the wondering brain until it could wonder no more.

"Good night," – with a soft kiss.

Aunt Ruth was lying on the lounge, so she ran down to the drawing-room and had half an hour's study over some "accidentals," that had tried her patience sorely in the afternoon. Delightful and all as music was, how much hard labor and persistence it required!

But by and by she could play the troublesome part with her eyes shut, counting the time to every note.

"Mr. Lawrence cannot find any fault with that!" she commented inwardly.

So she went back to Aunt Ruth in a very sweet humor, and, drawing an ottoman to the side of the lounge, sat down with Aunt Ruth's arm around her neck.

The room looked so lovely in its soft light. The shadowy flowers and baskets of trailing vines in the great bay-window, the dusky pictures on the wall, and the crimson tint given by the furniture. It was so sweet and restful that Kathie felt like having a good talk, so she drew a long breath by way of inspiration.

"Aunt Ruth," she said, in a little perplexity, "why is it that a person is not always willing to try to do right first of all? One wishes to and does not in the same breath."

"I suppose that is the result of our imperfect natures; but it is good to have the desire even."

"Yet when one means to try – is trying – will it never come easy?"

"Do you not find it easier than you did two years ago?"

"But I am older, and have more judgment."

"And a stronger will on the wrong side as well as on the right, beside many more temptations."

"You conquer some of them, though."

"Yet with every new state of life others spring up. Life is a continual warfare."

"And you never get perfect!"

"Never in this life."

"It is discouraging, – isn't it, Aunt Ruth?"

"Is it discouraging to eat when you are hungry?"

"Why, no!" – with a little laugh.

"It seems to me the conditions of spiritual life are not so very unlike the conditions of physical life. It is step by step in both. The food and the grace are sufficient for the day, but they will not last to-morrow, or for a month to come."

"Yet the grace was to be sufficient always," Kathie said, with some hesitation.

"And have you proved it otherwise?" The voice was very sweet, and Aunt Ruth's tone almost insensibly lured to confidence.

"But what troubles me is – that little things – " and Kathie's voice seemed to get tangled up with emotion, "should be such a trial sometimes. Now I can understand how any great sacrifice may call for a great effort; but after we have been used to doing these little things over and over again – "

"One becomes rather tired of making the effort; and it is just here where so many people who mean to be good go astray. They leave the small matters to take care of themselves, and aspire to something greater; so, without being really aware of it, they are impatient, selfish, thoughtless for others, and fall into many careless ways. Would one really grand action make amends for all?"

"No, it would not," Kathie answered, reflectively.

"So we have to keep a watch every moment, be fed every day and hour, or we shall hunger."

Kathie sighed a little. Why had it not been as easy to be good and pleasant to-night as some other times when mamma did not think a coveted indulgence necessary? Yet her perplexity appeared so trivial that she hardly had the courage to confess it even to this kind listener.

"You took the right step to-night, Kathie," said Aunt Ruth, presently. "I was glad to see you do it. Brooding over any real or fancied burden never lightens it. And though it seems a rather sharp remedy in the midst of one's pain to think of or help some other person, it works the speediest cure."

She saw that. So little a thing as entertaining Freddy had soothed her own disappointment.

"But I ought not – " and Kathie's voice trembled.

"Stoicism is not the highest courage, little one. And God doesn't take away our natural feelings when he forgives sin. There is a good deal of sifting and winnowing left for us to do. And I believe God is better pleased with us when we have seen the danger, and struggled against it, than if it had not touched us at all. The rustle of the leaves seems to give promise of fruit."