Part 14

Such a clamor of voices reached grandma’s ears that her first thought was that the children must have the garden, at the very least, half filled with their schoolmates. But when the old lady rose from her big armchair to take a sharp look around from the window, she was amazed to learn that all the confusion was made by her two happy, healthy grandchildren Margaret and Marshall, and they were as busy as could be, planting and fussing over nasturtium plants.

“See us, grandma,” were the pleasant if imperative words when they saw their grandmother with her head stretched out as far as possible, looking first one way and then another.

“See you? Well, I should say I did, and what are you doing with that old umbrella frame, Marshall?” was the questioning response.

“Getting ready for our nasturtiums,” and the boy tossed his head laughingly towards a large quantity of the golden brown blossoms, digging energetically all the while, though, as if moments were more precious than he could tell.

As grandma was anxious to learn all about the planting, first Marshall and then Margaret told her just what they were about to do. The gardener at the Jenkins place explained what he did. “And I never saw nasturtiums look as pretty before,” said Margaret, with a sedate shake of her head. “Besides, it is an altogether new idea, not the old sort of a thing that everybody knows. It commences by planting an umbrella frame, putting the handle deep enough down not to break off with the first strong wind, or with the weight of vines, either, in case they should grow a trifle heavier on one side than the other, though, of course, this we will try to prevent. The umbrella should not be put in a corner, but in an open bed, where people can walk all around it. This frame of ours has eight sticks, and at each one we will plant a root. And we are going to plant two at the handle, one on either side, and not close enough to crowd each other. As the vines grow, they will be trained up the handle and along the sticks, making the effect of a diminutive tent, and while this old frame is rather an ungainly sight at present, in a few weeks the bed will be simply gorgeous.

“Oh, they are so pretty!” Margaret continued, lightly and fondly touching the bright flowers, “such a variety of shades, yellow, orange, even to a deep brown, and the vine is willing to wind any way we will; it is naturally graceful, with just enough foliage and not too much. Why, the old frame will be the prettiest thing in all the country around.”

“I only hope our neighbors will not watch and try the same thing for themselves,” was Marshall’s interjection.

“They probably will not before next summer,” was grandma’s assuring comment, “and then your nasturtium umbrella would be one year old.”

A GARDEN PARTY.

Dinners, receptions, and concerts have been attended through the winter until everybody is tired of the old routine; but entertainment which is associated with trees, flowers, gorgeous sunsets, out-of-door life, touches the heart and makes of every such occasion a real joy.

How shall we give a _fête champêtre_?

A lawn is a necessity, and should the trees not prove sufficiently exclusive, surround the grounds with canvas. The canvas may be concealed with boughs of green, running vines, flags, banners, or anything that will lessen its ugliness. The entire grounds must be decorated. Japanese lanterns might be used freely; several hundreds of them will be required, as they should be liberally scattered everywhere—not only in the grounds, on the trees or canvas serving as fence, but on the piazzas of the house.

A good orchestra should be hidden behind a clump of balsam or other bushy trees. The leader should be untiring in his efforts to give enough and desirable music. If ballads are sung, the orchestra leader is responsible for the accompaniment, and he is equally responsible for the dances, should such be given. The air should be filled with music, but to the pleasure and not the annoyance of guests.

Conversation and music are always important factors of entertainment; but to these an extravaganza may be added, or a play—for example, the whole or part of _As You Like It_, or _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_.

Should _As You Like It_ be given, screen a section of the lawn to represent the Duke’s palace. A conversation-room may readily be arranged. Remove one or more screens and see a room, the ceiling of which would be the sky; the side walls folding screens, which may be adjusted to any shape and size; the floor would be the grass covered with rugs. On these rugs stand a few chairs, a couch, and a small table. With such surroundings, altogether at home would Celia seem, while she would say:

“Why, cousin; why Rosalind;— Cupid have mercy!—Not a word?”

The many songs, especially “Under the Greenwood tree” and “What shall He have that killed the Deer?” would prove very appropriate in the forest of Arden environment, and the trees would be quite in place for the love-verses of Orlando.

Or the guests might be served with a literary salad. Paste or draw pictures on cards to illustrate the title of a book, and give one to each person. Whoever shall make a correct guess without assistance within fifteen minutes may be presented with a wreath of laurel. This may be worn on the head or carried on the arm.

Sometimes a _fête champêtre_ is given for sweet charity. It then assumes a different phase, as booths, chalets, or tents are erected, within which saleable articles are offered. An effective fête might be given in athletic grounds, which should be noticeably gay with streamers of bunting and little and big flags. At such a fête a large orchestra should play the entire afternoon.

It would be very attractive if those in charge of the chalets would represent milkmaids, as this allows picturesque apparel. The young ladies might go bareheaded, or wear a gay handkerchief coquettishly knotted under their braids or curls, or cover their heads altogether by donning the new lawn sunbonnet, which is such a dainty feature of this summer’s outing.

The chalets should be small lean-tos, their roofs tilting towards the back and resting on four poles, one at each corner. These chalets should be festively trimmed, and contain such products as milk, cream, cheese, and eggs. As these are all necessities in housekeeping, the financial result should be quite large.

Gowns and hats, flounces and ribbons, form a conspicuous part of a _fête champêtre_. Sheer grenadines, nets, and gauzes, clouds of Valenciennes lace, beflowered organdies, any of the effective summer costumes, the more fetching the combination the more satisfactory the attire. The color contrasts are allowed to a greater extreme than for street apparel, and brilliant colors produce a smart effect on the lawn; and yet the dainty white, yellow, pink, or blue fabrics may be always afterwards worn to advantage, they are so fresh and youthful.

The smart costume requires the broad-brimmed hat coquettishly rolled, and massed with lilacs, morning-glories, sweet-pease, roses, or carnations, and the often added long ribbon streamers. But the flower toque, and the parasol of white mousseline de soie trimmed with flowers and a flounce of lace, and the pretty or quaint fan, aid the charming gown in producing an artistic effect.

The guests arrive in pony carriages, high carts, or victorias, and the closed brougham, like an old friend, is always admissible. The host and the hostess seem especially cordial, standing, as they do, under the broad branches of a tall tree. Indeed, stern Madam Propriety would deem such warmth of welcome scarcely permissible under a lighted chandelier. But if, as it has been known to happen, the day of the fête should also be the day of the worst storm of the entire season, the guests are received, if possible, on the piazza, and all aid in making merry and helping the hostess to such an extent that people forget that a _fête champêtre_ was ever considered, and that it was not meant to be a house party from the beginning. Of course no one should allude to the weather; that would be decidedly out of form, and be very unkind to the hostess, who certainly cannot stop the storm.

In such a shaping of events refreshments are served in-doors, if possible using the same little tables intended for the lawn, the cloths, which are edged about with ferns and field-flowers in variety, added to the pretty china and cut glass used in serving the menu, lend the charm of beauty.

The menu for such a function may be the same as that given at an evening reception, or it may be the simple refreshment provided for an afternoon tea, with an added salad or ice. But as an afternoon spent in the open air gives good appetite, liberal refreshment will be in order.

THE KING’S CHILDREN.

“Pearly! Pearly!”

It was a woman’s shrill voice that fiercely shrieked the name out into the morning air.

We were homeward bound from the Old Red Spring in Saratoga, when we were arrested by her screams. The sun shone brightly, the robins and other song birds were trilling out their sweetest melodies, the air was heavily scented with white clover blossoms and sweetbrier. It was a rarely beautiful July morning. All the world to us was melody, save the jar made by this thin, haggard, unkempt woman. In her effort to be heard she travelled along the road in the direction she thought Pearly must have gone, crushing the daisies and buttercups down before her.

Two Sabbaths before we had sat at the communion table, and then felt a kinship to all, that our brothers and sisters were not only those of our very own by ties of blood, but were close to us the round world over. The Sabbath before, as the clergyman said, “freely ye have received, freely give,” we thought more of the giving of ourselves than of our money, more of letting others have a share of the good gifts that had been our lot, joy, music, loving-kindness generally, than of offering our filthy lucre. Indeed, it seemed a great descent, for we had been taken up on the moment by our pastor’s tender words, and now must remember Vanity Fair and the necessity for money in this worldly world. And so thinking, this woman with the wild, disagreeable voice, stopped us; and should we not do something to help her, was the question put to ourselves.

She was one of the resident Saratogians. Cross, possibly, because she was tired; haggard, because she had no time for rest. To her the Spring waters were as a myth, and the dry, bracing air little considered in her work-a-day existence. We, therefore, turning in the direction in which this woman went, commenced our search for the little girl, for such we decided she was, but all in vain. Whether Pearly, familiar to the harsh voice and recognizing extra work or disagreeable duty as a result of coming to the front, had hidden behind the large clumps of elderberry bushes which grew thickly around, or had run off to the woods for protection, we know not; we only know that we had to leave the woman to conclude her search alone. But the words, “Pearly! Pearly!” now and again caught our ear, though indistinctly, as the distance widened between us, and later we lost the sound altogether. Then it was that another Pearly came into our thought.

She had been baptized Margaret; but the old-fashioned long name had been shortened during her babyhood to the beautiful name, “Pearl.” She has always been loving and lovable, and always seemed consecrated, even from her cradle. Many of the wise people have often gravely said of her, “That child can never live to grow up. She is too good.” But she has lived to grow up, and, nothing happening, in a year or two more she will be graduated from one of our most respected women’s colleges. She, even as a little child, never had to be punished. “Pearl, that is wrong; you should not act or speak that way,” was the most serious chiding she ever needed to receive; for when told she had done wrong, she would immediately say, “I will try never to do that again.” And she invariably would keep her promise.

As a schoolgirl she is a general favorite, being popular enough to receive the unanimous vote for class president, for Pearl is a sunny, bright, sympathetic girl. The truly good are always the truly happy. Her religion is of the character to attract, not to repel. And possibly there are nowhere to be found keener or more severe critics than schoolgirls are of one another. The long-faced piety, as it is sometimes called, would receive from them only ridicule and contempt. The abandon of youth is not slow in exposing what they consider trustless and wrong.

But my story would be too long to tell many incidents in the life of Pearl; to tell the many ways she has helped all with whom her short life of eighteen years has brought her in contact; to tell of her sympathetic words, helpful handclasp, feet swift to run on deeds of kindness, voice raised in song, thus aiding others in the schoolroom, the prayer-meeting or the home. Indeed, Pearl was constantly forming new ties, thus binding the hearts of all who met her to herself.

The incident of which I would particularly write is her work as a King’s Daughter. She was one of the earliest to join this organization, and the first band she formed was to pay for the education of a young girl in the same school as herself. This young girl was the only child of a rich father, but it was the old story—a dishonest partner used the firm’s money for speculating purposes, and in an evil hour all was gone; not only money, but reputation also, and Elsie, the only child, must now leave school, it seemed, forever. Then it was Pearl came to the rescue; and first binding her ten to secrecy, because it would wound Elsie to ever know, it was arranged with the President and officers of the school that this band should pay for Elsie’s schooling; and she will graduate with Pearl, all unconscious of the one to whom she is indebted.

Elsie’s father was notified by the school President that his daughter was too much beloved not to have an opportunity to finish her education. If he was ever able to refund the money, all right, if not, it was still all right; and this is all Elsie or her father know.

Since then Pearl has started nine other bands, each doing noble work for Christ and humanity. With only one of these is she herself connected. It every year supports ten poor, aged women, who otherwise would be obliged to go to the almshouse. By the help of this King’s Daughters’ Band these women remain in their own little homes, passing the hours as their desires dictate, and not feeling the pain which Will Carleton so vividly describes in his poem, “Over the Hills to the Poorhouse.” No wonder that these poor old women frequently ask God’s blessing on these young girls, for they are so comfortable and happy as they thus quietly wait for the summons to the other home whose builder and maker is God. And no wonder that Pearl wears a happy face, for the face indicates the heart within. The good she has done, and may yet do, will never be known here, nor is it necessary. Sufficient for Pearl will be the words which we hope will also be ours some day, “Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

FOR THE BOYS.

Why should not the boys be as busy and helpful as the girls?

Why should not the boys form their “Try Bands,” “Working Circles” and “King’s Sons’ Societies?”

There is no reason. Will not, therefore, the willing, manly boys who read this enlist their friends to help at least one of their heathen brothers to a Christian education? It is work that will give abundant reward.

American boys know how much care is taken for their education. Not only are their teachers, but their mothers, fathers, brothers sisters and other relatives, their constant instructors. The greatest culture and opportunity surround them; valuable libraries are ever at their disposal. There are numberless free schools, art rooms and museums. Beside the private academies, institutes, and colleges, there are Young Men’s Christian Association rooms, Christian Endeavor Societies, churches and Sunday-schools, all open and giving hearty welcome. Not so are the privileges of the boys in India, China and Japan. For though the Bible and our missionaries have done a great deal to help the heathen boy, his surroundings are dark indeed, in contrast with those of children in Christian lands. Indeed, it is rare that a heathen boy is not a castaway by his family when he confesses Christ. Instead of relatives being a help to his life, they are among his greatest sorrows.

Boys ought to be willing to give other boys a chance, especially when they stand alone. If ten boys would form a band, they could easily collect thirty dollars a year, and thirty dollars would pay all the yearly expenses of a boy in a mission school or academy. This academy prepares boys for the theological seminary, and the seminary fits them for the ministry. Indeed, when in the academy, boys often go out to talk and sing to those who do not know of Christ. They feel sure that their heathen friends are missing so much in not knowing Jesus, that they cannot wait until they have completed their studies; but as soon as they know about Jesus themselves they are impatient to tell others. They can talk to their friends with greater effect than missionaries from this country, because they understand their customs and ways. Besides, the terrible heat in India does not affect them as it does people who go from this country. Very often our missionaries and their families have to return to America on account of their health.

Some of the boys in India are very bright. I will tell you of one who is about fifteen years of age, and is a student in the Arcot Academy, India. His name is Joseph, son of the catechist Israel; his mother’s name is Rachel. You will notice they are all Bible names. This family were once heathen, but now all know and love Christ, and are happy in working for Him. I lately had the pleasure of reading a letter written and composed by Joseph, without any aid from his instructors. I wish it were possible for my boy readers to see his penmanship; it seemed nearly as perfect as copperplate. Each letter was very distinct and prettily shaded. Every word was spelled correctly, and while his composition had not the exact style we would use, it was very direct and intelligible. I doubt if many American boys of Joseph’s age could do better with a French or German letter, or in writing in any other language than their own. Thinking you might be interested in hearing from Joseph, particularly as he tells of what he does on the Sabbath, and of his school life, I will quote directly from his letter:

“MADRAS PRESIDENCY, Ranipet, India.

“MOST RESPECTED AND KIND MADAM:

“My superiors, teachers and fellow-students are doing well up to this time by the grace of our Almighty, hoping the same for you....

“I solicit you, dear madam, pray for me that I may obey my superiors; I don’t like to have the name of our Lord Jesus Christ in vain. But I want to publish His name.

“Every Sunday we all go over the country and preach about the Gospel. Many of the heathen become Christians.

“There are eight bands in the school. When we are going to preach, each band will take three or four lyrics, some tracts, a cymbal, and a jalar or tambourine. When we are singing many men and women and children will come to hear us.

“After our preaching is over we take account of the men, women and children who come to hear our preaching. Most of them will ask questions, and we will answer them. Many of them will abuse the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Though they abused Him, we won’t leave these men, since they don’t understand what Christ has done for the world. We have meeting every Friday evening, and in that meeting we will give our reports of the men who heard the Word of Christ.”

Referring to his studies, he writes:

“Now there are four classes, viz., matriculation class, the fifth class, the lower secondary class, and the lower fourth class. There are five teachers, including our manager. Each class changes its lessons after one hour. Our manager teaches general English for the four classes, and also takes English history for the fifth class, and science, physics and chemistry for the sixth class. He shows many good examples and gives us good games. He is very kind toward us. We have many sorts of games. Tennis and football and cricket and gymnasium exercises. Our manager teaches us cricket every evening.”

As this boy is writing to the one who supports him, he closes in the following manner:

“I thank the Lord for having given me a supporter. I render my warm and delightful obeisance to respected and dear madam. I remain your most obedient

“PONNOR ISAAC JOSEPH.”

After reading this letter, which is not a fancy sketch, picture in your mind Joseph, his surroundings, a young Hindoo boy, whose dark-skinned face glows enthusiastically with his love for Christ and with his ardent desire to tell others of his love, writing in a strange tongue to a lady whom he has never seen. He has her photograph, and has received letters from her, but her voice and manner are only conjectures in his mind. He is writing to this lady, who has been the means of his salvation, of freeing him from his yoke borne by his countrymen. Try to picture this, and then see if in your own heart there is not a strong desire to free more than one boy in that dark land. In freeing one, you free others: do not forget that.

“I WISH I WERE A GENERAL.”

“If wishes were horses, Beggars might ride.”

“Have you ever heard that, Jo?”

“_Heard_ it, what kind of a bringing up has a fellow had, do you think? You know well enough that ever since I was in knickerbockers, that immortal rhyme has been drilled into me. I’m sick and tired of sermonizing, and all I have to say is, if you don’t wish for something grand, something beyond you, you never will amount to anything.”

“That is true, Jo, but wishing without action will not accomplish much. I’ve heard you make at least twenty wishes this morning. One, ‘I wish I was rich!’ just as though that were anything new; all boys wish that. Then you wished you were somebody great, somebody famous, like Cæsar or the Czar of Russia, or the President of the United States. Then you wished your father could only let you have a college education so that you might be a lawyer. And then, to go on to smaller matters, you wished it was Christmas, so that you might have vacation. And lastly, you wished you were a fine bicycle rider, so that you might win the prize in the coming race. I tell you, old fellow, I long ago learned such a wholesome lesson on the wishing point, that it made me over new, so to speak.”

“How so, John? now I am interested, for I thought you had been perfect from your youth up.”