Elsie's Widowhood

As Edward closed the book upon the completion of the story, "Mamma," said the younger Elsie, "do you quite approve of all the teachings the author has given there? or perhaps I should rather say the sentiments she has expressed."

"Not quite, but what is it you do not approve?" the mother answered with an affectionate and pleased look at the earnest face of the questioner. "I am glad to see that you are not ready to be carried about with every wind of doctrine."

"It is her comment upon her heroine's effort to escape from her trouble by asking help from God. She speaks as if, had the girl been older and wiser, she would have known that God had the welfare and happiness of other people to consult as well as hers, and couldn't be expected to sacrifice them for her sake."

"Well, daughter?"

"It seems to me to show a very low estimate of God's power and wisdom. Since he is infinite in both, can he not so order events as to secure the best good to all his creatures?"

"Yes, my child, I am sure he can, and we need never fear that he is not able and willing to help his people in every time of trouble. 'The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.' 'The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.' He does not always answer just as we desire, it is true, but often in a better way, for we, in our folly and short-sightedness, sometimes ask what would prove in the end a curse instead of a blessing."

"Mamma, how happy we should be if we had perfect faith and trust," said Violet.

"Yes; if we fully believed the inspired assurance, 'We know that all things work together for good to them that love God,' we should not fret or grieve over losses, crosses or disappointments. Strive after such faith, my children, and pray constantly for it, for it is the gift of God."

There was a little pause, broken only by Walter's prattle, the plash of the rain and the murmur of the sea.

Edward seemed in deep thought. Taking a low seat at his mother's knee, "Mamma," he said, "I want to have a talk with you, and perhaps this is as good a time as any."

"Well, my dear boy, what is it?"

"Do you think, mamma, that I ought to go into the ministry?"

"My son," she said, looking at him in some surprise, "that is not a question to be decided in a moment, or without asking God's guidance."

"You would be willing, mother?"

"More than willing – glad and thankful – if I saw reason to believe that you were called of God to that work. To be truly an ambassador of Christ is, in my esteem, to stand higher than any of earth's potentates, yet if your talents do not lie in that direction I would not have you there. It is every man's duty to serve God to the utmost of his ability, but all are not called to the ministry; some can do far better service in other walks of life, and I should prefer to have a son of mine a good carpenter, mason or shoemaker, rather than a poor preacher."

"You do not mean poor in purse, mamma?" queried Harold, joining the little group.

"No; a poor sermonizer – one lacking the requisite talents, diligence or piety to proclaim God's truth with faithfulness and power."

"How can one tell to what work he is called, mamma?" Edward asked, with an anxious, perplexed look.

"By watching the leadings of God's providence and by earnest prayer for his direction. Also I think if a lad has a decided bias for any one profession or employment it is a pretty sure indication that that is what he is called to; for we can almost always do best what we most enjoy doing."

"Then I think I should study medicine," said Harold, "for I should very greatly prefer that to anything else. And don't you think, mamma, that a doctor may do really as much good as a minister?"

"Quite as much if he be a devoted, earnest Christian, ready to do good as he has opportunity: therefore I entirely approve your choice."

"Thank you, mamma. So I consider it quite settled," Harold returned with a look of great satisfaction. "Now, Ed and Herbie, what will you be?"

"As Herbert never likes to be separated from you, I presume he too will choose medicine," the mother remarked, with a smiling glance at her third son, as he too came and stood at her side.

"I don't know, mamma; it seems to me doctors have a dreadfully hard life."

"Ah! I fancy a life of elegant leisure would suit you best, my laddie," laughed his eldest brother.

But the mother's look was grave and a little anxious.

Herbert saw it. "Don't be troubled about me, mamma dear," he said, putting his arms round her neck and gazing lovingly into her eyes. "I do mean to fight against my natural laziness. But do you think I ought to choose so very hard a life as Harold means to?"

"Not if you have talent for something useful which would better suit your inclinations. Can you think of any such thing?"

"Couldn't I be a lawyer?"

"You could never rise to eminence in that profession without a great deal of hard work."

"An author then?"

"The same answer will fit again," his mother returned with a slight smile. "Has not your Cousin Molly worked very hard for a number of years?"

Herbert drew a long, deep sigh, then brightening, "I might be a publisher," he said. "I don't suppose they work very hard, and they can have all the new books to read."

"Oh, Herbie," said Violet, "think of the great number of letters they must have to write, and manuscripts to read, beside many other things."

"No, my boy, you cannot do or be anything worth while without work, and a good deal of it," said his mother. "So I hope you will make it your earnest, constant prayer that you may have grace to overcome your besetting sin of indolence, and to 'be not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the Lord'. The Bible bids us, 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.'"

"Edward, you have not told us yet what you wish to be," said his sister Elsie.

"My inclination," he answered in grave, earnest tones, "is to take my father's place in every way possible, first in the care of my darling, precious mother," taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, "after that in cultivating the Ion plantation and making myself a good, upright, useful church-member and citizen."

"A worthy ambition, my boy," the mother said with emotion; "my strong desire is that you may follow as closely as possible in the footsteps of your honored father. I never knew a better man, in the pulpit or out of it. His was a truly Christian manhood, and, like his Master, he went about doing good."

"Then, mother, with your approval my choice is made; and with your permission I shall spend some time in an agricultural college, after finishing the course where I am."

"You shall do as you wish; you shall have every advantage I can give you. My other boys also, if they will improve them."

"Your girls, too, mamma?" asked Rosie.

"Yes, indeed," mamma answered, bestowing a smile and a kiss upon the young questioner.

At that moment the tea-bell summoned them to their evening meal. Edward took his father's seat at the table, his father's place in asking a blessing upon the food.

As they left the table they perceived that the rain had ceased; the clouds had broken away from the setting sun, and its red light streamed over the dark waters like a pathway of fire.

They were all gathered on the porch, watching, as usual, the changing beauty of the sea and the clouds, when a young man, in the undress uniform of a lieutenant in the army, opened their gate, and came with a brisk, manly step up the walk leading to the house.

As he drew near, he lifted his military cap, bowed low to the ladies, then, stepping upon the porch, handed a card to Mrs. Travilla.

"Donald Keith," she read aloud, and holding out her hand with a sweet, welcoming smile, "How do you do, cousin?" she said; "I am very glad to see you. But to which branch do you belong?"

"I am a younger brother of the Reverend Cyril Keith, lately married to a Miss Conly," the young officer answered, as he took the offered hand. "He wrote me of your great kindness to him, and when I learned, a few hours since, who were the occupants of this cottage, I felt that I must come and thank you. I hope I do not intrude, cousin?"

"No, indeed; we are always ready to welcome relatives. Now let me introduce these other cousins – my boys and girls."

The young man spent the whole evening in the company of these new-found relatives, and went away highly delighted with them all.