CHAPTER II.
A SUNDAY-SCHOOL LESSON.
Going to church was a good old New England custom that in our familyhad borne transplanting to the West. Sunday was almost the pleasantestday in the week to me--not elbowing school-less Saturday from itsthrone; not of course even comparing with the bliss of Friday justafter school, but easily surpassing the procession of four dull,dreaded, droning days the ogre Monday led.
The beauty and fragrance of the summer Sabbath began in the earlymorning, when I went out into the garden, before putting on my Sundayfrock, and picked a quantity of the old-fashioned flowers that grewthere. I arranged them in two flat bouquets, with tall gladiolus stalksbehind and smaller growths ranging down in front so that they might seeand be seen, peeping over each other's heads, when placed against thewall in church.
Then after the great toilet-making of the week we were off. The driveover the prairie in the democrat wagon behind our smartest pair ofplough horses was a pleasure that never grew tame from repetition.Arriving at the church, I would give my bouquets to the oldstoop-shouldered sexton and watch him anxiously as he ambled down theaisle with them. Perhaps my flowers--yes, the very flowers that I haddashed the dew from that morning--would be placed on the pulpit itself,not on the table below, nor yet about the gallery where sat the choir.Then indeed I felt honoured. But wherever they might be, I could watchthem all through the services, perhaps catch their fragrance from somefavouring breeze, and feel that they were own folks from home.
Even sermon time did not seem long. After I had noted the text toprepare for catechism at home, I was free to dream as I chose until therustle of relief at the close of the speaking. And the droning of beesand buzzing of flies, or the sudden clamour of a hen somewhere nearwould come floating in through the open window, and the odour of theflowers and the twigs of the "ellum" tree tapping at the pane helped tomake the little church a haven of restfulness.
But on the Sunday following my awakening I had no care for soundsoutside, no eyes for my bouquets, though they stood at either hand ofthe pulpit; I got permission to sit in Aunt Keren's pew, where I couldsee Aunt Em'ly's face; and all through the sermon I studied it withbig, round eyes.
Yes, and with sorrow growing leaden in my heart.
For I was not old enough to see in her face what it had been, nor toappreciate the fine profile that remained. Hers was not thepink-and-white of rosy girlhood, the only beauty I could understand;and wherein her toil-set features differed from those of the otherdrudging farmers' wives or the shut-in women of the little village, Icould not see.
A lump rose in my throat; this wrinkled and aging person was thebeautiful woman I might take after!
I'm afraid I returned from church that day without the consolations ofreligion.
There followed an anxious time of experimenting. Some one had told methat lemon juice would exorcise freckles, and surreptitiously I triedit. How my face smarted after the heroic treatment, and how red andinflamed it looked! But then in a little while back came the frecklesagain and they stayed, too, until--but how they went, I am to tell you.
I wheedled from mother the privilege of daily wearing my coralbeads--the ones my cousins Milly and Ethel Baker had sent me from NewYork--and had an angry fit of crying when one day, while we childrenwere racing for the schoolhouse door at the end of recess, the stringbroke and they were nearly all trampled upon before I could pick themup.
Youth is buoyant. Next I begged the sheet lead linings of tea chestsfrom the man who kept the general store, and cut them into littlestrips that I folded into hair-curlers, covering them with paper sothat the edges should not cut. I would go to sleep at night with myshort, dampened hair twisted around these contrivances, and in themorning comb it out and admire it as it stood about my head in a bushymass, like the Circassian girl's at the circus.
Thus beautified, I happened one day to meet our white-headed oldpastor! How he stared!
"Stand still a minute, Nelly, child, and let's look at you," hecommanded. "Why, what have you been doing to yourself?"
The good man's accent wasn't admiring; sadly I realised the failure ofmy attempt to compel beauty. When I reached home I sternly soaked thecurl out of my hair, brushed it flat and braided it into twoexceedingly tight pig-tails. Ah, me! It's easy--afterwards--to laugh atthe silent sorrows of childhood, bravely endured alone. At least, it'seasy for me, now!
I began to worry Ma about my clothes. I grew ashamed of red-and-black,pin-checked woollen frocks, and sighed for prettier things. One of thegirls wore at a Sunday school concert a gray and blue dress with manysmall ruffles, that seemed to me as elegant as a duchess could want.The children whispered that it had cost $20, and I wondered if I shouldever again see raiment so wonderful. I knew that it was useless to askfor such a dress for myself; I should be told that I was not old enoughfor fine feathers.
It was our Sabbath day custom to pass directly from the church servicesto those of Sunday school, and drive home after these. One stormy day Iwas the only scholar in my class, and when we had finished the BibleLesson Leaflets and I was watching the long rows of bobbing heads,flaxen and dark, in the pews full of restless, wriggling children, Iturned to the teacher with a question that I had long been meditating.
"Miss Coleman," I began desperately, "ain't there any way to getpretty?"
"I wish there were a way and I knew it," she responded with a smile."But you should say 'isn't,' you know."
"Oh, but you are pretty," I cried, not with the intent of compliment,but as merely stating a fact.
I do not now think that it was a fact. Miss Coleman's features wereirregular, her nose prominent, her forehead too high; but she had afair, pure complexion and fine eyes, and somehow reminded me of thecalla lilly that Ma was always fussing about in our sitting room.
And she was good and wise. I have often thought how different my lifemight have been if her orbit had not briefly threaded mine. If I hadasked that question of some simpering girl a few years older thanI--the average Sunday school teacher--she would have replied, fromunder the flower-burdened hat that had cost her so much thought, thatall flesh was grass and beauty vain; and I should have known that shedidn't believe it.
"For that matter," said Miss Coleman, after a little pause in which sheseemed considering her words with more than usual care, "there are waysof growing beautiful; and, so far as she can, it is a woman's duty toseek them; would you like to know how?"
A duty to be beautiful! Here was novel doctrine.
I gazed with eyes and mouth wide open as she continued: "For one withgood lungs and a sound body, the first law of beauty is to be healthy;and health is not just luck. To get it and keep it seek constantexercise in the open air. Middle-aged women lose their looks becausethey stay in too constantly; when they were girls and playedout-of-doors they had roses in their cheeks. Most handsome women ofsixty are those who go among people and keep their interest in what isgoing on.
"And the second law is intelligence. For thinking gives the eyesexpression. A foolish girl may be fair and rosy, yet far frombeautiful. Many of the world's famous beauties have suffered seriousblemishes; but they have all had wit or spirit to give their facescharm. You have planted flowers?"
"I guess so; yes'm." I didn't see the connection.
"You know then that if you kept digging them to see if they hadsprouted, they never would sprout. So it is not well to think too muchabout growth in beauty. Don't be impatient. It is a work of years. Butthe method is certain, within limits. I should think that by exercisefor the body and study for the mind you might easily become a beautifulwoman. Another thing; don't slouch."
I sat up straight as a grenadier, my shoulders absurdly stiff.
"No, nevermind your shoulders," said Miss Coleman, smiling; "they'lltake care of themselves if you keep your head right. Practise sittingand standing erect. And never wear a corset. If the Almighty had meantwoman to be corset-shaped, He'd have made her so."
The superintendent's bell, tinkling for the closin
g hymn, and therustle of the leaves of singing books broke in upon our talk; for thefirst time I failed to welcome the interruption.
"Why, I've delivered quite a lecture upon beauty," Miss Coleman said."Now just a word more. Try to remember that by making yourself a goodand wise woman you will also make yourself more beautiful."
"Oh, I'll remember; I will!" I cried.
And I have done so! Every word! And if Miss Coleman could only see menow! How could I forget?
I was silent all the way home. At the dinner table, as my father wastucking his napkin under his chin, he said: "Well, Nelly, w'at was Mr.Stoddard's text?"
"I--I guess it was something about the children of Israel."
"Yes, prob'ly it was something about 'em," Pa assented with a chuckle.
But Ma spoke more sharply: "I guess you won't get let to set in AuntKeren-Happuch's pew again right away, Helen 'Lizy." For before mylesson I had once more been studying Aunt Em'ly's face.
I didn't mind the prohibition the least bit. I had a new idea and a newhope. The idea was exaggerated, the hope vain.--Was vain? Ah, it hasbeen more than realised, as you shall hear; realised in a way thatamazes me the more, the more I think upon it. Realised as yours shallbe, some day, through me!
Realised! Great Heavens! It is a miracle!