--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Hoggan, Lella Marler collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 17 number: 11 published: 1914-09 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Hoggan, Lella Marler, "A Righteous Woman’s Recompense", *Improvement Era* 17, no. 11 (September 1914): 1010–1029.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera17011unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera17011unse start_page: 1010 end_page: 1029 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1914-09) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera17011unse publication_year: 1914 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1914, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # A Righteous Woman’s Recompense A Righteous Woman's Recompense BY LELLA MARLER HOGGAN / The Divine Touch "Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death." "And you're really going- away, Willard, to be gone all win- ter?" asked Ethel, for the third time. "Yes," he laughed, "aren't you sorry to see me go ?" "Yes," hesitated Ethel, "I'm sorry, and I'm glad. We shall all miss you, of course but a year at school will mean so much ; to you, that we are willing to forego the pleasure of your society for the winter." "A year isn't much," he meditated. "Just enough to rub a little of the rust off been accumulating- for the past four that's years. I had hoped to be able to go last year, but Jim left for his mission in the spring and father was sick all fall, and that put us late with the crops. We are fortunate this fall in getting through so early." "More good management, than good luck, I guess," laughed Ethel. "You've certainly earned a vacation. But, Willard, what have you been doing, you don't look just like yourself?" ^'Had a hair cut— the first one this summer," he said quietly. "Oh, you foolish fellow! I'm in earnest. You really do look different, tonight." "It's the moon," he said nonsensically. "Things always look different in the moonlight." "Always," she reiterated, catching the note of humor in his voice. "Such a night as this is capable of almost any transformation. I feel like a child of ten, myself." "I can't tell you how I My heart feel,' Ethel. is so full of joy tonight, that I can't find words to express my feelings." "I believe your joy is contagious," she smiled, "even the night birds are calling jokes to each other." "That hoot owl, for instance," he retorted. "Poor, melancholy, old fellow He has caught your spirit of ridicule, and is ! trymg to jeer me out of my joy. But you're both failing utterly I feel more joyous every moment. If I were only a boy of ten'" he mused, "only a boy of ten." A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENSE 1011 She did not reply. She pulled a few crimson leaves from the tangle of vines on the porch and slowly tore them to bits. The big, handsome man arose from the porch steps and shook himself, and walked slowly down to the gate. "If I were only a boy of ten," he repeated to himself, "then I could tell her. But I am not." His strong face was set in lines of determination. He stood silent. The harvest moon moved along its path of light. Some little animal scurried through the dead leaves. He bowed his head upon his arm, as he leaned against the gate post. "Dear God," he whispered. ."You know how it is. Save her if you can. But however it goes, help me to be a man." He walked slowly back and sat down on the steps. "Harvest moon, isn't it?" he said, simply. Ethel replied by asking some question concerning his school, whereupon the conversation drifted at once into a pleasant channel again. His face glowed with animation as he told her of his plans. Many little pleasantries passed between them, and the evening came to a close all too soon. Ethel said good bye in her own frank, sweet manner, wishing him success in his work. Willard clasped her hand firmly, and replied to her good wishes with his usual whole-souled gladness. — — He turned to go hesitated a moment and then taking both her hands in his, he stooped and kissed them tenderly. Ethel stood silent in astonishment. Had he asked her to wait for him she would not have been surprised. Had he kissed her in his usual frank manner she would not have wondered but ; for Willard Taylor, so plain, and unconventional, and so altogether void of sentimental folly, to kiss her hands, seemed almost ludicrous. For a moment she was tempted to laugh outright. But she did not laugh. A strange, new joy was surging through her whole being. She clasped her hands together, she pressed them to her lips. She closed her eyes and recalled it all again, — and again. That this big, clean, generous man, who had been — her play fellow since she was a child, had reverentlly stooped and kissed her hands, was not a thing to be laughed at. She would cherish it in her memory, forever. Her pulses throbbed. Every fibre of her fresh young womanhood answered to the call of virtuous manhood that had been sent thrilling through her being by that sacred kiss. It was but a prophecy of all the blessings God held in store for her. She would keep her mind and body pure and sweet, in order that that prophecy might be completely fulfilled. Perhaps there is no woman in the world who does not at some time in her life, feel the divine touch in her heart. It may be a picture or a bit of song, or a bird's call in the twilight, or a cloud kissing a purple mountain at dawn. Whatever it is, it 1012 IMPROVEMENT ERA touches her heart with a strange thrill, as if a divine hand were upon her. For one holy moment, it is as if the curtains of eternity had been rent asunder and all things stood revealed. And then it is gone and she is on the earth again, and she remembers only the picture, or the song, or the painted landscape. But in her heart she knows that something has happened, somewhere, before the world was, and all unconsciously, she prays that it may happen again. Ethel Barton had felt that divine touch, and though she could not explain it to herself, she felt that this night had revealed her comrade and old play fellow in a new light. And that he was to help her in the working out of her destiny here in the earth life. And not until the next day did it dawn upon Ethel, that Willard Taylor had not in any way avowed himself her suitor. He had spoken no words of love to her. He had not even asked her to write to him. A mingled feeling of disappointment and wonder filled her heart. What did he mean? Willard was too honest to deceive any woman, of that she was certain, but if he held her sacredly in his heart, why had he not bound her by some promise, to be true to him ? Why he had not done so, she could not tell. However, she would sacredly cherish the beautiful . token that stood between them; it was more than a mere good bye. And even as she vowed in her heart to be true to him, a shadow fell across her path, a light footstep was on the graveled — walk, and looking up she encountered a stranger a gentleman of refinement and polish, different from any man she had ev-r met before. In answer to his inquiry she directed him to the home of Mr. Johnson, one of the village school trustees. The stranger's deep, soft accent, his cultured speech, and his easy, graceful manner, together wtih the fact that he was in search of the clerk of the school board, confirmed to Ethel the fact that he was the new professor, who was to be principal of the school for the coming year. "Oh, fudge! Men are all alike," retorted Cecil Miller. "I wouldn't marry the best man on earth, unless he were handsome and wealthy." "And gave you the opportunity," added Florence Lindsay. "Opportunity?" ejaculated Cecil. "We make our own opportunities in this world. I think we can have anything we want, if we^are willing to wait for it and pay the price, when it comes."' "Right you are," laughed Ethel Barton. "Cecil is forever in some good man's shadow. — Emerson this time, isn't it ? 'What will you have?' quoth God, 'pay for it and take it.' I think she is fonder of the men who have become great and gone to heaven, than she is of the poor fellows struggling along here in the earth." A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENSE 1013 "Oh, I don't object to a man in a book," confirmed Cecil, "they don't have to be fed nor fussed over every half hour in the day. But when I undertake to cook for a reality, and do his washing, and mending, and housekeeping, and raise soldiers and senators for him, as a side issue, — believe me, I intend to look into his financial affairs first." "Yes," drawled Florence Lindsay, "but if you find a man who is wealthv and handsome, take my word for it, he'll be mean and grouchy." "I don't know," mused Cecil, "but I think if one should look long enough, and hard enough, the thing is possible. I really do 1eli°ve we can get almost anything we desire in life, if we are willing to pay the price." "Yes, but the thines that we want the most are generally too expensive," remarked Florence Lindsay. "Then you don't want them very badly," asserted Cecil. "Anything that isn't worth paying for, isn't worth having." For a moment there was silence in the room, and all seemed to be intent upon their work. The Girls' Literary Club had held their meeting at Florence Lindsay's home. Having been previonslv invited to remain to supper, they had supplied themselves with art needle work and were spending the intervening time between literary work and supper in pleasant work and a little jolly gossip. Ethel Barton broke the silence. "Well, Florence," she said, sweetlv, "let us not turn this into a Quakers' meeting. I'm getting sleepy." "T was trying to tell you about our new professor," Florence replied, "but Cecil interrupted me with her extravagant notions of marriage." "I humbly beg your pardon," said Cecil, in mock gravity. "I am indeed full of regrets to know that T spoiled so good a story. By all means continue the tale of woe." "Yes, indeed, we all want to hear more about him," urged several of the girls. "And if Cecil interrupts you again," suggested Ethel Barton, "we shall appoint a sergeant-at-arms to escort her to the front porch until the story is finished." "I shall be as dumb as a deaf hermit," vowed Cecil, nonsensically, at the same time placing her fingers over her lips with studied seriousness. "Is he handsome?" "How old is he?" "Where is he from?" "Is he married?" "Is he sweet tempered or is he grouchy?" And thus the girls babbled on, asking questions too rapidly to be answered, until Ethel Barton interrupted them with, "Ladies. T believe Florence Lindsav ha^ tine floor. The chair will now hear from Miss Lindsay." And without further con- 1014 IMPROVEMENT ERA sideration Florence continued her report of the new professor. "Of course he is unmarried," remarked Florence, "or I should not be telling you anything about him. He isn't as young and handsome as some men I have known, but he is altogether lovely. I am sure you will all admire him as soon as you see him. He is rather quiet and serious and tender and kind and well— I can't tell just how he is, only he is just right. When you are around where he is you feel as if you had to be awfully nice and sweet and quiet. He is so different from most men, that one is almost tempted to fall in love with him at first sight." "I'm afraid," drawled Cecil Miller, in an aggravating tone, "that the sergeant-at-arms will have to escort me to the front porch." Ethel Barton, who had assumed the responsibility of chairman arose quietly and with mock dignity appointed a sergeant-at-arms to escort Cecil to the porch. After a little more nonsense and laughter Florence continued "Of course, Mr. Gordon doesn't belong to our church in- ; deed, I do not think he belongs to anv church, judging from t % e way he spoke to father last night. But I'm sure he's a perfect gentleman and mother says you can tell from his looks that he is a good man. Anyway, girls, I'm sure you will think he is the nicest fellow you ever met, when you do see him." "Has the tale ended?" called Cecil from the porch. "I've lost n-ry thimble and I shall have to come in to find it." "I guess that's the end, Cecil, for I can hear mother and Louise calling the boys to supper," answered Florence. Just then Mrs. Lindsay appeared in the doorway, and embroidery hooks and bits of work were hurriedly tucked into leather bags as the girls arose and stretched themselves and peeped into the several mirrors about the room to adjust their combs and curls. "Where is Mr. Gordon?" asked Father Lindsay, as they all seated themselves at the table. "He went down by the river for a drive, after school," answered Mrs. Lindsay, "and he has not yet returned." "He said he would be back in an hour," muttered Florence, impatiently. "You ought to have told him that Floss had company, Ma, and probably he'd have made it in time for supper," suggested Mr. Lindsay, jokingly. "It is certainly too bad you didn't tell him, Mrs. Lindsay," said Cecil, mischievously. "I'm afraid we're all so disappointed that we shall not be able to eat any suoper," whereupon she assisted herself to a generous helping of chicken. "Oh well, he will be here before the girls leave, anyway," spoke Mrs. Lindsay assuringly. A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENSE 1015 They all laughed and chatted and ate heartily, as girls usually v (o at a good old-fashioned country supper; but although t e meal 1 was somewhat prolonged Mrs. Lindsay's new boarder did not appear. And shortly after supper the girls returned home laughing and chattering and joking half seriously about their disappointment at not meeting the new professor. The girls had all gone except Ethel Barton. She lived two miles out of town and could not go until her brother called for her. And as the minutes lengthened into half hours she became more and more impatient. "Something must be wrong," she ejaculated. "If he isn't here soon I shall not wait. It will not take me long to walk out home." "You couldn't think of walking tonight, Ethel," objected Mr. Lindsay. "The wind is blowing and I'm afraid it's going to be a pretty rough night. If George doesn't get here soon, you'll have to wait till Gordon comes with the horse and let Parley take you out." "Oh, I cannot wait much longer," said Ethel, emphatically. "I would sooner walk than to drive — after dark, anyway." The truth of the matter was, Ethel did not fear the drive as much as she feared that Gordon would arrive and find her still there, waiting to meet him, as it were. The thought maddened her he must not see her tonight. She did not want to meet him. ; But before Mr. Gordon reached the place a neighbor called in to say that Ned Barton had had an accident and would not be coming for his sister. "I knew something was wrong," reiterated Ethel. "Is it anything serious, Mr. Johnson?" "I do not think so," he said, assuringly. "I didn't see Ned. Your father said he'd had a little accident and could not come for you tonight. And he asked me to call and tell you." The Lindsays insisted on Ethel remaining over night, but she positively refused. "No," she said, "Aunt Lucy doesn't feel well, and now that Ned is hurt she will need me. Besides, I could not content myself to stay without knowing more about the accident. In her sympathy for her brother, Ethel had forgotten Mr. Gordon, but even as they spoke she heard the wheels of a vehicle in the back yard and she knew that at \ ne t ^f h^ rnme.r1 Mr. Lindsay heard the wheels, too, and he called to Air. Gordon not to unhitch, as they wished to use the horse. Eor a moment there w as a pause and all was quiet, save a r little flutter of dishes in the kitchen, as Mrs. Lindsay prepared the table for her boarder. And then Ethel Barton stood face to face with Prof. Eueene Gordon. 1016 IMPROVEMENT ERA Of course, a formal introduction was made and some com- monplace things were said, none of which Ethel remembered. As for Gordon, he only knew that he had met a pure, beau- tiful woman. He heard Mr. Lindsay's explanations as to Ethel's predicament and at once settled all difficulties by emphatically announcing that he would drive out to Miss Barton's with her. He had been to supper, so they immediately departed. Gordon tried to be an agreeable companion, but they were both in a medi- tative frame of mind, and so conversation lagged. And more than once they found themselves silently watching the stars and listening to the wind as it rushed through the trees along the lane and galloped across the open fields in high glee. When she thanked him at the door for his kindness, he said the pleasure was all his, and he hoped she would some dav let him come in daylight so he could see her pretty home to advantage. "Tt is beautiful in daylight," she replied looking- at t^e hedge and the vine tangled porch, "and we shall all be glad to have you come when you wish." And although they were both thinking about it, neither of them mentioned the fact that Prof. Gordon had already seen her home in daylight. "I must not keep you from your brother," he finallv said. "I know you are anxious to be with him." He took her hand lightly in his and bowed low, — for a moment she feared he was going to kiss her hand,—but no, he had raised his hat and was moving gracefully towards the gate. For a moment she contemplated his fine, symmetrical figure, his polished manners, his deep soft prcer-K his cultured face, his soft white i-^1c -,.i-,~ n j n k„. fore her. lounging on the porch steps she could see a big, plain man. — 'Had a hair cut the first one this summer," he was saying— and again— "If I were only a boy of ten." Ethel did not hear the front p^te nn-»n shut n^r ri; r1 she hear the sound of a horse's hoofs as Prof. Gordon drove down the long lane and out into the public road. She was held in the power of the divine touch. And all the sweetness of her fresh young womanhood went out to the man, who in memory, was reverently kissing her hands. She could not measure his manhood by his beauty, his polished manners, nor his cultured speech ; for his was the manliness of virtue, of reverence, of power. Although Ned Barton was not seriously in hired, still he was badly bruised, and was compelled to keep to his bed for several weeks. But brave-h°arted Ethel Barton made no comoUint. She remained at home nursing her brother, assisting Aunt quietly, Lucv. her sten-mother. and comforting and helning her father and her younger brothers and sisters. And all the while her heart was full of glad dreams and happy plans for the future Tt A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENSE 1017 was during those long- autumn days at home that her father and step-mother told her of her dear, dead mother, who had passed away while Ethel was but a baby; and of her early life with her grandmother; and of many other experiences of which she had never before spoken freely with them. And although her time was so completely occupied with her home folks and home duties, still she did not complain. She would often tell Ned, jokingly, that it was a good thing he had been ill for a while, for it had given them all an opportunity of becoming acquainted, for the fir c t time in their lives. She had been to town onlv a few t^" "^ 1 but she had met Prof. Gordon on almost every occasion. Once he hid sent a roll of magazines out to her father, again he had loaned her a choice book, and at their last meeting, he had insisted on her taking out some new musical selections, which he wanted her to assist him in presenting in a school- concert, later in the vear. All of these little courtesies coming from a man of his type and standing in the community gave Ethel a keen sense of pleasure. And although town gossip had informed her that he was the avowed escort of Florence Lindsay, still she felt a little thrill of triumph when he repeatedly bestowed his little remembrances upon her. Finally, however, Ned was himself again, and Ethel's usual pleasures and duties were taken up with fresh enthusiasm. She and Ned had been invited to an evening social at the home of Ce^'l Miller and she had been requested to bring her music. She was carefully selecting a few titles she thought most appropriate for the eveninp", when Ned came bounding in from school. "Here's a letter from Willard Tavlor," he announced "shall ; T read it first?" "No. thank you," she smiled, "I think I can find time to read it myself." She took the letter from his hand and smiled again as she recognized the handwriting — strong and plain, but still somewhat of a scrawl. Tt was a jolly school letter, telling of his work and his fun and asking all about the affairs at home. At —— supper time she read it aloud to the family all save the post script —that was sacred to her, for it read, "Don't forget that night under the harvest moon." , Thev were a little hte for the oarty but Cecil greeted them heartilv as she met them in the hall. "I am so glad you have come. We were afraid you were not coming: and we have been needing von so badly." "You are not going to put me to work so soon, are you?" laughed Ethel. "I shall have to," persisted Cecil in desperation. "Neither Lucy nor Georsre are here yet. and Florence brought onlv one piece of music." 1018 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Oh, you're a treasure, Ethel!" she ejaculated, picking up the scroll of music that Ethel had tucked behind a potted palm. "I knew you wouldn't fail me." The guests greeted Ethel cordially and at once began bom- barding her with jests, for her long absence from them. "You need not desert us completely," teased Fred Brown, "just because Willard Taylor has." "You can see that she's guilty," added another, not giving her time to answer. "Yes, I'm guilty of anything, everything, only, don't all attack me at once," laughed Ethel, glad to hide her blushes under the pretext of confusion. When they were quiet Roy Hardy asked in an exasperating tone,^ "Well, Ethel, how is Willard, anyway ?" "He is feeling fine and enjoying his work," 'he said in an unconcerned tone; "I had a letter 'from him today." _ Prof. Gordon moved uneasily in his chair. Florence Lindsay noticed it with a little pang of bitterness. But she lifted herself to the occasion and asked Ethel to sing for them. Ethel was glad to turn their thoughts to other channels, for it pained her to hear Willard's name spoken so lightly by her friends. He was not just the comrade of old; for she could never again forget that night under the harvest moon. But she played and sang and acted like her dear, charming self, and no one knew that pretty Ethel Barton had found a new world. Prof. Gordon entered into the games cheerfully but he was somewhat more reserved and quiet than usual. Cecil Miller was a charming hostess and as usual was refreshingly humorous. After serving delicious refreshments she insisted on her guests remaining for a few games she had provided. Ethel begged to be excused as she had promised to bring Ned home early, and Prof. Gordon declined to play, saying he would watch the games. But as soon as Ethel left the room the games lost their interest for him, and he went in search of her. He found her in the dining room waiting for her brother to finish a game of checkers with Frank Miller. "Miss Barton," he said, lightly touching her arm, "you are n~t going home, now?" Ned finishes this game," she reolied, pleasantlv. ^'As soon as 1mUSt Speak with you one mom ent first," he whispered 'mt-u U kmdIy step int0 Dr Miner's study for just a A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENSE 1019 "It is you who is waiting," she laughed. "I told you long ago you might come." "That was whsn your brother was ill. That wis an age ago." Ethel smiled but moved uneasily toward the door. "If it is not impertinent, Miss Barton," lie pursued, "there is one question I would like to ask you before I come." "Certainly, Prof. Gordon." "Who is Willard Taylor?" Ethel's heart fluttered at his unexpected question, but she calmly replied "My school fellow and comrade since I was a little girl of ten." "And where is he, now?" "He is away this winter," she said simply, "attending school." "And now," he said, with a satisfied smile, "if you forgive my inquisitiveness, I'm going to make that date." Ethel turned, half uneasily, toward the door. "Yes, Miss Barton," he preceded her, "you must go now. And you will let me come out to your home to see you?" "We shall be glad to see you." "And you will not mind if I come soon?" "No." "Very soon?" "Tomorrow, if you like." "Thank you, little woman, and God bless you," he said "good night."" He was holding her hand, and looking tenderly into her eyes. "Good night," she said. And then Prof. Gordon joined the guests in the reception room and Ethel Barton rode home with her brother under the radiant moon, in the cold, beautiful night. II — The Price of Truth A feeling of sincere friendship and tender sympathy was established between Ethel Barton and Prof. Gordon and during ; the remainder of the winter the little god of love held their destinies in the scales of prudence and conventionality. But when eaorieious spring came, bounding into he'- heritage, c h~ not onlv laughed the hoary winter out of countenance, and set the world atretnMe and ablaze, but she also turned the gray mists into ro^ecolored veils of beauty and filled the atmosphere with sweet odors and glad music. The life of the earth was resurrected from its long death-like slumber; and out of the fulness of the rosy dawn, Cupid glinted his shafts anew and began his play of casting, with as much iovous gu c to ns if h'^ gfpme were a^ new as the earlv dawn instead of being: as old as the acres. And the affairs of 1020 IMPROVEMENT ERA lovers became romantic and fascinating and, sometimes, almost tragic. There were school parties, and class parties, and out-ofdoor socials, and canyon excursions until old and young almost ; wearied of entertainments. The days were 'made to order," until one moring spring grew freakish, and, forgetting all her gentl manners, greeted the lilttle village with a frowning countenance followed hv a drenching of tears. Mud, of course, was the aftermath. Mud, sticky and black and deep in all the country roads and lanes and hollows. It was the darkest, muddiest night of the season, when the Ladies' Literary Club came straggling into Cecil Miller's home to complete their preparations for the reception to the district school teachers. Out at her home Ethel Barton waited with impatience for the sound of wheels on the graveled walk. More than once she walked out on the porch and peered into the darkness and listened. She could hear the drinping rain as a little gust of wind shook the wet trees that was all. ; was past the hour set for the party to begin. She must It not, she could not, disappoint the girls. So, donning a A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENS1 1021 about it. He was still holding her hand as they drove on in the darkness. "Well, girlie," he laughed, "if you came out to welcome me home, I must not scold you. I'll call for you next time, and see that you do not get so muddy." Ethel wanted to cry more than ever, but she could not tell him, now. Besides, she could not forget that vivid, handsome face that she had been watching and obeying for so many weeks. Where was Prof. Gordon? Her heart was in a tumult. "I am on my way to Cecil Miller's," Willard explained, "and I came this way to avoid that bad lane in front of Wilson's. I suppose you are going to Cecil's aren't you?" he asked. "Yes," replied Ethel, "I am. And I am indeed glad that you happened to come this way. I was about to give up, in sheer desperation, and go back home. I had no idea the roads were so bad, or I should never have attempted to walk." "It certainly is not very pleasant walking tonight," he consented. And then he proceeded to tell Ethel of some amusing incidents connected with the storm. "I would have called for you," he said, "but I thought, of course, you would be gone by this hour." More than once during the ride Willard wondered what had induced Ethel to walk in to town alone on such a night. But he was too much of a gentleman to either twit or question her concerning the matter. In fact, he avoided mentioning the episode, and put Ethel entirely at her ease by keeping up a pleasant and somewhat humorous conversation, during the entire drive. Ethel had laughed herself into a cheerful mood and had almost forgotten the condition of her hair and her skirts, when they drove up to Miller's long, low porch just in time to see Prof. Gordon assisting Florence Lindsay from his vehicle. Willard greeted Florence cordially and stood waiting. Ethel hastily forgot her own embarrassment and presented Willard to Prof. Gordon. They exchanged greetings, and the four young people entered the house in a group each one smiling ; and pretending to be entirely at ease, and each one hiding a question mark in his heart. No opportunity for explanation was afforded during the evening, and when, at the close of the party, the guests began to depart, Willard Taylor and Eugene Gordon assisted their ladies into their wraps and their carriages as gracefully and as gallantly as if each were escorting the lady of his choice, according to arrangement. Of course, Ethel Barton did not know that Prof. Gordon ha I been unavoidably detained in town until a late hour; that, as a matter of courtesy, he had invited Florence Lindsay to ride over to Cecil Miller's with him and that he was on his way to her ; 1022 IMPROVEMENT ERA home when he met her in company with Willard Taylor at Miller's back porch. Neither did Prof. Gordon know why Ethel had come to the party with another escort instead of waiting for him. And he did not feel free to seek or make an explanation. To add to the difficulty, Ethel accepted more than one invitation from Willard Taylor to attend socials and entertainments. She was obligated to attend the entertainments, to assist with the musical numbers of the program and, of course, she could not go ; without an escort. And so the tangle in their skein of love grew more intricate from day to day. And not until the day of the canyon excursion, did Gordon muster sufficient courage to demand an explanation. It was late in the afternoon. All day long Willard Taylor had assiduously devoted himself to Ethel Barton. He had assisted her in the rugged climb up the mountain, in order that she might secure a better view of the canyon. He had hunted and carried her specimens and souvenirs of the trip. He had helped to prepare the noon luncheon and to arrange a cozy corner among the pines where the ladies might rest while the boys were fishing. And even now, he was making his way into a deep ravine in search of a cool spring, in order that he might secure her a refreshing drink of water. Ethel stood alone amid a little clump of trees, leaning against a half fallen quaking-asp. Her face wore a sad expression and there was a spirit of dejection in her very attitude. For the first time during the day she had permitted herself to remember the bitterness in her own heart. She had hoped that Prof. Gordon would find an opportunity during the day to make some explanation of his actions during the past week. Now the day was almost at the close and he had spoken no word nor had he made any attempt at reconciliation. Perhaps, after all, he did not care. And she had been foolish enough to think he really cared for her. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the leaves from a little branch near by. Her face was drawn with pain and her serious eyes were bright with unshed tears. She heard a step behind her, but she did not look up. Her heart told her who was near. And when she heard a deep, tender voice speak her name she tried to smile and answer pleasantly; but a sob was in her voice and a tear was on her white cheek. "I am so glad I have found you alone," said Eugene Gordon, in a low, earnest tone. "I have been trying, all day, to speak with you. Ethel Barton, little girl of mine, tell me what is the matter. Surely, this is all a mistake. You have not purposely put me aside for this old friend, have you?" He, too, was leaning against the tree. She could feel his breath on her cheek and she knew that earnest eyes were searching her face for his answer,. but she could not look into his face. A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENSE 1023 "It is all a mistake," he whispered, confusedly. "1 am sure it is all a mistake." He lowered his voice and for a moment his strong, warm nan 1 clasped her trembling fingers. "Some one is coming from the ravine," he said. ''We haven't time for an explanation, now; hut yon must smile once and i 11 me it is all right, before I go. Yon understand, don't you, little woman?" Their eyes met in one long understanding glance. Ethel smiled through her tears into his earnest, happy face. "It is all right," she whispered, "I understand." Because of his faithful, diligent services during the winter, the students and school trustees were giving Prof. Gordon a farewell party and banquet at the home of Mr. Lindsay. The Ladies' Literary Club had kindly consented to prepare the banquet. It was the night before the party. Every preparation was as nearly complete as was possible at that time. Ethel Barton, who had been assisting the Literary Club during the afternoon, walked home alone in the early dusk, with a heart full of happy anticipations. Only once since the canyon excursion had she seen Prof. Gordon but the sincere kindliness ; of his greeting at that time had reassured her. Again an ugiin 1 she recalled the little incident at the ravine. The only thing that saddened her was the thought of Willard Taylor. He had never expressed any sentiments other than friendship for her. But she could not forget that night under the harvest moon. Of course, he had always been h r I) -t iv'wn 1 and she owed him her confidence. More than once she tried to tell him, but the words caught in her throat and her parched lips refused to utter them. Willard was so clean, and generous and sincere, and she had loved him so long; it was hard to give him pain. But this new friend, this charming, magnetic gentleman could not be denied. He was so strong, so compelling and yet so gentle and persuasive that he had won her heart before she r-alized it. He had created a new heaven and a n w earth for her. There was a light spring to her steps as she hurried along in the twilight. Her heart was singing the glad song of youth, the song of hope, and love, satisfaction. "Every one must be away from home," she mused as she opened the front gate. Everything was so quiet. But on entering the diningroom, she discovered her father sitting by the window alone in the twilight. He greeted her kindly, as usual, and explained that the other members of the family were away spending the evening. "Why did you not go with them, father?" she asked, coming over to him at "once and caressing his hair. "Aren't yon well?" 1024 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Oh, yes; I'm all right," he assured her, "just a little weary is Besides, my girl, I've been wanting to have a talk with all. you for a long time and I thought tonight would be a good ; chance." A strange fear crept into Ethel's breast, as if someone had suddenly pressed a cold hand upon her heart. The serene, hopeful song in her bosom died away, faint and fearful and her being ; was filled with a sort of wild apprehension, a prophetic fear of some calamity that was just ahead, some ordeal she would have to meet. But she summoned all her fortitude, and with a prayer in her heart that God would help her to do the thing that he desired her to do, she drew a chair up beside her father and seated herself calmly. "Shall 1 bring a light, papa, or shall we sit here in the twilight?" she asked quietly. "Never mind the light, my girl," he replied. "I can think better in the dusk, and probably I can talk better, too. There's a good many things I want to say to you, Ethel, and I've been thinking of late that maybe I had better -say them right away, before it is too late." And then he sat silent again, silent for so long a time that the stillness became oppressive. "Ethel, my little girl," he said, at last, "I want to ask you a question." "Yes, papa, what is it?" "Is this young professor, this Gordon, serious in his attentions to you ?" For a moment Ethel did not reply, and her father continued, "I mean, my girl, has he told you of his regard for you has he ; spoken to you of marriage?" "No, indeed, papa !" was her quick reply. "I am very glad to know I have spoken in time," continued her father. "Maybe I am mistaken, but it has seemed to me, for some time now, that Gordon is rather serious in his attentions to you. As I say, Ethel, maybe I am mistaken. I hope I am. I hope, too, my girl, that you have not been so foolish as to become infatuated with a man of whose life and character you know so little. But whatever your feelings are, I am sure I can depend upon you to do what is right. You will not deceive me, will you, my girl?" "No father, I shall not deceive you." Her voice was hoarse w itli emotion and she felt grateful for the sheltering darkness. "I have a story to tell you, Ethel the story of your birth- ; right. I should have told you long ago, but perhaps I am not too late, even now." Again Mr. Barton sat very still for a long time, then he began slowly "It takes a good deal of courage for a man to give up a beautiful little home, his relatives, and his friends and journey ; A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENSE 1025 wtih his little family into the wilderness, into a land that lie knows is inhabited only by savage Indians and wild animals. But that's what your grandfather Bennett did, my girl. And his little family never wavered in their determination to go with him. Your grandmother was a heroine by birth. Her ancestors were among the early settlers of America and she was as proud ; of her courage and her blue blood, as women are now-a-days of their jewels and fine clothes and their pretty faces. 'Jim Bennett,' she said, 'you are not strong, you are not able to make that hard trip alone. But we'll go with you and stay by you and help you over the hard places.' And so, with a smile on their lips and a prayer in their hearts, they turned their faces toward the setting sun; and with unfaltering steps, began their journey into the great unknown West. And like the Israelites of old, they went their way uncomplaining, nor did they look back to the treasures they had left behind. When your grandfather fell ill, your grandmother's faith and zeal were increased. Long miles she trudged across the barren waste singing, and cheering her companions onward. And when in the quiet evening of one long, lv dv 1 > - i . your grandfather's spirit took its flight, she bowed down beneath her burden of sorrow, but she never wavered in her faith or her courage to go forward. She watched in silence while his body was concealed in an unmarked grave. And she uttered no cry whm a fire was built on the snot to further obliterate his h c f r c ting place. 'God help me! God help me!' was all the white lips uttered as the charred grave faded from view in the distance and flip wagon train wound on across the graw nameless nrairie. ^nd through the long years of hardships and trial that followed, she remained faithful to God's people and to His cause. She made her home a place of good cheer and she never failed in her words and work of comfort and consolation to those who were in need. With such a parent, it is no wonder that vonr mother came into her heritage, as a daughter in Israel, with a happy heart and a hopeful spirit. Her very life was a bright sunbeam. The gospel seemed to be a part of her being. And she never hesitated in fulfilling any call that it brought to her. 'I thank God for my birth- right,' she would say, 'and I do pray that I may never be disinherited.' I shall never forget how beautiful and happy she looked on our wedding day as we ent red tlv House of {' T oH | united. the dream of all my days,' she said. And I cannot 'It is tell you of the long, happy days that followed. Often and often we would 9iv tW it was al^o^t ton good to be true. There was but one thing that marred the happiness of our dear little home. We had been married three vears -md we were s : 1 1 childless. Then one glad dav my sweetheart crept into my arms and whim- little pered the secret to me that completed our jov. God had answered our prayers a child was to be given us." ; 1026 IMPROVEMENT ERA Her father paused in his story and a little sigh escaped Ethel's lips. He took her hand tenderly in his and continued "You can never know how happy it made us, little girl. Through the long days your mother was busy making things ready for your coming. And the evenings were happier than they had ever been before. Then came a call for me to go away and preach the gospel. At first, I hesitated. Perhaps it would be better for me to wait, I thought. But your mother was a little saint, through and through, and she would not listen to such a thing. She said God would take care of her and I must have faith enough to leave her in his charge. So, with many misgivings and with somewhat of a sad heart, I kissed my noble little wife good bye and went out into the world to carry the message of truth to the children of men. The waiting days were long, anxious ones to me but the cheerful, happy letters of my loved one reassured me, ; and helped me to do mv work faithfullv and well. Then, one day, came the long looked-for letter, which filled my heart with untold happiness. It was all over. My dear, brave wife had passed through the wonderful experience of becoming a mother. God had blessed us with a little daughter. I was a father. Just what joy and hope and ambitions that gave me, you cannot know. For a while I could hardly content myself with my work. I wanted to fly home to my wife and baby. But I knew she would not welcome me until I had completed my work and, therefore. I compelled myself to be satisfied, and I continued my labors with a new hope and energy. Finally, my mission was almost finish' 1 Tn a few more weeks I would see my wife and baby. Then came a message for me to come home immediately. My dear one was not expected to live. We could not travel in those days as quickly as we can today. But I went with the greatest haste possible. And only God knows what suspense I suffered during those long hours. I reached home in time to say good bye before her sweet spirit took its flight. 'Good bye,' she said. 'God bless you Take ! care of our little one. Teach her to love her birthright as I have loved mine.' And then she was gone." When he could speak ap-ini. he said. "Your mother's in n i" was Ethel. You are so much like her. You have been the comfort of my life and I must not lose you. The gospel has cost us the life of two brave, sweet souls. And vet it is still the light of my life and yours. You are a daughter in Israel. Tell, me, my girl, are you going to be true to your birthright?" Ethel rose pale and trembling. For a moment she looked into her father's eyes earnestly, and then she stooped and kissed his lios. "Yes. father." she whi^o o red. hoars°lv\ "no matter what it may cost me, I shall be true to mv birthright." There was a sound of wheels on the graveled walk. "Goodnight," she added, tenderlv, "G-d bless you." "Peace be with you. A RIGHTEOUS WOMAN'S RECOMPENSE 1027 my girl," was all he said, as she fled to her room, in time to avoid greeting the home folks as they came noisily into the house. Clad in a soft, becoming gown, Ethel sat alone in the twilight, idly fingering the keys of the piano. Alittle breeze, heavy with t^e swe t odor of lilacs and apple blossoms, ruffled the white curtain at the open window. From the luxuriant lilac hedge came the chirp of a night bird calling to his mate while out of a cluster of ; pink peach blossoms a muffled twitter sounded in reply. Ethel sat quiet for a moment and listened. Then, for the fourth time, she stepped out onto the front porch and peered into the gathering dusk. She waited, and listened, and looked again, and a little sigh of disappointment escaped her lips. The old garden was vibrating with life and love and fragrance and beauty. But her heart was too heavy to answer nature's challenge of gladness. Tomorrow, Eugene Gordon would leave the little town. And he had not yet come to make the explanation he had promised. Ethel did not attend the social given by the students and trustees in his honor. Her father was ill and she had tried to make herself believe that his illness had kept her at home. But in her heart she knew that it was the fear of meeting Prof. Gordon that had kept her away from him. Her mother's dying wish for her was burning itself into her very soul. She had made a sacred promise to her father to fulfil that wish. And she feared lest she should not be strong enough to keep that promise. Until tonight, she had avoided meeting Prof. Gordon. But now that the time of departure had come, she felt that she could not let him go without saying good bve. Her soul was filled with an intense desire that was little short of madness. She must look upon his face again, she must hear him whisper her name, she must touch his hand once more. Then, she would say good bye forever, he would go out of her life, and she would try to forget. She was too uneasy to remain quietly indoors and yet the ; sweet incense of the spring night almost stifled her, and the loveladen messages from bird throat to bird throat, mocked her own loneliness and despair. It was growing dark. The fruit blossoms were already hidden in the dusky foliage, and the path down the shadowy lane was too uncertain to be watched any longer. Would he not come, after all? Had she looked upon his face for the last time? No, she would tolerate no such disappointment. The very intensity of her desire to see him must bring him to her. She tried to reassure herself by claying a tender little snatch of a song, but her finger*: lost themselves and the notes drawled out in a lone discord. And then she heard a footstep on the graveled walk and her heart stood still. For one sacred moment she dropped her white face into her hands. ''God help me." she breathed devoutly. "God help me! 1028 ' IMPROVEMENT ERA Amen." The next moment she answered the light rap on the door with a pleasant "Good evening, Prof. Gordon, come in!" "You would not come to me," he said, smiling, as he took her — hand, "and so I have come to you to say good bye," he added, after a little pause. "I am sorry, Prof. Gordon," she said, earnestly, "that I could not attend the party given for you." "Then you knew, and were not there," he said, disappointment sounding in every tone. "My father is ill," was her quiet reply. This bit of information put them on open friendship terms again, for Gordon was exceptionally fond of Ethel's father. Ethel invited him to her father's room and Mr. Barton greeted him cordially. The short, cheerful interview that followed made them all feel happier. Later in the evening they strolled out through the old garden and sat on a rustic seat beneath the flowering fruit tr°e. T1 i" white moon beams filtered through the sweet scented branches, and the rustle of the evening breeze showered fragrant pct°h i" the grass at their feet. They spoke of Prof. Gordon's work and his students and, of their childhood days and their present am- ; bitions. And under the magic spell of the night Ethel forgot the proprieties of time and place, and she felt half ashamed that Prof. Gordon found it necessary to remind her of such conventionalities. "I must go now, little girl," he said, "I am afraid I have already kept you out later than I should. But before I say goodbye, girl of mine, I must tell you what has brought me to you tonight. I have come to tell you life's sweetest story. Ethel Barton, lilttle woman," he whispered, "I love you as I have never loved any woman before." Ethel could feel his strong hands clasping her own firmly. His warm breath was on her cheek and his earnest gaze was searching her face. But she did not move nor speak. "Look into my eves, Ethel," he continued earnestly, "tell me you understand girl of mine. You will wait for me ? Yon ; will be true to me? You will be my own sweet wife, someday?" Ethel started, and drew back, as if suddenly awakened from a dream. "Oh, no, no, no Prof. Gordon, you must not say the words, ! you must not." "Ethel Barton," he exclaimed, with white lips, "Ethel Barton, soul ofmy soul, you have not deceived me ? no You shall ! not deceive me. You do love me, little woman. Tell me, you do love me." "Better than all the world." she whisoered hoarselv. For one brief moment she was held close to Prof. Gordon's heart, his lips met hers. Then with a great effort, she drew herself away. A RIGHTEOl S WOMAN'S RECOMPENS1 L029 "No, no, no!" she repeated. "You must not. You must not. I can never, never be your wife." "What is it, Ethel, my girl? have never deceived you, I Yon may look into mv past. have kept myself clean and hon- I orable before men. What is it?" he demanded. "I cannot understand." "It is this," she said, firmly and quietly, "we are treading two different paths, and they are paths that will never meet." "You mean," he hesitated, "you mean your religion?" "I mean my religion." For a moment Prof. Gordon stood silent then drawing her ; hand through his arm, he said quietly. "I must take you to the house, now." In silence they walked to the front porch, in silence she passed him his hat. "I must go," he said. "I need not ask you to wait for me. I need not ask you to be true to me. A woman who is as true to her religion as you are to yours, cannot be false to her heart or to her honor. Someday, little girl, may find the path you are tread- I ing. If I do, I shall come back to you. If I do not return, you may think of me as a poor, lone wanderer. And, sometimes, you may ask God to help me find the way. ("mod bye," he added, "God bless you." "Good bye," she whispered, "I shall pray for you, always." And then, taking her hands in his. he stooped and kissed them reverently. Ethel watched him depart, in agony of spirit. Then a startled cry almost escaped her lips. She remembered the divine touch. She remembered that night under the harvest moon. ("The Heart of a Woman," "Redeeming a Pledge," and "Com pensation" are the three remaining chapters of this fascinatin ; that will be continued in the October Era). Lines I Wrote to Myself "We are what we are, and not what we think we are." Mirror yourself. Do not think you are right in every action. Take corrections. Humble yourself and ask God to help you weaknesses. see yourself as you are, to help you overcome your error. A little man will try to big man will acknowledge his justify his mistakes. We will receive the salvation we earn an 1 no more. Tosepii onPeery. S.