Porter_Summer_Driftwood.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']

I.

I WONDER what grandpapa meant last
night, when I bade him good night ?
He did not say, as he has always done
before, when I've been going away : " Be
happy child, enjoy the bright summer time."
But he looked so long at me and said : " Re
member, little one, gather the drift-wood
that will light the winter fire." And when
I laughed, ai^J said, " Why grandpapa, I am
going to enjoy myself to have a good time.
I'm only going to gather flowers to bask
in the sunshine the live long day to listen
to the song birds" he looked so sober as
he replied : " Ah ! Annie, the flowers will
fade the sunshine be hidden, when the win-






g SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

ter storm clouds come, and the song birds
grow silent. Find something lasting. Be
gin to gather wood, now, that will warm
the heart when the winter of life comes,
child." Life's winter !

I wish grandpapa had n't talked so. Why,
it is early summer; over all the land the
flowers are just coming; and I'm so young
I don't want to think of " sober things."
Just nineteen to-morrow. I think t'is such
a glad age ; and dear good papa says,
this summer's jaunt is to be my birth
day treat. Aunt Mary says she hopes every
day, all the year through, will be a birthday
to me, and she has given me to remember,
that little sentence from some German
writer : " The soul celebrates at every good
deed a birthday." I like the \^rds so much.

But, what did grandpapa mean ? And

this morning, when he kissed me, he said
again : " Remember, child, bring home some
wood with the flowers."

He is such a dear old grandpapa. I
could n't help whispering, as I gave him the



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



9



good-bye hug " I'll try to find some kind
ling, grandpapa."

And then he said " God-bless you, child,
and help you." I have written it all down
in this little book that Fred gave me for a
diary of " my summer," so that every night,
when I write about the day, I may remem
ber my promise to grandpapa, and have
some little lasting memory, that is not only
pleasure-seeking, but pleasure-giving to re
cord, for I think that must be what grand
papa meant.

Fred is such a tease. He knows I hate

diaries, and only wanted a little note book ;
but he will persist in saying, " Annie is going
to keep a diary of her journey ;" and on the
fly-leaf he has written in his great big round
hand, som^words which he says are sensi
ble and true. I think they are bitter and
mannishly disagreeable. I know a woman
never wrote them, and Fred is just a pro
voking tease of a brother, to put them in
my nice new book. " Mere emotion and
sympathy in woman, separated from sound



IO SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

thinking, makes her a sentimentalist, or a
simpleton." " To Annie, from her affection
ate brother Fred, June 3oth. "

Papa says, he hopes I will remember the
sentence, so I suppose I must try. But I
have scribbled one whole page, and never
told how we left New York. Now, not one
bit of sentiment, only sense, the plain facts
shall be recorded.

Left home on my birthday, June 3Oth,

by steamboat "Daniel Drew;" reached Al
bany at 5 o'clock, and here I am in this hot
little room of a crowded hotel waiting for
to-morrow, when we start for Niagara.

The beautiful sail up the river I know I
never shall forget. It seems to me now,
like a hundred dreams in one the ending
of one, the beginning of anothgr ; but one
can't weave with too many ends, and one
can't paint with too many colors, as my
painting master used to say, when I put
the little drops from ever so many tubes
all over my palette. Well, I know he was
right, and to night my mind seems just as



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. n

the palette used to when I made ready to
begin the school girl daubs that papa calls
" My daughter Annie's paintings, sir."

I wonder if all the glimpses of this day's
beauty some skillful hand will ever blend
into soft colors and regular lines, as Mr. E.
used to do with the pictures. My mind is
such a girl's mind. Fred says, it just thinks
in a jumble. I must try and straighten it
all out. First comes the leaving New York,
the sailing past the long lines of streets and
city houses, then the beginning of green
fields and great shade trees, and that long
sloping lawn that ran down to the river
bank. Why did they put that cheerless sign
up there, I wonder ? " Orphan Asylum."
It was n't one bit like papa, but when we
passed it he drew me close to him and said :
" Annie, my little brown eyed girl, do you
know you are like your mother ?"

My mother ! I was a tiny child when she
died. Grandpapa says, " Don't say died, say
when she went home." I like it better so.
Why do they tell the poor little children



I2 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

when their earthly father or mother goes
home, that they are orphans ? It is such a
cold, desolate word. Grandpapa says, my
mother is always near to me, because she is
with God, the " All Father," and He is nev
er " far off."

Dear papa, all these years he has kept her
in his heart. I wonder will any one ever
love me so ? Fred would say : " Annie, don't
think of such things ;" and yet Fred himself
wears a slender little gold ring that I
did n't give him. I wonder where it came
from ? When I asked him about " Miss Gold
en Hair" he looked cross. But I was

thinking about papa. When he left me to
night he said : " Annie, your mother is my
angel in Heaven ; try, my child, to be an angel
on earth to Fred and me." I wish I were
good like aunt Mary, grandpapa and Jack
Morgan. I'm so full of nonsense, when I
begin to try, I always forget right away.
Well, I'm too sleepy now to write another
word, and so my first day away from home
must be left like the school daub, for some



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. j?

one else to make into a picture. Did grand
papa think, my life might be left all empty
and unfinished, just so ; and was that what
he meant, by telling me to gather up fire
wood ? Oh ! dear me ! Life is such a puz
zle ! I don't believe I shall ever find any
thing but shavings, to take back to grand
papa, and they blaze right up into a going-
out flame, that only tells it has been by
ashes not always though, for sometimes
they kindle the great logs.

Such a pleasant little thing happened be
fore we left home. I thought it would be a
chip for my fire ; but then it was n't, for I
spoiled my new gloves. When I showed
them to papa, he said : " Oh, Annie, you
careless girl, you will burn a hole in my
pocket with your extravagance." I could n't
help laughing, t'was such a funny way to
begin to make " my fire" by burning holes
in papa's pockets.

It was just before we started, when

the sudden shower came how it did pour ! I
stood by the window watching for the car-



I4 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

riage, and I saw such a queer little tot of a
girl, standing on tip-toe, looking at the let
ter-box hanging just too high for her to
reach ; out I ran, into the street, and
caught the little thing up, let her drop the
letter in and put her down again, almost be
fore she knew what I was doing. Then she
looked up with such a bright smile, saying,
in a faint whispering voice, " Thank ye,
ma'am, 'tis to tell pa, ma's sick." There
was something in her smile and thank-ye,
that seemed like a shaving, for I know
grandpapa meant, for one thing, pleasant
memories ; and I do believe, I shall always
remember that child's glad look. But then
I spoiled my new gloves.



II.



MY poor little book! You have been
hidden away in the corner of my
trunk for three whole days. And now I've so
much to write, I hardly know where to be
gin. First, there was the being half pleased,
and half disappointed, when papa told me
he had changed his plans, and, after all, we
were going to the mountains before Niagara.
I suppose it was meeting the Morgans made
him change, and their begging us so hard to
join their party. Well, I know we'll have
a splendid time. I do wish Fred was with
us. Only think, five of us girls and Will and
Jack Morgan, beside Mr. and Mrs. Morgan,
and they expect to meet ever so many pleas
ant people ! I know papa will like better

05)



jg SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

the having them all to talk to, instead of just
me ; but I can't help being a little sorry. I
did think it would be so beautiful to have
papa all to myself.

And now we are up among the mountains,
and last night I saw the day end. I wonder
if any one everfe/t it so beautiful before?
I stood all alone, and looked far off, down
into the valley land, and traced the silver
thread that marks the winding river. Softly
over all crept the shadows of the coming
evening. First the .twilight made dim the
far away hills beyond the river ; then nearer
and nearer to me the shadows came, and
soon darkness was over the lowlands. But
up above, on the high mountain tops, the
golden rays of the sunlight lingered soft,
rosy lights, melting into violet and shadowy
tints. " The tenderness of color, the grave
tenderness of the far away hill purple," as
Ruskin calls it. I think I saw it then for the
first time. It stole into my heart the com
ing of the night among the mountains.
Why did I think of grandpapa then, and



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. j^

the Winter of Life. Have the mountain

pine trees voices, I wonder? They are so
near up to the Beyond. I think they snatch
ed a whisper from the passing day, and
softly murmured it to me. I wish it had
been a song, rather than a sigh. These
waves of consciousness of the great some
thing above ourselves and our little
thoughts why do they come, and then go
so suddenly ? We stretch out our hands to
grasp them, and they are gone. Just as the
twilight creeps over the hills, so the seen
the. present creeps over our hearts and
shuts away the wonderful unseen shuts
away the future granting us a glimpse,
only enough to make us homesick for more.
Later in the evening, when we all sat on
the broad piazza, I tried to tell papa about
it ; but he smiled, and didn't give me a bit
the answer I wanted ; for he only said ;
" Annie, child, don't let a wave from life's
ocean puzzle your little brain ; only the
years will give you the sounding lead to
fathom its depths."

2*



jg SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

I don't think papa understood me. It
wasn't Life I was thinking of so much as
Death. Mrs. Morgan was standing by ; she
looked so much amused while I was talking,
and she pushed all the curls away from my
face, saying : " Romantic girl, you are full of
notions." I wish she wouldn't play with my
hair. Fred says it always looks as though
I had been through a bramble-bush, and do
what I may, it won't be straight ; but then
I like the " waves and ripples," as papa calls
them, not to be all mussed and pushed about
by Mrs. Morgan. 1 suppose she means to
be kind. I wouldn't have minded it, only
Jack was standing by ; he looked so queer,
just as though he wanted to muss and
play with my hair, too. I do like Jack Mor
gan better than almost any Oxie I know,
though I can't help being a little bit afraid
of him because he is so good. We had
such a beautiful talk last night. I must write
it all down before it slips out of my mind.
Jack does make me want so muc h to be a
Christian.



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. ig

Mrs. Morgan and the others got tired

of sitting in the dark, as sKe said, so we all
went into the great parlor bright with lights.
Such a merry evening the girls say they had
with dancing and singing ; but I know I had
as good a time out in the moonlight with
Jack.

Susie Carrol was called the prettiest girl
of us all. She did look lovely in her white
dress, embroidered all over with tiny blue
flowers. Her aunt brought it to her as a
present from Paris. I don't believe I looked
nice at all. I had on just a simple white
frock, with the broad blue sash Fred likes.
When I asked papa if I could go with Jack
Morgan to see the moon rise, he said, " Yes ;"
but first he wrapped me up in Mrs. Mor
gan's soft white shawl, and some one said,
" Why, Annie, you look like a snow-ball ;"
and papa said, " Jack, here's a bundle for you
to take to see the moon rise." I felt so awk
ward but Jack didn't seem to mind. After
wards, when we stood in the moonlight, he
looked down and said : " Little Thistle-down,



2Q SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

do you think it beautiful?" Jack always is

finding pet names for me. It was there,

standing in the moonlight, we had our talk.
I asked Jack if the pine trees ever sang to
him. Such a peaceful look came over his
face ! He did not reply for a little while we
were quiet it was all unbroken stillness
only the murmur of the pines. I don't know
why, but they didn't seem to sigh as I lis
tened to them with Jack. When he spoke,
instead ol looking at me, he looked up right
into the sky, and his voice was soft, as though
speaking to himself, while he said : " Go forth
and stand upon the mount before the Lord
and behold the Lord passed by, and a great
and strong wind rent the mountains, and
broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord ;
but the Lord was not in the wind ; and after
the wind was an earthquake, and after the
earthquake a fire, and after the fire a still
small voice." Then he said : " Annie, will
you listen to the ' still small voice' will you
Celtic now not waiting to be frightened
b/ the earthquake not till tried by the



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



21



fire, driven by the wind ; but now led by the
goodness of God ? Will you listen to the mes
sage the evening breeze whispered the call
that comes from the ' hereafter,' where the
Master is preparing the many mansions ?
Who for, Annie ? Not for the waiting, but
the watching ones ; not for the virgins that
hold the golden lamps, but for those whose
lamps are ' filled and burning.' '

Does Jack mean just what grandpapa
meant that I have a golden lamp, but noth
ing to make a flame with ? I never thought
before of that word preparing. Heaven has
always seemed ready, and we the ones be
ing made ready. When I told Jack, he said
he used to feel so ; but he says now it is
a great help to him to feel, while we here
are trying to make our earth-stained hearts
pure and more fit for the many-mansioned
home, up there Christ, too, is all the time
" preparing a place" for us. I think it must
be beautiful to feel so.

Jack said he thought, over the golden gate
that leads to the New Jerusalem, the motto



22



SUM1TER DEIFT-WOOD.



would be, " Be thou faithful unto death, and
1 will give- thee a crown of life." Then he
told me so much about the crown and those
long ago days when Greek and Roman,
athlete, poet and philosopher, strove for the
crown of honor. The palm, olive, and pine
wreath, the ever-green laurel for the poet-
brow only a twisted coronal from the trees
of time, a wreath of perishing- leaves they
strove for, seeking some visible type of the
honor their well doing had won. And so
we came to speak of " the crown incorrupti
ble, and that fades not away." Jack says so
many things I never thought about before.
Faithful the word that begins the verse
that he calls heaven's portal text, and that
leads to the crown end ; he calls it the double
word. Faith alone, he says, is incomplete,
but Faith-full tells of the heart so full of trust
not one little place is left for doubt. Faith
ful, not only for life, which" is the entrance
to immortality, but Faithful for that hour
which is the heart's death. I suppose he
meant by heart's death all sorts of earthly



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 2 *

disappointments and trials. I wonder if I
shall have to know them ? I don't believe
I understand very well now, and I was afraid
to ask Jack. Did he mean that only as we
lay down ourselves I mean our natural life,
and learn to know a higher, purer, better, by
the communing of our souls with the spir
itual we can really know life? I wonder
whether I shall ever be a real Christian, like
Jack ? Christian f that would mean to have
a "Christ-like" soul, and Christ laid down
His life for others. It seems so hard to me
to give up ever so little a thing, even for
papa or Fred. Dear Aunt Mary, she could
tell me all about laying down one's life, for
she is always doing kind deeds ; but I think
before she began to do for us, she must have
been called to some great laying-down serv
ice all for Christ's sake ; and so He sent, as
a smile to rest on her, the blessing of pa
tience and goodness, and that is why we all
love her so well.

Out there in the moonlight I tried to tell
Jack something of the vague, undefined ques-



24 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

tionings that come to me the many things
I can't understand, and all the beautiful
things I catch gleams of. He said every one
felt so ; only some expressed it, and others
never put it into words; and he said he
would make a garland of moonbeams, caught
from many hearts, for me. I told him I
thought it was more like a twilight girdle,
because every verse he repeated from the
poet's songs had a shadow of dimness in
them. I was so glad when he chose from
Tennyson those words which echo the soul's
want, as it dashes on the shores of the
mysterious ocean of time, and then back
ward glides, breaking on the " Rock of
Ages," that reverberates with the answer
echo "Peace, be still!" I never should
have thought all this, unless Jack had half
said it before he began the verses.

"Strong Son. of God, immortal Love,

Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing, where we cannot prove !



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

" Thou wilt not leave us in the dust ;

Thou madest man, he knows not why ;
He thinks he was not made to die,
And thou hast made him ; thou art just.

" Thou seemest human and divine,

The highest, holiest manhood, thou ;
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

" Our little systems have their day ;

They have their day, and cease to be;
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

" We have but faith ; we cannot know ;
For knowledge is of things we see ;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness; let it grow.

" Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell,
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one Music, as before.



" But vaster "



I cannot tell why, but these lines always
are linked in my mind with a scrap from
Schiller, though they are not one bit alike :



2 6 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

" Listening, he loved the voice of stars to hear,
Which to the no less ever-living sense,
Made music mystic, yet through mystery clear."

Jack repeats poetry so beautifully ! I sup
pose it is because he goes behind the words,
and finds the heart. I think he forgot all
about me ; for half to himself he began the
dear little verses from Jean Ingelow, the
sweet woman singer. I am sure he could
not have meant them for my moonbeam
garland, for they are all twilight words :

" Thou for whom life's veil unlifted
Hangs, whom warmest valleys fold,
Lift the veil, the charm dissolveth ;
Climb, but heights are cold.

" There are buds that fold within them,
Closed and covered from our sight,
Many a richly-tinted petal,
Never looked on by the light ;
Fain to see their shrouded faces,
Sun and dew are long at strife,
Till at length the sweet buds open
Such a bud is life.



SUMMER DKIFT-WOOD.

" When the rose of thine own being
Shall reveal its central fold,
Thou shalt look within and marvel,
Fearing what thine eyes behold ;
What it shows and what it teaches
Are not things wherewith to part ;
Thorny rose ! that always costeth
Beatings at the heart.

" Look in fear, for there is dimness,
Ills unshapen float anigh ;
Look in awe, for this same nature
Once the godhead deigned to die ;
Look in love, for He doth love it,
And its tale is best of lore,
Still humanity grows dearer,

Being learned the more.

" Learn, but not the less bethink thee
How that all can mingle tears ;
But his joy can none discover,
Save to them that are his peers.
And that they whose lips do utter
Language such as bards have sung :
Lo ! their speech shall be to many
As an unknown tongue.

"Learn, that if to thee the meaning
Of all other eyes be shown,
Fewer eyes can ever front thee,
That are skilled to read thine own.



2 8 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

And that if thy love's deep current
Many another's far outflows,
Then thy heart must take forever,
Less than it bestows."

I wonder if I shall ever be content to take
less than I bestow ? I mean in love. Other
tangible gifts why, I think they are all
" more blessed to give than to receive." But
love it is so beautiful to be loved to be
cared for just as papa does for me. I was
going to talk to Jack about it ; but we heard
papa calling, so we had to go right in.





III.

r I 1HE day we left home, Aunt Mary gave
J- me a little package. I never opened it
till this morning. In it I found my birthday
gift from Auntie. I am so ashamed I did
not look at it before though I know she
will excuse me, because she always does. I
can't think how I forgot it, but there has
been so much to do and think about all the
time. I found in the tiny box the dearest
little ring imaginable an amethyst sur
rounded by" pearls. Auntie had wrapped
around it a scrap of a note, and I will copy it
I do lose my notes so and I always want
to remember this :



"Sweet Annie, wear this little ring to



go SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

please your Auntie. I have chosen for you,
dear, the amethyst, because of its mystic
meaning the little stone of the violet eye,
that whispers, ' Truth ' and 'Love ' encircled
with pearls, the types of Purity. Firmly are
they bound together with the band of gold.
Seek, my child, to find a voice in each em
blem for yourself. As in the sea-shell lin
gers the sound of the sea, so about the pearls
let the memory of the ' pearl of great price '
linger. As the amethyst smiles up at you
with its changing light, catch a thought of
the Truth ; and then you will know of the
Love even the 'Love of God.' And the
golden ring, may it, too, have a whisper of
that city whose streets are pure gold."

Dear Auntie ! I think the little ring

will be such a help to me. I have put it on
my finger always to wear. Inside, traced in
tiny letters, I found the words papa had cut
in the white marble stone that marks my
mother's grave " Blessed are the pure in
heart, for they shall see God." Grand-



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. oj

papa says that promise was for my mother.

Underneath, quite down, almost hidden

by the grass and flowers, are also cut just
the question, " Is there no balm in Gilead ?"
those words must be for papa. I used to
wonder, was it Aunt Mary's thought, the
putting them there. One day I asked her,
and she told me, then, so much of my moth
er told me of the beautiful hopes that made
her willing and glad to go because she so
loved Jesus, even though she was so happy
here with papa, Fred, and baby me. And
Auntie said, the night before God called
her, when papa carried her, for the last time,
in his strong arms from the couch where she
spent the day hours to the bed, his courage
gave way, and he cried out in his grief,
" Oh, my darling my darling how can I

live without you ?" And the great strong

man bowed his head and wept like a little
child. Aunt Mary said, mother wept too,
but not for long, and then she smoothed the
hair from papa's forehead with her thin white
fingers, and when he looked up, she smiled



22 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

at him with a smile all full of love, softly
saying, " Husband," (that was what he best
liked to be called,) " I leave you our children.
For their sakes, be strong for the sake of
Fred, our boy, and Annie, our baby, the
little blossom He has sent to be a flower for
you when your garden is desolate when

your ' Lily ' has faded." And then her

voice grew softer, and her look was almost
heavenly, in her depth of love, as she whis
pered, " When the darkest hour comes

think, * Is there no balm in Gilead ?' " I

suppose that was why papa had the words
cut in the stone, because he needed them so,
those first days, when mother left. I think
he felt they were all for himself, and so he
had them down where hardly any eye but
his would see them, and to read them he
would need to stoop. I wonder if, bow
ing down there, in the pride and strength of
his early manhood (for papa was young
then) kneeling down by my mother's grave,
pushing aside the up-springing grass, to read
the question, " Is there no balm in Gilead ?"



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 33

it was that he found the answer, " The Lord
loveth whom He chasteneth, and scourgeth
every son whom He receiveth."

Aunt Mary said, papa didn't know the
answer when mother left him, and she was
wont to say, that was her only sorrow ; but
I think she knows now he has found it, and
up there, with the holy angels, is glad over
him, who learned through his deepest sor
row his greatest joy. How shall I learn

to really know Christ? Will this Peace
which makes them all so happy, and that
Jack says, " passeth understanding," come
to me through sorrow ? Why can't I come
now in the joyous time and listen to the
voice calling the " still small voice" that
will make the glad gladder.





IV.

I DO like so much being among the
mountains. The hotel is crowded full
of people some real nice, and then some
" dreadfully common," as Susie Carrol says.
I suppose Aunt Mary would say, if she could
read that last sentence, " Take care, Annie,
whom you call the ' dreadfully common/ '
Now, Aunt Mary don't care at all about
dress, fashion, and all such things ; she says
there is something back of the dress that
makes the soul rich or poor, common or un
common. I suppose there is.^ I was

talking to Jack about it, and he said Aunt
Mar)'- was right, and then he reminded me
who it was that came to be the servant of
all '-' not to be ministered unto, but to min-

. (34)



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 35

ister" who it was that lived three-and-
thirty years numbered among the Galilean

peasants. Jack makes the story of the

Cross so real so a part of himself. Christ
seems to him just such a friend as papa is
to me. I wonder if I shall ever feel so?
Now, it all seems so far away and visionary.
Last night there was a thunder storm
down in the valley. We watched the light
ning flashes below us, not about and around
us as when we are in the storm ; and the
thunder was faint and soft, as it echoed from
hill to hill, and soon we lost its sound among
the mountains. 1 wonder where the ech
oes go ? Do they die, or are they sounding
on for evermore ? I wonder will to-night's
thunder be to-morrow sounding among other
hills and mountains? I wonder if all the
woods and wild solitary places are filled
with voices of the bye gone ? The rippling
of the tiny brook is it a fairy laugh ? The
rustling of the summer breeze, stirring the
leaf-laden trees, till they shimmer in the
golden sunlight do they catch their mu-



o6 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

sic from glad-hearted children ? The dash
ing sea wave is it a wail of storm-tossed

mariners ? The voices of nature where

do they come from, and where do they go ?

1 wish I could choose a voice, always

to live and sing in. When I said so last
night, they all laughed ; and that professor
we girls call " the iron grey man," because
he is so stiff and formal, said : " Miss Gray,
you should study Darwin's Theory." Who
is Darwin, I wonder ? I never heard of him
before. I must write and ask Fred; he'll
know. After that the gentlemen began to
talk to one another, and we girls had such
a good time by ourselves. We talked about
voices, and the sounds we would like to be
remembered by. I chose the murmur sound
the whisper of the summer and rest the
humming of the insect, busy with honey
gathering the song of birds rippling wa
ter rustling leaves and that air sound
" the wind blowing where it listeth" all
these, blended in with the silent music of
green fields, shady trees, sunny paths broken



SUMMEti DRIFT-WOOD. 37

by shadows from the cloud land above, quiet
water reflecting the bank side beauty, and
the great intangible " mystic all" that makes
the complete music of the midsummer the

music most still and yet most voiceful.

I am so glad Miss May replied to my words
as she did, choosing out of my many, the
few " The wind bloweth where it listeth,
and no man knoweth whence it cometh, or
whither it goeth." There is something in
her voice that says sometimes so much more
than the mere words reveal ; and it was so
as she said : " And the wind means the spirit.
A beautiful thought it is, ' the spirit going
where it listeth' not waiting for man's or
dering ; but like the evening breeze, cooling
the brow of peasant and beggar, creeping
into prison cell, as well as gilded palace
chamber the spirit of God that seeks the
humble and despised as well as the great
and powerful."

Then we talked of flowers, and some

day next week we are all going to wear a
flower with a thought behind it, as Carrie



28 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

says a mountain flower. What will be
hidden among the leaves of mine, I wonder?
Jack and some of the gentlemen joined us
when we began to talk of flowers. They like
our plan. There is an old gentleman here
who reminds me of grandpapa ; he is always
saying serious things, not severely, but in
such a happy way we all love to hear him
speak. Last night when he heard us talking,
he came and patted my head, just as grand
papa does, saying : " Do not forget, young
folks, ' Flowers are said to be the smiles of
God's goodness.' As you seek the flowers,
remember they will fade ; but take the smile _
into your hearts, for it is God's smile only
that will keep them fresh and young." And
then we began the repetition of beautiful
thoughts that others have expressed in
speaking of flowers. We made a sort of
play of it. The professor gave from Rich-
ter : " I picked up in the choir a faded rose
leaf, that lay under the feet of the boys.
Great God ! what had I in my hand but a
small leaf, with a little dust upon it ; and



SUMMED DRIFT-WOOD. 35

upon the small fugitive thing, fancy built a
whole paradise of joy. A whole summer
dwelt upon this leaf. I thought of the beau
tiful day when the boy held this flower in
his hand, and when, through the church
window, he saw the blue heaven and the
clouds wandering over it ; when every place
in the cool vault was full of sunlight, and
reminded him of the shadows on the grass,
from the over-flying clouds. Great God !
thou scattereth satisfaction everywhere, and
giveth to every one joys to impart again.
Not merely dost thou invite us to great and
exciting pleasures, but thou givest to the
smallest a lingering perfume."

This last part makes me think so much of
grandpapa. " Gather the little things," he'
says most every day. I remember once he
asked our minister to preach a " New Year"
sermon on this very thought "gather up
the fragments ;" and I planned it all to my
self. The twelve months every one to be
filled, not only with the visible bounty and
care of the Heavenly Father ; but each one



4Q SUJHTEB DRIFT-WOOD.

to find from the over-looked places the
dark corners the slighted, disregarded
minutes a fragment for the day's record ;
and then the binding of all the little things
together till they formed a chapter, full
of remembrances for the month's volume.
Twelve chapters of memories that would
give, when the year ended, of just the frag
ments that so often we lose ; and if we
sought to fill our vacant places with the do
ing of Christ's commandments, I think He
would help us to fill the twelve baskets full ;
though I suppose, to do that, we would need
to stoop and search among the grass blades
seek for them way down " amid the grassy
places," where " the little things " hide. I told
Jack about it, and he said, " the grass places,"
where the multitude wait to be filled, he
thought meant the humble unpretending
homes the homes, scattered all the land
over, like the green grass ; the dwellings of
the poor, they may be in crowded city
streets, or in quiet country villages, nestling
among the hills. And the " multitude," he



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. ^i

calls the longing, hungering ones all ready
to hear of Him waiting even in " compa
nies," for the word to be spoken. And then
Jack said : " Not more is the ordained min
ister called to this holy task than the low
liest of Christ's followers ;" adding : "Don't
you think, Annie, ' the five loaves and the two
fishes,' for the numberless crowd, are like
these spoken words. Very few, very simple,
need they be very plain ; only the ' Repent
and believe;' only the telling, ' God sent not
His son to condemn the world, but that the
world through Him might be saved ' tell
ing the story of ' the wonderful love' ' the
unspeakable gift' 'the story of Calvary.'
Ah ! one little glimpse of its meaning, Annie,
contains enough, more than enough, to feed
the multitude ; enough to fill to overflowing
the twelve baskets full, with fragments of
the ' Bread of Life.' "




V.



I WAS too tired last night to write one
half of the "flower talk" and pretty
thoughts that were given, that I want to re
member ; and now I have only half an hour
before breakfast. Well! I will see how" much
scribbling I can do in that time. First, 1
must not forget that dear little bit on the
violet, the " Pilgrim Song," when he says of
the tiny blossoms

" Love, Pity, Meekness, these are they,
The violets dim and mild."

Another chose the words that gave rise
to this song " Love and compassion and
meekness. These violets grow low, and are



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 43

of a dark color ; yet they are of a very sweet
and diffusive smell." Then some one repeated
the " Heart's-ease Piece ;" and Carrie said
so beautifully, " A Chaplet of Flowers," from
Adelaide P.roctor. I did so wonder what
papa would say, I forgot to think for my
self; but he was all ready, and told of the
Persian poet, who when asked by the phi
losopher Zender, " What he was good for?"
replied: "Of what use is a flower?" "A
flower is good to smell," said the philoso
pher. "And I am good to smell it," replied

the poet. Every one laughed at papa's

choice ; and then my turn came. Just for a
minute, I couldn't think of any thing ; then
I remembered some words from Ruskin's
" Queens' Gardens," Aunt Mary read me
the week before 1 left home ; and I had read
them over so many times, I know them by
heart. Jack said he liked them, and I think
papa did, too ; but I don't believe they were
" very appropriate," as Fred would say ;
and yet, I am so fond of the thought, I will
write the words down here, just after papa's,



44 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

and then Jack's will come right after mine,
for he sat next to me ; so I had a safe little
place between papa and Jack, even if I did
not do very well. " The path of a good
woman is strewn with flowers ; but they rise
behind her steps, not before them. ' Her feet
have touched the meadows and left the dai
sies rosy.' Flowers flourish in the garden
of one who loves them. A pleasant magic
would it be, if you could flush flowers into
brighter bloom by a kind look upon them ;
nay, more, if a look had the power, not only
to cheer, but to guard them. This you
would think a great thing ? And do you think
it not a greater thing, that all this, and more
than this, you can do for fairer flowers than
these flowers that could bless you for hav
ing blessed them, and will love you for hav
ing loved them flowers that have eyes like
yours, and thoughts like yours, and lives

like yours." 1 am afraid mine was too

sober a thought ; every one almost looked
as though it were ; and Mrs. Morgan said :
" Annie, you are the oddest girl ; one min-



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 45

ute full of fun and frolic ; and the next, sober
as a judge." Laughingly turning to papa,
she added : " Sometimes I am half inclined
to be vexed with the child, she says such
grave things ; but before one can say a word,
she is straightway little merry Annie, again."
Am I contradictory ? I asked Jack ; and he
said, No ; he didn't think so ; though serious
views of life might seem to careless observ
ers very near and present to me ; which
they could hardly understand, because I
seemed so full of joyousness, too. He sup
posed it came from my having been so much
with Aunt Mary, papa, and grandpapa, all
of whom had known sorrow ; and so, uncon
sciously, I had caught a reflection of their
feelings and thoughts. I don't believe hardly
any one besides me listened to Jack, for they
had already begun to talk of other things.
I was a little bit glad of that. I like to
catch his words through the hum of many
voices. It always seems to me when I
hearken to Jack speak at such times, just
like the deep, restful, bass notes of the



46 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

organ, contrasted with th'e light quickly-
changing treble air. He said : " A flower is
more precious than gold or jewel : not sim
ply as precious, but more precious ; just be
cause it has its own intrinsic value, and be
cause it will so soon wither. Its withered
leaves are more treasured than a costly gem,
and more sacred, because they have not two
kinds of value, but only one. Such gifts are
as disembodied spirits all spirit and pure."
As he ended, he took the little cluster of
harebells from his button-hole, where Carrie
had pinned them, and gave them to me.
When I came up into my room last night,
they were all faded and drooping. But I
don't know why I didn't want to throw
them away, quite then. It seemed so lonely
to toss flowers that bloomed in the sunshine
out into the night-dark and this morning

well ! 1 think I like the flowers Jack

gives me, whether they are fresh or faded.
I wonder if it is because he always puts a
tl. ought right between their leaves ? Then
I like the harebell, because it is the flower



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 47

Carrie has chosen to wear ; and I do love her
dearly, better and better every day. I am
so glad she is to have these graceful little blue
flowers ; they grow in such rich clusters, and
are so fragile, and yet so fearless in the rock

f niches which they choose for homes, over
hanging the precipices never frightened by
the dreary depth below, but catching their
color from above. Blue flowers always seem
to me to have strayed from heaven, not
wanting one earth tint to blend with their
sky-caught blue.

Fanny Jones is to wear the wild rose.

I wanted that, 'tis such a happy, glad blos
som, not one bit like its proud sister of the
garden, but growing in all wild places, smil
ing up at one from dusty road-sides and
shady nooks, with the same wide-open eye
of trust. I couldn't help telling Jack I
wanted the wild rose for mine. Will Mor
gan heard me, and he said : " Why, Annie,

f it has thorns, which prick and wound when
you gather the flower. Would you want to
prick and wound?" Now, Will knows I



48 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

wouldn't. But, then, don't all people have
thorns ? And as we always have to choose
the little open spaces, when we gather the
wild roses, just so, I think, we have to do
with most every one avoid the little sharp
points that grandpapa, (because he always
likes to excuse people when they do wrong,)
calls "traits of character;" adding, in his
kind way, " the hardest temptations to over
come. Let us be charitable in judging,
child." Almost every one has some thorns,
it seems to me ; sometimes it is only a quick
look ; sometimes a half harsh word ; some
times oh dear! every one knows what
makes the thorns on so many of us. And
yet there are some people who do seem only
blossoms. There is Aunt Mary ; I never saw
her cross. I wonder if she ever thinks
wrong things ? I am sure she never does
them ; and this makes me think of that hymn
she says to grandpapa, almost every Sunday
evening, sitting in the twilight :

' By the thorn road and none other,
Is the mount of visLan won.



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

Tread it without shrinking, brother ;
Jesus trod it press thou on."



49



She says these words so from her heart.
What thorn-road, I wonder, has she travel
led ? What flowers have been gathered by
her, I wonder, with torn fingers ? The sor
rows, whatever they may have been, she has
turned all inward ; and so they hurt no one
but herself, and I suppose the being hurt,
quite in her own heart in her own life, is
what makes Auntie so gentle, and careful
never to wound any one, even by so little a
thing as a look. And the rough path she
trod, I know always it was with the sweet
assurance that Jesus was right before her,
and that He was leading her by it to the
" vision mount." I wish I could be like Aunt
Mary, but I don't want to have a rough road

to travel. I wonder if I must ? But there

goes the breakfast-bell.



VI.

I WAS very glad when Jack said, this
morning, he would choose a flower for
me to wear to-night. I am so slow ; all the
girls had chosen just in a minute, while I
was thinking what mine should be. Ah!
grandpapa, grandpapa, will some one always
gather the wood, while your little Annie is
looking at the green boughs ?

That beautiful Mrs. D., from Phila
delphia, is to wear the pond lily the queen
flower and Lucy is to have the wilcl cle
matis twined and garlanded about her.
Miss F., from New York, chose the golden
rod. Will Morgan said " her choice was a
satire on herself, as well as her city." I
could n't help laughing, when he said in his

(5)



SFMMJSR DRIFT-WOOD. ej

droll way" Gold ! gold !" but I told him I
thought it was too bad of him to make fun
of Miss F., and that all New York girls
were n't so ; but he would make fun just the
same, and said : " Yes, they are," adding,
" all but you and Carrie, perhaps ; and you
don't do New York credit you both are
like Mrs. Stowe's Topsey. If any stranger
should ask, ' where did Miss Gray and Miss
Morgan come from, he would receive the
reply ' Oh, they growed.' "

We asked Miss May to wear a flow
er. She is so quiet, I didn't believe she
would want to ; but she seemed very much
pleased, and said, " Yes, indeed." Some of
the girls say she is real poor ; and she wears
nothing but a plain alpaca frock all the time,
and such a stiff little linen collar ; but I am
sure she is a lady. Some one told papa she
teaches school ; and Jack says he thinks she
writes letters for a newspaper. Every few
days she sends away a great yellow envel
ope, and at dinner time, when the mail is
distributed, she always receives a paper.



DRIFT-WOOD.
j~

She never seems to care for it, only looks
tired when she breaks the seal.

I think it must be so hard to write

for money. I never could write a book,

of course ; but then I am so stupid. What
could I do if papa should lose all his money,
and Fred couldn't work for me? Oh, dear
me ! I don't know. It must be dreadful to
write for other people ; and pen and ink
words always seem so cold and unsympa
thetic. Why, sometimes, when I lay aside
this little book, which is for no eyes but my
own, I feel as though a stranger was looking
at me from the page traced over with lines
lines that only half tell my real meaning.
But, to write for others, not just for one's
self, I think it must be so hard ; and then
when one had spent long hours in making
a book, to have some one pull it all to
pieces treating it as, when I was a child, I
used to treat the field daisies, pulling off
their leaves and naming them ; calling one,
" rich man," the next, " poor man," and so
on through the list " beggar man thief



SUMMER DPJFT-WOOD. 53

doctor lawyer merchant priest ;" and
then, when every leaf was pulled, I used to
toss the poor little flower away, and never
heed the golden centre, the heart left alone
on the stem, even when Its fringed beauty
of white ) eaves was all destroyed by my
ruthless hands. I know if ever I wrote a

book, it would be treated just so. I

would send it out with my " precious things"
right in the centre the golden heart place ;
and then I would put my light fancies my
twilight dreams, like the white leaves, fring
ed about the centre ; and I would say : " Go,
little flower. For those who seek, perhaps"
(I know I would always remember to say,
" perhaps") " you have a golden heart. For
those who just gather you to toss aside, you
have the pure white leaves; little tablet
leaves, traced every one with an inscription."
And again, I would say, "perhaps" " They,
tossing you away, will hear the whisper,
which sounds even in the very ' little
things.' ' And I would sit at home, in the

sweet summer twilight, and wonder where
5*



tA SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

my daisy was wonder who would read its
meaning. I know papa would smile at it,
and be pleased. Jack, he would smile, too ;
and some little scraps, I think he would
really like ; not only because I wrote them
but, then, I would be afraid, to let Jack

see it. Fred, he'd just laugh at me, and

say : " School-girl nonsense, Nanny." Aunt
Mary why, she never sees any thing but
good : and yet, I think, with her " Well
done" she would say: " Remember, Annie ;
make life, not a dream, but an action." Dear
old grandpapa, he would smile, with the
tears in his eyes the rainbow smile, I used
to call it and then he would say : " When
did all these things come into your little
head, child ?" But I wouldn't care so much
for grandpapa's praise, because he always
likes what I do, just as papa does. I think
it would be beautiful to write so only for
the loving eyes and hearts of home, who
would call my simple little daisy a " star
flower."

I wonder if Miss May has people to smile



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 55

at her, and be pleased, when she tries to do
well? I hope she has. Or whether she has
to brave the world without the " home love"
the cold critical world, that one must
brave, I suppose, if they write for money.
Why, just think of sending written pages
forth, all alone, and some harsh man taking
them in his hand, as I used to do the little
flower, and pulling off one tiny leaf, and then
another, calling one a "poor man/' and the
next, "a beggar." And then would come
some formal critic, perhaps dubbing one
" thief." How dreadful that would be ! And
yet I know, if I should write, I should put
in thoughts that belonged to others, never
meaning at all to steal them. I don't see
how one could altogether help it, because,
always, the books we love best we take
right into our hearts, just as the gardener
takes the little shoots and binds them on to
the tree, grafting the one with the other, till
the two are blended so closely, they call each
other one. And nobody, but some little
school girls, or old people, ever calling one



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

leaf, a " rich man." Oh ! I couldn't write

a book. It would be so hard not to mind
the critics, the fault-finders; and I know
there would be so much to find fault with.
But, then, after all, I think I would rather
have the real young people, and the tired
old people, like my story, than any other
readers. The young are so much nearer
the starting place and that is heaven ; and
the old, we know, are close to the other side,

down by the river bank. I do love old

people, I mean, peaceful, happy, old people,
like grandpapa.

I wonder if life seems to others, as it does
to me, a mountain to climb, with never a
pausing place on the mountain top, but
straightway the downward descent to begin.

1 told this to Jack, and he said 1 was wrong ;
that life, to the Christian, was always " up
ward going ;" that, to the followers of Christ,
there was no soul old age; always, they
were the " children of God." " They that
wait upon the Lord shall renew their
strength ; they shall mount up with wings



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 57

as eagles ; they shall run and not be weary,
and they shall walk, and not faint." Because,
" they trust in the Lord, who redeemeth
their life from destruction. Who crowneth
them with loving-kindness and tender mer
cies. Who satisfies their mouth with good

things ; so that their youth is renewed."

This was what Jack said ; but it does not
quite seem so to me. We the young, the val
ley dwellers, look up. We catch the glad
sunlight, dancing on the tree tops above us.
We hear the far-off song of the laughing
water, leaping from rock to rock. We see
the roadway, travelled and worn by other
feet than ours. Flowers are blooming on
its banks ; and the rough places, that they
tell us are there, are hidden (till we come to
them) by the soft green grass of the spring
time. The morning freshness we know we
must exchange for the noon-day heat ; and
that wil} give place to the evening chill
the chill that heralds the night coming.
But, til] we are in it, I don't think we mind
much. And yet, I don't understand Jack's



eg SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

saying : " If one loves Jesus, he never grows
old ;" when almost all have this hard path
to journey. If I, really loved Christ, would
I feel as Jack does ?

I wonder why, to some young peo
ple, life begins right away to be a hill to
climb, as I know it is to Miss May ? I won
der why God sends to some, as He has
done to me, only bright, glad things, making
life a summer day, with never a discord ;
and then others, they find the jar the tune
less chord, so soon. I asked Jack, and he
looked sad, as he replied : " Annie, the only
answer is, He knows what is best for all, and

that ought to be enough ?" That queer

looking man, the minister, who comes from
the valley below the mountain, was stand
ing by ; and when he heard my question, he
joined us, and said : " Miss Gray, shall I tell
you a little verse, that has often, for me,
answered your question ?" I replied : " Oh,
yes, please do ;" and he said : " For now
we see through a glass, darkly, byt then face
to face." Link to this golden promise, this



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 59

silver line, from a little hymn I learned long
ago:

" He gives, or He withholds in love ;
In this one truth we rest."

I don't know why, he made me feel just
like crying ; he looked as though it had been
so hard for him to say it always. I don't
mean to say, for that is'nt hard ; but I mean
to really feel it all through, and in his heart.
And then I felt so ashamed, because we girls
had laughed ever so much at him. He is so
funny-looking. Susie Carroll calls his coat,
" one of Noah's garments, cut over by a
pilgrim great-grandmother.'' She says, he
looks like a " Mayflower" relic. And then
we have all called him, the " country broth
er." I am so sorry I joined in the sport-
making. Why do I laugh at such things ?

Almost always, I find the very people I
laugh about, are the " rich souls," as Aunt
Mary calls them.




VII.

TACK and Mr. Hubbel (that's the name
*-* of the minister) had such a long talk
about that verse " Seeing through a glass
darkly." I am glad I was with them, for
they said so much I never thought of before.
Won't it be wonderful when we reach the
there and see it all clearly ; when we shall
" know, even as we are known." Known
that applies to us now, and means that God's
eye knows and sees all. I wish I could re
member it all the time, but I do forget so.

Jack repeated to Mr. Hubbel what

we had been saying about growing old, and
life-climbing. He thinks just as Jack does,
that the Christian is always young. As I
listened to them, it reminded me of one day
(60)



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. gj

last winter, when I asked grandpapa " why
his hair was so white?" I remembered just
how he smiled, as he said r " Child, the sun
shine and the storm, the snow and rain, sum
mer heat and winter cold, the life pilgrim
must know ; and they choose for their marks,
little Annie, the white hair, the wrinkled
face, that we call old age signs. Some are
the types of sorrow and anguish ; some the
silvery threads that have come 'mid days of
gladness and pleasure. It's a hard climb,
my child sunshine and shadow ; but at the
darkest, always He has fulfilled His prom
ise : ' At evening time it shall be light.'
Only, child, we must have the eye of faith,
to trace the letters, for they sometimes seem
hidden far away in the folds of His curtain
of providence."

And yet, though grandpapa spoke of hav
ing known "sorrow and anguish," when I
recall his happy, peaceful face, his dear kind
ways, his loving judgments, his life surely
proves what Jack and Mr. Hubbel said
" The Christian never grows old."



62 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

I told grandpapa's words to Jack, and we
wondered what his sorrow had been. I
think Aunt Mary knows ; but whatever it

was, he is all peace now. Peace ! It is,

I think, almost the most beautiful earth word
we have. Jack calls it " Christ's seal word."
He says Ruskin writes : " The death bequest
of Christ to man is Peace." And then Jack
told me it seemed to him when we gave
our hearts to Christ, He wrote upon them,

" Peace," not " Rest." I never thought

of it so before. I always read the verse,
" Come unto me and I will give you rest,"
as an invitation to come now to Jesus. But
Jack says he does not read it so. " Rest,"
he says, "remaineth for the people of God"
the blessed dead which die in the Lord.
" Yea, saith the spirit, they rest from their
labors." . But peace, the peace of God, which
passeth understanding, of which Christ said,
" Peace I leave with you my peace I give
unto you," belongs to us, for these pilgrim

days. The peace promises, Jatk says,

form to him the richest, most treasured, of



SUMMER DRIFT- WOOD. 63

all the constellations of Bible promises.

These Bible words to Jack are like clusters
of most precious jewels ; so precious, I think
he keeps them close to him all the time, just
as we never like to have the things we care
for most away from us, fearing they may be
lost or mislaid.

I do believe grandpapa knows every

peace word the whole Bible through ; and
it will be a peace promise that will can him
home, I know. Sometimes he looks so near
going ; and I think he will be glad when the
time comes. Jack says, " no call is like in
beauty to the Christian's Home-call." " Just
think, Annie," he said to me, " up in heaven
it sounds first the voice of Christ ' Come
to me. I will give thee rest.' And the an
gels, hearkening to the voice, echo the words
through and through the ' heavenly land/
The angels that love the ' still waters and
the green pastures/ they hear the Master
calling to the earth-tired soul, ' Come to me !'
and, catching the sound, softly they sing, of
the ' pure river of the water of life, clear as



64 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

crystal ;' chorussing the song with, ' Ho
every one that thirsteth, come ye to the
waters ;' ' Let him that is athirst, come.' And
the great cloud of witnesses, they, too, catch
the strain, and ' Fear thou not/ they sing,
' Looking unto Jesus.' I don't think the
way can be very dark, if we hear this heav
enly music. I wonder why those who really
believe ever call it dark, when Christ has
said, ' I am the light,' and when He has
promised, ' Lo, I am with you always.' And
then it is the path that leads them to be,
' forever with the Lord.' :

I asked Jack whether he thought unto

the little children would be granted that
most blessed of songs, " I know that my Re
deemer liveth." He said, " No ;" he thought
that would belong to those who had come
through great tribulation those who had
" washed their robes white in the blood of
the Lamb." He better liked to think that
the children would sing, in their sweet,
heaven-taught voices : " He giveth His be
loved sleep ;" and sleep means Peace.



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. gq

But I have forgotten all about what

I began to write. I never mean to write all
these things in my book ; but I get thinking
them over, and so I put them down here.
I only meant to tell about my " flower," that
Jack chose for me to wear. He was so good
about it. All day long he was off, and Car
rie came into my room, and ran away with
my white frock, and did not bring it back
till just before tea-time. It was very pretty
festooned with delicate fern sprays and
grasses. I think it was so kind in her to do
it for me. She never seems to think about
herself. When the girls said it was beauti
ful, she only laughed and replied : " Jack
planned it ; don't praise me." Mrs. Mor
gan clapped her hands when she saw me,
and said, " Charmante, charmante !" I am
so glad she isn't Jack's and Carrie's own

mother. Papa was pleased, too, I know

he was; for when he kissed me, that look
came into his face that always does when
he is pleased a half mournful look. I think

he was wishing my mother could see me ;
6*



66 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

and I couldn't help whispering, " Papa, she
does see ;" and then he kissed me again.
Dear papa !

1 am so glad I am a little bit nice-
looking. Fred says I am not pretty, but
then he says, " You'll do, just managing to
pass in a crowd, Nanny ;" and he looks sat
isfied.

I wondered so what Jack's flower

would be. When we went down stairs, he
met us in the hall, and in his hand was noth
ing but a tiny little wreath for my head,
made of the spray like maiden's-hair fern,
and just in front one soft, silvery " thistle
down," fastened among the ferns. I wonder
how lie caught the airy thing? When I
asked him, he said, quickly, " Does it look
caught and fastened, Annie?" Not till I
told him, " No ; it looked just resting of its
own sweet will among the green ferns," did
he smile ; but when I said that, he seemed
more pleased than ever I have seen him be
fore, as he replied : " That's the way, Annie,
I would ever catch the airy thistle down !



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. fa

let it choose of its own sweet will its resting-
place." I think he must have been tired

out, after searching all day for these delicate

things for me. I tried not to let him

know I was disappointed; but, just at first,
it did seem such a simple wreath, and I did
not find " the flower" till Carrie pointed it
out, hidden away among the ferns nothing
but a clover blossom. I couldn't help ask
ing Jack why he made this choice for me.
I don't think he gave a very good answer,
for all he said was : " Annie, the meaning of
the wreath, the whisper of the clover, is for
you to guess. I hardly think you will know
' right away.' Little by little you will come
to know the answer ; and at the Christmas
time may I ask you for it?" The Christ
mas time ! That is when grandpapa said I
must unbind for him the wood gathered dur
ing these summer days. I wonder whether
we shall find in my bundle one little fagot
to burn beside grandpapa's yule log ?

Later in the evening, Jack said to

ine, almost in a whisper: "Annie, do you



63 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

want to know the wreath's meaning, before
the winter comes ?" But I told him " No ;

I would wait." Jack never puzzled me

before. I don't understand what he meant,
at all ; but I' know the little wreath and the
clover blossom had a pleasant meaning to
him, he looked so happy all the evening ;
and yet I can't help wishing he had chosen
some real beautiful flower. I do believe
Carrie guessed I was disappointed, for when
she bade me good-night, she said : " Annie,
do you remember the verse that you liked
best the other night, when we repeated the
flower sentiments ?

" ' And let some field flowers, even,
Be wreathed among the rest j
I think the infant Jesus

Would love such ones the best.' "



VIII. .

A LETTER came from grandpapa this
-4-^-** morning-, all full of " home news."
" Home !" Though I am having such a hap
py summer, seeing the little word in grand
papa's handwriting, makes me long for it.
I don't believe I ever could love any place
in the world as I do our dear home ; but I
mustn't write about it here in " my diary."
How Fred would laugh, if he could peep
into this book. I will take care he never
does ; though I really don't mind his laugh
ing very much. I think it is only his face
that laughs at me ; I know his heart loves me
dearly. Just think, there are only us two

Fred and me ! Grandpapa writes that

he likes my letters ; and he is so glad I am

(69)



JQ SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

having a pleasant time, that he forgets to be
lonely without his little Annie ; and then he
adds, he is looking forward to my return
home, all laden with " wood and treasures."

Have I gathered any thing yet ?

There have been so many pleasant things to
think about so many beautiful things to
enjoy and see. Such wonderful undreamed
of beauty as we have found in our long ram
bles ; sometimes coming upon a clear spot,
all of a sudden amid the dense woods, and
catching a far away view. 1 don't be
lieve there is any thing great in me, for when
we find these vast look-out places, they make
me silent. I think they seem almost cold,
and too much. I am a little bit afraid before

*

them. I love the near better than the far-
off. All the other girls, they say, " Oh ! how
grand, splendid, glorious," and I have never
a word. I know it is all grand, but then I
don't know why it chills me. Perhaps it is
because I am such a little thing, I like the

little things best. The other day we had

been climbing over rocks and stony paths



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. ji

till quite tired out, and were so glad when
we came to a piny carpet-place, made soft
and velvety for our way-worn feet by the
pine needles that are falling all the time. I
liked it so much the stillness, the being shut
in by the great sentinel trees, the mountain
pines. They are so spire-like, always point
ing "up." I wish I could think beautiful
thoughts, and then say them out for other

people, but I never can. I was looking

this morning at a field of grain, growing on
the mountain slope, back of the hotel ; the
wind gently stirred it till it rippled and rip
pled, bright with dancing sunbeams, that
straightway melted into misty shadows, and
the shadows quickly were again lost in sun
beams light and shade playing together.

These little things in nature seem so

like ourselves sometimes ; I wonder if, back
of every thing, there is not some under
lying meaning the "Unseen," that Jack
talks about. Any way, in the grain field I
found a sermon. Perhaps 'twas because the
sunshine and shadow playing seemed so like



72 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

my heart and mind playing amid the sun
shine of life just now and then knowing a
little touch of the shadow. But the ser
mon was in the grain growing ripening
all the time, till the harvest comes ; and it
seemed like grandpapa's voice, asking for
my summer fruit. Oh, how sorrowful he
would be, should I bring him " nothing but
leaves !"

About the pine trees I tried to tell

Jack, but I could not. I think they breathe
a poem to me ; and when I try to cage the
feeling into words, it is gone. They make
me feel such beautiful things the solemn
trees, the fearless dwellers on the high moun
tain peaks, just bending their plume-crowned
heads, as the winter wind roars among their
branches; they only bow before the snow
falling from heaven, so pure and white. Jack
says it always seems to him when Jesus
"went up into the high mountain apart"
when " His face did shine as the sun," and
" His raiment was white as light ;" when the
"bright cloud over-shadowed Him," and



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 73

the " voice out of the cloud," broke the still
ness; when Peter found it "good to be
there," and wanted to make the " tabernacles
three" one for Elias, one for Moses, one for
the " Christ Man," as though when Christ
chose not the tabernacle made with hands
the temple rich with precious stones and
costly splendor ; He did choose for the high
mountain tops a seal of His earthly pres
ence a mute, but power-speaking voice,
even the mighty trees the olive and the
palm, "round about Jerusalem" the pine
and the cedar, saying to us : " Be as we are,
ever looking, reaching ' Upward' "

I wonder if Isaiah the prophet, whose

lofty songs carry us on exultant w T ing above
the plains and lowlands of thought, caught
in some "vision hour" a glimpse of that
mountain scene. And was it that glimpse
that woke the notes of joyous anticipation
which made him sing of the day " when the
wilderness and solitary places became glad ;
the glory of Lebanon, the excellency of Car-
rael and Sharon, they saw the glory of the
7



74



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



Lord and the excellency of our God."

Oh ! it is so beautiful to be up here among
the great hills, the high mountains and the
trees.

When I asked Jack, " Did he not

"think our days should be ' tabernacle days ?' "
he looked long at me before he replied :
" God grant, they may indeed be tabernacle

days to you, Annie." 1 know what he

meant ; and sometimes I think I, too, have
found the " peace." Only I'm such a little
child yet in faith. But Christ said : " Suf
fer little children to come unto me." 1

couldn't tell this to Jack then ; but he an
swered me just as though I had spoken it
all out ; and yet he only said : " Annie, do
you remember the words Luther, the stead
fast, fearless man, was wont to say ?" When
I said, " No," Jack took my hand gently in
his, and repeated softly: "The ' word is

strong, but the heart lisps.' But, our

God knows we are but poor little children."

After that we didn't talk any more.



IX.

I WISH grandpapa was here, and that I
could lay my head down on his knee,
and tell him all my heart-full, and hear him

say : " God bless you, child." Dear, dear

grandpapa ! When the Christmas time
comes, won't it be beautiful for you and your
little Annie to sing together the "glory
song" of "peace on earth" of peace in hu
man hearts Christ's peace. I know it now.
I am so glad He sent it to me in these sum
mer days.

It seems so long ago since last night, when
I talked with Jack. His words haunted me
so, I kept saying them over and over when
I came up to my. room " Our God knows
we are but poor little children." Before he

(75)



76 SUMMER DK1FT-WOOD.

said them, I felt very near ; but, I don't know
why, they seemed to lift me right up, close
to Christ to wrap and enfold me safe in
His all-surrounding, all-knowing love.

I saw it so clearly, sitting alone, looking
out into the night. It seemed to come to
me, a whisper from every where " God is

love." I don't know whether I am a

Christian. I never shall be good like Jack,
Aunt Mary, and grandpapa; but oh, I am
so happy, trusting in Christ !





X.



TO-MORROW we leave the mountains.
I'm sorry to go. I wonder whether I
shall ever have such %.good time again ? And
I am sorry, too, because Jack is going back
to the city. I shall miss him every minute
of the time, I know ; but it won't be very
long before we see him, for I heard him
promise papa to come to the seaside while
we are there. I don't suppose I know
how to keep a diary. It tires me dreadfully
to write down about all the places we go to,
and the sights we see ; but I do dearly love
to tell the little things and thoughts that be
long to me, Annie, to this little book, that no
one sees but myself. Now there was yes
terday, I want to remember every minute
7* (77)



78 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

of the day, and so I have locked the door
and come alone to my room to try and catch
it into words. I think writing about any
thing we have enjoyed, is like fastening it
with a chain, every line a link; and then,
when all is told, the last line finished, why,
that seems like a lock and key. My journal,
I do believe, is a chain that no one but my
self could unlink, or even unlock, I scribble
it so. The words will chase each other so
fast when I write, half the time I can't help
dropping the letters by the way ; and the
words they tell so little, how can I put yes
terday down in pen and ink strokes. It was
so beautiful so holy the early morning,
very, very early, when the light was the
dawn glow. Jack made me promise I would
be up in time to see the sun rise on the Sab
bath morning "The Lord's Day," he al
ways calls it. And he says it seems to him
as though Jesus bestowed on the Sabbath-
day something of the same tenderness of
consecration as He did upon the well-
beloved John. " Think," he said, " from all



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. JQ

the others, Christ chose him for that ' supper
night' as the one alone whose head was to
rest on His breast ; and so it seems to me
the Sabbath the ' Resurrection morning '
stands out among the seven days that make
for us a week's time, as John stands among
the disciple band, (something as Mary, too,
shines among women,) as peculiarly, ten
derly, belonging to Christ. We almost lose
that old commandment God gave to Moses
for the Israel children ' Remember the
Sabbath day to keep it holy/ in the won
drous love and glory that rests upon the
Sabbath, MAKING it holy time, because it
was the day Christ rose."

When I was a little girl, I remember

I used to think the birds sang a sweeter song
for Sunday a softer, clearer note ; and over
every thing, even now, it seems to me there"
comes a peaceful look that belongs to no
other day. I wonder what people would do
without these rest places these Sabbath
calm spots, coming to quiet for a little while,
all the week-day toil, noise and strife of life.



gO SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

They are like islands, green, fruitful, and
flower-laden, Jack says, smiling at one from
the midst of wild ocean and storm-tossed
waves oases in the sand deserts, with cool
ing shades and pure water springs for the
tired traveller !

There were only just two or three beside
Jack and me to see the sun rise nobody we
knew. It was so beautiful ! the valley all
hid by the mist clouds, that come with night
and vanish as the day breaks. With the first
sun-beam, dew drops glistened and sparkled
every where dew-drops the manna that
falls in the darkness, silently, from heaven
the food and refreshment of the flowers and
the meadow grass. And, above us, the deep,
cold, clear, blue, seeming so far away, wait
ing to be made warm and near, by the sun's
rays ; like our hearts, Jack said, cold, till the
rays of the " Sun of Righteousness " warm
them. And the cloud banks they rested,
fold upon fold, violet and purple, when first
we looked ; one by one they caught the rosy
and golden hues, flashing them up, and on,



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 3 t

till not the near clouds alone, but the very
farthest off were bright, glowing in the
morning gladness. And then, heralded by
the troops of heaven-winged, glory-flushed,
morning clouds, it came the sun! But I
don't think it was the sun-rise that made
the morning hour for Jack and me ; I think
it was my telling him, then, that I, too, be
gan to know the peace that he had told me
"passeth understanding" "the peace of
God" that I, too, could say: "Thanks
be unto God for ' His unspeakable gift.' "

It was this made our morning hour a

something always to be most precious, just
as it makes now, wkcn I write of it, the first
golden link in my Sabbath, so full of dear
memories.

A party of us went down to the little

village where Mr. Hubbel preaches, starting
early in the morning, the distance was so
great. Such a rough road as it was ! but so
beautiful, we forgot the roughness. Our
path wound round among the mountains, in
some places, spite the bright sunshine, al



g 2 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

most dark, from the dense overshadowing
boughs of the forest trees. We followed a
little stream ever so far. The very happiest
little stream it seemed, leaping over the
rocks, gliding over the pebbly places so
swiftly and yet so calmly ! By the brook's
side we found patches of ferns, up-springing
water grass and reeds, and one little hidden-
away nook, all full of lilies, white and yel
low, nestling among their great shady, pro
tective leaves. Every thing was so beauti
ful so peaceful! I think never was thare
such a Sunday before ! Carrie forgot all
about the rest of us, I do believe ; she began
singing to herself, softly at first ; but soon we
all joined in, breaking the stillness with
songs of praise glad, exultant songs
hymns of joy, till the hills echoed with our
voices, as we sang of " Jerusalem the gold
en." And so we came to the little church.

The service was very simple, but impressive
and holy. When the bell ceased calling the
worshipers, silence seemed to creep over
the hearts of the little band gathered there



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. g^

to " think of Christ," and all was still, till up
rose the whole congregation, and together
with one accord they sang :

" Praise God from whom all blessings flow ;
Praise Him all creatures here below ;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

(I think it a beautiful custom, thus to be
gin the morning with praise. Not to keep
the praise-notes hidden in the heart till the
ending of the service, but to sound them out
first.) And then again ah 1 was silent, till the
minister said : " Let us lift up our hearts,
' nearer to God. 1 '

I don't think I heard all the words of his
prayer, because my heart was filled with so
"joyous a trembling," lifting and being lifted,
nearer to God, on the Sabbath morning, the
"first day of the week" to me the first
Sabbath when, not only with the lip word,
but with a soul voice, I could bow before
Him and whisper " Rabboni " "Master."
The sermon was very plain, but the words
of the text said enough "looking unto



g t SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

Jesus." I am so happy, " looking," now ;

but when the dark days come, and He leads
me by a rough way, shall I trust then, too ?
I think I shall. Only I'm so weak and full
of sin ; but Jack says, " I must not think of
that I must look away from self look only
to Christ, if I would keep right."

Returning late in the day, through

the twilight woods, we talked of many
things. Jack told us of a picture he saw
when in Europe last spring, called, " Where
they crucified Him." He calls the picture
a " sacred lyric," full of solemn thought and
tender pathos. He said the artist "had
chosen the towards - evening hour, when
' darkness already began to gather over the
battlemented walls, the temple, and city of
Jerusalem/ veiling the hills in misty gloom ;
when on Golgotha the Calvary hour was
passed the bodies of the malefactors and of
Him who with them was crucified had been
removed, because they ' should not remain
until th.e Sabbath day.' In the far west the
sun sets, sinking behind the cloud -banks;



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. g$

and, coming up over the distant misty east
ern hills, 'mid the clouds, varied and radiant
with the sun-set glory, the moon rises. On
the hill-side, where but a little while before
the thronging multitude were gathered
the multitude crying, ' Crucify him crucify
him' there broods now a solemn stillness,
broken only by the stroke of the workman's
tool as he lowers the central cross the
cross on which the^ Saviour suffered. The
bowed figure of the man of toil tells in every
line the deep reverence with which he re
gards the task before him. He is just fold
ing up the inscription on which was written,
' The King of the Jews.' Grouped near,
leaning on the prostrate cross, are little chil
dren, one holding in his hand a nail that had
been used in the great sacrifice, and careful
ly examining it with a look of questioning
awe and childlike wonderment blended with
reverence." I longed to ask Jack : Did he
think the little ones knew the Calvary story ?
Was it one of the little children He called
unto Him to bless, that now held the cruel
8



85 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

nail ? And must even the little children know
of the cross? All these questions I longed
to ask ; but it was so still when he ceased
speaking, I think his words had made us feel
nearer to that day, so long since passed,
than even looking at the picture would have
done.

By and by Mr. Hubbel, who walked

part way back with us, broke the hush that
had fallen over all when Jack finished his
description. I was so glad his voice wasn't
sorrowful, but full of earnest joy. Just the
same kind of joy which I think up -welled
in the heart of Thomas (when too overjoyed
to reach forth a doubting finger, no longer
"faithless, but believing," he cried, "My
Lord and my God!") sounded in Mr. Hub-
bel's voice as he repeated the hymn :

"In the cross of Christ I glory,

Towering o'er the wrecks of time ;
All the light of sacred story

Gathers round its head sublime."

And then he added : " What a picture
these words give us ! The Cross of Christ !



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. g^

The wrecks of time ! Darkness, sin, every
where ; but over all, the light, not of earthly
splendor that is dimmed by earth's changing
days, but the light which is unchanging,
gathered where? About the Temple the
royal city? About the days of Roman
pomp, Grecian culture and beauty? No,
not there, where ruin and decay murmur:
' Our gTory is departed ; our beauty is as
dust and ashes.' No, the lasting light gath
ers only round the Cross."





XI.

THIS morning Jack went away, and to
morrow we go, instead of to-day, as
papa first planned. I couldn't bear to say
good-bye to Jack, we have been so happy
together, and it seems as though he would
have been such a help to me now ; but when
I told him so, he said : " Perhaps that is one
reason why we are to be separated, Annie,
for a little while. You might turn to me foi
help, when the command is, not to look at
Christian friends, but to look at Christ.
' Follow me,' Jesus said." Then he gave
me some dear little helpful words to remem
ber; and just because they were so kind
and, helpful they made me feel how lonely
I should be when he was really gone. I

(88)



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. 3^

laid my head down on the mossy bank
where we were sitting, and cried. I know
it was childish, but Jack wasn't vexed ;
he only tried to soothe me, whispering as
we heard the stage coming that was to take
him away : " Remember, Annie, ' Christ al
ways is near,' and you can tell Him all the
temptations, the failures, and the longings,
of your heart ;" and then he stooped and
kissed me he never did that before and
again he whispered : " Good-bye, my little

thistle-down," Well ! since then, I have

just sat and thought, and, I believe, felt
home-sick for Jack. I do wish he was my
own brother, just like Fred.



8*




XII.

*"T)APA came up to my room this morn-
JL ing, just after I finished writing, when
I was sitting all alone, thinking about Jack's

having gone away. I had such a dear

talk with papa. I told him all that has
made me so happy these last few days, and
how different life and everything seemed to
me, now that Christ was my dearest friend
and Saviour. I never saw papa so happy
before, and yet he did not say much hard
ly anything, except " Annie, the prayer
your mother breathed for you, her baby-girl,

the night she left me, now is answered."

And then papa bowed his head on the little

table. 1 knew he did not want me to

speak to him, so I stole my hand into his
(90)



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. gi

and laid my head on his shoulder. 1

think we sat for an hour quiet, with one an
other, papa and I. When he lifted up his
head, there were tear marks about his eyes,
but his face was all happiness as he folded
me in his arms and kissed me, saying : " God
bless and guard you, my darling, keep
ing you close to Him ;" and then he left me.
Papa never says very much, and I sup
pose that is why I care more for these few
words.

It was when I said good-night, that papa
gave me my choice of going to the village
where he lived when he was a boy, or continu
ing our pleasure trip in company with Mrs.
Morgan and her party. I was so delighted
at the thought of going where papa's boy
hood was spent, I did not hesitate in choos
ing for a minute, but Mrs. Morgan and the
rest caught my words, and they all crowd
ed round, and begged me not to go to that
" poky old farm house," and old maid Aunt
Stella, but to stay with them. When Mrs.
Morgan reminded me that grandpapa and



9 2



SU3TMER DRIFT-WOOD.



grandmama had died since papa was there,
and asked, " Would it not be mournful for
him to go where so many changes had
come?" I hardly knew what to do; but
papa came to my help, and said : " Let An
nie do as she likes best. What pleases her
most, pleases me. And the going to my old
home, even though I find many changes,
will not be painful changes are every
where." Then I knew what papa wanted,
and I didn't mind Mrs. Morgan and all their

persuasions. I'm so glad of this quiet

time before me. 1 know I shall have to

go out into the world. I know Christ said,
" Confess me before men," and I long to
have every one know how precious I find
Him ; but, just now, I shall like better the
being able to think more and differently than
I could do in the crowded places to which we
were going ; and it will take me so long to
learn, even a little of my own heart.

1 have always been happy, and yet

these last months, I have sometimes had
such a dissatisfied feeling I have wanted
6*



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. g.,

something more. I tried one day to tell it
to Jack. He put it into words for me, say
ing : " Man's destiny, Annie, is not to be
dissatisfied, but unsatisfied" always athirst
for God. That means, always to be want
ing to be purer and better more like Him,
who though " tempted in all points, like as

we are, was yet without sin." It 'is a

beautiful word of the psalmist, that tells us
of the " hart panting after the water brooks,
as the soul panteth after God." 1 won
der if I shall ever be like the hart tired,
hunted, at bay. Struggling to reach the
"just beyond" the cooling water brook
thirsting for one drop longing for rest on
its shady bank.

Now I am so happy. But the

Christian's life, it must be a life of con
flict and effort. Paul says : " Fight the good
fight of faith" " Press toward the mark,
for the prize of your high calling;" and
these words, they surely tell of effort labor.
" The pure white blossoms of holy tranquilli
ty and peace, do they only spring from the



94 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

bulbs of toil ?" " The fruits of the spirit,
love, joy, peace, long suffering-, gentleness,
goodness, faith," do they only ripen on
the tree that has broken through the earth
clods ? And Christ said : " Whosoever doth
not bear his cross, and come after me, can
not be my disciple." But then He said too :
" I atn the vine, ye are the branches ;" so if
He sees we need a cross, He is with us to
help support the burden. I remember, last
May, how I watched the grape-vine just out
side my window, and thought about "the
sap gurgling up into the dead branches.
Every day they grew more beautiful in
their green freshness; and just so, Christ
has said, He will be in us not outside, as
the Sun is, but in" I did'nt understand, at
first, what Jack meant by saying, " man's
destiny was to be not dfosatisfied, but always
2/;zsatisfied ;" but now I begin to catch a
glimmer of his meaning. The more we
think of Christ, the more we see in self
to condemn. The " perfect life of the sin
less man," we reach but such a little way



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. QEJ

up toward it, how can we help being unsat
isfied ? And yet, it seems to me, as the days
of Christian life the days of believing are
numbered by months and years, as though
one would forget all about being dissatisfied
unsatisfied ; pass way beyond, and lose
the remembrance of the words in the
thought of that waking time, when we
"shall be satisfied," for we shall "see Him
as He is." I wonder if there wasn't some
thing of this thought in Jack's heart, when
he copied for me the little verse :

" Thro' Life and Death, thro' sorrow and thro' sinning,
Christ shall suffice me, for He hath sufficed.

Christ is the end, for Christ is the beginning ;
Christ the beginning, for the end is Christ."




XIII.

I AM so glad papa brought me here. I
think it is the dearest old homestead in
the world, and Aunt Stella is not one bit
" poky," as Susie Carrol said I should find
her, but just the sweetest-faced old lady I
ever imagined. I really longed last night to
paint a little picture of her and papa, as they
sat in the dimly-lighted room, talking over
"old times." I stole out to the porch, it
was so pleasant there. Broad moonlight
bands stretched across the hall, and little
broken rays flitted and flirted 'mid the leaves
of the honey-suckle that climbs over the
porch quite up to the roof. From my seat
on the door-step, I could see right into the

sitting-room, and watch Aunt Stella and
(96)



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



97



papa, though I couldn't hear what they said.
It is a queer old stone house, built long ago,
and the furniture and every thing is just as
old-fashioned as it can be. Such odd pic
tures of grandfathers and grandmothers,

aunts and uncles, as hang on the walls !

I should think it would be dreadfully lonely
for Aunt Stella ; but though papa has often
asked her to come and live with us, she al
ways says : " No ; I'll wait here with Han
nibal and Chloe. It won't be for long. I

like the old place best." 1 wish I could

read the history every nook and corner of
the old house and rambling garden could
tell me. I like to be here. And yet there
is something weird and mysterious. I keep
thinking of Hawthorne's books, and Long
fellow's "New-England Tragedies" keep
wondering when I walk through the half-
deserted streets, whether it seemed just so
in those old-time days.

But I am dreaming again, and I did re
solve I wouldn't do it any more; yet there
don't seem a bit of good or work to do
9



og SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

here. Aunt Stella sits all day in her cool
parlor, knitting. Half the time her eyes are
shut. Now there is nothing I can do for
her ; perhaps she would like some flowers,
though ; and I will just write for a little while,
and then go and gather some. I suppose
she is thinking all the time, and wide awake ;
but she does look so near a nap, I don't like
to disturb her by speaking. This morning
I sat still till I was tired and a little lonely,
because papa had left me ; so I crept out as
quiet as a mouse. Auntie never heard me,
for I looked back from the open door, and

she was knitting away with closed eyes.

I wonder if she is praying all the time she is
so still. I like to think she is. If I should
live to be very old, I wonder would I sit so
quietly, never minding the outside world,
but just wrapped up in my own thoughts,
living over the past? Aunt Stella is very
peaceful ; she looks as if she had learned al
most as well as grandpapa the command,
" Pray without ceasing." Only she don't
look as if she had quite the same " young



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



99



soul" as he has. She looks as though in the
doing of Christ's will, she had so often come
to places where she has had to wait before
she could say, "Thy will be done" as
though the " Fear not, little flock," had
sounded more faintly and seemed spoken by
a voice farther off than it has been from
grandpapa as though her way had been
through so many difficulties. There is just
this difference between grandpapa's old age
and Aunt Stella's. He looks all peace, as
though the "sorrowing" had always been
lost in the "rejoicing;" she, quiet and calm
now ; but there is something that tells it
wasn't always so.

1 wish Jack was here, that I could

ask him what that verse means : " Pray with
out ceasing." Of course it can't mean, all
the time we are to be praying. I suppose it
means, all the time we are to have a prayer
in our hearts, and I'm beginning now to

learn the meaning of that. It is only a

little while since I began to love and trust
Christ, and yet already life and every thing



I00 SUMMER DEIFT-WOOD.

seems different. Even papa's love and the
good times I have had with Jack would seem
not half so dear, if I couldn't tell all to Jesus.
I wonder whether it is wrong to feel so?
But I know it can't be. Why, 'tis just the
telling all the little things that makes me so
glad and happy that makes Christ seem so
near such a real and close friend. Yet

when I think of Him in His glory, surround-


ed by the worshiping angels, hearkening to

the cries of thousands upon thousands of
human hearts, that are constantly lifting
" praise and adoration, with prayer and sup
plication," I'm almost afraid to tell Him all ;
but then I remember, " our God knows we
are but poor little children," and I think it
was this made Christ say, " Are not two
sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of
them shall not fall to the ground without
your Father ; fear ye not, therefore, ye are
of more value than many sparrows ;" so I
won't be afraid any more^ but go on telling
Him all. I know I shall be happier so, and,
I think, keep closer to Him."



XIV.

OLD HANNIBAL has just brought me
three letters one from papa, saying
he is sorry to disappoint me of the drives
and pleasures we had planned, but that un
locked for business makes it necessary for
him to be in the city, and that I must be
all packed and ready to leave Friday morn
ing, (that's the day after to-morrow,) when
he will take me to the sea-side, where Aunt
Mary is ; then he must return to New York,
and be without me all August and part of

September ! It does seem such a long

time to look forward to being without papa.

The next, a little note from Aunt Mary,

telling me the sea-side is beautiful and rest
ful to her, and of all the plans she is making
9* ( I01 )



IO2 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

for the happy days she hopes we shall spend
together there. Her little note makes me
quite long to go. And the other letter, it
was from Jack. I never thought he would
write to me, though I have wished ever so
much he would. 'Tis such a helpful letter,
saying just what I wanted some one to say
to me. He writes : " Remember, Annie,
take no Christian for your guide ; take Christ
as your pattern and example, and feel how
glorious a thing it is to be like your Leader.
I am persuaded, just in proportion to our
faith in Christ, is our joy. Begin right ; fol
low Jesus with your whole heart ; study His
character ; be ever looking away from your
self; be 'looking unto Jesus;' and you will
find yourself becoming more and more like
Him ; till that blessed day, when ' we shall
be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.'
Does not this 'for ' indicate that those who
fix their eyes on Christ shall receive His
image in their souls in just the same measure
with which He reveals Himself to them?
And we know that this will be in proper-



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. j QT

tion to the faith with which we lift our eyes
to Him."

1 think 'twas so kind of Jack to write

to me. I couldn't help kneeling right down
and thanking God ; for it is His love that
gives me so many kind friends, and that has
put it into Jack's heart to help me " follow

Christ." It is beautiful to feel our friends

are God's gifts to us. Thinking of it has
made me understand why we love and are
loved, sometimes, when we can't explain
what rouses the feeling. I think 'twill al
ways make me care more for my friends,
now that I have come to know they are
given me by God, " Our Father." And their
love for me, why it is His will that wakens
it in their hearts. Feeling so, makes friend
ship such a sacred, holy thing.

I suppose one reason why some people
seem to receive so much more love and ten
derness than others is, God sees they need
more, and so He blesses them with it ; just
as some flowers need the sunshine before
they blossom, and others spring up and



104



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



bloom in shady places. And I suppose, too,
it is when God sees we love, trust and lean
too closely on our earthly friends that He
takes them from us, not in judgment, but in
love, that we may draw nearer to Him, hav
ing less to lean on here.




XV.

I HAVE had such a happy evening !
And yet there have been tears in it.
After tea I asked Aunt Stella if she would
like to have me read to her. She was so
pleased, and said, " Yes ; for her old eyes
couldn't read for themselves very well."
Then she gave me her little hymn book, that
always lies with her Bible on the table by
her side, and said : " Call Hannibal and
Chloe ; they will like to hear you, too."
Hannibal and Chloe, his wife, have lived
here ever since papa was a little boy. I
went into the kitchen and told them I was
going to read to auntie, and she said they
could come and listen. They were so
pleased. I couldn't help laughing. Hanni-

(105)



IO 5 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

bal does say such funny things, and his face
is so black and shiny, and his hair white
and woolly. He began to rub his hands,
exclaiming : " Now this 'ere is delightsome
a delightsome pleasure, Miss Annie. Me
and Chloe will be powerful proud to hear
ye." And all the way into the sitting-room
he kept muttering to himself: " I'm mighty
glad powerful pleased."

1 didn't know what to read just at

first. The little hymn book seemed a
stranger. I couldn't turn to a familiar line.
I did so wish for Jack he would have
known right away ; but I'm such a beginner
in the Christian life. But, then, we must
always be learners; and I suppose even
grandpapa, who has been a follower of Jesus
so many years, every day turns a page of
new and fresh meanings all the time is
finding revelations of His love and goodness.
I remember hearing him say once to papa :
" We are just learners here little children,
knowing, at the best, only the A B C of the
heavenly language. Not till we reach home



SUMMEK DRIFT-WOOD.



lO/



shall we begin to read its fullness of mean
ing and beauty, ' for eye hath not seen, nor
ear heard, neither have entered into the
heart of man the things which God hath
prepared for them that love Him.' And yet
we do catch some words from the hearts of
God's children that are more than alphabet
letters words that seem to have come
straight from the 'other land.' I suppose
they are the thoughts that Christ breathes
into our hearts, ' revealing them unto us by
His spirit.' "

I turned over the leaves of the little
hymn book. I felt embarrassed. I wonder
why it is so hard to speak of Christ ? I won
der why we are such contradictions to our
selves about it ? We love Jesus best of all ; we
long to have others know His love ; and yet
we hesitate and linger before speaking of
Him. I wonder why it was I shrank from
my own voice, and there was nobody there
but Aunt Stella, Hannibal and Chloe. I
have sung and played before ever so many
people, and it never seemed half so hard to



IO8 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

do as it did last night, when Aunt Stella
took the little book from my hand and said :
' Sing to us, child, instead of reading ;" but
when I began the words, " Jesus, lover of
my soul," I forgot all about being afraid ;
and I think now one reason why I felt so at
first was because the three old people knew
so much more of Christ than I did. When
I stopped, Aunt Stella's eyes were full of
tears, and she said : " Go on ; sing of the
* Rock of Ages,' child." So I sang all the
verses through. I think God gave me this
singing service, just to show me that what
I thought in the morning about there being
nothing for me to do here was wrong ; for
Aunt Stella said : " You have done me good,
Annie." And old Chloe was really crying,
not sorrowfully, (I know it was not sorrow
fully,) but because she was so happy ; and
in a broken voice she said : " It seems like
though we had been thar, and beared the
angels singing. Now don't it, Missus ?" And
Hannibal said : " It 'pears like to me, Miss
Annie, you're chosed to be mighty blest of






SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. IO g

de Lord." And he wiped his eyes with his
rough coat sleeve, saying : " Delightsome,
that ar singing; it makes this ole sinner
want mighty to be good. Wai, I does try ;
and I succeeds pretty wal." Poor old igno
rant Hannibal ! I don't think he meant to
be self-righteous ; only he does try ; and
when he succeeds, he don't quite understand
that his well-doing is because Christ has
helped him. I will try to-morrow to explain
it to him. Aunt Stella did not say a word
for ever so long after Hannibal and Chloe
left the room ; but, by and by, she stooped
over and kissed me. I was sitting on a little
stool at her feet, and again she said, " You
have done me good, Annie," murmuring to
herself, " A little child shall lead them." I
wonder if she knew how the murmured
words thrilled through me with joy.

When Aunt Stella kissed me, a tear
drop fell on my forehead. It seemed to me
almost a baptismal seal the tear-drop that
fell from that old weary heart, as she blessed
me. I couldn't help thinking, as I sat there
10



IIO SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

in the deepening twilight, of all the tears
that had fallen from Aunt Stella's eyes. She
is very old she was grandmama's sister
and as I looked at her, she seemed quiet and
contented ; and yet I know, back of all the
repose of her life now, in the by-gone days
there had been hours of storm and tempest.
When Chloe brought in the candles, she
kissed me again and said : " God bless you,
phild ! I thought the old eyes had forgotten
to weep. They have known many tears in
their lifetime, little Annie ; but they are al
most there, where sorow and weeping are
unknown where ' God shall wipe all tears
away.' ' And then she said : " You have
been a comfort to me, child. Sometimes the
old woman is lonely they are all gone ; but
it won't seem long to wait now." I laid my
head down in Aunt Stella's lap and cried
I couldn't help it and she smoothed the
hair from my forehead with her wasted fin
gers her aged hands, tired with life's work,
and then she took from her pocket a little
case, saying: "Shall I show your young



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. Iir

eyes what only old worn-out eyes have seen
these many years?" The little case was
pocket-worn and time-stained. So tenderly
she held it in her trembling hands, wiping
the tiny dust-specks away with her soft cam
bric handkerchief! Her faded eyes grew
warm and soft with the love-light which had
never died from her heart. Then she handed
me the picture, saying: " Annie, I was young
once young, like you, little one."

It was only an old-fashioned minia
ture, and the face wasn't handsome that
looked at me from it. It was the face of a
plain man a homely man, taken in early
manhood; and opposite was a profile, cut
in black paper, of a girl face. I knew it was
Aunt Stella. A lock of dark hair was tied
with a faded ribbon, and fastened beneath

the pictured face. And I held it in my

hand the story of Aunt Stella's life. It
was never written down, but the pictured
face, the profile of the young girl, the lock

of hair they told it all ! " I'm old now,"

she said again "an old maid, Annie



H2 SdMMER DRTFT-WOOD.

called so these many years ; but it don't seem
long- ago since I dreamed my dreams, child.
God's ways are not our ways ; but He knows

best, and it is all right." Then she was

still, and the " pray without ceasing" look
crept over her face.

When next she spoke, there were no

tears in her voice, only a lingering sadness.
She took the little picture from me, fastened
the case, put it into her pocket, all so quiet
ly, before she said : " When I die, tell them
to give the picture to you, Annie ; and be
tender of it. child ; don't let the dust and
mould gather over his face ; be tender of
the little picture for your old Aunt Stella's
sake ;" and the tears came again ; but tears,
I think, to the old are like smiles to chil
dren.

After that, Aunt Stella told me a

great deal about her life more, she said,
than she had ever told any one before. I
am so glad she told it to me. I think know
ing of her will give me courage, if God sends
trials. And she told me, too, of His grace,



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. j j 3

that had upheld her, " ' The everlasting
arms/ child the everlasting arms they are
always underneath." She didn't tell me of
her noble self-sacrifice and self-forgetfulness ;
but I know something of that, for papa has
told me.

I wonder why we are net always ten
der and thoughtful of the old ? I wonder
why people forget so, and seem to think the
romance and the dream days all belong to
the young, never seeming to have a thought
for the stories written on hearts that are hid
den by wrinkled care-worn faces never
seeming to think of the pathos of lives grown
silent and tired with the long journey
never thinking of the struggles, the noble
deeds, which are written every where writ
ten in the old faces, looking from dim eyes ;
sounding in voices from which the music
has gone ; in steps grown slow and halting,
hands trembling and strengthless. Oh! I
wonder we ever forget all this. I wonder
we are not always tender of the old. But
then, of course, I have dear grandpapa and
10*



114



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



Aunt Stella now to make me feel so ; and
they have taught me that the young don't
really care, often, half as much for the beau
tiful things of life, and never need them as
much as the aged people. This morning,
when I came in with my apron all full of
flowers, how pleased Aunt Stella was. I do
think she cared more for the two or three
" prettiest ones" little rose-buds that I put
in a tiny vase, and stood by the side of her
Bible more, a great deal more than I did
for all the beautiful bouquets that were sent
me last winter.

I'm glad I had that talk with Jack

about sorrow, and that he said, " God would
send the cross, when there was a ' needs be.' "
And I'm so glad, too, he said, all I had to
do, now, was to be thankful and happy, walk
ing the pleasant path God is leading me in.
I remember just how he said : " If the stormy
days come, Annie, and the outside sun be
hid, keep close to Christ ; and whatever He
sends, let His warm loving grace be in your
heart, and you will be happy." I suppose



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



the reason why I think of these words to
night, is because I talked so long with Aunt
Stella about sorrow.





XVI.



HOW we change about from place to
place ! Yesterday I sat on the shady
door-step at Aunt Stella's, and wrote in my
little diary ; and to-night I am a way off here
at the sea-side. Aunt Stella felt so sorry to
have me leave ; Hannibal and Chloe too ;
and I felt sorry myself, even though I did
want to come to Aunt Mary. I do dislike
to say good-bye. I wish we could go
through life without it. And I don't suppose
I shall ever see dear old Aunt Stella again.
" Good-bye !" 'Tis such a dreary word. If
people wouldn't call it affected, I do believe I
would always say, " Farewell." That speaks
a hope with the parting look ; but " good
bye " seems so desolate. Now, " good-

(ii 6)



SUMMER DRIFT- WO OD. j j 7

night " is different ; but then, perhaps, it is
only in the seeming ; and why I think it dif
ferent is, that " good-night " always seems to
me the spoken word that expresses the si
lent " God bless you ;" but papa says, I'm
mistaken that good-bye means, " God be
with you," and so it is the sweetest, best
leave-taking word we can say to a friend.
I don't believe I shall mind it, now that I
know this. Papa and I had such a pleas
ant journey. We left early in the morning,
just as the sun was rising. Hannibal drove
us over to the little station. We had to wait
for the cars. The train creeps along so on
this out-of-the-way road, stopping at every
village, we only just connected with the
train from the West. I didn't mind its slow
ness as much as papa did, the country
through which we passed was so lovely, and
all seemed unlike any thing I had ever known
before of journeying. The lazy-going train,
and the queer country people that came in
at one station to get off at the next they
all seemed to know one another, and talked



j i g SUMMER DELFT- WOOD.

so fast about crops and the weather. Why,
I could have been amused all day with the
inside view ; but the outside I liked better.
All the way we kept close to a river ; the
water was so clear, and the reflections far
down reaching, every little leaf and twig
was pictured in the quiet water. It made me
think of how Ruskin says, " There is hardly
a little road-side pond, or pool, which has
not as much of landscape in it as above it."

And the river, it caught such beauti
ful sky-pictures ; and then I thought of how
Ruskin went on to say : " Looking deep
enough, we see the serious blue of the far-
off sky, and the passing of pure clouds ; and
so it is at our own will, whether we see in
the despised stream the refuse of the street
or the image of the sky. So it is with al
most all other things." "Why don't we
look deep down into these water places,
which catch and hold the upper beauty ?
- Thinking these thoughts, breathing the
fresh morning air, laden with herb scents
and new-mown hay fragrance, I felt so hap-



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

py. Planning, too, for the winter time, when
I shall be at home, and cannot look at life
only reflected in the calm water, but must,
if I would tell others of Christ, walk by the
pool and stream made muddy by sin and
wrong doing. Shall I have courage and faith,
I wonder, to look deep enough to see the
" image of the sky" then, when it is hidden
by so much ? I wonder what we should do,
if it wasn't for the promise, " My grace is
sufficient made perfect in weakness" ?

I suppose I must have been thinking

so hard, I fprgot about the people round
me ; for I was almost frightened when a
man in a seat just in front of us sprang up
and said : " Hark ! there's the death-bell
tolling !" And then I heard it the sound
of the bell. I remember when I was a little
girl hearing of this old custom the tolling
of the church bell, to carry to all the fami
lies, the country side around, the message,
" Some one is dead." We stopped at the
village, and every stroke then sounded loud
and clear. I counted fifteen times it tolled.



I2Q SUMMER DR/TT-WOOD.

All the people were hushed, and it was in a
soft voice a woman asked from a man who
came in, " Who's took now ?" " Widow
Brown's girl," he replied. " Dreadful sud
den she was just the likeliest one ever I
seed going on for sixteen or thereabouts."

And then the car whistle sounded, and

we glided out of the village passed beyond
the sound of the tolling bell.

The Boston train was so crowded

papa couldn't get a seat with me ; but he
was only a little way behind, and though I
couldn't see him, \felt he was. there. The
little things that are happening every hour
to us seem like messages from our heavenly
Father. Just the feeling that I was still in
papa's care, though I couldn't see him,
wakened such sweet, peaceful thoughts of
God's care, watching over His children all
the time. And then, looking about on the
strange faces, (not one I had ever seen before,)
I thought of the solitude, the desolation,
that must come to one when in a crowd of
strangers alone ; and what I should do with-



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



121



out papa. But now that I love Christ, I
need never think of ever being alone ; for
always the Unseen Friend is with me.
ii





XVII.

IT does seem so good to be with Aunt
Mary and Fred again ; and Jack is com
ing to-night. When Fred told me, I wanted
to clap my hands with joy; but ever so
many people were standing around, so I

couldn't. This morning auntie read with

me the passages that tell of the coming of
Christ, in Matthew and Luke's Gospels.
Auntie said she always especially enjoyed
reading these records, they link so tenderly
Jesus, the One " touched with the feeling of
our infirmity" the "Elder Brother," with
" Emanuel," " God with us." From Luke
and Matthew we turned to John, who lifts
not the veil, which reveals Christ coming as
the virgin's son, but tells us of the Word, and



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. i 2 -t

that the " Word was God" "And the Word
was made flesh and dwelt among us, full of
grace and truth" "The light shining in
darkness, and the darkness comprehending

not." Auntie said St. Augustine wrote

of the four evangelists : " The first three in
culcate the practical duties of active life ;
St. John dwells on the ineffable mysteries of
the contemplative. The former speak of
labor ; the last speaks of rest. The former
lead the way; the last shows our Home."
And that Chrysostom wrote : " The Gospel
of John is sweeter, more persuasive, than all
the harmony of music ; most holy most full
of unspeakable glories, and conveying great
blessings." Then we read in Isaiah the
strength - giving assurance: "The Word of
our God shall stand for ever" the glory of
the Lord shall be revealed (this is a beauti
ful, cheering promise to read and connect
with that verse from John the "darkness
comprehended not ;") and yet "on Him the
Lord hath laid the iniquities of us all. It
pleased the Lord to bruise Him" " Surely
n*



J24 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

He hath borne our griefs and carried our sor
rows." Aunt Mary said those words, " It
pleased the Lord to bruise Him," are so
laden with deep, far-reaching comfort to
her. "Think, Annie," she said, "of the
depth of God's love for us, revealed in them.
God, of whom David, the Israel singer,
wrote, ' Like as a father PITIETH/ was pleased
to 'put Him to grief;' and why? Christ
gives us the answer : ' For God so loved the
world that He gave His only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in Him should not
perish, but have everlasting life.' "

1 do enjoy talking with Aunt Mary

so much. Before she began her daily letter
to grandpapa, we sang together the hymn
that begins, " God is love ; His-mercy bright
ens." The two last verses hold, I think, the
germ of all auntie had been saying :

" Ev'n the hour that darkest seemeth,

Will his changeless goodness prove ;
From the gloom his brightness streameth;
God is wisdom, God is love.



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. i 2 $

" He with earthly cares entwineth

Hope and comfort from above ;
Every where his glory shineth ;
God is wisdom, God is love."

While Aunt Mary was writing, I took up
her Bible, which lay open on the table, and
turned the leaves from Isaiah's page on be
yond to Ezekiel. The verse my eye rested
upon was : " He brought me to the gate,
even the gate that looketh toward the east."
I do long to talk with Jack about these
words " Looking toward the east." I wish
it always would be my out-look, and why
may it not be ? For surely God has " led
and brought" me to the " eastward gate."

Sometimes the Bible seems to me like

a new book, now I read it flooded with
light from the " bright and morning star."
How wonderful it all is! There is much I
cannot understand, but even the " altogether
dark passages have a foretaste of some great,
glorious meaning, which I shall some day
know." My reading this morning has made
me feel so surrounded by the " great cloud



I2 6 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

of witnesses." The love of Christ it breaks
every barrier. Learned and unlearned, poor
and rich, sorrowful and glad, we are all one
in Him Ezekiel, the prophet, who beheld
" the glory of the Lord" coming from " the
r way of the east;" and the "little child,"
whom " Christ called and set in the midst of
them." I do like these eastward verses so
much ! In the 46th chapter it is written :
" Thus saith the Lord God : The gate of the
inner court that looketh toward the east
shall be shut the six working days ; but on
the Sabbath it shall be opened, and in the
day of the new moon it shall be opened."
These were the 'directions for the temple
gate. Onward in the chapter comes : " Now
when the prince shall prepare a voluntary
burnt-offering or peace offerings voluntarily
unto the Lord, One shall then open him the
gate that looketh toward the east." And
the " Prince of Peace" He came ; and He
said : " I lay down my life no man taketh
it from me ; but I lay it down of myself."
So it is through Him we learn, One shall



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



127



open the gate, not only for the " Sabbath
and the new moon days," but open it, too,
for " the six working days."

I love to think how the years rolled on
after the prophets prophesied, till the time
appointed came for that " eastward gate
opening;" and I am so glad that not only
the wise men beheld the " Star of the East"
not only they who would come laden with
gifts " frankincense, gold and myrrh," but
the little shepherd band, " feeding their flocks
by night," they, too, heard the glad " Fear
not, for unto you is born a Saviour, which is
Christ the Lord ;*' and they came, "glorify
ing and praising." Ignorant shepherds and
wise men together they met around Him.

This wonderful underlying unity of the
Bible, Jack said I should find every where.
I know just what he would say about my
thinkings this morning. I can almost hear
his voice saying : " Annie, take the Eastward
verse as a motto for your Christian life."

1 remember he told me, the very last

day we were on the mountains together, to



I2 g SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

watchfully guard my heart, lest I lost from
it the gladness which should ever be the
portion of the Christian. He said, often he
(it seems so strange, for I think Jack is al
ways trying and trusting) forgot, or rather
overlaid with other thoughts, the sweet as
surance Christ has given, that our sins are
blotted out, now, by. His blood.

It has poured with rain all day, and 1

have not had even a glimpse of the sea ; but I
don't mind, for Jack will be here to-morrow ;
so I can see it for the first time with him.
We have had a very pleasant day, in spite
of the rain. I should have been quite con
tent to have stayed in our room talking to
auntie ; but after she had finished her letter,
she said : " We had better go down stairs.
Who knows, Annie, but we may find some
work to do for the Master ?" I think auntie
feels just right about doing good. She says
we must not wait for the great opportuni
ties ; if God sees we are fit for great service,
He will send it to us ; and unless we first
have learned to do the little, how can we be



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. I2 g

ready to do the great. Auntie says, too, if
I am careful and watchful over my words
and actions, I can have that most effective
of all influences, the silent testimony of a
heart at peace. She says talking to Fred,
telling him of my new-found happiness and
hopes, won't do him half as much good
won't make him feel they are nearly so real
as the seeing that I am changed.




XVIII.

~T~ACK is come ! I'm so glad ! 'Twas late
*-) last night before he arrived, and we be
gan to fear the storm had delayed him ; but
just as Aunt Mary and I were saying good
night to Fred, he came. Oh ! it did seem
so pleasant to see him, and he looked as
though he was very glad, too.

This morning I have been with Jack

for my first look at the sea. Yesterday's
storm all passed away with the night, on
the land not a trace of it was left ; but the
sea-waves were dashing wildly and foam-
crested. I think I shall learn to love the
ocean; only to-day it seemed so restless
so struggling almost as though beneath the

waves there was some great heart bound
(130)



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. j^j

and I'm so happy, I want to look only on
peaceful, joyous things. The waves dashing
upon the rocks and shore seemed longing to
find some resting place seemed so wanting
to escape from the turbulent water behind
them lingering for a moment before they
began the rolling back again, just as though
they were sorry to be lost in the overlapping
of the incoming and outgoing waves.

It doesn't make Jack feel as it does

me ; he says it is strength - giving to him ;
and he repeated to me the beautiful Bible
words, where the Lord promises protection
to His people protection from the " billows
and the waters." Jack glories in the sea.

I think he almost smiled at me when I

said it made me sorrowful, the little drops,
when the waves break, they " leap up so
toward the sun," and they look so pure and
white in the sunlight, but quickly" they fall
back into the dark water. I asked Jack if
he thought I should be like a little ocean-
drop in the Christian life (sometimes I'm so
afraid I shall) just reaching forth, seeming



J32 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

pure, bathed in the heavenly light, but only
for a minute, then dropping, Falling a way
down into the darkness of earth's ways.
Jack said I needn't be afraid ; and then he
bade me look up into the clear calm sky, and
pointed out to me the small fleecy clouds
floating up so near the deep blue, bathed in
the glowing sunlight of the early morning,
and he asked me, " Did I not know once the
clouds were little ocean-drops, sighing, per
haps, as they leaped up and fell back ; but,
at last, the sun had drawn them up to him
self." " So, little Annie," he said, " it is with
us ; we are but drops in the great ocean of
human souls ; we leap and struggle, we fail
and fall back with a sigh ; but never need
we lose heart, for always above us is the
1 Sun of righteousness' shining, and, if we be
faithful, in His own good time He will lift
us up even unto Himself. And He is called
the ' Fountain of Living Waters.' You know
it is a law in nature that water will always
rise to its own level. Now, comparing the
Holy Spirit to living water, see how beauti-



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. I ?*

fully the salvation of the redeemed is set
forth. The living water the Holy Spirit
comes down from our God, enters the sin
ner's heart, and, rising to its own level again,
returns to God, springing up into everlast
ing life."

The sea says so much to Jack ; even the
little mosses are full of whispers to him.
He gathered my basket quite full of beau
ties bright green, rosy red, soft pink, and
brown -tinted ones. He calls them the
" flowers of the sea," and he says if we don't
want to look for a deeper meaning, he thinks
these little waifs of the ocean, scattered all
over the beach, must always be full of deli
cate fancies Undine dreams murmurs of
coral homes pearly nooks where the water-
flowers grow ; and then he laughed and said :
" Why, Annie, if there be a heart, as you
fancy, chained below the wild sea-waves, it
is a generous heart, isn't it, to toss so freely
these little beauty blossoms on the shore for
us?" But I don't know why, Jack didn't
make it seem different to me; the little

12



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

mosses would seem like " fragments of songs
dropped from broken hearts." Perhaps it
was the memory of yesterday's storm that
made them seem to me tossed up by some
great grief. Jack said : " If they make you
feel so, Annie, let us learn a lesson from
them, and if ever the time comes when God
sends us some great sorrow, let us think of
this morning, when we stand so restful, so
happy, and yet so near we are to the restless
throbbing ocean think of yesterday's storm,
and think, too, that out of its conflict it has
brought to us, hot moans and sighs, but
these bright pleasure-giving mosses, seeming
full of joy, even though they came in the
dark stormy night. I think they are stamped
with the assurance ' Though God has sent
the storm though He has torn us from our
rock homes, dashing us upon this earthly
shore we children of the ocean, all stran
gers to the land ; yet since He has done it,
we won't lose our brightness our colors,
caught from the rain-bow the heavenly bow
of promise, that makes us not afraid, though



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



135



the way has been rough, and the land is
strange.' " I wonder if I could bear sor
row so ? Oh, I don't know ; it would be so
terrible, if those I love best were taken, to
still wear a smile on my face to be clothed
with bright colors, when all the time my
heart would be so dark.

But Jack said the rainbow colors

were not made by man; that God could
make by His light the darkest drops all
beautiful and shining; and he said, too, he
always linked with the rainbow a thought
of the blessings Christ promised, when from
the " mountain side" He taught the people.
" Do you catch my meaning, Annie ?" he
said. " Listen, and I will tell you. Christ
said, ' Blessed are the poor in spirit.' That
means the gentle, submissive ones, who
bow before His will, without a murmuring
thought 'the contrite and broken spirits,
with whom I will dwell, saith the high and
lofty One, who inhabiteth eternity, whose
name is Holy.' To them the blessing of
heaven is promised, and violet I call their



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

color, the hue that seeks not notice, but is
one of the sweetest, most soothing of all the

varied tints. And then comes, ' Blessed

are they that mourn.' Don't you link the
indigo with the mourning, so dark, so dreary
to our eye, if we look at it alone ; but soft
when blended in with its sister blue; not
dark, even if alone, when we can by faith
read the ' shall be comforted ' sorrow shall

be turned into joy ? Blue, 'tis well that

should be the symbol of the meek the sym
bol of those who 'delight themselves in

peace.' Green, Annie, we will choose

for the ' hungering and thirsting/ because
green is the all-bountiful color that clothes
the trees, fields, and plants ; and so it seems
to me the color that holds the promised
blessing, 'they shall be filled.' And the
merciful they who ' shall obtain mercy/ yel
low, the golden, it surely belongs to them, for
theirs is a golden promise. Orange for the
' peace makers' that, too, is golden, but of
a richer, deeper shade, just as their promised
blessing is fuller ; for what is like in bless-



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



137



ing to being called ' The children of God.'
And red, I think it is for the ' persecuted
the reviled ' they to whom comes much of
suffering many wounds, but who have
known the strength of 'my presence shall

go with you.' The ' pure in heart,' they

who ' shall see God' let us choose for them
white, the pure white robes, ' washed white
in the blood of the Lamb.' White, the ' spirit
light,' that mingles the colors all in one, till
color is lost and disappears before the ' great
Light' just as all the blessings seem to
grow dim and become one, in that greatest
of all blessings which is the heritage of the
' pure in heart, who shall see God.' "

All this about the beatitudes and the

colors I know are just thoughts of Jack's ;
but it helps me so much to hear him talk
thus. It seems to make it all more real when
we associate the beauties of nature with the
deeper beauties of the spirit life revealed by
the inspired words ; and I don't think it can
be irrelevant. I'm so glad Luther, who kept
close to the truth, said, " God has written
12*



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

the Gospel not only in the Bible, but in trees

and flowers, stars and clouds." And

then it is such a happy feeling, the knowing
God my Father " Our Father " makes all
these beautiful things for us ; gives them to
us as a foretaste of the joys and beauty laid
up for those who love Him. And it adds so
much to my gladness, the having Jack to
help me interpret these expressions of His
infinite love these shadowy hints of the in
effable glory of the " Upper Land."




XIX.

I WONDER why people call me " little
Annie," and " child ?" I don't mind much,
but sometimes I can't help wishing they
wouldn't. I think nineteen is real old. Aunt
Mary says it is because they love me. I
wonder if any body ever had so many pet
names as I have ? I suppose I always shall
seem a child to papa, Aunt Mary, and grand
papa ; but the other people, that don't really
love me and didn't know me when I was a
little girl, why do they do it ?

We had a beautiful long walk this

morning auntie, Jack and I, going to a jut
of rocks quite at the end of the eastern
beach ; and there we had a long, long talk,
sitting on the rocks, looking out over the

('39)



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

sea. It is so calm, hardly stirred by a ripple,
to-day, restful and still, seeming not at all as
it did that first day after Jack came ; and yet
the "real repose" all the time was there,
hidden away down below the tossing waves,
just as in our hearts, I think, if we really
love Christ, there must always be ^a deep
inward peace, whatever the outside may be ;
only I suppose, sometimes, if trials are very
heavy, we hardly hear its murmur hardly
heed it ; and then the waves we see dashing
round us, they must .seem so much nearer
than the under-current calm.

Jack said I was wrong in saying or think
ing so that Christ's peace and love, he
thought, never seemed so near as when we
were storm-tossed. " There are some com
forts, Annie, which we never reach except
through suffering. It has often seemed to
me they are among the richest." Jack's life
hasn't been all glad and happy like mine. I
used to feel sorry about it, but since every
thing has changed so much to me, and life
seems just lent to us to do Christ's work, I



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



141



am glad, because I think the having known
sorrow makes him so much tenderer, will
make him so much more able to be a conso
lation-giver when he is a minister.

Jack asked Aunt Mary if she remem
bered the old saying: " Never to rest is the
penalty paid for our greatness." She replied
to him by repeating some German lines. I
couldn't understand them very well, so Jack
told them to me in English, though he said
translating German was like trying to ex
plain a look ; in the process its spirit charm
vanished. But I don't think it did this time.
He was so kind, saying them over two or
three times, till I know them by heart :

" Rest is not quitting
The busy career;
Rest is the fitting

Of self to one's sphere.

" "Tis the brook's motion,
Clear, without strife;
Meeting to ocean,
After this life.



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

" 'Tis loving and serving

The highest and best ;

'Tis onward unswerving ;

And this is true rest."

I wonder if I shall ever live in the real in
ner spirit of this rest ? my soul always quiet,
like the under-current of the ocean never
troubled by the restless, changing, upper

water. Jack and auntie said so much

that I have been feeling these last few weeks,
it seemed as though my heart was speaking
with their voices. Jack said these " Rest
lines" of Goethe's met and answered so
beautifully to him the seeming contradiction
that so often Christians meet in the early
days of their believing and following Christ.
He said he thought standing on the threshold
of the new life, many became disheartened,
because where they had thought to find rest,
they found conflict. "Labor and Rest" so
closely associated " the one seeming neces
sary to lead to the other the one longed
for, the other shrunk from" the conflict of
which Paul wrote: "After ye were illumi-



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOJ).

nated, ye endured a great fight of afflic
tions." Aunt Mary said : " Yes, all must
know the feeling. How could it be other
wise? When God takes us by the hand,
and leads the soul from darkness into light
when Jesus is revealed to us in His perfect
beauty, we must be filled with longings so
intense, to be pure even as He is pure, that
instead of entering on a life of calm repose
tranquil meditation hours, we see before us
new unthought-of conflicts ; we find th?t
always, not only now and then, but always,
the soul must be on the alert, watching over
self laboring for others, if we would be fol
lowers of Him who ' went about doing
good.' And this coming to Christ, we
thought it was coming to rest, and so it is
rest the deepest, most soul-satisfying, even
though we catch only its reflection here
peace in the heart." I asked Jack if he re
membered the talk we had about peace and
rest when we were among the mountains.
I do love Jack's smile when he is pleased.
He gave me one then, while he said : " The



144



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



spirit of this rest, found in loving and serv
ing the highest the best the loving and
serving, which is the fitting of self to one's
sphere the sphere of following close after
Christ, it comes and steals into the soul with
every act of self-sacrifice every deed of self
denial that is done for His sake every little
love-thought that wakens in the heart, be
cause of love to Jesus. The 'cup of cold
water/ even, when given in His name, is filled,
I think, with drops of peace and happiness for
the giver. So that ere long we thankfully
bind together the labor and the rest; and
Paul's ' fight of afflictions' are over-laid by
the sustaining assurance, they come ' after
we are illuminated.' "

I told Jack the rest promises of Christ

seemed to me to mean, too, the rest of trust
ing ; and so we did know something of it

here. The happy faith that God is our

Father, and that He will give us all good, I
think " that is rest"

Auntie felt tired, but Jack took, me

round the point of rocks, where we had a



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. j^c

clear unbroken view, way out over the sea.
He talked with me so kindly and encour
agingly about next winter, and helped me
make many plans for what I want to do ; he
gave me so many new ideas for teaching the
class of poor children I am going to take in
Sunday-school. They are to be just rough
street boys, but Jack says I will find, if I
seek prayerfully, treasures hidden behind
their roughness. Wouldn't it be beautiful

if I could help them to come to Christ. I

asked Jack how we could find our "true
sphere." He said, " Do the little things close
to you, Annie, and you will be safe." We
were having such a pleasant talk, when
Auntie called to us, " The tide was fast com
ing in, and we must hasten back ;" but I am

so glad of what Jack did say. How

much wood he has given me for my winter
fire. I think he has helped make more than
half the bundle, I have already gathered, to
unbind with grandpapa.



XX.

HOW shall I tell it, even to my little
" heart book" ? How shall I tell this
beautiful, great unthought of happiness, God
has made my life so perfect, so full, by send
ing ? Why, I never thought Jack loved

me so; and now, though it is two weeks
since he told me, it seems, even yet, like a
dream, too glad and happy to really belong
to me. Oh ! I wish I were better I wish I
knew more were more worthy of his love.

Jack said he did not mean to tell me

so soon, though papa, who has known all
about it for ever so long, said he might. I
wonder what made him tell me that day. I
wonder if there ever was a morning so beau
tiful as the morning when he whispered it



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

to me whether the sunshine was ever so
bright before and every thing so glad.

1 don't need to write it down to re
member it, for it is all written in blue and
golden letters in my heart ; but some day
in the far away years, perhaps, when Jack
and I are old old like grandpapa and Aunt
Stella we shall like to read this sweet his
tory of our " spring time ;" not to make us
remember it, but just because, when our eyes
and hearts have grown old, looking back
will seem so unlike this real living time we
are in now ; and then, when the changes of
time are written on our faces engraven on
our souls, I think it will be so beautiful to
sit with my hand in his, and together read
the record of these glad young days.

It was the early morning ; a party of

us started to spend the livelong day in clam
bering over the cliffs, hunting for sea-mosses
listening to the "wild waves' sayings."
Carrie was with us, (she came only the day
before,) and in her glad, care-free way, she
hummed to herself a little love song, that



148 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

I think no one heard but Jack and I. Gail}'
springing from rock to rock, she sang :

" Go not, happy day,
From the shining fields ;
Go not, happy day,
Till the maiden yields.
Rosy is the west,
Rosy is the south,
Roses are her cheeks,
And a rose her mouth.
When the happy 'Yes'
Falters from her lips,
Pass and blush the news,
O'er the blowing ships
Over blowing seas
Over seas at rest."

I don't think it was the song made Jack
say it then. I don't know it seems to me
it wasn't that. The beautifnl look came into
his face, not while Carrie sang, but when his
eye fell on my hand, which rested in his, as
we climbed over the rough, rocky places.

It looked so little, when held in his

great strong man's hand. But I don't

know what made him say it ; I only know I



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

am happy, oh! so happy! Why! I can't
write about it words don't tell one bit of
my gladness.

It seems so strange to think of all the

summer days behind us ; but when I didn't
belong to Jack, even though it is such a lit
tle while ago since I really did, it seems
as though always we had loved and been

just as now. We have made so many

plans for the time when we can work to
gether for Jesus.

Jack says he is poor ; that he cannot

give me a home rich and costly like papa's,
and that this troubles him. He don't like
to think of my not having every thing beau
tiful around me ; but I told him he was my
home, and so I couldn't help having all beau
tiful, happy things, because he just satisfies

every thing in me. 1 think it made him

glad to know I felt so ; and yet he told me
I must not love him too well, and he traced
on the sand the verse : " Little children, keep
yourselves from idols," and bade me read it.
When he saw the tears were in my eyes, be-
13*



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

cause I thought he was displeased with me,
he drew me close to his side and whispered :
" I need the verse, little one, as much as
you ; let us help one another to remember
it ;" and then it was that Jack consecrated
our love by a spoken prayer. I know our
hearts had been full of thanksgiving and
praise every hour of the time since our joy
began ; but not till then did he breathe the
words aloud. Keeping me all the time close
to his side, he asked our Heavenly Father
"to bless and keep us ever near to Him,
drawing us by this great happiness to a
fuller consecration of all to Christ's service
strengthening us for all His love may send,
whether of joy or sorrow helping us ever
to say, ' Thy will be done,' filling our hearts
with the abiding presence of the Hoi}
Spirit."




XXI.

I TOLD Jack I didn't want to wait till
Christmas time to know the meaning of
the wreath he made for me to wear that
night when we were on the mountain, and
that I knew I never could guess ; so he told
me. He said, long, long ago, when I was a
very little child, one day he was playing ball
with Fred, before we came to live in the
city. I was sitting, all wrapped up in my
scarlet cloak on a little seat they had made
for me, watching them, when all of a sudden
I ran off in pursuit of one of the airy, wind
blown down-balls, shouting : " Me see it me
see it a angel a angel," and then, he said,
a breeze wafted the little thing in my reach,

('SO



152



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



and I caught it in my tiny hand, jumping- up
and down with delight, exclaiming : " Me's
got a angel; grandpapa, wee Annie has
cotched a angel," and into the house I ran,
he and Fred after me ; but when I opened
my hand, straight out flew the little captive,
up to the ceiling and then out of the win
dow, to fly over other gardens than ours ;
and I sat down on the floor and cried : " Me
angel's lost ; me so sorry ; naughty, naughty

angel, to fly away from little Annie."

I remember all about it now, and how Fred
laughed at me, and how Jack sat down by
my side and told me a long story about the
thistle-down, and how soon he comforted
me.

It seems so strange, but, oh, so beau
tiful ! Jack says he has loved me better than
any one else, ever since then. And he says,
when he saw me that evening, standing in
the moonlight, dressed all in pure gauzy
white, the memory of the day came over him
when I shouted, " Me's caught a angel," and
he could hardly resist the longing to take



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. jcjg

me right up in his arms and whisper my
own words over to me. And he says, then
for the first time came the fear, what if she
should fly away like the little thistle-down ?
and he resolved to wait till sure I would
come to him all of my own will ; and this was
why he looked so sorry when I asked him
how he fastened the airy thing on my wreath,
and so glad when I said it looked as if it
were resting of its own sweet will. So now
I know how I came to be called little
" thistle-down." I love it best of all my pet
names better, because it belongs entirely
to Jack, and nobody else will ever think of
calling me so.

Jack said there was a deeper meaning

to the wreath. The ferns he chose because
they were up-springing in lowly, unlocked
for places, sometimes the most beautiful ones
growing in out-of-the-way nooks ; and thus
he wanted me to be sweetest and best in
doing the little duties of life, never thinking
aught "too good" for the out-of-the-way
nooks. The clover blossom was the flower



^4 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

he selected for its many meanings the flow
er full of honey, that the busy bee seeks
nourishment from the little flower that
points the " cattle on a thousand hills " to
the greenest richest pasture meadows the
flower whose three-fold leaf whispers of the
graces, " Faith, Hope and Charity" whis
pers, too, of the most sacred threefold One,
the Father, Son and Holy Spirit." And
though it contains all these meanings, it
is nothing but an humble blossom. " The
thistle-down, Annie," Jack went on to say,
" think how it flies from place to place, al
ways carrying sweet thoughts of the coun
try, green fields and summer verdure. So,
my darling, I want you to be always bear
ing the sign of purity, as this silver-winged
messenger does always carrying ' the Word'
wafting the 'good news,' wherever the
spirit leads you." There were other dear
little words Jack told me about the hopes
he twined in with my wreath, but they are
too dear for me to let out of my heart, even
into my little diary.



SUM3IER DRIFT-WOOD.



155



To-morrow is the first autumn day.

I dread it a little bit. I don't want the leaves
to fall, or the flowers to fade they seem
to belong to "my summer;" and I want to
keep them fresh always, and then I know I
mustn't feel so, for Jack will be away from
me all winter ; but I dread to-morrow, be
cause he is going just for the day " coming
back with the twilight." Jack says, " com
ing so early, we will see the sun set to
gether, little one." He promised when

he first came to go with this sailing party out
beyond the light-house, so he can't refuse ;
though I don't think he wants to go half as
much as he wants to stay with me.




XXII.

~T~T is winter now the leaves have fallen

J the flowers faded my summer ended

and my girl heart, the happy glad young

time, is all over. It is four long months

since he left me, and yet, sometimes, it seems

but a few hours. It was all so sudden,

so unthought of. That quiet, sunshiny

morning, when we stood together looking
over the peaceful sea, its smooth, tranquil
waters, broken only by gentlest ripples ; the
morning breeze hardly stirred the tall grass
by our side ; the sky bent so lovingly down
to the water's edge, blending into the ocean
till sky and sea were lost together in the

horizon line. I remember it all so well

the laughing group of children on the bank



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



157



tne song of a bird how he stooped and
gathered for me the tiny moss spray of rose
color ; how we tossed pebbles into the wa
ter; and then the boat's coming, with its
gay company, breaking the quiet hush with

merry laughter and morning greetings ;

and then, just the whispered " good
bye, my little thistle-down, till evening

comes ;" and he was gone sailing away

out on the blue calm water.

I can't write of what came after, only

at evening time the quiet sea of the morning
was white with foam-tossed waves ; the blue
sky, that bent over us so lovingly, was hid
den by dark storm-clouds ; the breeze that
stirred the grass with gentlest motion, had
changed to the wild moaning of the wind ;
the laughing children the song bird they

were silent, and he the strong loving

one, who stood by my side where was he ?
Far oh, so far away from me.

The little boat load they sailed out

to the horizon line, and there they left him.

I waited out in the dark tne cold,



158



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



desolate dark and Jack he did not come.
But by-and-by they told me he had gone
for ever beyond the horizon line beyond
the dark gone into the Light.





XXIII.



LONG days followed weary nights
hours of darkness. " Good - bye till
evening comes," over and over I say his
farewell words but he does not come his
dear voice, that always I thought was to
comfort me, is silent. But it hasn't all been
dark Jesus, who long ago quieted the
storm-tossed waves, has whispered, " Peace,

be still." And I have learned to feel

He was with Jack when the waves hid him
from my sight. I know he heard the mur
mur, " Peace, be still," louder, clearer, than
the dashing waves. I know in that hour of
mortal peril, calmly his soul soared above
the wild water, above the cruel, devouring
sea, that claimed the precious casket ; only

('59)



SUMMUS DRIFT-WOOD. -

at first, I couldn't feel it as I do now.

At first, I wanted just one word one look.
At first, even the words of Christ fell on my

heart all dead and cold. And now, it is

very lonely the hours are very dark and
sometimes the path seems so rough to travel.

1 want to lay my head down and cry

the dull pain away. I want Jack to lift it up
and bid me weep no more. I want oh
so much to hear his voice just once again.

But it is all silent. Every one has been

so good to me so patient with my grief
speaking kind, tender words consolation
promises repeating -telling of the time not
very far off, when " I shall go to him who
cannot return to me." I try to listen to their
words, but I don't think they comfort me
much. They have sent me books full of
tender sympathy, written by sorrow-stricken
ones, who strive to make heaven seem near
er our dear ones not so very far off by
telling of the glimpses they have caught of
the Beyond. But the books don't comfort
me; they don't bring Jack nearer- they



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD. l ^ l

don't make heaven seem more like home ;
they don't lead me closer to Christ; and
only as I reach out and find Him, do I find

consolation. And yet they have made

me think think so much what I do believe
what I do look forward to what it is that
fills my soul with longings to be There
have made me ask, Is it that I want to go to
Jack whose going away has made this
earthly life' so lonely or is it that I want to
go where Jesus is ?

When I read of the heavenly city, the

streets of gold, the pearly gates, the green
pastures, the still waters, is it the material,
pictured beauty of that "upper land" I long
for ? or is its beauty to me centered round
the blessed promise, " The glory of God
shall lighten it, and the Lamb is the light

thereof" ? When I read of the weary at

rest of the land where no night comes
where " there shall be no more death, nei
ther sorrow nor sighing," is it that my eyes
have been tearful so long is it that my life
is darkened with shadows heavy and hard
14*



j52 SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

to bear is it this that makes me long to be
There ? or is it that I sigh for that waking,
when I shall be " satisfied, because I awake
in ' His presence ' " ?

Only stammering answers can I give ;

but Christ knows I am trying to say, " Thy
will be done." I am trying to remember
the words Jack traced that morning in the
sand : " Little children, keep yourselves from
idols." But it is so different to say, " Thy
will be done," when life is all bright and
happy, than to say it when the darkness has

come ; and yet He is helping me. Aunt

Mary has been such a dear comfort to me
she knows sorrow so well; her words are
very few, but her tenderness is unwearying.
Last night, when the twilight was so beauti
ful, and yet so sad just at the hardest hour
of all the day, " the edge of dark" she came
and sat by my side and took my hand in
hers, my little lonely hand " widowed for
ever of one dear touch" softly repeating to
me comforting words, ending with a little



SUJfMEJS DRIFT-WOOD.



163



hymn, which says just what has been pent
in my heart all these long weeks :

" I thought, but yesterday,
My will was one with God's dear will,
And that it would be sweet to say,
Whatever ill

My happy state should smite upon,
Thy will, my God, be done.

' But I was weak and weary,
Both weak of soul and weary of heart,
And pride alone in me was strong,
With cunning art,
To cheat me in the golden sun
To say, God's will be done.'

" O shadow drear and cold,
That frights me out of foolish pride.

flood, that through my bosom rolled
Its billowy tide,

1 said, till ye your powers made known,
God's will, not mine, be done.

" Now, faint and sore afraid,
Under my cross heavy and rude
My idols in the ashes laid,
Like ashes strewed,
The holy words my pale lips shun
O God, Thy will be done.



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

"Pity my woes, O God,
And touch my will with thy warm breath,
Put in my trembling hand thy rod,
That quickens death.
That my dead faith may feel thy sun
And say, Thy will be done."





XXIV.

OD sends us comfort in such simple
ways. Auntie's hymn has made me
feel so much happier it is a prayer hymn
to me, and oh, I will try to feel it is " better

so." 1 will try to still the longing for

Jack; but why wasn't I there? If I could
only have caught the last tones of his voice
if I could only have held his dear hand in
mine, and gone with him to the verge of the
beyond ; but it is all well and there I want
to rest. I will not ask any more why I, the
one who loved him best, was not there. I
will no more ask why no ear heard the last
words no eye read the last look. I will
just trust in Jesus, and know He loves me,
and be comforted, stretching forth my hand

('65)



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

into the dark, though it must be and tak
ing His hand, the Hand of Christ. And

I know that Jack, too, holds the same hand
so, though I cannot see him, not very far
off does he seem "only gone from one

room into the next." And I am happier,

more peaceful, too, when I try to think less
of Jack and more of Christ ; only sometimes
when the stars come out, and smile down
like loving eyes from the spirit land, I love
to think " they are all ministering spirits."
I love to think Jack is smiling at me from
his happy home, saying, " not very long will
it be, little Annie, before you come" bid
ding me journey on bravely through these
weary pilgrim days.

But it seems better not to think these

thoughts. Very good people those who
have trusted long years why, I suppose
they can, and never be led away from Jesus

by them. But I'm so weak. I don't

think I could feel so and not sometimes for
get that Christ said, " Follow me." He did
not tell us to follow those whom He had



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

called, but " Follow me," He said. And if all
the time I felt sure Jack was looking at and
watching over me, listening to my words,
knowing all my thoughts, I would try, per
haps, to be better and purer, to wait pa
tiently, because it would please him. Per
haps it wouldn't be so, but I think I am
safer just to say to myself, Christ knows ;
He loves me ; He is with me ; and Jack is

with Him. And I know Jack would say,

" Follow Christ, Annie ; follow Him ; and
don't try to lift the veil where inspiratioa is
silent."

" And so beside the silent sea,

I wait the muffled oar ;
No harm from Him can come to me
On ocean or on shore.

" I know not where His islands lift

Their fronted palms in air;
I only know I cannot drift
Beyond His love and care.

" And oh, dear Lord, by whom are seen

Thy creatures as they be,
Forgive me if too close I lean
My human heart on Thee !"



XXV.

r I THE Christmas time has come! The
-L time dear old grandpapa chose, that
beautiful June day, for the unbinding of my
summer wood. Such a different Christmas
than I thought it would be !

I have been holding in my hand my

summer wreath all faded now. I wonder
why it makes me think so of Aunt Stella

and the time-worn picture case. They

have all given me gifts, seeking to interpret
their love and tender sympathy by the
choosing of these mute comforters. Aunt
Mary has brought the Christmas green into
my room, and draped the pictures and win
dows ; and over the little clock on my man
tel, she twined a branch of the bitter-sweet

(168)



DRIFT-WOOD.



169



vine richly laden with bef ries silently, but
with many tears. Dear auntie her poems
are always these unspoken things, that say
so much. I knew her thoughts as she twined
it in and out the bitter-sweet about my
time-piece, just as it is about my life. She
looked so tenderly at me when I said :
" Auntie, I'm trying to change the words ;
trying to call my summer blossoms, that
I have to carry into the winter, to twine
around my future days sweet -bitter."
She only said, " God help you, child.'.'

Sometimes it comes over me so. How
could I bear it, if I had not known Christ's
love in my joy if I had waited to come to
Him, till " frightened by the earthquake,

tried by the fire, driven by the wind."

Papa has given me a little miniature of Jack,
painted from a photograph Carrie had. I
can't look at it much yet ; it makes me want
him so. But I know it will be a comfort,
just as now it is a treasure. Grandpapa
he gave no gift ; but he said, " Annie, I
want you to do a Christmas work for me
IS



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.

Come, let us choose a present for every one
of the little children who have no earthly
father or mother, and who are cared for at

the Orphan Asylums. I've enjoyed it so

much the making others happy; that is
what this great sorrow makes me long to
do ; and then, in the midst of their happiness,
I want to tell them it all comes from Jesus.

Fred has brought me beautiful flow
ers. Fred is very happy ; he told me last
night, when the spring comes May Living
ston will be my sister. " Miss Golden-hair,"
I used to call her in the merry girl-days
how far away they seem now. Her is so ten
der of me in his great joy dear Fred. And
May, too, she remembered me, and brought
a little motto card she had painted, thinking
of my sorrow even in her gladness. Such
precious words she chose : " I am the Resur
rection and the Life." And Carrie, poor

lonely Carrie, mourning for Jack her only
brother she sent me a little cross, made
from the mountain mosses we gathered
when all together. Oh, they are so good to



DRIFT-WOOD. jy

me, I will try and be cheerful and happy for
their sakes. Even dear old Aunt Stella has
sent me a Christmas thought. Yesterday a
basket came, and with it a little note, writ
ten in her tremulous hand just the words :
" God comfort you, child, and He will the
old auntie knows He will. Remember ' the
Everlasting Arms,' child." In the basket
were rosy-cheeked apples, from old Hanni
bal ; and from Chloe, a little pat of butter.

But the sweetest of all this "peace time"
comfort came to me last Sunday, ^ when I
was sitting in the Sunday-school listening
to the glad voices of the children singing,
"Around the throne of God in heaven."
One of the rough boys, one of the street
boys, behind whose ragged clothes, Jack
told rne, treasures might be hidden, stole his
dirty hand into mine, and whispered, " You
love Jesus, don't ye, Missus ? I brought ye
this ar though I s'pose ye's got lots at
home ; and he gave me a little sprig of the
Christmas evergreen.



XXVI.

I HAVE come to the last leaf in my
diary. I never shall keep another ; and
yet I'm glad I have kept this the record of
oh ! so much to me. I remember how I
thought in the far off days, way off in the
distant future, I would re-read its pages, sit
ting with my hand in Jack's. But I

won't dream any more. I will just try and
do the work God sends. And all the helpful
words Jack said, I don't need to turn these
pages, to remember them. Dear grand
papa, I think he: knows how hard I am try
ing better even than the others do. This
morning, when he reminded me the day had
come when 1 was to unbind my summer
wood, he laid his hand on my head, just as
(17*)



SUMMER DRIFT- WOOD. j^,

he did the June day when he bade me gather
it, and said : " But, child, you don't need to
unbind the wood, for the fire is already lit

and burning ! Thank God, little Annie,

that in the midst of the darkness that has
over-gloomed your young life, His grace
has helped you to ' Let your light shine be
fore men.' "

Grandpapa knows all about it, without
my telling him ; knows how the fuel for life's
winter-fire Jack's great love gave me ; and
he knows the greater, deeper, dearer com
fort that fills my heart with light and warmth
because Christ said, " I will not leave you
comfortless. I will come to you." But
though grandpapa knows it all, I will give
him my little book. I do not fear his old
eyes, and I'm not afraid of his loving heart ;
and I think it will please him to read the
history of how I found and how I gathered
"THE SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD."



SUMMER DRIFT-WOOD.



"Oh, 'tis a thought most precious,

While journeying here below,
The pathway all unknowing

In which our steps must go.
That there's a guide unerring,

Who knoweth all the way,
And who'll direct our footsteps

Alike both night and day.

" We must not ask His reasons ;

We must not doubt His love ;
But take whate'er He sendeth

As bidden from above.
And then life's daily crosses,

And blessings, too, will seem
As ways His wisdom taketh

From danger to redeem.

" So we will fear no evil,

But take that guiding hand,
Follow that gentle leading,

Obey that kind command ;
Him in our ways acknowledge,

Walk in His holy light,
'Till earth be left for heaven,

And faith exchanged for sight.'