Part 3 (1/2)

Although Flora was not aware of all this, she did not fail to notice there was a difference from the ordinary meal. The boys refrained from their usual snappish behavior, the mother was less peevish, and her father's face wore a look of quiet approval. On the whole, there was change enough to cause Flora to determine she would follow out the suggestion of her friend Ruth, and endeavor to make her home what she desired it to be.

When supper was over, Harry and Alec took their hats and went out, no one asking where they were going, or when they would return.

”How queer,” thought Flora, who had volunteered to clear the table and wash the dishes, ”how queer, that neither mother nor father seems to care where the boys go, or what they do.” And realizing the indifference of her parents, Flora began to feel an interest in the pursuits of her brothers.

When Flora retired to rest that night, she felt quite pleased with her experience of the afternoon and evening, and she intended that this should be the beginning of a new departure in her life; and she felt glad that she had found such a friend as Ruth. She arose early the next morning, and was downstairs before her mother was stirring. It was Sunday, and the entire family were in the habit of rising later than usual on that day.

”What a dingy old place this is, to be sure,” said Flora. ”I'll make the fire and straighten things up a little.”

When she had finished she looked about, and shook her head.

”It doesn't look a bit comfortable, or homelike. No wonder the boys go out every evening. I do wish I knew where to begin to improve things, but I don't, and I have no one to ask about it, except Ruth; yes, I will talk to her about things. Perhaps she can help me.”

When Mrs. Hazeley came downstairs, to her surprise and unbounded delight she found the fire burning, the kettle boiling, and the table daintily laid, ready for breakfast.

”Why, Flora! I did not know you were up,” she said, looking around, well-pleased with the generally improved condition of the room.

”I do believe your aunt has made quite a housekeeper of you,” she continued, a moment later, as she inwardly congratulated herself upon the circ.u.mstance which had sent her daughter home.

Flora flushed at this unexpected, and for her mother, somewhat unusual word of commendation, but made no reply, for the simple reason that she did not know what to say. In spite of this feeling of pleasure that her effort was appreciated, she could not help wis.h.i.+ng herself back in her aunt's home,--not as it now stood, with Aunt Sarah at its head, but as it had been under Aunt Bertha's gentle control. The more she thought of it, the more intense became the longing to be there in the old, happy, care-free life at Brinton. But there was nothing to be gained by wis.h.i.+ng: Aunt Bertha was dead; Aunt Sarah was there, and there to stay; and she was at home, and here to stay; so there was nothing to do but to make the best of things, and get as much comfort out of life as she could. Then she thought of Ruth's life, and her brave effort to make a home for her father and Jem, and inwardly Flora determined to emulate her example. How well she succeeded the future will show.

CHAPTER IV.

FLORA'S FIRST SUNDAY.

Breakfast over, and the dishes cleared away, Flora looked about, wondering what else there was for her to do. Her father was reading a paper, and the boys had gone away. She went to the window where Lottie's potato stood in its jar. The sight of it carried her thoughts back so vividly to the old days, that she half resolved to look at it no more.

She felt dull and spiritless to-day; it was no wonder, for there was little to make her feel otherwise. At Aunt Bertha's, every one had been accustomed to attend church, and Flora remained to Sunday-school. She had been converted and received into the church about a year before her aunt's death. Her sudden sorrow, her hasty trip from Brinton, and her unfamiliar surroundings in her new home, caused her to feel as if she had been removed to a heathen land.

None of the Hazeley household attended church, and Flora knew of no place to which she could go, for all was so new and strange to her, and being somewhat timid, she would not go alone.

Still standing at the window, and looking drearily out on the quiet street, she saw Ruth and little Jem pa.s.sing, on their way to church.

When they saw Flora they stopped, and she, glad to see a friendly face, hastened to open the door.

”Would you not like to come with us to church, this morning?” asked Ruth.

”Indeed I should,” replied Flora. ”I was just wondering what I was going to do with myself to day. Wait a minute; I will be ready in a very short time.”

As good as her word, she was soon ready. ”I am so glad that you stopped for me, Ruth,” said she, as they walked along. ”I know nothing about the churches here, and no one goes from our house.”

”That is too bad,” returned Ruth, sympathizingly.

Flora was indeed glad that she had come when, as they ascended the church steps, she heard the deep tones of the organ pealing out a welcome to all who entered. As they walked up the aisle, it seemed as if the sweet notes of the music twined around them, as though enfolding them in a loving embrace. A feeling of quiet content filled the heart of the young girl, and for a time the realities were forgotten in the soothing sense of rest that stole over her. Nor did she attempt to arouse herself until the opening services were ended, and the minister arose to announce his text.

In clear, distinct tones he read: ”Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Twice he slowly read the words, until Flora thought he surely must have pressed them right into her brain, for she felt that they were indelibly imprinted on her memory. Whether the sermon was intended especially for young people, or not, she did not know, but she felt that it was peculiarly adapted to herself. I have no doubt that the older folks felt the same with regard to themselves. It was one of those texts and sermons that suit everybody.

”I wonder how many of my hearers can say truthfully that they have done with their might 'whatsoever' their hands found to do,” said the minister, looking, as Flora thought, directly at her.