Part 49 (1/2)

Would that night never go? Its hours to Claudia seemed weeks. The shock of an impending loss would of itself have been hard enough to bear; but to remember that by her own indifference to home she had perhaps missed seeing her father again alive--that was worse than all.

And then, as she thought of the sick-room, she remembered her mother.

How had she contrived for years not to see that in the daily care of that patient woman there lay the first call for a dutiful daughter?

It was n.o.ble to work; and there _was_ a work for every one to do.

But why had she foolishly gone afield to look for occupation and a place in life, when an obvious duty and a post she alone could best fill lay at home? If G.o.d would only give her time to amend!

It was a limp, tear-stained, and humbled Claudia who reached home by the first train the next morning.

Her father was alive--that was granted to her. Her mother had borne up bravely, but the struggle was obvious.

A nurse was in possession of the sick-chamber, and Claudia could only look on where often she fain would have been the chief worker.

But the room for amendment was provided. Mr. Haberton recovered very slowly, and was warned always to use the utmost care. Mrs. Haberton, when the worst of her husband's illness was over, showed signs of collapse herself.

[Sidenote: A New Ministry]

Claudia gave herself up to a new ministry. Her mother no longer called for Pinsett; Mr. Haberton found an admirable successor to his trained nurse.

Claudia had found her place, and in grat.i.tude to G.o.d resolved to give the fullest obedience to the ancient precept: ”If any have children . . .

let them learn first to show piety at home, and to requite their parents.”

[Sidenote: Women explorers have been the helpers of men, and spurred them on towards their goals. Some such workers are here recalled.]

Famous Women Pioneers

BY

FRANK ELIAS

A great deal has been said and written about the men who, in times past, opened up vast tracts of the unknown, and, by so doing, prepared new homes for their countrymen from England. Park and Livingstone, Raleigh and Flinders--the names of these and many more are remembered with grat.i.tude wherever the English tongue is spoken.

Less often perhaps do we remember that there have been not only strong-willed and adventurous men but brave and enduring women who have gone where scarcely any white folks went before them, and who, while doing so, bore without complaint hards.h.i.+ps no less severe than those endured by male pioneers.

To the sh.o.r.es of Cape Cod there came, on November 11, 1620, a little leaky s.h.i.+p, torn by North Atlantic gales and with sides shattered by North Atlantic rollers. Standing s.h.i.+vering upon her decks stood groups of men and women, plainly not sailor-folk, worn by a long voyage, and waiting to step upon a sh.o.r.e of which they knew no more than that it was inhabited by unmerciful savages and overlaid by dense forests. The first must be conciliated, and the second, to some extent at least, cleared away before there could be any hope of settlement.

What pictures of happy homes in the Old Country, with their green little gardens and honeysuckle creepers, rose up in the memory of those delicate women as they eyed the bleak, unfriendly sh.o.r.e! Yet, though the cold bit them and the unknown yawned before, they did not flinch, but waited for the solemn moment of landing.

[Sidenote: The ”Mayflower”]

Perhaps a little of what they did that day they knew. Yet could they, we wonder, have realised that in quitting England with their husbands and fathers in order, with them, to wors.h.i.+p G.o.d according to the manner bidden by their conscience, they were giving themselves a name glorious among women? Or that, because of them and theirs, the name of the little tattered, battered s.h.i.+p they were soon to leave, after weary months of danger from winds and seas, was to live as long as history. Thousands of great s.h.i.+ps have gone out from England since the day on which the ”Mayflower” sailed from Plymouth, yet which of them had a name like hers?

Tried as the ”Mayflower” women were, their trials were only beginning.

Even while they waited for their husbands to find a place of settlement, one of their number, wife of William Bradford--a man later to be their governor--fell overboard and was drowned. When they did at last land they had to face, not only the terrors of a North American winter, but sickness brought on by the hard work and poor food following the effects of overcrowding on the voyage.