The Diary of a Saint

g ever so long at the window, and now that the curtains are shut I can see everything still. The moon is shining over the wide white sheets of snow, and the low meadows look far

somehow makes one feel hap

world, indeed, a

n drizzly, unseasonable weather that took all the snap out of a body's mental fibre; Mother had had one of her bad days, when the pain seemed too dreadful to bear, patient angel that she is; Kathie Thurston had been in one of her most despairing fits; and the Old Year looked so dreary behind, the New Year loomed so hopeless before, that there was some excuse for a girl who was tired to the bone with watching and worry if she did not feel exactly cheerful.

ible ever to be sentimentally weak-kneed again; Mother is wonderfully comfortable; and the New Year began with a letter to say that George will be at home to-morrow. Mother is asleep like a child, the fire is in the best of

high, e-ter-e

y to take a fresh start, and to conduct myse

ot dislike me personally, and they all loved Father in spite of his heresies. In this case I am not clear, on the other hand, that it is my duty to stand passive and see, without at least protesting, a sensitive, imaginative, delicate child driven to despair by the misery and terror of a creed. If Kathie had not come to me it would be different; but she has come. Time after time this poor little, precocious, morbid creature has run to me in such terror of hell-fire that I verily feared she would end by going frantic. Ten years old, and desperate with conviction of original sin; and this so near the end of the nineteenth century, so-called of grace! Thus far I have contented myself with taking her into my arms, and just loving her into calmness; but she is getting beyond that. She is finding being petted so delightful that she is sure it must be a sin. She is like what I ca

onable sin. Her father would not let her read stories unless they were Sunday-school books. Perhaps she might be allowed some of the more entertaining volumes of history; but she is too young for most of them. She should be reading about Red Riding-hood, and the White Cat, and the whole company of dear creatures immortal in fairy stories. I will look in the library, and see what th

tmost cheerfulness and unconcern, "What is it, Hannah?" supposing that she wanted to know something about breakfast. I could see by the instant change in her ex

ermination when, as she once said, she clears her skirts of blood-guiltiness concernin

e the liberty to say a word t

pond, as if we had rehearse

iss Ruth, and your pe

s in truth I am only uncomfortable for her. I never could understand why people are generally so afraid to speak of religious things, or why they dislike so to be spoken to about them. I mind Hannah's talking about my soul no more than I should mind her talking about my nose or my fingers; indeed, the little flavor of personality which would make that unpleasant is lacking when it comes to discussion about intangible things like the sp

is any great efficacy in her petition, I am at least glad that she should feel like doing her best in my behalf. Mother declares that she is always offended when a person offers to pray for her. She looks at it as dreadfully condescending and patronizing, as if the petitioner had an intimate personal hold upon the Almighty, and was

she does not think that her father will object to he

or. I hope George saw it. It is almost time for him to be here, and I have caught myself humming over and over his favorite tunes as I waited. Mother has had a day of uneasiness, so that I could not leave her much, but rubbing her side for a

is it that we h

here need no longer be any false sensitiveness about things of this sort. About what sort? Do I mean that the time has come when George would not mind hurting my feelings? It may as well come out. As Father used to say: "You cannot balance the books

t that we have

e fact that he talked afterward so eagerly about the Miss West he met while at his aunt's, and of how pretty she is, have

tood she had not her husband's love; any woman would perceive that. Six years-and life is so short! Poor George, it has not been easy for him! He has not even been able to wish that the obstacle between us was removed, since that obstacle is Mother. Surely she is my first duty; and since she needs me day an

t that we have

r school-days! His were always smudged and blotted. He is too big-souled and manly to niggle over little things; and he laughed at the pains I took, turning every corner w

ld. The birthdays that Tom remembered, and on which he sent me little bunches of Mayflowers, have not in the least troubled me or seemed

t that we have

am ashamed all through and through. I have tried to reason myself into something resembling common sense, but I am much afraid I have not yet entirely accomplished it. I have said to myself over and over that it would be the best thing for George if he did fall in love with that girl he saw at Franklin, an

ll not w

there to suspect? I almost confessed to him what a miserable little doubter I had been; but I knew that confession would only be relieving my soul at the expens

an I have ever known him, and I could not have told him if I would. We did not seem to be entirely frank with each other, but as if each were tryi

the West most of her life, and was naturally much interested in hearing about her relatives. I found myself leading him on to talk of her. I cannot see why I should care about this stranger. Generally I deal very little in gossip. Father trained me to be interested in real things, and meaningless details a

I certainly want George to admire goodness and beauty, and to be by his very affection for me the more sensitive to whatever is admirable in others. If I am to be worthy of being his wife, I must be

ernoon, looking so thin, and cold, and tall

said to her as we shook hands; "then perhaps

, laughing that rich,

t have been drowned in the Flood," she answered, "for th

r back that you must be able

the fire, "but I know that my great-great-grandfather married

cousin, I must be

went on, "that Deacon Webbe is on the other. It's about fortie

told her, smiling; "and I am sure also you must be

quito bully him. The answer to the question in the New England Primer, 'Who is the meekest man?'

r heard Mrs. Webbe cal

uld think not. A wasp is a Sunday-scho

ry marked I was afraid at once that Tom Webbe must have been d

oing better," I sai

laimed. "Why, just now

is it now? His father has

en more to the purpose. Tom's making himse

rownrig

wnrigs that live in that litt

name, I remember I have heard that such a family

t the Old Nick could tell you. They're a set of drunken, disreputable vagabonds, that tu

om's misdeeds, and I said so. M

Ruth," she said good-naturedly. "That's ab

uch a thing. A saint would not be a saint, I suppose, who was aware of his beatitude, and the deacon's meekness is one of his most marked attributes of sanctity. I wonder whether, in the development of the race, saintliness will ever come to be compatible with a sense of humor. A saint with that persuasively human quality would be a wonderfully compelling power for good. Deacon Daniel is a fine influence by his goodness, but he somehow enhances the desirability of virtue in the abstract rather tha

made out of them. There could hardly be a web more closely woven than human life. To-day, when I had not seen T

d it was not until I came in sight of the red house that I remembered what Miss Charlotte said last night. Then I began to think about Tom. Tom and I have always been such good friends. I used to understand Tom better in the old school-days than the others did, and he was always ready to tell me what he thought and felt. Nowadays I hardly ever see him. Since I became engaged he has almost never c

ose he must have come out of a back door somewhere, like one of the family; such folk never use their front doors. He walked along the road toward me, at first so preoccupied that he did not recognize me. When he saw my face, he half hesitat

m," I said. "Isn't

ir as if he had not noticed, and I s

wered, "it is

ng what I said, but trying to think what it was best to sa

he muttered something; but when I asked

se you're engaged to George Weston. You chose between us, and there's the end of that

as my answer. "Let me walk along w

her toward the village. I cou

gh your preaching powers are pretty good. I've had so much

ugh it made me want to cry to he

much piety, Tom. The whole town think

ty there weren't

had to ignore what he said about George, but it did not make it easier to begin. I was puzzled w

ut old friendships, but I am loyal; and it hurts m

turned, at once, I could see, on the d

Tom, for it must make you uncomfortable to hear it; unle

as always had. I used to tell him it w

ey don't talk about you. You

I added as qui

e briefest instant, and the

h. Well, then, I do give the gossips plenty to talk about. They would ta

gulated by the gossips? I supposed t

e and the dry stalks of yarrow sticking up through the snow. He set his lips together with a grim determination w

guard fast enough; but there's no good talking about it. If you'd cared enough about me to keep me straight, yo

he trees shut off the view of the houses of the

n't mean it. Nobody but yourself can send you on the wrong road; and I know you're too plucky to h

s; and anyway he'll thank God for sending me to perd

y you go on. It must be terrible to have an on

ed whether I wanted to come or not; and now I'm here, I can't have what I want, and I'm promised eternal damnation her

ashion. A farmer's wagon came along, and by the time it had passed we had come to the head of the Rim R

no use, Ruth, to talk to me; bu

e a fellow underneath it all. He is honest and kind, and strong in his way; only between his father's meekness and his mother's sharpness-for she is sharp-he has somehow come to grief. They have tried to make him religiou

ght I was struck at once with the loo

ses you?"

vidently surprised. "Isn't

g pleasant to tell me. Oh, I can read you like a book, my

d I was puzzled to kno

," was his reply. "I reall

appened," I persisted; "or

are, Ruth," George returne

se him. I reflected that perhaps he was planning some sort of a surprise, and felt I ought not to pry into his thoughts in t

didn't you say that the Miss West you me

nsciously been thinking of her at all, and certainly I did not connect her with George's strangeness of manner. There was something almost weird, it seems to me now, in my putting such

think that it

was Miss Wes

astonished; then

ng out my hand to him. "I didn't mean to read your

hat ma

laugh again. "Only I see now that you know something p

studying my face. The hesitat

the Watsons," he said, rather unwillin

ightly as if I were really delighted. "Now I sh

rom disquiet. I am sure it has hurt me as much not to be entirely frank with George as it could have hurt a man; but I could not make him uncomfortable by letting him see that I was disturbed. Yet that he should have been afraid or unwilling to tell me did trouble me. He knows that I am not j

ot that she is coming, but that he hesitated to tell

morning for that especial reason. Mother was a li

dissipation, but I didn't suppose that you

to me was far from funny. "Mr. Saychase will be sure to conclude

ed at me

asked in that soft voice of hers

uth, I am going to church to see that Miss West who's visiting the Watsons. G

s never done him justice, and she thinks I idealize him. That is her favorite way of putting it; but this is because she

ting business; and utterly and odiously idiotic. Miss West is pretty; she is more than this, she is wonderfully pretty. There is an appealing, baby look about her big blue eyes which goes straight to one's heart. She looks like a darling child one would want to kiss and shelter from all the hard things of life. I own it all

ing helplessness; not because they inspire him with new meanings. Her little rosebud lips will never speak wisdom, I am afraid; but in my jealousy I wonder whether most men

do? I cannot yet believe that it is best for him; but if it will make him happy, even if he thinks that it will, what is there for me but to make it as easy for him as I may? He certainly woul

out of my mind that even if he was not conscious of it, it meant he still was secretly tired of his long engagement; that he was at least dreaming of what he would do if he were free. He shall not be bound by any will of mine; and if hi

way; that I am to forgive him for the shame of having known him, and that his address is inclosed in

sitting-room last night while I was mooning in the twilight, and meditating on nothing in particular. I knew her slow fashion of opening the door,

alone?" was

answered, "and I was w

stiffest chair in the room, and

it again," she obser

me who am an outsider. Aunt Naomi arrives about once a month on the average, with complaints about

el?" I asked, to t

of course. You kno

is i

y fire in the ves

e take care of the vestry

se, with a chuckle, "that he'd give

hink he'd b

h a sniff; "and I shouldn't be surprised if he had it buried with

so hard on Deacon Richards," I protest

, and Mr. Saychase had to dismiss the meeting. Old lady Andrews spoke up in the coldest part of it, when we were all so chilled that we couldn't spea

-meeting, and dear old lady Andrews coming to the

spoken to Deacon

within. "I try to after every prayer-meeting; but he has the lights out before I can say two words. I can't sta

his mill in broad da

, and I'm afraid of being pitched into the hopper," she said, laughi

business. I don't g

appreciated her response; "and if you neglect one duty it's no excuse for neglectin

inging me up without a theological conscience. Prayer-meetings seem to be a good deal like salt in the boy's definition of something that makes food taste bad if you don't put it on; prayer-meetings make church-goers uneasy if they do not go. If they will go, however, and if they are better for going, or believe they are better, or if they are only worse for staying away, or suppose they are worse, they should n

p for me this evening whi

ced. "Says he wants to see you if you're not bu

It may be another church quarrel, and I woul

h the chapter?" I asked. "Churc

p where we are. I'll try to go to s

put up her feeble thin fingers

" she said. "Be gent

tte said the other night that a baby could twist him round its finger and never even know there was anything there; and certainly he must call out

ffect me as a child; a weird, reedy quality which suggests some vague melancholy flavor not in the least fretful or whining,-a quality that I have never been able to define. I never hear him speak without a sense of mysterious suggestiveness; and I remember confiding to Father once, when I was about a dozen years old, that Deacon Webbe had the right voice to read fairy stories with. Father,

t before we had shaken hands, "

led by the intensity of his mann

"He sent me wor

ow where h

N

ut the sealed address, but it seemed like

he was going?" t

I said

essly in his knotted hands in silence for a m

know," he said

know he

moment to be condescendingly kind to the visitor, came and rubbed persuasively against his legs, waving a great white plume of tail.

n energy which was suffering rather than power. "I don't know what it is, but I'm afraid it's wo

and that we had been friends all our lives; but

ppose Judge Privet's daughter would marry into our

t hear any more, "please don't say such th

understand how much he loves him. Meekness may be a Christian virtue; but over-meekness is a poor quality for one who has the bringing up of a real, wide-awake, head-strong boy. A little less virtue and a little more common sense would have made Deacon Webbe a good deal more useful in this world if it did lessen his value to heaven. He is the very salt of the earth, yet he has so let himself be trampled

g the gossip about Tom, and the fact that I saw him coming from the red house. I wonder if he has not gone to break away from temptation. In new surroundings

rs of disinterested virtue; but if George had not spoken of this girl it is rather doubtful whether you would have taken the trouble to go to her in your very best bib and tucker,-and you did put on your very best, and wondered while you were doing

re Miss West appeared. I confessed then to myself how I had really half hoped that she would not be i

overs of the year. Then her hair curls about her forehead in such dear little ringlets that it is enough to make one want to kiss her. She speaks with a funny

l bred, it seemed to me; but then we are a little old-fashioned i

I had told her, "then

, "I went wit

abroad several times, d

t with him

Miss West. "How se

. "Do you feel set up because you have see

e responded. "You haven't any of y

n't, at

ntinued, her face falling; "and going abroad three times, too.

unfair to her that I could not help thinking that she somehow did not ring true. I wonder if a woman can ever be entirely just to another woman who has been praised by the man she car

ngs of the faithful at frozen prayer-meetings. He was standing in the door of the mill, which was open to the bris

on busine

body's else?" he

ly mine,"

omi sent you for

at his p

id send me. They tell me you are trying to destroy the ch

n't be frozen.

eacon Richards," I said, smiling. "You ca

ettled himself against the

e come herself

d pop her into the hopper. You see

e willing to

hance, might have some skill at it. As it is, I like to see how he

, "why do you freeze the

wn of anybody'

isted. "If you don't want to build it,

day?" was the only answ

le, thank you. Why do

e more switched off abruptly to another su

es

's he

know. Why

acon Daniel commented,

in the vestry?" I demanded,

fore," he responded,

ng to be got out of him in that mood. I looked up

I do wish you would be reasonable about the vestr

" was all the promise I could

thout any assurance of amendment on his part. The faithful will ha

hat happened to me after I left the mill. Why should I write it? This diary is not a confessional, and nothing forces me to set these things down. I really wri

, and the fantastic bunches of snow in the willows beyond, like queer, white birds. I smiled to myself at the remembrance of Deacon Daniel,

n any case, a lady does not show her foolish feelings. So I went toward them, trying to look as I had before I caught sight of them. They saw me in a moment, and instantly their laughter stopped. If they had come forward simply and at ease, I should have thought

West called out in rather a high

willing captive," I answered, s

r my hand, and most certainly her ma

she went on, "and now I suppos

of taking him. I a

im, after I've had him all the af

n, and leave you to go home alone," I said. "That

her head to look up into George's face. "I'm really in love with t

not look at him, but I moved on now. I felt that I must get away fro

er will want me, and I m

but the tears would come as I hurried up t

, and even if my pride would let me struggle for the possession of any man, I am not free to try even that degrading conflict. I should know, moreover, that any man saved in spite of himself would be apt to look back with regret to the woman he was saved from. Jean Ingelow's "Letter L" i

dd for him to send me such a message instead of coming himself, for he had not seen me since I met him in the street with Miss Wes

ing that West girl over t

in the back, but I

t he take her

cteristic sniff, and wa

aps he should," she a

e, but I wonder a little

George is gone, and the memory of six

y courage up it was afternoon, and I feared lest she should be