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Ebook has 1154 lines and 73548 words, and 24 pages
Ester Ried
ASLEEP AND AWAKE
ESTER'S HOME.
She did not look very much as if she were asleep, nor acted as though she expected to get a chance to be very soon. There was no end to the things which she had to do, for the kitchen was long and wide, and took many steps to set it in order, and it was drawing toward tea-time of a Tuesday evening, and there were fifteen boarders who were, most of them, punctual to a minute.
So Ester hurried to and from the pantry, with quick, nervous movements, as the sun went toward the west, saying to Maggie who was ironing with all possible speed:
"Well, well! Don't talk; that won't hurry matters any."
Sadie Ried opened the door that led from the dining-room to the kitchen, and peeped in a thoughtless young head, covered with bright brown curls:
"How are you, Ester?"
And she emerged fully into the great warm kitchen, looking like a bright flower picked from the garden, and put out of place. Her pink gingham dress, and white, ruffled apron--yes, and the very school books which she swung by their strap, waking a smothered sigh in Ester's heart.
"O, my patience!" was her greeting.
"Sadie, won't you come and cut the beef and cake, and make the tea? I did not know it was so late, and I'm nearly tired to death."
Sadie looked sober. "I would in a minute, Ester, only I've brought Florence Vane home with me, and I should not know what to do with her in the meantime. Besides, Mr. Hammond said he would show me about my algebra if I'd go out on the piazza this minute."
"Here, Julia"--to the ten-year old newcomer--"Go away from that raisin-box, this minute. Go up stairs out of my way, and Alfred too. Sadie, take Minnie with you; I can't have her here another instant. You can afford to do that much, perhaps."
"O, Ester, you're cross!" said Sadie, in a good-humored tone, coming forward after the little girl.
"Come, Birdie, Auntie Essie's cross, isn't she? Come with Aunt Sadie. We'll go to the piazza and make Mr. Hammond tell us a story."
Back and forth, from dining-room to pantry, from pantry to dining-room, went the quick feet At last she spoke:
"Maggie, leave the ironing and help me; it is time tea was ready."
"I'm just ironing Mr. Holland's shirt," objected Maggie.
The tall clock in the dining-room struck five, and the dining-bell pealed out its prompt summons through the house. The family gathered promptly and noisily--school-girls, half a dozen or more, Mr. Hammond, the principal of the academy, Miss Molten, the preceptress, Mrs. Brookley, the music-teacher, Dr. Van Anden, the new physician, Mr. and Mrs. Holland, and Mr. Arnett, Mr. Holland's clerk. There was a moment's hush while Mr. Hammond asked a blessing on the food; then the merry talk went on. For them all Maggie poured cups of tea, and Ester passed bread and butter, and beef and cheese, and Sadie gave overflowing dishes of blackberries, and chattered like a magpie, which last she did everywhere and always.
"This has been one of the scorching days," Mr. Holland said. "It was as much as I could do to keep cool in the store, and we generally ARE well off for a breeze there."
"Something besides keeping cool," Ester answered soberly.
"Which is a difficult thing to do, however," Dr. Van Anden said, speaking soberly too.
"I don't know, sir; if I had nothing to do but that, I think I could manage it."
"I have found trouble sometimes in keeping myself at the right temperature even in January."
Ester's cheeks glowed yet more. She understood Dr. Van Anden, and she knew her face did not look very self-controlled. No one knows what prompted Minnie to speak just then.
"Aunt Sadie said Auntie Essie was cross. Were you, Auntie Essie?"
The household laughed, and Sadie came to the rescue.
"Why, Minnie! you must not tell what Aunt Sadie says. It is just as sure to be nonsense as it is that you are a chatter-box."
Sadie hovered around the pale, sad-faced woman while she ate.
"O, yes; I'm better. Ester, you look dreadfully tired. Have you much more to do?"
"Only to trim the lamps, and make three beds that I had not time for this morning, and get things ready for breakfast, and finish Sadie's dress."
"Can't Maggie do any of these things?"
"Maggie is ironing."
Mrs. Ried sighed. "It is a good thing that I don't have the sick headache very often," she said sadly; "or you would soon wear yourself out. Sadie, are you going to the lyceum tonight?"
"Yes, ma'am. Your worthy daughter has the honor of being editress, you know, to-night. Ester, can't you go down? Never mind that dress; let it go to Guinea."
"You wouldn't think so by to-morrow evening," Ester said, shortly. "No, I can't go."
The work was all done at last, and Ester betook herself to her room. How tired she was! Every nerve seemed to quiver with weariness.
It was a pleasant little room, this one which she entered, with its low windows looking out toward the river, and its cosy furniture all neatly arranged by Sadie's tasteful fingers.
Yet, had Ester nothing for which to be thankful that the group on the piazza had not?
She lay at night side by side with a young sister, who had no claim to a home in heaven, and never spoke to her of Jesus. She worked daily side by side with a mother who, through many trials and discouragements, was living a Christian life, and never talked with her of their future rest. She met daily, sometimes almost hourly, a large household, and never so much as thought of asking them if they, too, were going, some day, home to God. She helped her young brother and sister with their geography lessons, and never mentioned to them the heavenly country whither they themselves might journey. She took the darling of the family often in her arms, and told her stories of "Bo Peep," and the "Babes in the Wood," and "Robin Redbreast," and never one of Jesus and his call for the tender lambs!
This was Ester, and this was Ester's home.
WHAT SADIE THOUGHT.
Sadie Ried was the merriest, most thoughtless young creature of sixteen years that ever brightened and bothered a home. Merry from morning until night, with scarcely ever a pause in her constant flow of fun; thoughtless, nearly always selfish too, as the constantly thoughtless always are. Not sullenly and crossly selfish by any means, only so used to think of self, so taught to consider herself utterly useless as regarded home, and home cares and duties, that she opened her bright brown eyes in wonder whenever she was called upon for help.
It was a very bright and very busy Saturday morning.
"Sadie!" Mrs. Ried called, "can't you come and wash up these baking dishes? Maggie is mopping, and Ester has her hands full with the cake."
"Yes, ma'am," said Sadie, appearing promptly from the dining-room, with Minnie perched triumphantly on her shoulder. "Here I am, at your service. Where are they?"
Ester glanced up. "I'd go and put on my white dress first, if I were you," she said significantly.
And Sadie looked down on her pink gingham, ruffled apron, shining cuffs, and laughed.
"O, I'll take off my cuffs, and put on this distressingly big apron of yours, which hangs behind the door; then I'll do."
"That's my clean apron; I don't wash dishes in it."
"O, bless your careful heart! I won't hurt it the least speck in the world. Will I, Birdie?"
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