CHAPTER XVI.
A VICTORY.
"This is really the most absurd of all your late absurdities," Mrs. Ried was saying, in rather a loud tone, and with a look of dignified disgust bestowed upon Abbie, as Mr. Foster joined the group.
"Will you receive me into this circle, and enlighten me as regards this particular absurdity," he said, seating himself near Mrs. Ried.
"Oh it was nothing remarkable," that lady replied in her most sarcastic tone. "At least it is quite time we were growing accustomed to this new order of things. Abbie is trying to enlighten her father on the new and interesting question of temperance, especially as it is connected with wedding parties, in which she is particularly interested just at present."
Abbie bestowed an appealing glance on Mr. Foster, and remained entirely silent.
"I believe I can claim equal interest then in the matter," he answered brightly. "And will petition you, Mrs. Ried, to explain the point at issue."
"Indeed, Mr. Foster, I'm not a temperance lecturer, and do not consider myself competent to perform the awful task. I refer you to Abbie, who seems to be thoroughly posted, and very desirous of displaying her argumentative powers."
Still silence on Abbie's part, and only a little tremble of the lip told a close observer how deeply she felt the sharp tones and unmotherly words. Mrs. Ried spoke at last, in calm, measured accents.
"My daughter and I, Mr. Foster, differ somewhat in regard to the duties and privileges of a host. I claim the right to set before my guests whatever I consider proper. She objects to the use of wine, as, perhaps, you are aware. Indeed, I believe she has imbibed her very peculiar views from you; but I say to her that as I have always been in the habit of entertaining my guests with that beverage, I presume I shall continue to do so."
Mr. Foster did not seem in the mood to argue the question, but responded with genial good humor. "Ah but, Mrs. Ried, you ought to gratify your daughter in her parting request. That is only natural and courteous, is it not?"
Mrs. Ried felt called upon to reply. "We have gratified so many of her requests already that the whole thing bids fair to be the most ridiculous proceeding that New York has ever witnessed. Fancy a dozen rough boys banging and shouting through my house, eating cake enough to make them sick for a month, to say nothing of the quantity which they will stamp into my carpets, and all because they chance to belong to Abbie's mission class!"
Ralph and Ester had joined the group in the meantime, and the former here interposed.
"That last argument isn't valid, mother. Haven't I promised to hoe out the rooms myself, immediately after the conclusion of the solemn services?"
And Mr. Foster bestowed a sudden troubled look on Abbie, which she answered by saying in a low voice, "I should recall my invitations to them under such circumstances."
"You will do no such thing," her father replied sharply. "The invitations are issued in your parents' names, and we shall have no such senseless proceedings connected with them When you are in your own house you will doubtless be at liberty to do as you please; but in the meantime it would be well to remember that you belong to your father's family at present."
Ralph was watching the flushing cheek and quivering lip of his young sister, and at this point flung down the book with which he had been idly playing, with an impatient exclamation: "It strikes me, father, that you are making a tremendous din about a little matter. I don't object to a glass of wine myself, almost under any circumstances, and I think this excruciating sensitiveness on the subject is absurd and ridiculous, and all that sort of thing; but at the same time I should be willing to undertake the job of smashing every wine bottle there is in the cellar at this moment, if I thought that Sis' last hours in the body, or at least in the paternal mansion, would be made any more peaceful thereby."
During this harangue the elder Mr. Ried had time to grow ashamed of his sharpness, and answered in his natural tone. "I am precisely of your opinion, my son. We are making 'much ado about nothing.' We certainly have often entertained company before, and Abbie has sipped her wine with the rest of us without sustaining very material injury thereby, so far as I can see. And here is Ester, as stanch a church member as any of you, I believe, but that doesn't seem to forbid her behaving in a rational manner, and partaking of whatever her friends provide for her entertainment. Why can not the rest of you be equally sensible?"
During the swift second of time which intervened between that sentence and her reply Ester had three hard things to endure—a sting from her restless conscience, a look of mingled pain and anxiety from Mr. Foster, and one of open-eyed and mischievous surprise from Ralph. Then she spoke rapidly and earnestly. "Indeed, Uncle Ralph, I beg you will not judge of any other person by my conduct in this matter. I am very sorry, and very much ashamed that I have been so weak and wicked. I think just as Abbie does, only I am not like her, and have been tempted to do wrong, for fear you would think me foolish."
No one but Ester knew how much these sentences cost her; but the swift, bright look telegraphed her from Abbie's eyes seemed to repay her.
Ralph laughed outright. "Four against one," he said gaily. "I've gone over to the enemy's side myself, you see, on account of the pressure. Father, I advise you to yield while you can do it gracefully, and also to save me the trouble of smashing the aforesaid bottles."
"But," persisted Mr. Ried, "I haven't heard an argument this evening. What is there so shocking in a quiet glass of wine enjoyed with a select gathering of one's friends?"
John now presented himself at the door with a respectful, "If you please, sir, there is a person in the hall who persists in seeing Mr. Foster."
"Show him in, then," was Mr. Ried's prompt reply.
John hesitated, and then added: "He is a very common looking person, sir, and—"
"I said show him in, I believe," interrupted the gentleman of the house, in a tone which plainly indicated that he was expending on John the irritation which he did not like to bestow further, on either his children or his guests.
John vanished, and Mr. Ried added: "You can take your friend into the library, Mr. Foster, if it proves to be a private matter."
There was a marked emphasis on the word friend in this sentence; but Mr. Foster only bowed his reply, and presently John returned, ushering in a short, stout man, dressed in a rough working suit, twirling his hat in his hand, and looking extremely embarrassed and out of place in the elegant parlor. Mr. Foster turned toward him immediately, and gave him a greeting both prompt and cordial. "Ah, Mr. Jones, good evening. I have been in search of you today, but some way managed to miss you."
At this point Abbie advanced and placed a small white hand in Mr. Jones' great hard brown one, as she repeated the friendly greeting, and inquired at once: "How is Sallie, to-night, Mr. Jones?"
"Well, ma'am, it is about her that I'm come, and I beg your pardon, sir (turning to Mr. Foster), for making so bold as to come up here after you; but she is just that bad to-night that I could not find it in me to deny her any thing, and she is in a real taking to see you. She has sighed and cried about it most of this day, and to-night we felt, her mother and me, that we couldn't stand it any longer, and I said I'd not come home till I found you and told you how much she wanted to see you. It's asking a good deal, sir, but she is going fast, she is; and—" Here Mr. Jones' voice choked, and he rubbed his hard hand across his eyes.
"I will be down immediately," was Mr. Foster's prompt reply.
"Certainly you should have come for me. I should have been very sorry
indeed to disappoint Sallie. Tell her I will be there in half an hour,
Mr. Jones."
And with a few added words of kindness from Abbie, Mr. Jones departed, looking relieved and thankful.
"That man," said Mr. Foster, turning to Ester, as the door closed after him, "is the son of our old lady, don't you think! You remember I engaged to see her conveyed to his home in safety, and my anxiety for her future welfare was such that my pleasure was very great in discovering that the son was a faithful member of our mission Sabbath-school, and a thoroughly good man."
"And who is Sallie?" Ester inquired, very much interested.
Mr. Foster's face grew graver. "Sallie is his one treasure, a dear little girl, one of our mission scholars, and a beautiful example of how faithful Christ can be to his little lambs."
"What is supposed to be the matter with Sallie?" This question came from Ralph, who had been half amused, half interested, with the entire scene.
The gravity on Mr. Foster's face deepened into sternness as he answered: "Sallie is only one of the many victims of our beautiful system of public poisoning. The son of her mother's employer, in a fit of drunken rage, threw her from the very top of a long flight of stairs, and now she lies warped and misshapen, mourning her life away. By the way"—he continued, turning suddenly toward Mr. Ried—"I believe you were asking for arguments to sustain my 'peculiar views.' Here is one of them: This man of whom I speak, whose crazed brain has this young sad life and death to answer for, I chance to know to a certainty commenced his downward career in a certain pleasant parlor in this city, among a select gathering of friends, taking a quiet glass of wine!" And Mr. Foster made his adieus very brief, and departed.
Ralph's laugh was just a little nervous as he said, when the family were alone: "Foster is very fortunate in having an incident come to our very door with which to point his theories."
Abbie had deserted her ottoman and taken one close by her father's side. Now she laid her bright head lovingly against his breast, and looked with eager, coaxing eyes into his stern gray ones. "Father," she said softly, "you'll let your little curly have her own way just this time, won't you? I will promise not to coax you again until I want something very bad indeed."
Mr. Ried had decided his plan of action some moments before. He was prepared to remind his daughter in tones of haughty dignity that he was "not in the habit of playing the part of a despot in his own family, and that as she and her future husband were so very positive in their very singular opinions, and so entirely regardless of his wishes or feelings, he should, of course, not force his hospitalities on her guests."
He made one mistake. For just a moment he allowed his eyes to meet the sweet blue ones, looking lovingly and trustingly into his, and whatever it was, whether the remembrance that his one daughter was so soon to go out from her home, or the thought of all the tender and patient love and care which she had bestowed on him in those early morning hours, the stern gray eyes grew tender, the haughty lines about the mouth relaxed, and with a sudden caressing movement of his hand among the brown curls, he said in a half moved, half playful tone:
"Did you ever ask any thing of anybody in your life that you didn't get?" Then more gravely: "You shall have your way once more. Abbie, it would be a pity to despoil you of your scepter at this late day."
"Fiddlesticks!" ejaculated Mrs. Ried.
Before she had added anything to that original sentiment Abbie was behind her chair, both arms wound around her neck, and then came soft, quick, loving kisses on her cheeks, on her lips, on her chin, and even on her nose.
"Nonsense!" added her mother. Then she laughed. "Your father would consent to have the ceremony performed in the attic if you should take a fancy that the parlors are too nicely furnished to suit your puritanic views and I don't know but I should be just as foolish."
"That man has gained complete control over her," Mrs. Ried said, looking after Abbie with a little sigh, and addressing her remarks to Ester as they stood together for a moment in the further parlor. "He is a first-class fanatic, grows wilder and more incomprehensible in his whims every day, and bends Abbie to his slightest wish. My only consolation is that he is a man of wealth and culture, and indeed in every other respect entirely unexceptionable."
A new light dawned upon Ester. This was the secret of Abbie's "strangeness." Mr. Foster was one of those rare and wonderful men about whom one occasionally reads but almost never meets, and of course Abbie, being so constantly under his influence, was constantly led by him. Very few could expect to attain to such a hight; certainly she, with her social disadvantages and unhelpful surroundings, must not hope for it.
She was rapidly returning to her former state of self-satisfaction. There were certain things to be done. For instance, that first chapter of John should receive more close attention at her next reading; and there were various other duties which should be taken up and carefully observed. But, on the whole, Ester felt that she had been rather unnecessarily exercised, and that she must not expect to be perfect. And so once more there was raised a flag of truce between her conscience and her life.