“But—they’re going to stop here for you at half past seven.”
“Well, let ’em stop! We’ll be gone, won’t we? She’ll have her trouble for her pains, won’t she?” He really was speaking in a very rude tone to his sister; but she could see that he was annoyed and mortified to have to talk with her at all on this subject, and the things he said filled her with a triumphant elation.
“But, Carey, oughtn’t you to call her up and tell her you have another engagement? Isn’t that the right thing, the manly thing, to do?”
“Oh, bother! You don’t understand! Let me manage this, please. I guess I know my own business. I tell you she’s a—fool!”
Carey slammed upstairs to his room, and she could hear him presently in the bathroom stropping his razor, and whistling a merry tune. He had forgotten all about Clytie. Cornelia’s hand trembled as she slipped the hot apple pie out of the oven, and dusted it with powdered sugar. Then she suddenly straightened up, and said out loud, “He answered!”
For a moment the little white kitchen seemed a holy place, as if a presence unseen were there; and her whole being was thrilled with the wonder of it. God, the great God, had listened to her troubled cry and sent His angel in the form of the minister’s daughter, who had averted the danger. Other people might doubt and sneer at supposed answers to prayer if they knew the circumstances, perhaps call it a coincidence, or a “chance,” or a “happening”; but she knew! There was something more than just the fact that the trouble had been averted. There was that strange spiritual consciousness of God answering her, God coming near and communicating with her, as if their eyes had met across the universe, and He had made her certain of His existence, certain of His interest in her and care for her and her affairs.
It was a little thing, an intangible thing; but it glorified her whole life, the day, the moment, and her work. It was real, and something she could never forget. She went swiftly about the last details of the evening meal, had everything on the table absolutely on time, even found a moment to run up to her room, smooth her hair, and put on a fresh blouse. Yet through it all, and on through the beautiful evening, it kept ringing back sweetly in her heart. She had a refuge when things grew too hard for her, a God who cared, and would help in time of need. She had not thought that faith was given like that, but it had come and made a different thing entirely of living.
They had a wonderful drive, Grace sitting in the front seat with Carey, and carrying on a merry conversation, his father and the minister in the back seat, with Louise and Cornelia in the two little middle seats. For the minister had insisted on the whole family going. So for the first time since Cornelia’s return from college the little house was shut up and dark through the whole evening, and now and again Cornelia’s thoughts would turn back and wonder what Clytie thought when she arrived with her gang of pleasure-seekers.
But the evening was so wonderful, the moonlight so perfect, the company so congenial, that Cornelia found it hard to harbor unpleasant thoughts, and for one evening was care-free and happy. Now and then she thought of her little brother riding afar with young Maxwell, and wondered what they were talking about, and whether they would all know him any better when he got back with Harry. It was always so revealing to have a member of one’s family get really close to everyday living with a person. Then her thoughts would come back to the drifting talk from Grace and Carey in front, and she thought how handsome her brother looked, and how at ease driving the car and talking to this sweet, cultured girl. She remembered his accents when he called Clytie Dodd a fool so vehemently, and compared them with his face as he walked on Chestnut Street, chewing gum, and looking down attentively to his overdressed, ill-behaved companion. Which was the real Carey? And do we all have two people shut up inside ourselves? Or is one the real self and the other a mask?
The service which they attended for an hour was intensely interesting, and quite new to Cornelia. She had never seen anything like it before. It was a “conference.” Nobody said for what, and she did not happen to get hold of a program until they were leaving. Mr. Kendall at the desk seemed like a father among his children, or a close friend of them all; and he led their thoughts to the heavenly Father in a most wonderful way, speaking of Him as if He were present always with each one, ready to help in any need, ready to conquer for them; and the thought he left with them at the close of his ten-minute talk was drawn from the verse, “My grace is sufficient for thee, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”