Profiles

by Pansy; Mrs. C. M. Livingston

Day after day he sat and waited for the postman's ring; it sometimes came, but the longed-for letter did not come; then he was sure he should hear something to-morrow, and so the hours passed in trembling expectancy. While this was going on, Lily was hard at work pruning, potting, gathering out dead leaves and transferring plants from lawn to greenhouse, working in the early mornings while her grandfather slept. She must have it all in order, for she hoped to win him to consent to her plan after a time. And so it proved; by many womanly manœuvres she brought it about. She made her grandfather see that it was highly necessary to her health and happiness to be among the plants; then—"the shelves were getting crowded; would he sell a few young plants to Mr. Harris, the grocer."

At this, the old gentleman was nettled, saying, "Oh, that is small business; give Mr. Harris a few plants if he wishes them; we have more than enough."

Then Lily would fix her innocent brown eyes on her grandfather's and say, "Grandpa, I suppose I don't know much about business, but when you come right down to it, isn't it about the same thing to receive four or five dollars from Mr. Harris who wants our plants, as for you to have received four of five thousand dollars when you were a banker from men who wanted your services?"

At this grandpa laughed and said, "Go on, child, have your own way; you are a real Winthrop. If I once you take a thing into your head, you'll never give up till it is accomplished." He said to himself, "Sure enough, when you put it in that way, what is the difference?"

And now business began in a lively manner. Lily rose before the sun, cut her flowers and arranged them in attractive style, and Gretchen carried them to the market—transmuting rosebuds into beefsteak for the morning meal.

These bouquets were much in demand among people of good taste; they were not the stiff, ungainly things one usually sees, but were grouped loosely and tastefully together with a rare grace that could not be imitated. She possessed true womanly tact, and succeeded in interesting her grandfather in the structure and habits of plants. She brought books from the library, scientific and practical, and, during the long evenings they studied them together until the elder student began to catch some of the enthusiasm of the younger, and both grew to be wise in plant lore. Mr. Winthrop even came into the greenhouse himself and made bungling efforts to be useful. It touched Lily to the heart to see her stately, dignified grandfather, who had never dealt much with details of any sort, sitting before a basket of flowers, sorting out heliotrope, primroses and smilax with painful precision.

As for herself she was perfectly in love with the work; busy and happy she hind almost forgotten to notice that her many dear friends had nearly all ceased to visit her, so she had ample time for her new pursuit. Bringing to it such zeal and love, success was sure. Shut in her little green world, that other world where she had flitted about with gay butterflies of fashion, seemed far off—another state of existence; this greenery was a better, purer world; it was easier to remember the Heavenly Father when intimate with his delicate creations. Perhaps the work he gave man to do for the new-born earth always has peculiar blessings attending it. However it was, new color and roundness came to her cheek and unwonted love and consecration to her heart.

So two years passed away in quiet contentment. With much economy they were more than comfortable, were even able to pay a small rent which added not a little to the happiness of the proud-spirited old gentleman.

Just as they were looking forward to another winter of pleasure and profit everything was changed in the space of a few hours. Satan long ago intruded himself among vines and flowers and here he came again—in the person of a sharp, covetous man who claimed the property as his own. The friend, to whose generosity they owed so much, passed to another world without so much as a moment's warning. It had been his purpose to bequeath the Winthrop estate to its lifelong owners, but he had neglected to add this to his will. Much of the property now fell into the hands of a distant relative who claimed the last dollar that the law allowed him, although knowing the often expressed intention of the one whose wishes and words, as far as this life is concerned, had forever come to an end.

This very September morning, when the golden sunshine seemed full of blessing, the cruel order came to vacate the premises within three months. This was a heavy blow indeed, and Mr. Winthrop was almost crushed beneath it. To be turned out into the world without a home at his age was bad enough, but to bring this upon the dear child was fearful. All the old struggle of regret and remorse returned. To think that he should have imperiled all, when he had such a treasure entrusted to him. He walked the floor nights and days calling himself by all hard names, sometimes trying to pray, but in despair declaring that he had been so proud and covetous the Lord had forsaken him in his old age.