Patricia (14 page)

Patricia went back to school life in the fall with eagerness and zest. This was to the best year of all, and she was looking forward to it. Her father had made it distinctly understood that she was not to be hampered in any of her school activities, and her mother with sighs had acquiesced, saying that of course it didn't matter much for just one year more, and then, thank fortune it would be over and she would have her way with her precious child and try to undo some of the harm that had been done in all these young years.

So there was a different look on Patricia's face when she went back to school, and there was more freedom in her friendships with the other girls and boys, though to tell the truth she usually had very little to do with the boys except in gatherings of the whole class, for the boys were just a little bit afraid of Patricia. They had never quite figured out why she had disappeared from the picnic. Of course, the storm had managed to take their thoughts away from the subject to a certain extent, but they had never been able to decide why she was not on hand at lunchtime, nor for any of the games. Likely she was a snob after all and didn't want to associate herself with them. They had not connected her disappearance with Thorny because he had come back complaining of a twisted ankle and a scratch in the face from briars. He had stayed and eaten what was left of his lunch with Della Bright and had been generally annoying in little ways to the rest of them. But he had stayed with the crowd and had been the chief instigator in taking them all to the roadhouse for a refuge in the storm. It had also been Thorny's influence that had made the whole latter part of the day a riot instead of a time of innocent fun. Most of the quieter boys had taken their special girls and their sisters home as soon as the rain was over, but many of the others had stayed, willing enough to explore a side of life with which they were not familiar.

But now Patricia was eager to make the class feel that she was one of them and to erase all memory of the unfortunate picnic. So she went faithfully to their parties. However, as the winter wore on she decided that she didn't enjoy dancing. There was too much familiarity about it.

But there were not many parties, and at least for this one year she was not expected to go to many festivities among her other set of acquaintances, which was a relief. Also Thorny was definitely out of things, word having gone out that he was attending a famous school in the far west, and Patricia was greatly relieved that she had not that problem to face.

So the winter went on in a pleasant whirl of work. Patricia loved studying. She wanted to be at the head of her class, and she studied hard.

But there was one element missing in the school this year. John Worth was not there. As she looked back upon the past few years, she realized that she had never had much personal contact with him, very seldom even spoken to him for days and sometimes weeks at a time. But he had been there, a quiet presence, a strong influence upon his whole class, the admiration of the whole school, even since he had not been active in athletics. Now that he was only a memory they still boasted about him, as something of the past; but the fine flavor of each day seemed to be growing less and less. At least to Patricia, who had been used to watching him from afar so long and to think of his attainments as something to be emulated, to look toward his quiet strength when she was tired or excited or uncertain—always those lamps behind John Worth's eyes had meant that to Patricia since the first time she saw them, and now she missed them every day.

Of course, there was now a still more pleasant personal memory to think back to, in that day she had spent in his home while the rain poured down. The day seemed framed in a rainbow at the end and perfumed by the lilies she had carried home. But school now was just a little less than it had been because he was no longer there. And perhaps she would never see him again!

True, he had promised to come to see her sometime in the dim and misty future, but Patricia, in the months that had passed, had been learning to grow up in her thoughts. To realize that all that young people promise is not likely of fulfillment. That time changes even thoughts and wishes.

Since his father died it was rumored that John Worth was working full-time now on Miller's farm. They said he was just going to be a common farmhand. That seemed too bad for the best scholar in high school, never to have a chance to go on and study further. The valedictorian! Imagine it! Somebody ought to have done something for him!

That was the way a few of the seniors talked.

Patricia, when she heard it, was sure in her heart that John Worth wouldn't have taken help from anybody. His father hadn't brought him up that way. The grand old college professor had not brought up his son to be a “softy.” John Worth would help himself. Besides, just now he was probably taking care of his mother.

But Patricia didn't participate in any talk about him, and soon it died away. In time John Worth was all but forgotten by the new class that was coming on.

“But there isn't one in this year's class that is up to John Worth of last year,” Patricia heard one of the old teachers say to another. “Not scholastically, anyway.”

And Patricia's heart was glad that one worthwhile teacher recognized that.

There was plenty to do all that winter, however, and little time for regretting scholars of the past.

Patricia had a few more or less close friends among the girls in her class this year. Up untill then she had felt that she must not be too friendly because her mother would not let her bring the public school classmates to her home to visit her. But now her father's edict had gone forth most decisively, and she had been told in her mother's presence that she might bring her friends there and even have a party for them sometime during the year, so she felt more free and easy with them. She found the girls most eager to come and see her. They had always been curious about the big pretentious mansion in which she lived, and they came home with her sometimes with great delight. They seemed to vie with one another to be her closest friend. So the days went by pleasantly, and Patricia felt her life was very full and happy.

But in the midst of it all she did not forget that little touch with the Worth family. She remembered how John Worth had told her that she could have family worship by herself, and every morning and evening she religiously read her Bible and knelt to pray, falling little by little into the habit of talking to the Lord as if He stood close by and she could see Him. The mysterious beauty of those few hours spent in that consecrated home listening to the conversation of God's saints had made a deep impression, and she did not want to get away from it.

Deeper and deeper grew her thoughts as she went on reading her Bible and asking to be shown the right way in her life. All unknowingly she was more and more surrendering herself to the leading of the Holy Spirit, which makes for the understanding of the Word, until things she read grew always clearer to her mind and stayed with her as she went through her days, and many a time when she might have made wrong decisions she was kept and led aright.

But of her growth in grace she was as unconscious as a growing babe is unconscious of its physical development.

Yes, though the girl herself knew nothing of the daily working of the Spirit within her, this was not hidden from those around her. Her father saw it first, and one day commented upon it thoughtfully.

“Our girl is getting sweeter and more lovely every day,” he said.

He was perhaps only thinking aloud and did not realize until his wife spoke up.

“She has always been sweet!” she snapped. “I can't see why you haven't understood what a very beautiful daughter you have. Perhaps if you had realized it more, you would have been a little more careful how you subjected her to the influences of the common herd.”

He was sorry at once that he had spoken, and he closed his lips and said no more about it, but he continued to watch his child from day to day and to wonder over her sweetness and gentleness, and how she patiently bore the nagging of her mother about unimportant matters, until she must have been tried almost beyond endurance. And once he asked her how it was that she contrived to keep her temper so much better than in former years when unpleasant things came, and she looked down shyly with a soft color in her cheeks and hesitantly said in a low wistful little voice, “Perhaps it is because I asked the Lord Jesus to help me.” And her lashes remained down upon her cheeks for an embarrassed moment. It was the first recognition between them of some special preaching they had been hearing together intermittently at their little church without a name, that was so unfashionable.

A great shyness and embarrassment came over the father, and he did not answer for a full minute. Then in a low husky voice:

“Yes, I guess that must be it,” he said and cleared his throat and looked away off in the distance for a while. Then he added:

“I guess I'll have to try that way, too.”

Patricia looked up astonished, a great light coming into her face. Why, he was getting like that other father! Wouldn't it be wonderful if they could have that family worship in their home, too? But—what would Mother say? Mother wouldn't hold with such an informal, unfashionable thing as Father kneeling down to pray at morning and at evening. Mother might be afraid that someone would come in to visit.

But Patricia came over eagerly to her father and kissed him softly on his forehead and on his down-drooping eyelids and murmured softly, “Oh Daddy, I wish you would! Wouldn't that be nice? You and me both! I'd love that, Daddy!”

Somehow after that there seemed to be a closer bond between father and daughter that made life sweeter. It was as if the years during which the father had protected her were culminating in this sweeter fellowship, and the two understood one another as they never had before.

It was days after this first word was spoken between them about the spiritual life that the father asked her one night while they were sitting together alone for a little while:

“What started you on this religious line, Pat? Did you just get it from our little old-fashioned church, or what?”

And Patricia blazed out in a sweet bright smile, her eyes full of something lovely and deep.

“No, Daddy, not altogether. At least—there was something else. You remember that picnic last year? The day the storm came up?”

“Oh yes. I wasn't home, was I? I was in New York. Someone took you who you didn't like. Was it Thorny? I remember. Your mother said she would have been so worried if he hadn't taken you, but she knew you would be all right since you had the right kind of an escort. But how did that help you religiously? Were you scared?”

“Yes, I was scared,” said the girl with downcast eyes, “but that had nothing to do with this. I was only scared because Thorny got me alone, and then he took me in his arms and began to hug and kiss me in a horrid way. I got so frightened that I tried to scream, and he put his hand over my mouth and almost strangled me. At last I got away from him and ran as fast and as hard as I could, and I got away off from the rest, though I had thought I was running toward them all the time, till I found I was really lost. I fell down and almost knocked the breath out of me, and then I was afraid to look around lest Thorny was after me, so I just lay still. And I must have gone to sleep, for I was very worn out and excited, and then all at once I was wakened by a terrible clap of thunder. It startled me so I sat right up, and when I looked around there was somebody standing beside me, and I thought it was Thorny. I was so frightened I did not know what to do.”

“The little whelp!” said Patricia's father angrily, sitting up. “Why wasn't I told of this before? I would have given him a big horsewhipping! Why didn't you tell me at once?”

“Oh, Daddy! Because I knew it would make Mother so angry. Because she was so pleased that Thorny was taking me.”

“But you should have come to me alone and told me. You poor little girl! Well, go on. What did Thorny do next?”

“But it wasn't Thorny,” said Patricia, with a sweet hazy look in her eyes at the memory, “it was John Worth. Do you remember him, Daddy, at commencement last year? He gave the valedictory.”

“I should say I do remember him!” said the father excitedly. “Don't tell me that nice refined-looking boy was unpleasant to you!”

“Oh no, Daddy! He was wonderful! The lightning was flashing terribly, and it had begun to rain hard and fast, and John just took off his coat and stooped down and put it around by shoulders, and then he picked me up like a baby and ran across the plowed ground with me to his own home! Such a sweet, dear home with lilies of the valley all around and a precious, sweet-faced mother standing at the door to take me in! And that nice kind father sitting in his chair by a lovely fire on the hearth. And then John's mother took me in her room and wrapped me up in a wool blanket while she ironed my clothes dry, and we had a lovely time by the fire, with hot gingerbread and milk and then supper. John and I helped to get it ready, and it tasted so good. Hot scones and applesauce and more gingerbread. It was wonderful! And they wheeled John's father up to the table, and after supper John gave him a big Bible and he read a chapter and then prayed, just as if he knew God intimately. And afterward when John brought me home, we talked about it and John said they did that every morning and evening. He called it family worship. And when I said I wished we did that, he said of course I could do it by myself if I wanted to. And I do. And I think it has helped me. I understand the sermons at the church now. And it makes me a lot happier, Daddy!”