Paula the Waldensian | Page 6

much,
but that day I pitied her with all my heart and I did what I could to calm
her; for once her nerves were excited, nothing could console the poor
unhappy girl. Besides, I was very much afraid that she would be able to
change my father's purpose in regard to Paula. He, generally so severe,
so cold, and insensible in his attitude toward us, obeyed the slightest
wish of his eldest daughter. And if--if!--she succeeded in preventing
Paula's coming I felt that I would never, never pardon Catalina! But
now I tried to embrace her.
"Listen," I said; "father had to go out, but when he returns he will tell
you the same thing that I have told you!"
But Catalina would not hear me. With her head hidden in the pillows,
she continued crying.
I was desperate! As a rule it took a lot less than this to make Catalina
worse. Catalina worse! And all my fault! What would my father say!
And yet I had had no bad intentions. How could I have known that she
would have received my good news in this way? Suddenly I had a
brilliant idea. Leaving Catalina I ran to the kitchen where Teresa was
preparing the vegetables for supper. "Teresa, come quickly," I cried
with my eyes full of tears; "Catalina is making herself sick with
crying."
"And why? I left her sleeping only a short time ago."
"Oh, yes, I know; but please come at once, Teresa! It's all my fault! I
told her that Paula was coming and she is beside herself! But really and
truly I had no idea that she would take it that way!"
Teresa jumped up quickly, saying under her breath, "What next?" and
then to me, "You certainly are a troublesome youngster, my poor
Lisita!"
"But Teresa, I vow to you...."

"Be quiet, and go back to Catalina's room! I'll be there as soon as I
can!"
I left the kitchen well content. Teresa was not full of pretty phrases but
she had a heart of gold, and I knew that somehow or other she would be
able to fix things with Catalina. I found Rosa already in Catalina's room
on my return, trying in vain to calm her. She turned to me.
"What on earth has happened? I heard Catalina sobbing, clear at the
other end of the house. Are you responsible for this?"
"No, no, it wasn't I; it was Paula."
"Paula!"
I tried to explain, but at this minute Teresa entered, bringing with her a
plateful of delicious apples.
"Come, come, Catalina!" and her deep, sonorous voice seemed like
soothing balm, as her presence appeared to fill the room. "What on
earth are you crying about? It is but a short moment ago that I secured
permission from your papa to read you a letter which he has just
received from Italy, and I went out to pick up some of your favorite
apples, the first of the season, and here I come to find you crying!"
Catalina became a little calmer hearing the word "letter," for, to the
poor confined invalid, a letter from abroad was a great event.
Nevertheless, between her sobs she remarked, "Is it a letter about this
terrible 'Paula' that they are talking about?"
"Yes," answered Teresa, with that soothing voice of hers. "It's a letter
that tells us a bit about a niece of your poor mother."
Catalina calmed down completely. If the memory of our mother still
lived in the heart of her other daughters it had first place above all else
with Catalina.
"Now, read it to me, Catalina," said Teresa. "You can do so much

better than I can in the reading line, and it will sound so much better
from your lips than from my poor stumbling ones. Wait till I fix up the
pillows, and don't cry any more. And now your headache is better, isn't
it?"
"It still pains terribly, Teresa. Let Rosa read it."
Rosa took the letter, and read in her clear, sweet voice the lines that had
so stirred us all.
There were but few details. Our Uncle John had died; so wrote the
pastor of the little church in that far-off Waldensian Valley. He had
died as he had lived--a real Christian. He had no near relatives, it
appeared; and the rest of the family had gone to America two years
before. Paula, therefore, was alone. Just before breathing his last, my
uncle had expressed the desire to leave his daughter in the care of our
father whom he had never known, but of whom he had heard nothing
but good. Beside all this he had left his daughter in the hands of God,
the loving Father of all orphans, praying Him to guide and