Thankful Rest | Page 3

could sparkle with
merriment as bright as that which so often shone in his sister's blue orbs.
A bright, winsome, lovable maiden was Carrie Goldthwaite, the very
joy of her brother's heart, and the apple of every eye in the township.
The brother and sister were deeply attached to each other, the fact that
they were separated from their father's happy home in New York
drawing them the more closely together. They had been talking of Mr.
Goldthwaite's projected visit on the morrow, and he had at last
succeeded in repeating faithfully all the commissions his sister wished
him to execute, when the swinging of the garden gate, and a firm tread
on the gravel, made Miss Goldthwaite rise and peep behind the curtain.
"It's Miss Hepsy, Frank," she said with a very broad smile; "something

very important must it be which brings her here. I don't think she has
been to the parsonage since the day we came."
The next moment Miss Goldthwaite's "help" ushered in Miss Hepsy
Strong, attired in a shawl of brilliant hues and a marvellous bonnet. She
dropped a courtesy to the parson, and sat down on the extreme edge of
the chair Miss Goldthwaite offered her, declining, at the same time, her
offer of a cup of tea. Evidently, Miss Hepsy was not used to company
manners.
"I've made bold to come down to-night, sir," she said, fixing her keen
eyes on Mr. Goldthwaite's pleasant face, "knowin' you was goin' to
Newhaven to-morrow, to ask if you would do Josh and me a kindness."
"If I can, Miss Strong," returned the minister courteously, "be sure I
shall be very glad to do so."
"You've heard tell, I reckon," said Miss Hepsy, "of our sister Hetty as
married the schoolmaster in Newhaven?"
Mr. Goldthwaite nodded.
"Well, she's dead," continued Miss Hepsy with a business-like stolidity
inexplicable to Carrie Goldthwaite's warm heart, "an' she's left two
children, which Josh an' me'll hev to take, I reckon, seein' their parents
is both dead now. We'd a letter to-day from the minister there--Mr.
Penn he calls hisself, I think."
"Yes, I know him," put in Mr. Goldthwaite.
"He wants Josh to come up right away, which he can't possibly do an'
the corn not in the barn yet. A day's worth so many dollars jes' now, an'
can't be throwed away. Now, sir, will ye be so kind as to see to things
at Hetty's, an' fetch the children with you when ye come back? It'll be a
great favour to Josh and me."
The minister concealed what he thought, and answered courteously that
he should do his best. Then Miss Hepsy rose and shook out her green
skirts.
"The address is Fifteenth Street, sir, an' Hetty's name was Hurst. I
reckon ye'll find it easy enough. That's all; I'll be goin' now.--No,
thanks, Miss Goldthwaite, I can't sit down; it's 'most milking time, and
if Keziah's left to do it herself, there's no saying what might
happen.--So, good evenin', and thank ye, sir;" and before the brother
and sister recovered from their amazement, Miss Hepsy had whisked
out of the room, and the next minute her firm, man-like tread broke

upon their ears again. Mr. Goldthwaite looked at his sister with a
comical smile, which was answered by a peal of laughter from her
sweet lips.
"I can't help it indeed, Frank," she said. "I am so sorry for the poor
children, bereft of both parents. Their mother was a refined, gentle
creature, too, I have been told; of a different mould from Miss Hepsy.
The calmness, though, to ask you to do all this simply because Joshua
is too hard to spare a day's labour! Are you doing altogether right,
Frank, I wonder, in taking it off his hands?"
"I could not refuse it, Carrie," returned the minister. "Like you, I am
sorry for the poor little orphans. Their life will not be all sunshine, I
fear, at Thankful Rest."
Miss Goldthwaite sighed, and from the open window watched in
silence Miss Hepsy's brilliant figure crossing the river by the bridge a
hundred yards beyond the parsonage gate.
"I think, Frank, that among all your parishioners there is not a more
unhappy pair than Joshua Strong and his sister. I wish they could be
made to see how differently God meant them to spend their lives. It
saddens me to see their hardness and sourness."
"Perhaps these little children may do them good, dear," returned the
minister gravely. "It would not be the first time God has used the
influence of little children to do what no other power on earth could.
We will pray it may be so."
"Yes," returned Carrie Goldthwaite; and the shade deepened on her
sweet face as she added again, "Poor little things!