CHAPTER IX. FLEEING.

The next morning every one of them ran away from the meeting. The way of it was this: as they came up from breakfast and stood at the tent-door discussing the question whether they would go to the early meeting, Mrs. Duane Smithe passed, glanced up at them carelessly, then looked back curiously, and at last turned and came back to them.

"I beg pardon," she said, "but isn't this Miss Erskine? It surely is! I thought I recognized your face, but couldn't be sure in these strange surroundings. And you have a party with you? How delightful! We were just wishing for more ladies. I really don't think it is going to rain much to-day, and we have a lovely prospect in view. You must certainly join us." Then followed introductions and explanations, Mrs. Duane Smithe was a Saratoga acquaintance of Ruth Erskine, and was  en route for Jamestown for the day.

"Where is Jamestown?" queried Eurie, who was a very useful member of society, in that she never pretended knowledge that she did not possess, so that you had only to keep still and listen to the answers that were made to her questions in order to know a good deal.

"It is at the head of this lovely little lake, or at the foot, I'm sure I don't know which way to call it, and it is nothing of consequence, of course, but the ride thither is said to be charming, and we are going to take a lunch, and picnic in a private way, just for the fun of getting together, you know, in a more social manner than one can accomplish in this wilderness of people. Isn't it a queer place, Miss Erskine? I am dying to know how you happened to come here." Ruth arched her eyebrows.

"I confess it is almost as strange as what brought  you here," she said, smiling. "I can answer that in an instant. I have a ridiculous nephew here, who thought that a week of meetings from morning to night would be just a trifle short of paradise, so what did he do but smuggle us all off this way. I shall find it a bore, of course, and the only way to get through with it is to have little pleasure excursions like the one we propose to-day." Now you know as much about Mrs. Duane Smithe as though I should write about her for a week. It is strange how little we have to say before we have explained to people not only our intellectual but our moral status. Our girls, you will remember, had as little regard for the meetings as girls could have, and they had by this time begun to feel themselves in a strange atmosphere, without acquaintances or gentlemanly attentions, so it took almost no persuasion at all to induce them to join Mrs. Smithe's party, composed of two young ladies and four young gentlemen. It would be difficult to explain to you what a disappointment the decision to spend the day in frolic, instead of going to the meetings, was to Flossy. All the morning her heart had been in a great flutter of happiness over the beautiful day that stretched out before her. To meet those earnest, eager people again, to hear those hymns, to hear the voice of prayer all about her, to hear the constant allusions that were so strange and so saddening to her yesterday, and that now she understood, how blessed it would be! She had gone about the bewilderments of her toilet in a tent with a serenely happy face, and almost unawares had hummed the refrain of a tune that had already shown itself a favorite at Chautauqua.

"Flossy is like herself this morning," Eurie said, as she heard the happy little song. "I think she has recovered from her home-sickness." Tents are not convenient places in which to make private remarks. Flossy overheard this one and smiled to herself. Yes, she had gotten over her home-sickness—she had found home. She gave a little exclamation of dismay as she heard the plannings for the day, and said:

"But, Ruth, what about the meetings?" "Well," Ruth had said, with her most provokingly nonchalant air, "I haven't made any inquiry, but I presume they will continue them all day just the same as if we were here. I don't  think they will change the programme on our account." And Eurie had added, mischievously:

"Flossy is afraid it is not the aristocratic thing to do, not to stay to all the meetings." "Oh, as to that," Mrs. Smithe had said (she was one of those interesting people who always take remarks seriously), "I assure you it is what the first people on the ground are doing. Of course none of them would be so absurd as to think of attending meetings all the time. The brain wouldn't endure such a strain." "Of course not," Marion had answered with gravity, "My brain is already very tired. I think yours must be exhausted." Flossy meditated a daring resolution to stay behind and take her "rest" in the way she coveted; but the impossibility of explaining what would appear to the others as merely an ill-natured freak, and occasion no end of talk, deterred her, and with slow, reluctant steps she followed the merry group down to the wharf. If those people had stopped long enough to think of it, this disposal of themselves would have had its ludicrous side. Certainly it was a strange fancy to run away twenty miles with lunches done up in paper in search of a picnic, when Chautauqua was one great picnic ground, stretching out before them in beauty and convenience. But the entire group belonged to that class of people for whom the fancy of the moment, whatever it may be, has infinite charms.

There was plenty of room on the Colonel Phillips. Very few people were traveling in that direction.

"It is really queer," the Captain was overheard to say, "to take a party  away from the grounds at this hour of the day." "What an enthusiastic set of people they are about here," Eurie said to Mr. Rawson, one of Mrs. Smithe's party, as they paced the deck together. "The people all talk and act as though there was nowhere to go and nothing to do but attend those meetings. For my part it is a real relief to have a change in the programme." "Do you find it so?" he asked. "Well, now, I don't agree with you. I think this proceeding is a real bore. My respected aunt is always getting up absurd freaks, and this is one of them, and the worst one, in my opinion, that she has had for some time. I wanted to go to those meetings to-day—some of them, at least. One isn't obliged to be there every minute. But it looks badly to run away." Eurie eyed him closely.

"Are you the 'good nephew' that your aunt said thought these meetings only a step below paradise?" she asked, at last. "I wonder you would consent to come." Mr. Rawson flushed deeply.

"I am not the 'good nephew' at all," he said, trying to laugh. "The 'good one' wouldn't come. My aunt tried all her powers of persuasion on him in vain. But the truth is her eloquence, or her persistence, proved too much for me, though I don't like the looks of it, and I don't feel the pleasure of it, and I am afraid I shall make anything but an agreeable addition to the party. Now that is being frank, isn't it, when I am walking the deck with a young lady?" "I don't see why that circumstance should make it a surprising thing that you are frank. But I am very sorry for you; perhaps you might prevail on the Captain to put you off now, and let you swim back; you could get there in time for the sermon. Is there to be a sermon? What  is it you are so anxious to hear?" "All of it," he said gloomily. "I beg your pardon for being in so disagreeable a mood; it is defrauding you out of some of your expected pleasure to have a dismal companion. But as I have commenced by being frank I may as well continue. I am dissatisfied with myself. I ought not to have come on this excursion. The truth is, I meant to make Chautauqua a help to me. I need the help badly enough. I am in the rush and whirl of business all the time at home. This is the only two weeks in the year that I am free, and I wanted to make it a great spiritual help to me. I know very well that merely hovering around in such an atmosphere as that at Chautauqua is a help to the Christian, and I came with the full intention of taking in all that I could get of this sort of inspiration, and it chafes me that so early in the meeting I have been led away against my inclinations by a little pressure that I might have resisted, and done no harm to any one. My cousin had the same sort of influence brought to bear on him, and it had no more effect on him than it would on a stone." He stopped, and seemed to give Eurie a chance to answer, but she was not inclined, and he added, as if he had just thought his words an implied reproach: "I can understand how, to you young ladies of comparative leisure, with plenty of time to cultivate the spiritual side of your natures, it should seem an unnecessary and perhaps a wearisome thing to attend all these meetings; but you can not understand what it is to be in the whirl of business life, never having time to think, hardly having time to pray, and to get away from it all and go to heaven, as it were, for a fortnight, is something to be coveted by us as a great help." Once more he waited for Eurie's answer, but it was very different from what he had seemed to expect. "You might just as well talk to me in the Greek language; I should understand quite as well what you have been saying; I don't think  I have any spiritual side to my nature; at least it has never been cultivated if I have; and Chautauqua to me is just the place in which to have a good free easy time; go where I like and stay as long as I like; and for once in my life not be bound by conventional forms. If heaven is anything like that I shouldn't object to it; but I'm sure your and my idea of it would differ. There, I've been frank now, and shocked you, I know. I see it in every line of your face. Poor fellow! I don't know what you will do, for there isn't a single one of us who has the least idea what you mean by that sort of talk, unless you have some young ladies of a different type in your party, and from their manner I rather doubt it." She had shocked him. He looked not only pained but puzzled.

"I am very sorry," he stammered. "I mean surprised. Yes, and disappointed. Of course I am that. I think I had imagined that it was only Christians who could be attracted to Chautauqua at all; I meant to come to stay through all the services." "Your aunt, for instance?" Eurie said, inquiringly.

"My aunt is a Christian," he answered, "and a sincere one, too, though I see for some reason you don't think so. There are degrees in Christianity, Miss Mitchell, just as there are in amiability, or culture, or beauty." "Mr. Rawson!" called a voice from the other end at this moment, and he in obedience to the call found Eurie a seat near some of her party and went away, only stopping to say, in low tones:

"I am sorry it is all 'Greek' to you; you would enjoy understanding it, I am sure." It so happened that those two people did not exchange another word together that day, but Eurie had got her thrust when and where she least expected it. She had taken it for granted that not a single fanatic was of their party. In the secret of her wise heart she denominated all the earnest people at Chautauqua fanatics, and all the half-hearted people hypocrites. Only she, who stood outside and felt nothing, was sincere and wise.

Meantime Marion had undertaken a strange task. Mr. Charlie Flint was the gentleman who had drawn his chair near her, and said, as he drew a long breath:

"It is exceedingly pleasant to breathe air once more that isn't heavy with psalm singing I think they are running that thing a little too steep over there. Who imagined that they were going to have meeting every minute in the day and evening, and give nobody a chance to breathe?" "Have they exhausted you already?" Marion asked. "Let me see, this is the morning of the second day, is it not?" "Oh, as to myself, I was exhausted before I commenced it. I am only speaking a word for the lunatics who think they enjoy it. I am one of the victims to our cousin's whim. He expects to get me converted here, I think, or something of that sort." "I wouldn't be afraid of it," Marion said, in disgust. "I don't believe there is the least danger." Mr. Charlie chose to consider this as a compliment, and bowed and smiled, and said:

"Thanks. Now tell me why, please." "You don't look like that class of people who are affected in that way." He was wonderfully interested, and begged at once to know why. Marion had it in her heart to say, "Because they all look as though they had some degree of brain as well as body," but even she had a little regard left for feelings; so she contented herself with saying, savagely: "Oh, they, as a rule, are the sort of people who think there is something in life worth doing and planning for, and you look as though that would be too much trouble." Now, Mr. Charlie by no means liked to be considered devoid of energy, so he said:

"Oh, you mistake. I think there are several things worth doing. But this eternal going to meeting, and whining over one's soul, is not to my taste." "You think that it is more worth your while to take ladies out to ride and walk, and carry their parasols and muffs for them, and things of that sort. Since we are made for the purpose of staying here and showing our fine clothes for all eternity, of course it is foolish to have anything to do with one's soul, that can only last for a few years or so!" She hardly realized herself the intense scorn there was in her voice, and as for Charlie Flint he muttered to himself:

"Upon my word, she is one of them; of the bitterest sort, too! What in creation is she doing here? Why didn't she stay there and preach?"