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Four Girls at Chautauqua by Isabella Alden, CHAPTER XXVII. UNFINISHED MUSIC.

CHAPTER XXVII. UNFINISHED MUSIC.

Meantime, this day, which was to be so fraught with consequences to Marion, was on Eurie's hands to dispose of as best she could. To be at Chautauqua, and to be bent on having nothing whatever to do with any of the Chautauqua life, was in itself a novel position. The more so as she felt herself quite deserted. The necessity for reporting served Marion as an excuse for attending even those meetings which she did not report; and the others having gone to Mayville to live, this foolish sheep, who was within the fold, and who would not be of it, went wandering whither she would in search of amusement.

After Marion left her she made her way to the museum, and a pleasant hour she spent; one could certainly not desire a more attractive spot. She went hither and thither, handling and admiring the books, the pictures, the maps, the profusion of curiosities, and, at the end of the hour, when the press of visitors became too great to make a longer stay agreeable, she departed well pleased with herself that she had had the wisdom to choose such a pleasant resort instead of a seat in some crowded tent as a listener.

Coming out, she walked down the hill, and on and on, watching the crowds of people who were gathering, and wishing she had a programme that she might see what the special attraction was that seemed to be drawing so many.

At last she reached the wharf. The Assembly steamer was lying at her dock, her jaunty flags flying, and the commotion upon her decks betokening that she was making ready for a voyage. The crowd seemed greater there than at any other point. It would appear that the special attraction was here, after all. She understood it, and pushed nearer, as the ringing notes of song suddenly rose on the air, and she recognized the voices of the Tennesseeans.

This was a great treat; she delighted in hearing them. She allowed herself to be elbowed and jostled by the throng, reaching every moment by judicious pushing a place where she could not only hear but see, and where escape was impossible. The jubilant chorus ceased and one of those weird minor wails, such as their music abounds in, floated tenderly around her.

It was a farewell song, so full of genuine pathos, and so tenderly sung, that it was in vain to try to listen without a swelling of the throat and a sense of sadness. Something in the way that the people pressed nearer to listen suggested to Eurie that it must be designed as a farewell tribute to somebody, and presently Prof. Sherwin mounted a seat that served as a platform and gave them a tender informal farewell address. In every sentence his great, warm heart shone.

"I am going away," he said, "before the blessed season at Chautauqua is concluded. I am going with a sad heart, for I feel that opportunities here for work for the Master have been great, and some of them I have lost. And yet there is light in the sadness, for the work that I can not do will yet be done. I once sat before my organ improvising a thought that was in my heart, trying to give expression to it, and I could not. I knew what I wanted, and I knew it was in my heart, but how to give it expression I did not know. A celebrated organist came up the stairs and stood beside me. I looked around to him. 'Can't you take this tune,' I said, 'just where I leave it, and finish it for me as I have it in my heart to do? I can't give it utterance. Don't you see what I want?'" "'Perhaps I do,' he said, and he placed his fingers over my fingers, on the same keys that mine were touching, and I slipped out of the seat and back into the shadow, and he slipped into my place, and then the music rolled forth. My tune, only I could not play it. He was doing it for me. So, though I may have failed in my work that I have tried to do here, the great Master is here, and I pray and I hope and I believe that he will put his grand hand upon my unfinished work and in heaven I shall meet it completed.'" What was there in this to move Eurie to tears? She did not know Prof. Sherwin—that is, she had never been introduced to him—but she had heard him sing, she had heard him pray, she had met him in the walk and asked where the Sunday-school lesson was, and he had in part directed her—directed her in such a way that she had been led to seek further, and in doing so had met Miss Ryder, and in meeting her had been interested ever since in studying a Christian life. Was this one of Prof. Sherwin's unfinished tunes? Would he meet it again in heaven?

A very tender spirit took possession of Eurie—an almost irresistible longing to know more of this influence, or presence, or whatever name it should be called, that so moved hearts, and made the friends of a week say farewell with tears, and yet with hopeful smiles as they spoke in joy and assurance of a future meeting.

Prof. Sherwin and his friends embarked, and the dainty little steamer turned her graceful head toward Mayville, and slipped away over the silver water. Eurie made no attempt to get away from the throng who pressed to the edge of the dock to get the last bow, the last flutter of his handkerchief. She even drew out her own handkerchief and fluttered it after him, and received from him a special bow, and was almost decided to resolve to be present in joy at that other meeting, and to make sure this very day of her title to an inheritance there. Almost!

Going back she met Ruth and Flossy. She seized eagerly upon the latter.

"Come," she said, "you have been to meetings enough, and you haven't taken a single walk with me since we have been here, and think of the promises we made to entertain each other." Flossy laughed cheerfully.

"We have been entertained, without any effort on our part," she said. Nevertheless she suffered herself to be persuaded to go for a walk, provided Eurie would go to Palestine.

"What nonsense!" Eurie said, disdainfully, when Flossy had explained to her that she had a consuming desire to wander along the banks of the Jordan, and view those ancient cities, historic now. "However, I would just as soon walk in that direction as any other." There was one other person who, it transpired, would as soon take a walk as do anything else just then. He joined the girls as they turned toward the Palestine road. That was Mr. Evan Roberts.

"Are you going to visit the Holy Land this morning, and may I be of your party?" he asked.

"Yes," Flossy answered, whether to the first question, or to both in one, she did not say. Then she introduced Eurie, and the three walked on together, discussing the morning and the meetings with zest.

"Here we are, on 'Jordan's stormy banks,'" Mr. Roberts said, at last, halting beside the grassy bank. "I suppose there was never a more perfect geographical representation than this." "Do you really think it has any practical value?" Eurie asked, skeptically. Mr. Roberts looked at her curiously.

"Hasn't it to you?" he said. "Now, to me, it is just brimful of interest and value; that is, as much value as geographical knowledge ever is. I take two views of it. If I never have an actual sight of the sacred land, by studying this miniature of it, I have as full a knowledge as it is possible to get without the actual view, and if I at some future day am permitted to travel there, why—well, you know of course how pleasant it is to be thoroughly posted in regard to the places of interest that you are about to visit; every European traveler understands that." "But do you suppose it is really an accurate outline?" Eurie said, again, quoting opinions that she had read until she fancied they were her own.

Again Mr. Roberts favored her with that peculiar look from under heavy eyebrows—a look half satirical, half amused.

"Some of the most skilled surveyors and traveled scholars have so reported," he said, carelessly. "And when you add to that the fact that they are Christian men, who have no special reason for getting up a wholesale deception for us, and are supposed to be tolerably reliable on all other subjects, I see no reason to doubt the statement." On the whole, Eurie had the satisfaction of realizing that she had appeared like a simpleton.

Flossy, meantime, was wandering delightedly along the banks, stopping here and there to read the words on the little white tablets that marked the places of special interest.

"Do you see," she said, turning eagerly, "that these are Bible references on each tablet? Wouldn't it be interesting to know what they selected as the scene to especially mark this place?" Mr. Roberta swung a camp-chair from his arm, planted it firmly in the ground, and drew a Bible from his pocket.

"Miss Mitchell," he said, "suppose you sit down here in this road, leading from Jerusalem to Bethany, and tell us what is going on just now in Bethany, while Miss Shipley and I supply you with chapter and verse." "I am not very familiar with the text-book," Eurie said. "If you are really in the village yourselves you might possibly inquire of the inhabitants before I could find the account." But she took the chair and the Bible.

"Look at Matthew xxi. 17, Eurie," Flossy said, stooping over the tablet, and Eurie read: "'And he left them, and went out of the city into Bethany; and he lodged there.'" "That was Jesus, wasn't it? Then he went this way, this very road, Eurie, where you are sitting!" It was certainly very fascinating.

"And stopped at the house on which you have your hand, perhaps," Mr. Roberts said, smiling at her eager face. "That might have been Simon's house, for instance." "Did he live in Bethany? I don't know anything about these things." "Eurie, look if you can find anything about him. The next reference is Matthew xxvi." And again Eurie read:

"'Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper.'" "The very place!" Flossy said, again. "Oh, I want so much to know what happened then!" "Won't Miss Mitchell read it to us?" Mr. Roberts said, and he arranged his shawl along the ground for seats. "Since we have really come to Bethany, let us have the full benefit of it. Now, Miss Shipley, take a seat, and we will give ourselves up to the pleasure of being with Jesus in Simon's house, and looking on at the scene." So they disposed of themselves on the grass, and Eurie, hardly able to restrain a laugh over the novelty of the situation, and yet wonderfully fascinated by the whole scene, read to them the tender story of the loving woman with her sweet-smelling ointment, growing more and more interested, until in the closing verse her voice was full of feeling.

"'Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done be told as a memorial of her.'" "Think of that!" said Mr. Roberts. "And here are we, eighteen hundred years afterward, sitting here in Bethany and talking of that same woman still! Miss Mitchell, are you going to do something for Christ that shall be talked over a thousand years from now? There is a chance for undying fame." "Doubtful!" Eurie said, but she did not smile; her face was grave.

"Or, better still, are you going to do such work for Christ that, hundreds of years after, your influence will be silently living and working out its fruit in human hearts?" "It is altogether more likely that I shall do nothing at all." "Out of the question," he said, with a grave smile. "Either for or against, every life must be, whether we will it or not. 'He that is not with me is against me,' was the word of the Master himself, and as long as eternity lasts the fruit of the sowing will last." "That is a fearfully solemn thought," Flossy said, earnestly. Mr. Roberts turned toward her a face aglow with smiles now.

"And a wondrously precious one," he said, and Flossy answered him in a low tone: "Yes, I can see that it might be." Now, the actual fact is, that those three people wandered around that far-away land until the morning vanished and the loud peal of the Chautauqua bells announced the fact that the feast of intellect was over, and it was time for dinner They went from Bethany to Bethel, and from Bethel to Shechem, and they even climbed Mount Hermon's snowy peak, and looked about on the lovely plain below. In every place there was Bible reading, and Eurie was the reader, and it was such a morning that she will remember for all time.

"Pray, who is this Mr. Roberts?" she asked, as they parted company at the foot of the hill. "Where did you make his acquaintance?" "He is Mrs. Smythe's nephew," Flossy said. "She introduced me to him the other evening." "The other evening! You seemed to be as well acquainted as though you had spent the summer together." "Some people have a way of seeming like friends on short acquaintance," Flossy said, with grave face and smiling eyes. "You two missed a good deal by your folly this morning," Ruth said, as they met at dinner. "We had a grand lecture." "So had we," answered Eurie, significantly, and that was every word she vouchsafed concerning the trip to Palestine.

CHAPTER XXVII. UNFINISHED MUSIC.

Meantime, this day, which was to be so fraught with consequences to Marion, was on Eurie's hands to dispose of as best she could. To be at Chautauqua, and to be bent on having nothing whatever to do with any of the Chautauqua life, was in itself a novel position. The more so as she felt herself quite deserted. The necessity for reporting served Marion as an excuse for attending even those meetings which she did not report; and the others having gone to Mayville to live, this foolish sheep, who was within the fold, and who would not be  of it, went wandering whither she would in search of amusement.

After Marion left her she made her way to the museum, and a pleasant hour she spent; one could certainly not desire a more attractive spot. She went hither and thither, handling and admiring the books, the pictures, the maps, the profusion of curiosities, and, at the end of the hour, when the press of visitors became too great to make a longer stay agreeable, she departed well pleased with herself that she had had the wisdom to choose such a pleasant resort instead of a seat in some crowded tent as a listener.

Coming out, she walked down the hill, and on and on, watching the crowds of people who were gathering, and wishing she had a programme that she might see what the special attraction was that seemed to be drawing so many.

At last she reached the wharf. The Assembly steamer was lying at her dock, her jaunty flags flying, and the commotion upon her decks betokening that she was making ready for a voyage. The crowd seemed greater there than at any other point. It would appear that the special attraction was here, after all. She understood it, and pushed nearer, as the ringing notes of song suddenly rose on the air, and she recognized the voices of the Tennesseeans.

This was a great treat; she delighted in hearing them. She allowed herself to be elbowed and jostled by the throng, reaching every moment by judicious pushing a place where she could not only hear but see, and where escape was impossible. The jubilant chorus ceased and one of those weird minor wails, such as their music abounds in, floated tenderly around her.

It was a farewell song, so full of genuine pathos, and so tenderly sung, that it was in vain to try to listen without a swelling of the throat and a sense of sadness. Something in the way that the people pressed nearer to listen suggested to Eurie that it must be designed as a farewell tribute to somebody, and presently Prof. Sherwin mounted a seat that served as a platform and gave them a tender informal farewell address. In every sentence his great, warm heart shone.

"I am going away," he said, "before the blessed season at Chautauqua is concluded. I am going with a sad heart, for I feel that opportunities here for work for the Master have been great, and some of them I have lost. And yet there is light in the sadness, for the work that I can not do will yet be done. I once sat before my organ improvising a thought that was in my heart, trying to give expression to it, and I could not. I knew what I wanted, and I knew it was in my heart, but how to give it expression I did not know. A celebrated organist came up the stairs and stood beside me. I looked around to him. 'Can't you take this tune,' I said, 'just where I leave it, and finish it for me as I have it in my heart to do? I can't give it utterance. Don't you see what I want?'" "'Perhaps I do,' he said, and he placed his fingers over my fingers, on the same keys that mine were touching, and I slipped out of the seat and back into the shadow, and he slipped into my place, and then the music rolled forth. My tune, only I could not play it. He was doing it for me. So, though I may have failed in my work that I have tried to do here, the great Master is here, and I pray and I hope and I believe that he will put his grand hand upon my unfinished work and in heaven I shall meet it completed.'" What was there in this to move Eurie to tears? She did not know Prof. Sherwin—that is, she had never been introduced to him—but she had heard him sing, she had heard him pray, she had met him in the walk and asked where the Sunday-school lesson was, and he had in part directed her—directed her in such a way that she had been led to seek further, and in doing so had met Miss Ryder, and in meeting her had been interested ever since in studying a Christian life. Was this one of Prof. Sherwin's unfinished tunes? Would he meet it again in heaven?

A very tender spirit took possession of Eurie—an almost irresistible longing to know more of this influence, or presence, or whatever name it should be called, that so moved hearts, and made the friends of a week say farewell with tears, and yet with hopeful smiles as they spoke in joy and assurance of a future meeting.

Prof. Sherwin and his friends embarked, and the dainty little steamer turned her graceful head toward Mayville, and slipped away over the silver water. Eurie made no attempt to get away from the throng who pressed to the edge of the dock to get the last bow, the last flutter of his handkerchief. She even drew out her own handkerchief and fluttered it after him, and received from him a special bow, and was almost decided to resolve to be present in joy at that other meeting, and to make sure this very day of her title to an inheritance there. Almost!

Going back she met Ruth and Flossy. She seized eagerly upon the latter.

"Come," she said, "you have been to meetings enough, and you haven't taken a single walk with me since we have been here, and think of the promises we made to entertain each other." Flossy laughed cheerfully.

"We have been entertained, without any effort on our part," she said. Nevertheless she suffered herself to be persuaded to go for a walk, provided Eurie would go to Palestine.

"What nonsense!" Eurie said, disdainfully, when Flossy had explained to her that she had a consuming desire to wander along the banks of the Jordan, and view those ancient cities, historic now. "However, I would just as soon walk in that direction as any other." There was one other person who, it transpired, would as soon take a walk as do anything else just then. He joined the girls as they turned toward the Palestine road. That was Mr. Evan Roberts.

"Are you going to visit the Holy Land this morning, and may I be of your party?" he asked.

"Yes," Flossy answered, whether to the first question, or to both in one, she did not say. Then she introduced Eurie, and the three walked on together, discussing the morning and the meetings with zest.

"Here we are, on 'Jordan's stormy banks,'" Mr. Roberts said, at last, halting beside the grassy bank. "I suppose there was never a more perfect geographical representation than this." "Do you really think it has any practical value?" Eurie asked, skeptically. Mr. Roberts looked at her curiously.

"Hasn't it to you?" he said. "Now, to me, it is just brimful of interest and value; that is, as much value as geographical knowledge ever is. I take two views of it. If I never have an actual sight of the sacred land, by studying this miniature of it, I have as full a knowledge as it is possible to get without the actual view, and if I at some future day am permitted to travel there, why—well, you know of course how pleasant it is to be thoroughly posted in regard to the places of interest that you are about to visit; every European traveler understands that." "But do you suppose it is really an accurate outline?" Eurie said, again, quoting opinions that she had read until she fancied they were her own.

Again Mr. Roberts favored her with that peculiar look from under heavy eyebrows—a look half satirical, half amused.

"Some of the most skilled surveyors and traveled scholars have so reported," he said, carelessly. "And when you add to that the fact that they are Christian men, who have no special reason for getting up a wholesale deception for us, and are supposed to be tolerably reliable on all other subjects, I see no reason to doubt the statement." On the whole, Eurie had the satisfaction of realizing that she had appeared like a simpleton.

Flossy, meantime, was wandering delightedly along the banks, stopping here and there to read the words on the little white tablets that marked the places of special interest.

"Do you see," she said, turning eagerly, "that these are Bible references on each tablet? Wouldn't it be interesting to know what they selected as the scene to especially mark this place?" Mr. Roberta swung a camp-chair from his arm, planted it firmly in the ground, and drew a Bible from his pocket.

"Miss Mitchell," he said, "suppose you sit down here in this road, leading from Jerusalem to Bethany, and tell us what is going on just now in Bethany, while Miss Shipley and I supply you with chapter and verse." "I am not very familiar with the text-book," Eurie said. "If you are really in the village yourselves you might possibly inquire of the inhabitants before I could find the account." But she took the chair and the Bible.

"Look at Matthew xxi. 17, Eurie," Flossy said, stooping over the tablet, and Eurie read: "'And he left them, and went out of the city into Bethany; and he lodged there.'" "That was Jesus, wasn't it? Then he went this way, this very road, Eurie, where you are sitting!" It was certainly very fascinating.

"And stopped at the house on which you have your hand, perhaps," Mr. Roberts said, smiling at her eager face. "That might have been Simon's house, for instance." "Did  he live in Bethany? I don't know anything about these things." "Eurie, look if you can find anything about him. The next reference is Matthew xxvi." And again Eurie read:

"'Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper.'" "The very place!" Flossy said, again. "Oh, I want so much to know what happened then!" "Won't Miss Mitchell read it to us?" Mr. Roberts said, and he arranged his shawl along the ground for seats. "Since we have really come to Bethany, let us have the full benefit of it. Now, Miss Shipley, take a seat, and we will give ourselves up to the pleasure of being with Jesus in Simon's house, and looking on at the scene." So they disposed of themselves on the grass, and Eurie, hardly able to restrain a laugh over the novelty of the situation, and yet wonderfully fascinated by the whole scene, read to them the tender story of the loving woman with her sweet-smelling ointment, growing more and more interested, until in the closing verse her voice was full of feeling.

"'Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done be told as a memorial of her.'" "Think of that!" said Mr. Roberts. "And here are we, eighteen hundred years afterward, sitting here in Bethany and talking of that same woman still! Miss Mitchell, are you going to do something for Christ that shall be talked over a thousand years from now? There is a chance for undying fame." "Doubtful!" Eurie said, but she did not smile; her face was grave.

"Or, better still, are you going to do such work for Christ that, hundreds of years after, your influence will be silently living and working out its fruit in human hearts?" "It is altogether more likely that I shall do nothing at all." "Out of the question," he said, with a grave smile. "Either for or against, every life must be, whether we will it or not. 'He that is not with me is against me,' was the word of the Master himself, and as long as eternity lasts the fruit of the sowing will last." "That is a fearfully solemn thought," Flossy said, earnestly. Mr. Roberts turned toward her a face aglow with smiles now.

"And a wondrously precious one," he said, and Flossy answered him in a low tone: "Yes, I can see that it might be." Now, the actual fact is, that those three people wandered around that far-away land until the morning vanished and the loud peal of the Chautauqua bells announced the fact that the feast of intellect was over, and it was time for dinner They went from Bethany to Bethel, and from Bethel to Shechem, and they even climbed Mount Hermon's snowy peak, and looked about on the lovely plain below. In every place there was Bible reading, and Eurie was the reader, and it was such a morning that she will remember for all time.

"Pray, who is this Mr. Roberts?" she asked, as they parted company at the foot of the hill. "Where did you make his acquaintance?" "He is Mrs. Smythe's nephew," Flossy said. "She introduced me to him the other evening." "The other evening! You seemed to be as well acquainted as though you had spent the summer together." "Some people have a way of seeming like friends on short acquaintance," Flossy said, with grave face and smiling eyes. "You two missed a good deal by your folly this morning," Ruth said, as they met at dinner. "We had a grand lecture." "So had we," answered Eurie, significantly, and that was every word she vouchsafed concerning the trip to Palestine.