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Ester Ried

<h2 id="id00596" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XI.</h2> <h5 id="id00597">THE NEW BOARDER.</h5> "I don't know what to decide, really," Mrs. Ried said thoughtfully, standing, with an irresolute air, beside the pantry door. "Sadie, hadn't I better make these pies?" "Is that the momentous question which you can't decide, mother?" Mrs. Ried laughed. "Not quite; it is about the new boarder. We have room enough for another certainly, and seven dollars a week is quite an item just now. If Ester were at home, I shouldn't hesitate." "Mother, if I weren't the meekest and most enduring of mortals, I should be hopelessly vexed by this time at the constancy with which your thoughts turn to Ester; it is positively insulting, as if I were not doing remarkably. Do you put anything else in apple-pies? I never mean to have one, by the way, in my house. I think they're horrid; crust—apples—nutmeg—little lumps of butter all over it. Is there anything else, mother, before I put the top on?" "Sometimes I sweeten mine a little," Mrs. Ried answered demurely. "Oh, sure enough; it was that new boarder that took all thoughts of sweetness out of me. How much sugar, mother? Do let him come. We are such a stupid family now, it is time we had a new element in it; besides, you know I broke the largest platter yesterday, and his seven dollars will help buy another. I wish he was anything but a doctor, though; one ingredient of that kind is enough in a family, especially of the stamp which we have at present." "Sadie," said Mrs. Ried gravely and reprovingly; "I never knew a young man for whom I have a greater respect than I have for Dr. Van Anden." "Yes, ma'am," answered Sadie, with equal gravity; "I have an immense respect for him I assure you, and so I have for the President, and I feel about as intimate with the one as the other. I hope Dr. Douglass will be delightfully wild and wicked. How will Dr. Van Anden enjoy the idea of a rival?" "I spoke of it to him yesterday. I told him we would't give the matter another thought if it would be in any way unpleasant to him. I thought we owed him that consideration in return for all his kindness to us; but he assured me that it could make not the slightest difference to him." "Do let him come, then. I believe I need another bed to make; I'm growing thin for want of exercise, and, by the way, that suggests an item in his favor; being a doctor, he will be out all night occasionally, perhaps, and the bed won't need making so often. Mother, I do believe I didn't put a speck of soda in that cake I made this morning. What will that do to it? or, more properly speaking, what will it not do, inasmuch as it is not there to do? As for Ester, I shall consider it a personal insult if you refer to her again, when I am so magnificently filling her place." And this much enduring mother laughed and groaned at nearly the same time. Poor Ester never forgot the soda, nor indeed anything else, in her life; but then Sadie was so overflowing with sparkle and good humor. Finally the question was decided, and the new boarder came, and was duly installed in the family; and thence commenced a new era in Sadie's life. Merry clerks and schoolboys she counted among her acquaintances by the score. Grave, dignified, slightly taciturn men of the Dr. Van Anden stamp she numbered also among her friends; but never one quite like Dr. Douglass. This easy, graceful, courteous gentleman, who seemed always to have just the right thing to say or do, at just the right moment; who was neither wild nor sober; who seemed the furthest possible remove from wicked, yet who was never by any chance disagreeably good. His acquaintance with Sadie progressed rapidly. A new element had come to mix in with her life. The golden days wherein the two sisters had been much together, wherein the Christian sister might have planted much seed for the Master in Sadie's bright young heart, had all gone by. Perchance that sleeping Christian, nestled so cosily among the cushions in Cousin Abbie's morning-room, might have been startled and aroused, could she have realized that days like those would never come back to her; that being misspent they had passed away; that a new worker had come to drop seed into the unoccupied heart; that never again would Sadie be as fresh, and as guileless, and as easily won, as in those days which she had let slip in idle, aye, worse than idle, slumber. Sadie sealed and directed a letter to Ester and ran with it down stairs. Dr. Douglass stood in the doorway, hat in hand. "Shall I have the pleasure of being your carrier?" he said courteously. "Do you suppose you are to be trusted?" Sadie questioned, as she quietly deposited the letter in his hat. "That depends in a great measure on whether you repose trust in me. The world is safer in general than we are inclined to think it. Who lives in that little birdsnest of a cottage just across the way?" "A dear old gentleman, Mr. Vane," Sadie answered, her voice taking a tender tone, as it always did when any chance word reminded her of Florence. "That is he standing in the gateway. Doesn't he look like a grand old patriarch?" As they looked Dr. Van Anden drove suddenly from around the corner, and reined in his horses in front of the opposite gateway. They could hear his words distinctly. "Mr. Vane, let me advise you to avoid this evening breeze; it is blowing up strongly from the river." "Is Dr. Van Anden the old gentleman's nurse, or guardian, or what?" questioned Sadie's companion. "Physician," was her brief reply. Then, after a moment, she laughed mischievously. "You don't like Dr. Van Anden, Dr. Douglass?" "I! Oh, yes, I like him; the trouble is, he doesn't like me, for which he is not to blame, to be sure. Probably he can not help it. I have in some way succeeded in gaining his ill-will. Why do you think I am not one of his admirers?" "Oh," answered this rude and lawless girl, "I thought it would be very natural for you to be slightly jealous of him, professionally, you know." If her object was to embarrass or annoy Dr. Douglass, apparently she did not gain her point. He laughed good humoredly as he replied: "Professionally, he is certainly worthy of envy; I regard him as a very skillful physician, Miss Ried." Ere Sadie could reply the horses were stopped before the door, and Dr. Van Anden addressed her: "Sadie, do you want to take a ride?" Now, although Sadie had no special interest in, or friendship for, Dr. Van Anden, she did exceedingly like his horses, and cultivated their acquaintance whenever she had an opportunity. So within five minutes after this invitation was received she was skimming over the road in a high state of glee. Sadie marked that night afterward as the last one in which she rode after those black ponies for many a day. The Doctor seemed more at leisure than usual, and in a much more talkative mood; so it was quite a merry ride, until he broke a moment's silence by an abrupt question: "Sadie, haven't your mother and you always considered me a sincere friend to your family?" Sadie's reply was prompt and to the point. "Certainly, Dr. Van Anden; I assure you I have as much respect for, and confidence in, you as I should have had for my grandfather, if I had ever known him." "That being the case," continued the Doctor, gravely, "you will give me credit for sincerity and earnestness in what I am about to say. I want to give you a word of warning concerning Dr. Douglass. He is not a man whom I can respect; not a man with whom I should like to see my sister on terms of friendship. I have known him well and long, Sadie; therefore I speak." Sadie Ried was never fretful, never petulant, and very rarely angry; but when she was, it was a genuine case of unrestrained rage, and woe to the individual who fell a victim to her blazing eyes and sarcastic tongue. To-night Dr. Van Anden was that victim. What right had he to arraign her before him, and say with whom she should, or should not, associate, as if he were indeed her very grandfather! What business had he to think that she was too friendly with Dr. Douglass! With the usual honesty belonging to very angry people, it had not once occurred to her that Dr. Van Anden had said and done none of these things. When she felt that her voice was sufficiently steady, she spoke: "I am happy to be able to reassure you, Dr. Van Anden, you are very kind—extremely so; but as yet I really feel myself in no danger from Dr. Douglass' fascinations, however remarkable they may be. My mother and I enjoy excellent health at present, so you need have no anxiety as regards our choice of physicians, although it is but natural that you should feel nervous, perhaps; but you will pardon me for saying that I consider your interference with my affairs unwarrantable and uncalled for." If Dr. Van Anden desired to reply to this insulting harangue, there was no opportunity, for at this moment they whirled around the corner and were at home. Sadie flung aside her hat with an angry vehemence, and, seating herself at the piano, literally stormed the keys, while the Doctor re-entered his carriage and quietly proceeded to his evening round of calls. What a whirlwind of rage there was in Sadie's heart! What earthly right had this man whom she detested to give her advice? Was she a child, to be commanded by any one? What right had any one to speak in that way of Dr. Douglass? He was a gentleman, certainly, much more of a one than Dr. Van Anden had shown himself to be—and she liked him; yes, and she would like him, in spite of a whole legion of envious doctors. A light step crossed the hall and entered the parlor. Sadie merely raised her eyes long enough to be certain that Dr. Douglass stood beside her, and continued her playing. He leaned over the piano and listened. "Had you a pleasant ride?" he asked, as the tone of the music lulled a little. "Charming." Sadie's voice was full of emphasis and sarcasm. "I judged, by the style of music which you were playing, that there must have been a hurricane." "Nothing of the sort; only a little paternal advice." "Indeed! Have you been taken into his kindly care? I congratulate you." Sadie was still very angry, or she would never have been guilty of the shocking impropriety of her next remark. But it is a lamentable fact that people will say and do very strange things when they are angry—things of which they have occasion to repent in cooler moments. Fixing her bright eyes full and searchingly on Dr. Douglass, she said abruptly: "He was warning me against the impropriety of associating with your dangerous self." A look as of sadness and deep pain crossed Dr. Douglass' face, and he thought aloud, rather than said: "Is that man determined I shall have no friends?" Sadie was touched; she struck soft, sweet chords with a slow and gentle movement as she asked: "What is your offense in his eyes, Dr. Douglass?" Then, indeed, Dr. Douglass seemed embarrassed; maintaining, though, a sort of hesitating dignity as he attempted a reply. "Why—I—he—I would rather not tell you, Miss Ried, it sounds badly." Then, with a little, slightly mournful laugh—"And that half admission sounds badly, too; worse than the simple truth, perhaps. Well, then, I had the misfortune to cross his path professionally, once; a little matter, a slight mistake, not worth repeating—neither would I repeat it if it were, in honor to him. He is a man of skill and since then has risen high; one would not suppose that he would give that little incident of the past a thought now; but he seems never to have forgiven me." The music stopped entirely, and Sadie's great truthful eyes were fixed in horror on his face. "Is it possible," she said at length, "that that is all, and he can bear such determined ill-will toward you? and they call him an earnest Christian!" At which remark Dr. Douglass laughed a low, quick laugh, as if he found it quite impossible to restrain his mirth, and then became instantly grave, and said: "I beg your pardon." "For what, Dr. Douglass; and why did you laugh?" "For laughing; and I laughed because I could not restrain a feeling of amusement at your innocently connecting his unpleasant state of mind with his professions of Christianity." "Should they not be connected?" "Well, that depends upon how much importance you attach to them." "Dr. Douglass, what do you mean?" "Treason, I suspect, viewed from your standpoint; and therefore it would be much more proper for me not to talk about it." "But I want you to talk about it. Do you mean to say that you have no faith in any one's religion?" "How much have you?" "Dr. Douglass, that is a very Yankee way of answering a question." "I know; but it is the easiest way of reaching my point; so I repeat: How much faith have you in these Christian professions? or, in other words, how many professing Christians do you know who are particularly improved in your estimation by their professions?" The old questioning of Sadie's own heart brought before her again! Oh, Christian sister, with whom so many years of her life had been spent, with whom she had been so closely connected, if she could but have turned to you, and remembering your earnest life, your honest endeavors toward the right, your earnest struggles with sin and self; the evident marks of the Lord Jesus all about you; and, remembering this, have quelled the tempter in human form, who stood waiting for a verdict, with a determined—"I have known one"—what might not have been gained for your side that night? <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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