Transcriber's note: The original text contained typographical errors

and spelling inconsistencies. Where possible these have been corrected; many could not be resolved and remain as they appeared in the source text.

FOUR GIRLS AT CHAUTAUQUA

BY

PANSY

Author of "Chautauqua Girls at Home," "Ruth Erskine's Crosses," "Judge Burnham's Daughters," "The Hall in The Grove," "Eighty-Seven," etc.

1876

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. INTRODUCED. CHAPTER II. THE QUESTION DISCUSSED. CHAPTER III. ENTERING THE CURRENT. CHAPTER IV. FAIRPOINT. CHAPTER V. UNREST. CHAPTER VI. FEASTS. CHAPTER VII. TABLE TALK. CHAPTER VIII. "AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE BRIGHT." CHAPTER IX. FLEEING. CHAPTER X. HOW THE "FLITTING" ENDED. CHAPTER XI. HEART TOUCHES. CHAPTER XII. FLOSSY AT SCHOOL. CHAPTER XIII. "CROSS PURPOSES." CHAPTER XIV. THE NEW LESSON. CHAPTER XV. GREAT MEN. CHAPTER XVI. WAR OF WORDS. CHAPTER XVII. GETTING READY TO LIVE. CHAPTER XVIII. THE SILENT WITNESS. CHAPTER XIX. AN OLD STORY. CHAPTER XX. PEOPLE WHO, "HAVING EYES, SEE NOT." CHAPTER XXI. A "SENSE OF DUTY." CHAPTER XXII. ONE MINUTE'S WORK. CHAPTER XXIII. "I'VE BEEN REDEEMED." CHAPTER XXIV. SWORD THRUSTS. CHAPTER XXV. SERMONS IN CHALK. CHAPTER XXVI. "THEIR WORKS DO FOLLOW THEM." CHAPTER XXVII. UNFINISHED MUSIC. CHAPTER XXVIII. MENTAL PROBLEMS. CHAPTER XXIX. WAITING. CHAPTER XXX. SETTLED QUESTIONS. CHAPTER XXXI. THE BEGINNING OF THE END. CHAPTER XXXII. THE END OF THE BEGINNING.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCED.

Eurie Mitchell shut the door with a bang and ran up the stairs two steps at a time. She nearly always banged doors, and was always in a hurry. She tapped firmly at the door just at the head of the stairs; then she pushed it open and entered.

"Are you going?" she said, and her face was all in a glow of excitement and pleasure.

The young lady to whom she spoke measured the velvet to see if it was long enough for the hat she was binding, raised her eyes for just an instant to the eager face before her, and said "Good-morning."

"Ruth Erskine! what are you trimming your hat for? Didn't it suit? Say, are you going? Why in the world don't you tell me? I have been half wild all the morning."

Ruth Erskine smiled. "Which question shall I answer first? What a perfect interrogation point you are, Eurie. My hats never suit, you know; this one was worse than usual. This velvet is a pretty shade, isn't it? Am I going to Chautauqua, do you mean? I am sure I don't know. I haven't thought much about it. Do you really suppose it will be worth while?"

Eurie stamped her foot impatiently. "How provoking you are! Haven't thought of it, and here I have been talking and coaxing all the morning. Father thinks it is a wild scheme, of course, and sees no sense in spending so much money; but I'm going for all that. I don't have a frolic once in an age, and I have set my heart on this. Just think of living in the woods for two whole weeks! camping out, and doing all sorts of wild things. I'm just delighted."

Miss Erskine sewed thoughtfully for some seconds, then she said:

"Why, there is nothing in the world to hinder my going if I want to. As to the money, I suppose one could hardly spend as much there as at Long Branch or Saratoga, and of course I should go somewhere. But the point is, what do I want to go for?"

"Why, just to be together, and be in the woods, and live in a tent, and do nothing civilized for a fortnight. It is the nicest idea that ever was."

"And should we go to the meetings?" Miss Erskine asked, still speaking thoughtfully, and as if she were undecided.

"Why, yes, of course, now and then. Though for that matter I suppose father is right enough when he says that precious few people go for the sake of the meetings. He says it is a grand jollification, with a bit of religion for the background. But for that matter the less religion they have the better, and so I told him."

At this point there was a faint little knock at the door, and Eurie sprang to open it, saying as she went: "That is Flossy, I know; she always gives just such little pussy knocks as that." The little lady who entered fitted her name perfectly. She was small and fair, blue-eyed, flossy yellow curls lying on her shoulders, her voice was small and sweet, almost too sweet or too soft, that sort of voice that could change when slight occasion offered into a whine or positive tearfulness. She was greeted with great glee by Eurie, and in her more quiet way by Miss Erskine.

"I'm going," she said, with a soft little laugh, and she sank down among the cushions of the sofa, while her white morning dress floated around her like a cloud. "Charlie thinks it is silly, and Kit thinks it is sillier, and mamma thinks it is the very silliest thing I ever did yet; but for all that I am going—that is, if the rest of you are." Which, by the way, was always this little Flossy's manner of speech. She was going to do or not to do, speak or keep silent, approve or condemn, exactly as the mind which was for the time being nearest to her chose to sway her.

"Good!" said Eurie, softly clapping her hands. "I didn't think it of you, Flossy; I thought you were too much of a mouse. Now, Ruth, you will go, won't you? As for Marion, there is no knowing whether she will go or not. I don't see now she can afford it myself any more than I can; but, of course, that is her own concern. We can go anyway, whether she does or not—only I don't want to, I want her along. Suppose we all go down and see her; it is Saturday, she will be at home, and then we can begin to make our preparations. It is really quite time we were sure of what we are going to do."

By dint of much coaxing and argument Ruth was prevailed upon to leave her fascinating brown hat with its brown velvet trimmings, and in the course of the next half hour the trio were on their way down Park Street, intent on a call on Miss Marion Wilbur. Park Street was a simple, quiet, unpretending street, narrow and short; the houses were two-storied and severely plain. In one of the plainest of these, wearing an unmistakable boarding-house look, in a back room on the second floor, the object of their search, in a dark calico dress, with her sleeves rolled above her elbows, had her hands immersed in a wash-bowl of suds, and was doing up linen collars. She was one of those miserable creatures in this weary world, a teacher in a graded school, and her one day of rest was filled with all sorts of washing, ironing and mending work, until she had fairly come to groan over the prospect of Saturday because of the burden of work which it brought. She welcomed her callers without taking her hands from the suds; she was as quiet in her way as Ruth Erskine was in hers.

This time it was Flossy who asked the important question: "Are you going?"

Marion answered as promptly as though the question had been decided for a week.

"Yes, certainly I am going. I thought I told you that when we talked it over before. I am washing out my collars to have them ready. Ruth, are you going to take a trunk?"

Ruth roused herself from the contemplation of her brown gloves to say with a little start: