CHAPTER III.

THIS is but a faint specimen of the ways in which temptation assailed the fair hands in whose stewardship two gold pieces had been placed. It seemed to Elsie a curious coincidence that the first temptation should have to do with a covering for those hands. But for that she might not have gotten through so well.

It was wonderful, the number of articles that Carrie found which she was sure her Cousin Elsie needed and ought to purchase; delicate laces of a peculiarly rare and choice pattern that might not be found again; soft, fluffy ruches particularly becoming to Elsie's face; fine handkerchiefs, delicately embroidered, sold at a bargain; a peculiar perfume, the like of which had never been smelled before; even scented soaps joined hands with Elsie's companions that day and tried to beguile her; yet she stood firm.

It was a curious experience. Could she have divested herself of personal feeling, and looked on as an outsider, she would have enjoyed the study. There was absolutely nothing presented which stood the test. His hands, they must make no purchase save such as would please their Master.

"I cannot think what is the matter with you!" Carrie said, watching her cousin curiously. "You used to be ready enough to buy pretty things. I've seen at least a hundred and fifty articles this morning that I should have bought if I had as much spending money as you have. Papa keeps me dreadfully close these days; everything has to be saved for Emmeline. I tell papa just to wait until I get engaged, and I'll be revenged. It can't be that you are saving up for that, Elsie; you are not out of school yet."

Through it all Ben watched with amused face, not helping his cousin in the least; on the contrary, he made several wise suggestions as to the utility of some of the temptations.

"It is worse than cigars, isn't it?" he queried at last, his wicked eyes dancing mischievously. Elsie felt that he was amusing himself at her expense—turning her scruples into ridicule. Would it not be better to lay aside her new ideas, and change the current of his thoughts by disposing of the spending money that seemed to be the cause of so much trouble? Wasn't it a sort of "casting pearls before—" and here she paused; partly because she did not like to apply the simile, and partly because her brain was too keen to admit of such reasoning. If Ben chose to be led into sin through her conscientious effort to do right, he must bear the blame of it.

But she was to be tried in a way that was harder to bear. Carrie, positively vexed because she could not persuade her cousin into buying, at the jewel counter, a lovely little charm for her chain, turned from her and spoke to Ben in a very poor undertone: "I don't understand Elsie. I'm afraid she is growing penurious, and that is really a more hateful fault in a girl than in a boy. She used to be so free and generous with her money."

"Perhaps Uncle Wells keeps her close," was Ben's hateful suggestion. "He is well off, to be sure, but he may not be growing liberal as he grows older."

Dear! You should have seen the flush on Elsie's face then! The idea of that upstart of a boy daring to speak so about her dear father! He was not rich either, and everybody knew he denied himself to have the more to give to others. For a moment Elsie wondered whether she did not hate her Cousin Ben—just a little!

Also, she felt just like dashing out in some wild expenditure that would show her cousins how indifferent she could be to money when she chose. What should she buy? There was plenty of opportunity. Just next door in the plate-glass window stood temptations enough. Grapes, out of season, large; white, luscious. They were marked fifty cents! Suppose she should buy a bunch for herself, and one each for Carrie and Ben, and two or three bunches to take home to Aunt Carrie? Beside them was a silver-papered box of choice bonbons, marked one dollar; she might add that and a bouquet of rare flowers. Would not these expenditures show that she knew how to use money and had it to use?

Her hand was on the door-knob. She was burning with the desire to slip in next door and make her purchases while Carrie studied over shades of ribbons. Suddenly she withdrew the hand quickly, as though it had come in contact with something that repelled it. "Clean hands!" To what base uses was she about to put hers! Why did she want to buy the fancy bonbons and the fruits and flowers out of season? As a tribute of love? Her honest heart told her that it was rather a tribute of anger! Did her father's reputation rest on such slight ground that it could be injured by the ignorant chatter of a silly boy, or be built up by a daughter's ill-humored extravagance? Very much astonished with, and ashamed of, herself, Elsie turned away, and stood quite still for a moment, eyes and head drooping. After that, she was better prepared for the rest of the hour, even though the cousins chose next a way of being cousinly that was almost unendurable. Ben actually bought some of the great white grapes, and forced a few on her, though she felt as though it would take but one to choke her. The truth is, fair Elsie, during that and several following days, took lessons in the fact that Satan makes sharp battle for every power of our being; and that the cross is still waiting to be borne; the only reason that we feel its weight so little being the fact that we have fallen into the habit of slipping quietly around it, instead of boldly taking it up.

The curtains were drawn and the gas was lighted in the cosy back parlor. Without the rain was steadily falling, and there was a rush of wind every few minutes against the casement, which sharpened the contrast between the dreary outside and the brightness of the home scene within.

Over the family there had come the sort of lull which follows special days of eager life and keen excitement. There had been the whirl of preparation for, and then the excitement of participation in, wedding festivities, and then the bustle of departure. Emmeline and Hal were made one, and had gone away together, Elsie taking note, with much inward disgust, that the groom actually smoked a cigar at the depot, while waiting for the belated train.

Now those who tarried behind had reached a stormy Saturday evening, with nothing to do but lounge amid the easy chairs and rest and visit.

Somewhat to their astonishment, they found this dull work. The reaction from so much excitement was upon them, and many a yawn was hastily covered so that the others might not suspect.

"Somebody read something," proclaimed Ben at last. "We are all too indolent to talk—let some fellow who knows how talk for us. Who will volunteer?"

"Elsie must read," said Carrie. "Papa says she is the best reader in the set. I've been sulky over that remark ever since he made it, so of course I will not."

Some gay talk followed this statement, but at last they settled down to listen. Elsie, by no means unwilling to be appointed reader, for, like most persons who are accustomed to reading aloud and who like to do it, she hated to listen.

The book selected was a recent publication by a popular author. It opened well, and in a very few minutes the listless company was giving absorbed attention.

A half-hour passed, and then a dismayed, "Oh! Dear! Who is coming to disturb us!" from Carrie, mingled with the sound of talking in the hall.

A moment more, and the relieved exclamation, "It's only Freem!" greeted a newcomer.

"Freem," or Mr. Freeman Vance, was a gentleman who was much at home with the young people of the house, and, during her visit Elsie had met him several times. He was older than the cousins, having passed beyond the age in which he was spoken of as "one of the boys." Carrie called him a "full-fledged young man," but admitted that he was "nicer" than most of them.

He dropped readily into an easy chair, drawn up near the grate, murmured that this was delightful, and that it was a wretched night outside, then begged that the reading might go on; there was nothing that he enjoyed better than listening to a good reader.

There was a heightened color on Elsie's cheeks, but it was not brought there by the implied compliment. She knew that she was a fairly good reader. To-night, however, she was giving only partial attention to the book. With by far the keener portion of her brain she was carrying on an argument somewhat after this fashion: "I don't know about this book. There are some queer expressions in it; I doubt whether papa would approve. I wonder if that sentence is really intended as a covert sneer at religion? I don't believe I like to hear the Bible quoted in just this manner. Mamma wouldn't call that girl prudish; she would think she showed a proper degree of self-respect."

You are to understand that these mental comments did not all rush forward at one time and demand attention, but presented themselves at intervals during the reading. Yet the doubt in Elsie's mind about the book grew so rapidly that, just as Freeman Vance was announced, she had almost resolved to declare boldly her objections and decline to read. But his coming had made this a doubly difficult thing to do. Poor Elsie felt instinctively that she stood alone; she was breathing an atmosphere so unlike the one in which she had been reared that it would be almost impossible to make her audience understand her scruples. She shrank from trying. "What mattered a few pages of a book?" she told her conscience. She need not admire the book; certainly there was no danger that she should. Once through with this disagreeable evening, and she need never look into it again.

So the reading continued. And the mental arguments continued, also, for to the reader's wide-open eyes the sentiments expressed did not grow less objectionable. It was not that they were pronounced in their form; there was neither downright mockery of things sacred nor downright ridicule of things pure. It was simply like many a book which is being read in parlors; full of delicately-served, sugar-coated poisons. And it was commended, too, in a general way, by some of the very newspapers that might have been expected to stand guard over its intrusion into Christian homes.

It was charmingly written. The pale hero was so fascinating in his manner that, when he languidly quoted a moral lie and gracefully propped it with arguments, you, being eighteen and guileless, could not help admiring him a little.

Yet did Elsie read under protest. "Mamma" appeared before her frequently, with keen eyes and clear brain, and swept away a filmy web which would hide a falsehood from less cultured minds. "Papa's" strong logic came often to mind to overthrow some subtle reasoning. Dr. Falconer's very last sermon loomed up before her once, text and all, to refute utterly a hint which the pale hero put forth.

If Freeman Vance had not appeared on the scene the book would certainly have been laid aside; but how utterly foolish would her position appear to him! He would call her a prude, as she had heard him call a young lady who had been the subject of conversation the other day. She knew just how his lip curled when he said it. Not that she cared for Freeman Vance's opinion, she told herself; but, then, nobody liked to be talked about. As she reached this conclusion she turned another leaf. The interesting hero was in the midst of a statement given with as much energy as he ever used, and, by way of emphasizing his point, he used an unmitigated oath.

"Can you deliberately hold in your hand books of a kind which you know perfectly well lead you farther from instead of nearer to Him?"

The quotation came to the reader suddenly, with almost as much force as though it had been spoken by an audible voice. She made an instant's pause—the oath unread—and looked down at her fair hands. They were being soiled! There was no question in her heart about it. With a sudden, impulsive movement, she spread open her hands with a repellent gesture, as though she recoiled from the thing touched, and the book fell to the floor. Freeman Vance sprang to return it and Carrie gave a nervous start.

"Why, Elsie Burton, what is the matter? You made me drop six stitches off my hook."

"Is there a ghost on that page?" queried Ben, mischief in his voice.

"No," said Elsie, her courage and her color rising. "I think it is a serpent. Thank you, Mr. Vance; I don't want the thing again. I have had quite too much of it. You must all excuse me from farther reading of that book. I am not in sympathy with the morals or the manners of its characters. I am ashamed that I have allowed myself to read it so long."

"I'll venture that it is another case of 'soiled hands,'" Ben said, nothing but amusement in his voice.

His cousin turned toward him with flashing eyes. "Yes," she said, "it is."