CHAPTER XXXI.

REUNION.

The church is finished--old Mr. Bruce is delighted, for he fancies that he has had much to do with its completion.

Stanley is settled as the pastor, and ministers with great acceptance. The day has arrived for its opening, the ringing of the bell summons the worshippers from all quarters; and Madeline, with her bright and happy face, has taken charge of the choir, and sweet is the music which from grateful hearts rolls through the solemn edifice.

At the close of the first Sabbath evening, the family of Woodcliff are gathered in the drawing-room.

"How many do you number among your communicants, Stanley?" asked Roland.

"About eighty," was the reply.

"You may record me as another, Stanley, for as the head of a family, there must be no division in that important matter; and I can be very happy in worshipping with you, my dear friend, in your own solemn and holy forms of worship."

"Thank you, dear Roland," said the wife, "this is so pleasant to have you with me as a fellow-communicant; we have been for a long time fellow-pilgrims, but this outward union is peculiarly gratifying."

"You must make some allowances, dear, for my still liking a good old-fashioned doctrinal sermon, even if it is pretty long; and therefore, father and I must go once a day to the church of our ancestors, for that is all that I have to remind me of good old Scotland."

"Certainly, dear Roland, and I shall go with you; good Mr. Stewart and I have always been the very best of friends; he is on excellent terms with our own pastor, for he is one of God's dear people, and I love him as such."

Madeline is very happy, for she is busy in fitting up the pretty parsonage of Glendale; as soon as the finishing touch shall be given, Helen will take her place there, as the pastor's gentle wife.

Early in the autumn, the preparations were completed, and Stanley has brought his bride to the pleasant home.

"What a beautiful study!" said Helen, as she looked around at the neat furniture; "such a complete table for a minister! such a pretty book-case! and so well filled! such a comfortable lounge! and cosy rocking-chair! I really think, husband, that I shall often bring my work here, when you are not too much occupied."

"You will be welcome any day after twelve o'clock, Helen; for I must be alone until then. I have a system to live by. In the afternoon we shall ride out to visit my people, for I must make you acquainted with the humblest."

"What a happy work is ours, dear husband! laboring together for that blessed kingdom which is to prevail upon the earth, and at last to sit down at the marriage-supper of the Lamb."

At the appointed time, Edmund brought home his young Scottish bride, and settled in New York for the winter, spending their summers near Woodcliff; Annot retaining her connection with the church of her fathers, but often worshipping at Calvary, with the friends that she loved so well.

* * * * * * *

Ten years have passed--their rolling cycles bringing the changing seasons--spring, with its fresh young buds of life, summer with its ripening fruits, autumn with its fading glories ready to drop into the lap of winter; nursed tenderly through the night of nature, until the children of another spring proclaim their joyous advent, by the swelling buds, the winged songsters, the smiling skies, the music of babbling brooks, and balmy breath of the resurrection season.

This, without the walls of Woodcliff--within also, there is growth, harmony with the visible works of the Divine renovator. The little seed planted so long ago by feeble boyish hands has germinated; often seeming almost lifeless; hidden from the light and the sun, but not from the great husbandman, who has watched its mysterious life. First the little sprout, then the delicate leaflets so tender and faintly green, then the stronger plant. Thus hath it been with the spiritual world at Woodcliff--the Divine workman invisible, the work so silent, yet so powerful!

"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit."

The changing culture appointed each day, each hour, each minute, on to the very latest breath of mortal life, by the great husbandman of immortal fruits.

Under the eye of the glorious three, the silent, wondrous work is going on. The _Father_, planning the scheme of man's redemption; the _Son_, executing it by sacrifice of himself; the _Spirit_, with his powerful breath vivifying the sleeping germs.

And then the glorious harvest, when the reapers come to gather in the sheaves! O, blessed day of jubilee, when Jesus comes! There has been but little of the discipline of sorrow thus far in the life of Madeline. That refining process was deemed best for Roland in his early days--now, a long season of sunshine hath succeeded, and the deeper incisions of grafting and pruning are reserved for future years.

Blessed are they who wait in patience on the hand of the wise and loving cultivator!

Ten years have passed over husband and wife, each year deepening and purifying their love.

Each anniversary of her wedding day, Madeline has learned to look under her pillow for some sweet token of affection. A faithful likeness of himself, finely set, a handsome pin with his mother and sister's hair, a rich diamond ring, with united initials engraved within the circlet, and various other dear mementoes, have marked each returning wedding day.

Three lovely children are added to the domestic circle; Malcolm Graham, a boy of seven, Mary Gordon, a child of five, and Lilian, a sweet prattler of three years, fill the halls of Woodcliff with their merry voices. One lovely boy, their little Lewis, sleeps in the quiet cemetery, and the infant spirit has formed another tie to beckon the parents heavenward.

Another anniversary morning has arrived, and the pictures of her household darlings greet Madeline on her first awaking.

"This is indeed a treasure!" said the happy wife, "how perfect is the likeness! you could have given me nothing that can please me better! and now, dear, here is my own little keep-sake for this happy day," and Madeline produced a beautiful miniature of herself, in the bloom of her ripe womanhood.

"Ten years, Madeline, have passed, and I can say truly 'how much the wife is dearer than the bride,'" and Roland fondly kissed the sweet lips, and calm, pure forehead, of the one he loved so well.

Stephen Bruce grows cheerful in the society of his grand-children, and seems to be renewing his youth among these dear prattlers; his piety is becoming more and more simple-hearted, more like that of a little child.

Roland is daily growing more influential; and notwithstanding his high principles of integrity, after a few years, there is found virtue enough to send him to the Senate of the United States, and Aunt Matilda is becoming quite reconciled that Madeline should be the wife of a Senator.

At Washington in winter, Madeline is too truly a mother to leave her children at Woodcliff, and too faithful, as a wife, to part from her husband; consequently, the house is left under the care of a housekeeper, and the family-circle take up their abode at the capital.

Madeline's attractions draw around her a number of admirers, who are anxious to bring her into their circle as a new star; but devoted to her calling as wife and mother, she simply returns the calls of the leaders of fashion, and resolutely avoids the frivolity of the giddy world. Aunt Matilda is sadly chagrined, for she had anticipated Madeline's triumphs with great exultation.

"I cannot consent, dear aunt, to such a life," replied the wife to her remonstrances; "if I were running this round of folly, what would become of my household darlings?" and steadily, she pursued the quiet tenor of her beautiful life. Occasionally, she accepted invitations to dinner-parties, always being there the centre of attraction.

One pleasure she felt that she must indulge in, for whenever she knew that her husband was to speak in Congress, Madeline was always one of the most attentive listeners to his eloquence, ever on the side of the right, the true the good.

"What were you musing about this morning, Madeline?" said her husband; "I saw you in the gallery surrounded by so many ladies, all busily engaged in conversation, and you in such a deep brown study."

She smiled as he replied, "I was thinking, Roland, about my childish days; and was seated in memory by the lake at Woodcliff, when tired of playing with my gold-fish, I used to amuse myself by throwing in pebbles, and watching the little circles, as they widened in their course, until I could trace them no longer. I thought, Roland, of the boy on the shore at Woodcliff; I saw you just as you stood that day when first I met you; I traced all your course, comparing it to the little pebble thrown carelessly into the lake, drawing one circle of influence round the spoiled child at Woodcliff, then beyond, at college, another round Norris and Stanley, then around Helen Thornly, another around my dear father through your own sister Effie, then a broader, wider circle, embracing the poor, neglected news-boys of New York, and encircling Woodcliff; and now a broader still around the country that you serve, until I am lost in wonder, and can trace it no farther; truly human influence is a wonderful agent, and we ought both to exclaim 'What hath God wrought!'"

"How little did we know, dear wife, of the power of my mother's blessed words, when she bade me 'Look aloft;' I listened to them, then, as simply comforting; I have learned since how they have guided my path as a beacon light, to beckon me onward."

A servant entered, interrupting the conversation.

"Mr. Bruce, a gentleman wishes to see you," and Roland entering the parlor, is greeted by the fast friend of his college days, Dr. Kingsley.

"How are you, my son?" said the good man, as he heartily shook Roland's hand.

"I came to congratulate you on your success to-day, for I was in the Senate Chamber and heard your speech; I cannot tell how my old heart swelled with pride as I listened, and remembered you, Roland, as one of my sons. I always knew that you would leave your mark upon the world, and do honor to your Alma Mater."

"I can never cease to thank you, Dr. Kingsley; for had you turned me away, I had no other resource."

"And then, Roland, the world would have lost a noble laborer in the cause of all that is good and true."

"You will not reject other poor aspirants, my good friend, for there are many struggling spirits who need just such a hand as yours to guide, and such a heart to sympathize."

Introducing his old friend to Madeline, an hour's pleasant intercourse closed the interview, with a cordial invitation to the good man to visit them at Woodcliff.

"Congress will adjourn to-morrow night," said Roland.

"Then for dear Woodcliff," answered Madeline; "are you not glad, father?" turning to old Mr. Bruce.

"Yes, indeed, there is sae much that needs my care, an' I am tired o' this noisy, bustling place; but I am glad that I came; for I canna be separated frae the bonnie darlings."

Immediately on the close of the session, they turned their faces homeward, and a joyful party met once more around the domestic fireside. The winter curtains were yet up, for it was cold and cheerless out of doors, and a warm fire and cheerful supper greeted them, with Stanley and his wife ready to welcome them home again. The next morning, Roland came in from the library with the delightful news, that Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Lindsay were coming to pay a visit to America.

"The best room shall be prepared for dear Uncle Malcolm," said Madeline, and she busied herself in making ready for the good old friend.

"They will be here in three weeks, at the farthest," said Roland, "and we must have a nice lounge, and rocking-chair put in his room, plenty of books, and a secretary; for Uncle Malcolm could not be happy without his usual pursuits."

Annot was sent for, with her husband, and two sweet children, little Roland and Anna, the one five, the other three years old.

"I can scarcely wait," said the anxious daughter, "for it is seven years since I hae seen my mother."

One evening Roland arrived from New York with the news that the steamer was below.

"They will be here to-morrow or next day," was the answer to Annot's anxious questions.

Merry as a kitten, she was never tired of telling her little ones that Grandma and Uncle Malcolm were coming.

Old Mr. Bruce and his grandchildren were playing on the front lawn--little Malcolm driving his sister Lilian in a small carriage; and grandfather amusing himself by keeping close to their side, to keep them from danger.

Suddenly, Mary cried out,

"There comes the carriage!" and the little girls ran rapidly into the house with the news; while Malcolm, holding his grandfather's hand, stood in anxious expectation of the arrival.

The carriage stops--Annot is folded in the arms of her dear mother, and Uncle Malcolm grasps warmly the extended hands of Roland and Madeline.

"Welcome a thousand times to Woodcliff, dear uncle!" exclaims Roland; and Stephen Bruce also advances with a timid step, but placid smile, to greet the new comers.

"What little boy is this?" asks the good man, as he lays his hand on the head of Roland's son, standing by anxious to be noticed by the stranger.

"This is Malcolm Graham," answered the happy father.

Mr. Graham changed countenance, and whispered,

"How came this, Roland? I aye thought it strange that ye did na name him Stephen."

"My father named the boy himself."

Uncle Malcolm smiled gratefully at this token of entire forgetfulness of the painful past, and lifting the dear child in his arms, kissed him fondly, as he laid the hand of blessing on his dark brown hair.

While Madeline is presenting her other darlings, Annot's eyes are moistened with happy tears, as she leads little Roland and Anna up to their grandma and uncle, who pronounce them "darling pets," and the proud young mother is full of innocent delight.

Changes have taken place in all the party--ten years have added many silver hairs to Malcolm Graham's noble head, but to him they are indeed a crown of glory.

Mrs. Lindsay is stouter and more matronly--Madeline has exchanged the bewitching charms of young girlhood for the ripe beauty of a queenly woman, retaining still the brightness and vivacity of early youth, and the arch expression of her lovely face.

Roland is a noble man of thirty-seven, with a fine, commanding figure, the same dark eagle eye, and sweet expressive smile of benevolence.

Annot is no more the lovely child, with her wealth of golden ringlets falling round her face and shoulders; but the blooming wife in the first flush of sweet young womanhood.

Seated between the two, Uncle Malcolm takes the hand of each, saying,

"Here are baith my daughters! well, ye are making Uncle Malcolm an auld mon, wi' yer bairns skipping around me; but I hope that my heart will ne'er grow old."

"You will never grow old in feeling, uncle," said Madeline; "and we are so happy to have you with us; but you must be tired; come, Annot, let us show Uncle his room."

Each taking an arm, they led him to his pleasant chamber; Annot retiring with her mother, and Madeline busying herself about Uncle Malcolm.

"Here is a warm winter wrapper, and a pair of chamber slippers; I knew that you would like them, uncle."

The old gentleman sat down in his comfortable chair; and, looking around on all the arrangements of his room, with the bright fire lighting up the whole, said,

"Well, Madeline! this is comfort! ye will spoil the auld mon among ye."

"No danger, dear uncle," as she kissed the calm forehead; "we can never do too much for you, for are you not my husband's dearest, warmest friend?"

Sweet was the incense of gratitude and praise that ascended from the family altar that night, as Uncle Malcolm led the devotions, and Madeline conducted the singing of the hymn.

The next morning, after breakfast, Uncle Malcolm called Roland aside, and said,

"Tak' me to the spot most sacred in America;" and, alone, they proceeded, with solemn step, to the cemetery.

Standing at the foot of his mother's grave, the strong man stood for some minutes in silence, reading the inscription on the humble tomb-stone; then Uncle Malcolm, overpowered by the floods of sad and touching memories, lifted up his voice, and wept aloud. Roland stood with his arm around the old man, and whispered,

"We must not mourn for her, dear uncle, a blessed spirit around the throne."

"I dinna, Roland; but I could na but feel how happy I should hae made her; how I wad hae sheltered her frae the rough world; for while I was enjoying a' that wealth could gie, my puir Mary was suffering years o' penury an' toil."

"It is past, dear uncle; through all her trials she enjoyed the peace of God, which passeth all understanding; and there is the blessed hope of reunion; do you not think that we shall know each other in the better land?"

"I do, my son, confidently hope to meet that blessed spirit, purified an' full o' holy love, where there shall be nae mair parting; while I live, Roland, I shall luve her memory," (and he took out of his pocket-book once more the lock of golden hair,) "that must be buried wi' me, Roland."

None asked where Uncle Malcolm had been, for the serious and tender expression that dwelt upon his face, and softened the tones of his voice throughout the day, spoke volumes.

Interested in all the benevolent schemes around Woodcliff, Malcolm rode out with Roland; and, with a full heart, listened to the account of all their plans for good. On Sunday he attended the church at Glendale; and as he listened to the Christian statesman, seated so humbly before his large class of young men, he could not but bless God for the grace which had so faithfully directed the footsteps of this good steward of his Master's gifts.

As he watched the earnest look, the respectful reverence, the deep interest of the youth who surrounded Roland, he rejoiced in the inward conviction that none of this good seed would fall to the ground unblessed; and many a tale of sacred influence and private benevolence reached the ears of Uncle Malcolm in his private visits among the people of Woodcliff, for Roland was not one to blazon his own good deeds.

"We hae had a blessed day!" said the good man, at the close of a Sabbath-day at Woodcliff; "what a holy privilege we hae enjoyed in worshipping a common Saviour!" for they had attended on the services of each church, and had heard faithful discourses from both ministers.

"Stanley seems a maist devoted mon," said Uncle Malcolm, "how meikle o' Christ there is in his sermons!"

"Yes, that is the secret of his success; while he does not neglect nor undervalue the scaffolding of the Christian church, the whole power of his ministry is to lead sinners to build their hopes upon the corner-stone, Christ Jesus our Lord."

"It seems to me, Roland, when the heart is filled with luve to the Master, an' a sense o' the danger o' immortal souls, men canna spend their time in preaching sae meikle on these minor things. I hae felt, syne I hae been amang ye, perfect communion o' spirit, for I hae heard naught but Jesus, an' him crucified."

"I have often thought, dear uncle, how sweet is this communion of saints! How blessed is the feeling that every Sunday so many pilgrims are worshipping the dear Redeemer in the great cathedrals of vast cities, and the lowly temples of the village lanes of good old England; the solemn worship of its ancient church mingles with that of its American child, throughout the length and breadth of this vast country; while the prayers and hymns of Christians mingle daily from the hills of Scotland, and the green island of the shamrock. All over the world the songs of pilgrims, on their heavenward march, roll up to Heaven; and, dear uncle, when you are in Scotland, we can still commune in spirit; you, in your fathers' venerable church, and we in the one we love."

"'Tis a vera holy bond, Roland, an' wae be to the Christian who can allow bigotry or intolerance to chill sic holy worship."

"Let us never forget, dear uncle, the tie of Christian brotherhood as the dearest and purest of all earthly bonds."

"I could na bear to think o' parting, my son, if I did na realize this sacred bond o' union."

Many such hours of hallowed intercourse were spent between these two noble spirits, so elevated above the common masses of humanity.

Little Malcolm is a child of promise; and the parents are teaching diligently the first great lesson of obedience to their children; not a day passes without its lessons: "Line upon line, precept upon precept," looking upward for God's blessing, both parents train their dear children in paths of obedience, truth and love. Little Mary is a gentle, loving child; but Lilian is a repetition of Madeline, happily under the controlling influence of wise and loving guidance. Aunt Clara is daily ripening for the skies.

Lavinia, the same vain, frivolous devotee of fashion, no longer young, still unmarried, is rapidly becoming that most unhappy of all miserable beings, a censorious and disappointed old maid.

The declining years of Stephen Bruce are calm and tranquil; surrounded by a family who encircle him with tender, affectionate reverence, his latter days are his best; and he is passing on to "the rest that remaineth," full of calm unshaken trust in his Saviour. Stanley has gathered round him a devoted flock; and Helen is the happy wife of a tender husband, the mother of a lovely family, the helper of her husband's labors; sharing in his cares and sorrows, as well as in his joys.

Glendale is a blessed sanctuary, and Calvary Church the centre of a holy influence in the midst of the homes of Woodcliff.

Harry and Charles have not learned wisdom yet, for their youth was one of folly, and they are reaping the fruits, in advancing years, of uselessness and discontent; affections withered, intellects wasting, time flying, and their Lord coming for his reckoning--such is the life of thousands--who can bear to read their everlasting destiny? "Cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness."

Uncle Malcolm's visit is drawing to an end, and he seeks an occasion of private conference with Edmund.

"My son, I feel as if I canna gae hame wi'out ye and Annot; I am growing auld, Edmund, an' the cares o' life begin to weigh heavily upon me; why na move yer family to Scotland?"

"It would be just the life that I should love, Uncle Malcolm; for years I have longed for the country. I am not calculated for commercial pursuits, and I know that Annot would only be too happy to be once more in her dear old home; there is but one difficulty--my mother would so mourn over the separation."

"I hae enow to occupy us baith, Edmund; an' there are sae mony openings for usefu'ness, I am sure that we should be happy together. Then I am anxious that Annot's bairns should be trained in Scotland, for their inheritance will be there."

Edmund spoke to Annot on the subject.

"Can it be, dear Edmund? I hae sae langed for a return to my ain land, an' I agree perfectly wi' Uncle Malcolm that Scotland is the hame for our bairns."

Mrs. Lindsay most earnestly added her influence, and Mrs. Norris, convinced that it was for Edmund's worldly prosperity, finally consented. American friends were pained to miss the dear faces of Annot's family from among their circle, but both Roland and Madeline saw that it was right.

Uncle Malcolm had learned to love his little namesake, and, on the evening before their departure, took the child into his own room, and, after warm, affectionate counsels, prayed with the dear boy for God's blessing on his childhood and his youth. Going to his secretary, he brought out a handsome rosewood writing-desk, completely furnished.

"This, my boy, is frae Uncle Malcolm; as soon as ye are auld enow, I hope that ye will mak guid use o' it. Ye will find i' the stable, too, a dear little pony that I hae bought for my namesake to ride; he is quite safe, an' papa will teach ye how to ride; ye maun ca' him Selim, after mamma's pony."

"Thank you, dear good Uncle Malcolm; I'll try to be a good boy, and then you won't be sorry for these gifts," and the boy kissed the good old man again and again.

Going down stairs, he called the little girls to his side.

"Noo, Mary, what do ye think that Uncle Malcolm has for his bonnie lassie?"

"I know just what I want, uncle."

"What is it, my bairn? dinna be afraid to tell."

"I want a pretty baby-house, uncle, for Lilian and me."

Uncle Malcolm smiled pleasantly, and, taking the hands of the little girls, led them into the library, and there was the sweetest baby-house, entirely furnished with such a handsome outfit, and, seated on chairs in another part of the room, two beautiful dolls from Aunt Lindsay. They were quite beside themselves; Mary in quiet wonder, and Lilian skipping about the room in ecstasy.

"Noo, mamma, I hae only ane request to mak, an' that is, should these little lassies quarrel aboot these gifts, please deprive them o' their use for ane whole month; but I hope that they will na be sae naughty."

Both the children thanked good Uncle Malcolm, and, kissing each other, made faithful promises not to dispute about the pretty gifts. The day of parting had arrived; always painful, but doubly so now, as it removed a dear family from the midst of this circle of friends, with but little prospect of meeting again on this side of the better land.

"God bless ye! my ain dear children," said Uncle Malcolm, as he laid his hand upon the heads of Roland and Madeline; "let us aye remember the precious words o' our departed saint, 'Looking aloft,'" and tears trembled in the eyes of the good man as he tenderly repeated the blessed words.

The carriage drove off with a tearful company, and Roland, kissing the lips and encircling the wife with his sustaining arm, led her in to the library.

"This is life, dear Madeline; there must be partings here. Reunion, lasting and eternal, must be beyond this mortal shore."

Life still rolls on at Woodcliff. Roland and Madeline have not yet reached the perfection of existence; but, as far as mortals can, theirs is truly living--living that life on earth which shall be perfected hereafter in the kingdom that is coming.

'Tis true that these are the creations of fiction--ideal man and woman--but let none say that such can never dwell in mortal flesh. Christ came to make such. There is not one trait exhibited here, but is commanded in the Gospel, and from which can be drawn grace to form just such characters upon the earth. Such monuments of grace have walked the earth like angels, and such there will be again; for there is a time coming, when the world will be filled with such lively stones, in the glorious temple that shall hereafter be erected on the earth. Why should not she who writes, and they who read, seek to be one of these highly-polished living stones?

'Tis true that to mortal vision, this blessed kingdom does not _seem_ very near; for throughout the world are sounds of war, and tumult, and confusion; man slaying his brother man on many fields of combat, and the sweet dove of peace and love _far, far_ away; but there are yet some left on earth in whose bosoms dwell, by bright anticipations, the spirit of the millennium; above this strife and tumult, dwelling in a world of their own, with folded hands, uplifted eyes, and hearts whose pulsations are one eternal prayer. Precious witnesses for the kingdom of peace, and love, and holiness, yet to come! To come! Blessed be God! to come! And this little pilgrim band whom we have followed so long, still "Looking aloft," and seeing Him who is invisible, may confidently look for that everlasting glorious kingdom.

"Looking aloft!" blessed talisman against the spirit of worldliness, selfishness, and strife of every kind! "Looking aloft!" It inspired Noah when sheltered safely in the ark, calm and happy amidst the overwhelming deluge of wrath. It calmed the trusting heart of holy Daniel in the den of lions, stilling their angry growls, and closing their bloodthirsty jaws. It sustained David in the hour of his darkest trials, and, centuries ago, inspired those sublime Psalms of holy confidence which multitudes still sing in their pilgrimage as they are marching home. It wakened the songs of triumph in the prison of Paul and Silas, and cheered the great apostle beneath the uplifted axe of the bloody Nero.

It lit up smiles of joy and peace upon the faces of that holy band of martyrs who were stoned, sawn asunder, and burned at the fiery stake, when even woman's earnest eye and childhood's tender glance were turned calmly upward to the glorious Saviour; and from the stake and the block the martyr's gaze of faith pierced the heavens, as, "Looking aloft," they saw Him who is invisible.

Blessed talisman! sufficient for those dark and stormy days, it is enough for all life's woes, and cares, and sorrows. It hath sustained Roland Bruce in the days of poverty, trial, and bereavement; and hath brought him into the quiet waters of usefulness, peace, and love, with "the promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come" all fulfilled. Hand in hand with the chosen partner of his joys and sorrows, we bid them both farewell; with the certainty that such a union will be peaceful and blessed while they tread life's changing scenes, and, in the world to come, will be crowned by blissful, eternal reunion, so long as their motto, beaming from the pole-star of hope, remains "LOOKING ALOFT."

THE END.

[Transcriber's note: there are several instances of Madeline taking off, or putting on, her "flat". It's unknown if a flat is a type of hat, or if it's a typographical error for "hat". All instances have been left as printed.]