CHAPTER XVI.

THE TEA-PARTY.

Two days after her death Mrs. Mallory's body was laid in the old churchyard beside the grave of her husband's young sister. Mr. Brace, the new minister, officiated; and a great many people came to the funeral. Phin was deeply affected, and broke down entirely at the grave.

"Won't you come into my house, and rest a little before you go home, Mr. Mallory?" said kind Mrs. Andrews, who lived close by the church.

"Yes, do; you and the girls," added Mr. Andrews. "You are very kind, but I think pa will be best at home," said Symantha. "He is quite worn out with watching."

"Well, if we can do any thing for you, you must let us know," said Mr. Andrews as he shook hands with Phin.

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And just let me say one word to you, Phineas,” Isaid old Mrs. Bassett. "I knew your mother and your grandmother, so you will excuse an old woman's freedom. Don't go to seeking comfort in drink. There may be forgetfulness in it, but there is no

peace; and it will only leave you worse than you were before. Don't go looking for comfort in the world, my son; but turn to your wife's God and your mother's God. He has stricken, and He can bind up. Don't touch the drink, whatever you do."

"I won't," said Phin, pressing her hand; and at the time he meant what he said. For at least a month he staid quietly at home, working diligently on his farm, mending the fences, and repairing the house and barns. He even went twice to the Fridayevening service, at Kit's entreaty, and joined his splendid bass voice to the singing. Symantha's face began once more to lose its expression of care and apprehension; and, as to Kit, she was never so happy in her life. She went to school every day, and to church and Sunday school on Sunday. Melissa, hitherto the greatest disturber of her peace, was out of the way; and uncle Phin was always kind nowadays, and let her read her Bible and sing her hymns as much as she liked. Her mind expanded every day, and she was one of those happy people to whom the acquisition of knowledge is a keen delight for its own sake. All the girls liked her; and even Aunt Betsy allowed that "that Mallory young one" behaved very well when she was in sight, but made herself amends by adding, "But she'll show out what is in her yet, you may depend upon it. What's bred in the bone stays long in the flesh."

"Very true," said Miss Delia, to whom the remark was addressed. "We've all got total depravity bred in our bones, Aunt Betsy; and I, for one, haven't got rid of it yet, altogether."

"And there's Phin Mallory coming to the meetings," pursued Aunt Betsy. "We shall have all the riffraff in town coming in next."

"I am sure I wish we could," remarked Mr. Brace, the new minister. "I, for one, should enjoy the sight, as our Lord did when the publicans and sinners came together to hear Him. What is the Church for, Mrs. Burr, if not to gather in just such people as those you call riffraff?"

"I think, sometimes, the Church doesn't do as much of that sort of work as it might," said Miss Delia.

Of course not. The Church does not do as much work of any sort as it might. Nevertheless it does most of the work that is done in that line. Who sustains all the city missions and charities, all the mission Sunday schools in low city districts and faraway Western towns, all the frontier missionaries and those in foreign parts, if not the Church? You talk about riffraff, Mrs. Burr: I should like to take you to New York, and show you the lady visitors going fearlessly into neighborhoods where even the policeman looks carefully to his revolver before he ventures. I should like to take you into one tenement-house I know of, where I found a district nurse, a well-educated lady, making a fire in a cracked stove, and cleaning flour and windows with her own hands, because no ordinary charwoman would venture into the place. Who does all these things but the Church in some of its branches, that Church which is the blessed company of all faithful people? The Church does not accomplish half, no, not a tenth, of what it

might if every member thereof were faithful in his and her vocation and ministry; but the world would be badly off without it."

Mr. Brace spoke with a good deal of earnestness, possibly with some little heat, as people are apt to do when they feel warmly; and Aunt Betsy was confirmed in her opinion that he had no proper ministerial dignity, and would never fill Dr. Munson's pulpit. Phin staid at home, as I have said, for nearly a month. Then he felt himself obliged to go to Oldbury with a load of hay.

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'Why don't Symantha.

you sell

your hay in Oldfield?" asked

"Because I promised it to Stannard at the tavern, and I don't want to break my word. Don't you be scared, my girl: I'm not going to make a fool of myself any more. I've turned over a new leaf about that. Keep up a good heart, and I'll bring you and Kitty each a new frock if I have good luck with my hay.”

"I want a piece of cotton sheeting, more than a new frock. Kit needs a dress or two, but I thought I should get them just as well at Mr. Andrews's he has some nice black-and-white checks. Anyhow, father, do keep away from Stillwell's."

"I'm not going near Stillwell's," said Phin rather angrily. "I believe you think your father is a fool." Then, softening as he saw his daughter's evident distress, "Don't you borrow trouble. I don't much wonder at your doing it, all things considered; but you'll see I'll come home all right. I'm no such towstring of a man as you think me."

But alas! what man is not a tow-string when assailed by old appetites and old temptations, and old companions ready to do the Devil's work, and take the Devil's wages? Phin came home silent and morose. He brought no new frocks for anybody; and when Symantha asked him, next day, for money to make some needful purchases at the Corners, he replied shortly that he had none.

"I thought you sold your hay," said Symantha. "Didn't Stannard pay you?"

"No — yes, partly; but I had to use the money another way. Take some of the butter-money, or get Andrews to trust you: I'll make it all right with him.”

"I thought we agreed to save the butter-money for ma's grave-stone," said Symantha.

"I can't help it," answered Phin, turning suddenly away. "I'd give you the money if I had it; but I haven't, and there's no use talking."

Symantha sighed, but said no more. In a few days Phin went to Oldbury again, and came home so drunk that Symantha and Kit had to take care of the team. His visits became more and more frequent, often lasting two or three days at a time. He brought home another keg of beer, and from that time was hardly ever sober. He began to talk of selling the farm and going West again, and Symantha was in despair.

"I did think we were settled at last," said she. "I thought I was to have a home.”

Well, have a home. Who hinders you?" said her father roughly. "You and Kit can hire a room somewhere, and take care of yourselves."