# Orange Grove (Wall)/Chapter 29

"Every inmost aspiration is God's angel undefiled, And in every 'O my Father!' slumbers deep a 'Here, my child!'"
The novel was quite neglected of late, yet not abandoned. Kate had contributed nothing towards it since the "magnificent affair of Syke's wedding," being now very much occupied during her leisure moments with a newly married couple, both of whom were ignorant of the first duties of house-keeping. Though an inexcusable fault in her eyes, "not knowin'," she said, "what any woman could be thinkin' of to bring up a girl in that way," her usual kindness of heart prompted her to render them every assistance in her power. She had once lived in the family of the bride's mother, and thus was on familiar terms, indulging in as much raillery as she pleased without giving offence, which was just' what suited her. If she thought it showed a lack of common sense to put beans in the oven to bake without boiling, or to pour hot water on glass ware, she did not hesitate to say so, to which her pupil always assented. She could not afford to do otherwise, for Kate's assistance was of great service to her, being at some distance from her mother, and finding her domestic duties of a much more complicated nature than she anticipated, so as to be occasionally discouraged.
​"I found her cryin' to-night," said Kate to Milly, as she came home one evening, "and 't wan't nothin' neither. I should have cheered her up pretty quick but there was an old croaker there, I don't know who she was, that was as mournful as Job's widder. She sat there with her hands clinched, the corners of her mouth hangin' down, and her eyes lookin' straight into the fire as if all the light there was in 'em would have to come from there. She fetched a long sigh, and says she, "That's the way when folks get married; gals never know when they're well off. This world's full o' trouble."
"If this world's full o' trouble," says I, "then it don't make no difference whether we are married or single, we've got to have it any way."
"She fetched another sigh, changed her hands, puttin' the one that was underneath on top, pressed her lips a little closer together, then opened her mouth with a voice that sounded as if it had run away from the tombs, 'Young woman,' says she, 'it'll do for you to laugh now, but when you get to be as old as I am and see all your ancestors comin' up round you as thick as weeds in a garden, not mindin' their ways to walk as they'd ought to in the straight and narrer path I fetched my children up to walk in, may be you won't feel like laughin' then.'
"I chuckled away to myself, thankful enough to see her get up to go when she had said that, and she hadn't more'n got to the door when Jenny come and took hold of my arm, smilin' like a fresh peach, and says she, 'I am so glad to see you, for I wanted to make some hasty puddin' and I didn't know anything ​how to go to work. I didn't know whether the water ought to be hot or cold, and so I've only got so far.' What do you think she'd done? She'd mixed some meal just about right for a johnny cake and was goin' to put it into the water and let it dissolve, when she found out whether it ought to be cold or hot. That wan't what you was cryin' for was it?' says I. 'No,' says she, 'not exactly. I was puzzlin' over it and thinkin' What a bad day I've had of it tryin' to bake, when that old woman come in and begun her mission as Job's comforter by sayin' that this was nothin' to what I should have to meet with yet, and almost made me think I never should see another minute's happiness in the world.' I laughed outright, and says I, 'I guess you won't if you are goin' to give up so.'"
Milly's mind had been wandering among other scenes than the vexations of young house-keepers, and Kate soon left her to her own meditations, not receiving any reply to her running remarks. She had watched the gorgeous sunset until its flaming tints of crimson and gold contrasting with the clear azure of the vault above had kindled in her soul that intense rapture which so abstracts it from the common affairs of this work-day life as to turn to them again with reluctance. Willingly would she have become a disembodied spirit, to soar away among those heavenly regions where the miseries of this world could no longer pain the ear, and she might realize the ideal, whose fair proportions then rose before her mind's eye, not to be revealed in human language. Like the first rude sketch of the artist, ​her conceptions at that moment embraced the outlines of a millennial state, clearly comprehended by the inner sense, but not tangible to others.
Gradually as the shades of evening gathered around her, darker pictures of the poverty and wretchedness of life cast their shadows over these fair visions, and instead of wishing herself released from her earthly abode, she felt the sublimity of a life that demanded, not rest,—not absolution from the trials of this world, but a devotion to its highest interests here.
She thought of the thousands unto whom the light of day comes only as a dreaded tyrant, at whose approach the weary, worn out frame must bid adieu to its needed repose; of the multitude of children treading the paths of sin and vice, through want of a mother's tender care to guide them; of homes surrounded by every physical comfort, made miserable by the discord reigning within, and she thought of those also whose infatuation on some favorite theme of pecuniary gain or worldly fame blinded them to the richness and beauty of this outward life, thus voluntarily depriving themselves of those blessed influences which, in her poetic nature, were closely associated with all solid enjoyment and individual perfection.
Milly was never unhappy, neither was she one of those restless spirits, always discontented with their present position, but she was one who, approaching middle age, could not look back with satisfaction upon a life devoted to no other interest than the trivial occupation of the unmarried woman. Retro​spection always affords little enough to satisfy us, even when engaged in the most philanthropic enterprise, for whatever we may have done, our ideal, the key-note of aspiration, is still unattained. One of the greatest blessings of any occupation, is this little leisure it gives for reflection and regret. Repentance is good, and when the mind stops there, leaving the past to bury its dead, great results follow. Regrets, whether with or without cause, should never bo indulged in. The conscience becomes morbid, the intellect clouded, and the mind is unfitted for the satisfactory performance of any duty or participation in any enjoyment. To prevent this it must be supplied with other food to fill the vacancy, and employ it, something which shall create an interest aside from the mere occupation. The matron of a hospital, or the care-taker of a family of orphan children, finds a rational enjoyment the pleasures of home could not yield unless her presence were needed there for something more than her society. Let the construction of the text be what it may, concerning labor being ordained as a curse, it must be the conviction of every candid mind that it was ordained as a blessing from the beginning of the world,—not that labor which consigns thousands to a cheerless life in crowded attics or sunless basements every hour of the twenty-four, in order to ward off starvation from the door, but the healthful, stimulating exercise for both body and mind every individual craves as the requisite of a sound physical and mental bodily development.
Kate, in her rough, unpolished way, lived out this ​theory. She had a more serious vein of humor than was indicated by her trifling manner of conversation.
Milly could detect in many a homely phrase and jesting remark, a depth of thought that suggested original ideas to her own reflections, and she never wearied of her, if she did sometimes leave her to pursue her theme of discussion alone. She admired her unceasing activity, if sometimes culminating, for the sake of diversion, in the nonsensical affair of "Syke's wedding," which might be of more value in enlivening some low-spirited invalid, than all her idle dreaming of a world renovated by a philosophy she could never expect to be put in practice. It was easy enough in the solitude of her chamber to dissect men's motives and analyze their main-springs of action, building up a logical basis of principles for the reconstruction of society which would ameliorate some of these social evils, but let her take her theory outside, and what was it? Most fitly expressed by Kate, a mere cobweb, the first contact with the world swept away. And thus she dreamed on, yet perhaps not idly. Every pure and elevating thought that comes into the mind is worthy of reception there, and should be welcomed as a heavenly guest leading us higher in aspiration until the subtle fetters that bind us to a selfish ambition and the love of worldly approbation melt away in the approving smile of Him who created us to be heirs to his glorious promises.
There are chimerical dreamers, mere visionary enthusiasts, both pure in motive and earnest in thought, whose labors are barren of practical results, ​tending rather to confuse the intellect, than to enlighten the conscience, of whom we cannot say they have lived in vain. By their faults do they teach us, and by their wanderings amid arid sands and dreary icebergs do we learn to appreciate the infinite attributes of that Being whose compassionate love entitles him to the crowning glory which permits all his erring children to address him reverently as, Our Father!
Our Father! This is no idle sounding title. When the world misjudges us and friends grow cold; when the burden of our sins oppresses us and no human eye deigns a glance of sympathy; when prejudice hurls its stinging dart and no avenue of defence opens before us, the weary soul turns with yearning confidence to this sure and steadfast Friend who never casts it off, and unto whom no aspiration ascends unheeded.