Gulf Coast breeze. [volume] (Crawfordville, Fla.) 1897-19??, 1897-10-15
The Discomfort Of Helen.


any larger, the rooms were quite as
low and small as ever, the furniture no
less plain and old.fashioned. Yes,
was glad that l was not forced to get
my own living in the world; but for
all that 1 was disconnected.
Mother" overheard Ada saving
one day, "Helen isn't happy, I think,
because we are not rich, like Mrs.
Marchmont.
"Are you happy with your humble
circumstances, my dear?" asked my
mother.
"Why, would like to be rich, of
course" said Ada; "but we can't be
rich, you know; and then we are so
comfortable-we have each other and
a really pleasant home; and-yes,
mamma, I am happy, I'm sure. Only
feel sorry for Helen"
could not help feeling rebuked.
And at night, when my father came
home, more tired than usual, he put
on his slippers and stretched his weary
limbs, saying:
81 have had such busy day, Mary,
and it seems good to get home to you
and the children"
He kissed her tenderly and took
little Johnny on his knee, his face
wearing such good smile, such a
look of rest and contentment.
Come" he said after supper. '1et
us sing"
We had no piano, but we got our
hymnbooks and sang togetbcr--my
father and mother had beautiful
voices, and Adas was q correct and
musical alto; and the music and The
words were so sweet and tender that
it melted my heart. thought what
If that loving little choir were broken.
And / realized that we were indeed
happy; that the lines had fallen to us
in pleasant places; that l myself was
naughty and ungrateful to be discon-
tented.
That night my father was taken i'll,
and was MISUNDERSTANDING.
condemned. Especially when / knew
that he was suffering great agony
that he was very sick--!hat the doe
and dangerous one. thought, what
if my father should diet
For two or three days his case was
doubtful, and what sad household
was ours! The little ones were taken
to the house of kind neighbor. Nam
ma and Ada and l watched and nursed
our poor father night and day, not
knowing whether he would live or
die. l cannot tell you how felt.
The house seemed so desolate, with
papa lying sick, and when | went into
the rooms downstairs thought how
happy, how contented I should be in
them-how cheerful could be then
how golden and sunshiny the whole
little dwelling would seem il papa
would get we'll again. And prayed,
humbly and penitently, that he might
be restored to us.
He was. After one sad and anxious
week the doctor said he was mending,
and if ever there was happy, glad
and grateful girl it was /.
went about the house like new
creature the day he was to come down
stairs, frightened and beautifed every
thing about the rooms to the best of
my ability-hung the canary in the
sunshine and male the place beautiful
with blooming geraniums and roses
and helotropes and hanging vines.
j And / saw that the fire in the open
crate burned clcar and bright; that
the hearth was clean and no speck of
dust about, and papa's fayoritc books
lay ready to his hands, and first of all
the great Bible, ont of which l myself
read aloud a psalm Of thanksgiving
for him aud all of us that night.
l was so happy that mamma could
not but see the change in me- and she
took me in her arms and kissed me
silently and, oh, SO tenderly.
And after that could not and did
not murmur any more. But, instead,
1 went about, daily making our before
despised little house as pleasant rs 1
could, until l wondered to see how
beautiful and cheerful and pleasant il
really was; wondered, too, that had
never felt it before But l knew the
reason had been so blind was be-
cause would not see.
Mrs, Marchmont had come two or
three times while papa was i'll, She
came again, now he was down stairs.
and made long call. AS she wen.
away she fingered at the door.
500 you know, Mrs, Hammond"
she said to my mother, edo you know
how l like TO como here? DO you
know how pleasant it is herc?-such a