Read Online Katharine's Yesterday by Grace Livingston Hill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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this, I wonder? Oh, what a contrast to yesterday!”
Prayer meeting seemed the height of dreariness to Katharine tonight. She was never at any time fond of going, and usually got out of it as often as she could. To think of having to sit in that dark little room, where all the lamps smoked and the air smelled strongly of kerosene, and listen to several long prayers and talks by some old men and women! She recoiled from the idea, and thought, as she had done a dozen times that day, of the evening before, and the merry party that had gathered at one of the pleasant homes in the village for a farewell frolic.
The meeting was not quite as dreary as she had pictured it. More were out than usual, and there was a spirit of earnestness in all that was said that would have surprised her if she had not been too much wrapped up in her morbid thoughts to pay any attention to what was going on. But the air was as full of kerosene and dust as she had expected, and she turned up her nose over it, and wished for the end of the meeting to come.
At last the day was over, and Katharine was seated in her room with the little package in her lap, and leisure to open it. She untied the strings slowly, thinking of the dear friends who had left it, wondering to herself why the summer could not have lasted longer, and why it was that a winter with its hard work must come.
Difference
The package proved to be made up of several smaller ones. Each of the girls had remembered her with some little parting gift, and the several packages were characteristics of the donors. The first contained a dainty pair of kid gloves, well chosen for the one who was to wear them, and perfect in size, shape, and color. These were from Fannie, who enjoyed pretty clothes so much . Next, a small volume of essays from Mabel, the literary member of the company. From Frances , the needle-worker, a small sachet bag, elaborate in satins of delicate shades and exquisitely painted bolting cloth. It looked like Frances , and the faint, sweet odor of it reminded one of her. Then from Cousin Hetty, a blank book, bound in leather, with pockets in the covers, ample pages dated for each day of the year, and a lovely fountain pen with gold-banded cap. This was to be used as diary, and to be written in every day, so said a note slipped inside the cover. “Keep log notes, you know, Kathie, as they do on shipboard, for us to read next summer when we all come back. And you must put down your real thoughts too – your own original ones – so that we can live your winter over with you next year.”
Katharine curled her lip as she finished reading this note, and her eyes were filled with that gloomy discontent which had shone so plainly all day upon her face. What was there for her to write that the girls would care to live over with her next summer? How would they stand it if they really had to live it with her, or in her place? It was easy enough for them to write pleasant things that happened, and make them interesting, too, with their lives full of boarding school and lectures and concerts, and all sorts of delightfully occupations; but what was she to do? There would be nothing but dishes and ripped-up dresses and dismal prayer meetings for her to write about the whole long winter through. She sighed again as she looked at the pretty things in her lap.
But the treasures were so new and precious that she sat up to examine and enjoy them once more. The sachet bag was admired again, and finally placed in her handkerchief box, carefully guarded by her finest embroidered handkerchief. The gloves were tried on, and fitted perfectly; the volume of essays was glanced into, and found to look really quite interesting. Then came the diary to be written in; for of course she must try the new pen immediately, and the book ought to be started, even if there wasn’t anything to write about. She poised the pen in the air, and drew her forehead together in a thoughtful frown, and then after a few
Prayer meeting seemed the height of dreariness to Katharine tonight. She was never at any time fond of going, and usually got out of it as often as she could. To think of having to sit in that dark little room, where all the lamps smoked and the air smelled strongly of kerosene, and listen to several long prayers and talks by some old men and women! She recoiled from the idea, and thought, as she had done a dozen times that day, of the evening before, and the merry party that had gathered at one of the pleasant homes in the village for a farewell frolic.
The meeting was not quite as dreary as she had pictured it. More were out than usual, and there was a spirit of earnestness in all that was said that would have surprised her if she had not been too much wrapped up in her morbid thoughts to pay any attention to what was going on. But the air was as full of kerosene and dust as she had expected, and she turned up her nose over it, and wished for the end of the meeting to come.
At last the day was over, and Katharine was seated in her room with the little package in her lap, and leisure to open it. She untied the strings slowly, thinking of the dear friends who had left it, wondering to herself why the summer could not have lasted longer, and why it was that a winter with its hard work must come.
Difference
The package proved to be made up of several smaller ones. Each of the girls had remembered her with some little parting gift, and the several packages were characteristics of the donors. The first contained a dainty pair of kid gloves, well chosen for the one who was to wear them, and perfect in size, shape, and color. These were from Fannie, who enjoyed pretty clothes so much . Next, a small volume of essays from Mabel, the literary member of the company. From Frances , the needle-worker, a small sachet bag, elaborate in satins of delicate shades and exquisitely painted bolting cloth. It looked like Frances , and the faint, sweet odor of it reminded one of her. Then from Cousin Hetty, a blank book, bound in leather, with pockets in the covers, ample pages dated for each day of the year, and a lovely fountain pen with gold-banded cap. This was to be used as diary, and to be written in every day, so said a note slipped inside the cover. “Keep log notes, you know, Kathie, as they do on shipboard, for us to read next summer when we all come back. And you must put down your real thoughts too – your own original ones – so that we can live your winter over with you next year.”
Katharine curled her lip as she finished reading this note, and her eyes were filled with that gloomy discontent which had shone so plainly all day upon her face. What was there for her to write that the girls would care to live over with her next summer? How would they stand it if they really had to live it with her, or in her place? It was easy enough for them to write pleasant things that happened, and make them interesting, too, with their lives full of boarding school and lectures and concerts, and all sorts of delightfully occupations; but what was she to do? There would be nothing but dishes and ripped-up dresses and dismal prayer meetings for her to write about the whole long winter through. She sighed again as she looked at the pretty things in her lap.
But the treasures were so new and precious that she sat up to examine and enjoy them once more. The sachet bag was admired again, and finally placed in her handkerchief box, carefully guarded by her finest embroidered handkerchief. The gloves were tried on, and fitted perfectly; the volume of essays was glanced into, and found to look really quite interesting. Then came the diary to be written in; for of course she must try the new pen immediately, and the book ought to be started, even if there wasn’t anything to write about. She poised the pen in the air, and drew her forehead together in a thoughtful frown, and then after a few
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