It’s becoming difficult to find serials in the Church magazines that we haven’t already read, or that aren’t — like this one — so antique that they don’t give quite the same pleasure we’ve found in other serials. Still, it’s a hard habit to break, so here’s Chapter 1 of an old serial …

From the Improvement Era, 1914 –

A Righteous Woman’s Recompense

By Lella Marler Hoggan

Chapter 1: The Divine Touch

“Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s delicious breath! When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death.”

“And you’re really going away, Willard, to be gone all winter?” asked Ethel, for the third time.

“Yes,” he laughed, “aren’t you sorry to see me go?” “Yes,” hesitated Ethel, “I’m sorry, and I’m glad. We shall all miss you, of course; but a year at school will mean so much to you, that we are willing to forego the pleasure of your society for the winter.”

“A year isn’t much,” he meditated. “Just enough to rub a little of the rust off that’s been accumulating- for the past four years. I had hoped to be able to go last year, but Jim left for his mission in the spring and father was sick all fall, and that put us late with the crops. We are fortunate this fall in getting through so early.”

“More good management, than good luck, I guess,” laughed Ethel. “You’ve certainly earned a vacation. But, Willard, what have you been doing, you don’t look just like yourself?”

“Had a hair cut— the first one this summer,” he said quietly. “Oh, you foolish fellow! I’m in earnest. You really do look different, tonight.”

“It’s the moon,” he said nonsensically. “Things always look different in the moonlight.”

“Always,” she reiterated, catching the note of humor in his voice. “Such a night as this is capable of almost any transformation. I feel like a child of ten, myself.”

“I can’t tell you how I feel,’ Ethel. My heart is so full of joy tonight, that I can’t find words to express my feelings.”

“I believe your joy is contagious,” she smiled, “even the night birds are calling jokes to each other.”

“That hoot owl, for instance,” he retorted. “Poor, melancholy, old fellow! He has caught your spirit of ridicule, and is trymg to jeer me out of my joy. But you’re both failing utterly I feel more joyous every moment. If I were only a boy of ten'” he mused, “only a boy of ten.”

She did not reply. She pulled a few crimson leaves from the tangle of vines on the porch and slowly tore them to bits. The big, handsome man arose from the porch steps and shook himself, and walked slowly down to the gate.

“If I were only a boy of ten,” he repeated to himself, “then I could tell her. But I am not.” His strong face was set in lines of determination. He stood silent. The harvest moon moved along its path of light. Some little animal scurried through the dead leaves. He bowed his head upon his arm, as he leaned against the gate post.

“Dear God,” he whispered.”You know how it is. Save her if you can. But however it goes, help me to be a man.”

He walked slowly back and sat down on the steps.

“Harvest moon, isn’t it?” he said, simply. Ethel replied by asking some question concerning his school, whereupon the conversation drifted at once into a pleasant channel again. His face glowed with animation as he told her of his plans. Many little pleasantries passed between them, and the evening came to a close all too soon.

Ethel said good bye in her own frank, sweet manner, wishing him success in his work. Willard clasped her hand firmly, and replied to her good wishes with his usual whole-souled gladness. He turned to go — hesitated a moment — and then taking both her hands in his, he stooped and kissed them tenderly.

Ethel stood silent in astonishment. Had he asked her to wait for him she would not have been surprised. Had he kissed her in his usual frank manner she would not have wondered; but for Willard Taylor, so plain, and unconventional, and so altogether void of sentimental folly, to kiss her hands, seemed almost ludicrous. For a moment she was tempted to laugh outright. But she did not laugh. A strange, new joy was surging through her whole being. She clasped her hands together, she pressed them to her lips. She closed her eyes and recalled it all again, and again. That this big, clean, generous man, — who had been her play fellow since she was a child, — had reverentlly stooped and kissed her hands, was not a thing to be laughed at. She would cherish it in her memory, forever. Her pulses throbbed. Every fibre of her fresh young womanhood answered to the call of virtuous manhood that had been sent thrilling through her being by that sacred kiss. It was but a prophecy of all the blessings God held in store for her. She would keep her mind and body pure and sweet, in order that that prophecy might be completely fulfilled.

Perhaps there is no woman in the world who does not at some time in her life, feel the divine touch in her heart. It may be a picture or a bit of song, or a bird’s call in the twilight, or a cloud kissing a purple mountain at dawn. Whatever it is, it touches her heart with a strange thrill, as if a divine hand were upon her. For one holy moment, it is as if the curtains of eternity had been rent asunder and all things stood revealed. And then it is gone and she is on the earth again, and she remembers only the picture, or the song, or the painted landscape. But in her heart she knows that something has happened, somewhere, before the world was, and all unconsciously, she prays that it may happen again.

Ethel Barton had felt that divine touch, and though she could not explain it to herself, she felt that this night had revealed her comrade and old play fellow in a new light. And that he was to help her in the working out of her destiny here in the earth life.

And not until the next day did it dawn upon Ethel, that Willard Taylor had not in any way avowed himself her suitor. He had spoken no words of love to her. He had not even asked her to write to him. A mingled feeling of disappointment and wonder filled her heart. What did he mean? Willard was too honest to deceive any woman, of that she was certain, but if he held her sacredly in his heart, why had he not bound her by some promise, to be true to him? Why he had not done so, she could not tell. . However, she would sacredly cherish the beautiful token that stood between them; it was more than a mere good bye.

And even as she vowed in her heart to be true to him, a shadow fell across her path, a light footstep was on the graveled walk, and looking up she encountered a stranger — a gentleman of refinement and polish, different from any man she had ever met before. In answer to his inquiry she directed him to the home of Mr. Johnson, one of the village school trustees. The stranger’s deep, soft accent, his cultured speech, and his easy, graceful manner, together wtih the fact that he was in search of the clerk of the school board, confirmed to Ethel the fact that he was the new professor, who was to be principal of the school for the coming year.

“Oh, fudge! Men are all alike,” retorted Cecil Miller. “I wouldn’t marry the best man on earth, unless he were handsome and wealthy.”

“And gave you the opportunity,” added Florence Lindsay.

“Opportunity?” ejaculated Cecil. “We make our own opportunities in this world. I think we can have anything we want,
if we are willing to wait for it and pay the price, when it comes.”‘

“Right you are,” laughed Ethel Barton. “Cecil is forever in some good man’s shadow. Emerson — this time, isn’t it? ‘What will you have?’ quoth God, ‘pay for it and take it.’ I think she is fonder of the men who have become great and gone to heaven, than she is of the poor fellows struggling along here in the earth.”

“Oh, I don’t object to a man in a book,” confirmed Cecil, “they don’t have to be fed nor fussed over every half hour in the day. But when I undertake to cook for a reality, and do his washing, and mending, and housekeeping, and raise soldiers and senators for him, as a side issue, — believe me, I intend to look into his financial affairs first.”

“Yes,” drawled Florence Lindsay, “but if you find a man who is wealthv and handsome, take my word for it, he’ll be mean and grouchy.”

“I don’t know,” mused Cecil, “but I think if one should look long enough, and hard enough, the thing is possible. I really do believe we can get almost anything we desire in life, if we are willing to pay the price.”

“Yes, but the thines that we want the most are generally too expensive,” remarked Florence Lindsay.

“Then you don’t want them very badly,” asserted Cecil. “Anything that isn’t worth paying for, isn’t worth having.”

For a moment there was silence in the room, and all seemed to be intent upon their work. The Girls’ Literary Club had held their meeting at Florence Lindsay’s home. Having been previously invited to remain to supper, they had supplied themselves with art needle work and were spending the intervening time between literary work and supper in pleasant work and a little jolly gossip.

Ethel Barton broke the silence. “Well, Florence,” she said, sweetly, “let us not turn this into a Quakers’ meeting. I’m getting sleepy.”

“I was trying to tell you about our new professor,” Florence replied, “but Cecil interrupted me with her extravagant notions of marriage.”

“I humbly beg your pardon,” said Cecil, in mock gravity. “I am indeed full of regrets to know that I spoiled so good a story. By all means continue the tale of woe.”

“Yes, indeed, we all want to hear more about him,” urged several of the girls.

“And if Cecil interrupts you again,” suggested Ethel Barton, “we shall appoint a sergeant-at-arms to escort her to the front porch until the story is finished.”

“I shall be as dumb as a deaf hermit,” vowed Cecil, nonsensically, at the same time placing her fingers over her lips with
studied seriousness.

“Is he handsome?” “How old is he?” “Where is he from?” “Is he married?” “Is he sweet tempered or is he grouchy?” And thus the girls babbled on, asking questions too rapidly to be answered, until Ethel Barton interrupted them with, “Ladies. I believe Florence Lindsay has the floor. The chair will now hear from Miss Lindsay.” And without further consideration Florence continued her report of the new professor.

“Of course he is unmarried,” remarked Florence, “or I should not be telling you anything about him. He isn’t as young and handsome as some men I have known, but he is altogether lovely. I am sure you will all admire him as soon as you see him. He is rather quiet and serious and tender and kind and — well — I can’t tell just how he is, only he is just right. When you are around where he is you feel as if you had to be awfully nice and sweet and quiet. He is so different from most men, that one is almost tempted to fall in love with him at first sight.”

“I’m afraid,” drawled Cecil Miller, in an aggravating tone, “that the sergeant-at-arms will have to escort me to the front porch.”

Ethel Barton, who had assumed the responsibility of chairman arose quietly and with mock dignity appointed a sergeant-at-arms to escort Cecil to the porch. After a little more nonsense and laughter Florence continued:

“Of course, Mr. Gordon doesn’t belong to our church; indeed, I do not think he belongs to anv church, judging from the way he spoke to father last night. But I’m sure he’s a perfect gentleman and mother says you can tell from his looks that he is a good man. Anyway, girls, I’m sure you will think he is the nicest fellow you ever met, when you do see him.”

“Has the tale ended?” called Cecil from the porch. “I’ve lost n-ry thimble and I shall have to come in to find it.”

“I guess that’s the end, Cecil, for I can hear mother and Louise calling the boys to supper,” answered Florence.

Just then Mrs. Lindsay appeared in the doorway, and embroidery hooks and bits of work were hurriedly tucked into leather bags as the girls arose and stretched themselves and peeped into the several mirrors about the room to adjust their
combs and curls.

“Where is Mr. Gordon?” asked Father Lindsay, as they all seated themselves at the table.

“He went down by the river for a drive, after school,” answered Mrs. Lindsay, “and he has not yet returned.”

“He said he would be back in an hour,” muttered Florence, impatiently.

“You ought to have told him that Floss had company, Ma, and probably he’d have made it in time for supper,” suggested Mr. Lindsay, jokingly.

“It is certainly too bad you didn’t tell him, Mrs. Lindsay,” said Cecil, mischievously. “I’m afraid we’re all so disappointed that we shall not be able to eat any suoper,” whereupon she assisted herself to a generous helping of chicken.

“Oh well, he will be here before the girls leave, anyway,” spoke Mrs. Lindsay assuringly.

They all laughed and chatted and ate heartily, as girls usually do at a good old-fashioned country supper; but although the meal was somewhat prolonged Mrs. Lindsay’s new boarder did not appear. And shortly after supper the girls returned home laughing and chattering and joking half seriously about their disappointment at not meeting the new professor.

The girls had all gone except Ethel Barton. She lived two miles out of town and could not go until her brother called for her. And as the minutes lengthened into half hours she became more and more impatient.

“Something must be wrong,” she ejaculated. “If he isn’t here soon I shall not wait. It will not take me long to walk out home.”

“You couldn’t think of walking tonight, Ethel,” objected Mr. Lindsay. “The wind is blowing and I’m afraid it’s going to be a pretty rough night. If George doesn’t get here soon, you’ll have to wait till Gordon comes with the horse and let Parley take you out.”

“Oh, I cannot wait much longer,” said Ethel, emphatically. “I would sooner walk than to drive — after dark, anyway.”

The truth of the matter was, Ethel did not fear the drive as much as she feared that Gordon would arrive and find her still there, waiting to meet him, as it were. The thought maddened her; he must not see her tonight. She did not want to meet him.

But before Mr. Gordon reached the place a neighbor called in to say that Ned Barton had had an accident and would not be coming for his sister.

“I knew something was wrong,” reiterated Ethel. “Is it anything serious, Mr. Johnson?”

“I do not think so,” he said, assuringly. “I didn’t see Ned. Your father said he’d had a little accident and could not come for you tonight. And he asked me to call and tell you.”

The Lindsays insisted on Ethel remaining over night, but she positively refused.

“No,” she said, “Aunt Lucy doesn’t feel well, and now that Ned is hurt she will need me. Besides, I could not content myself to stay without knowing more about the accident.

In her sympathy for her brother, Ethel had forgotten Mr. Gordon, but even as they spoke she heard the wheels of a vehicle in the back yard and she knew that at last he had come.

Mr. Lindsay heard the wheels, too, and he called to Mr. Gordon not to unhitch, as they wished to use the horse.

For a moment there was a pause and all was quiet, save a little flutter of dishes in the kitchen, as Mrs. Lindsay prepared the table for her boarder. And then Ethel Barton stood face to face with Prof. Eugene Gordon.

Of course, a formal introduction was made and some commonplace things were said, none of which Ethel remembered.

As for Gordon, he only knew that he had met a pure, beautiful woman. He heard Mr. Lindsay’s explanations as to Ethel’s
predicament and at once settled all difficulties by emphatically announcing that he would drive out to Miss Barton’s with her. He had been to supper, so they immediately departed. Gordon tried to be an agreeable companion, but they were both in a meditative frame of mind, and so conversation lagged. And more than once they found themselves silently watching the stars and listening to the wind as it rushed through the trees along the lane and galloped across the open fields in high glee.

When she thanked him at the door for his kindness, he said the pleasure was all his, and he hoped she would some dav let him come in daylight so he could see her pretty home to advantage.

“It is beautiful in daylight,” she replied looking at the hedge and the vine tangled porch, “and we shall all be glad to have you come when you wish.”

And although they were both thinking about it, neither of them mentioned the fact that Prof. Gordon had already seen her home in daylight.

“I must not keep you from your brother,” he finally said. “I know you are anxious to be with him.” He took her hand lightly in his and bowed low, — for a moment she feared he was going to kiss her hand,— but no, he had raised his hat and was moving gracefully towards the gate. For a moment she contemplated his fine, symmetrical figure, his polished manners, his deep soft accents, his cultured face, his soft white hands – when lo, before her, lounging on the porch steps she could see a big, plain man. “Had a hair cut — the first one this summer,” he was saying— and again— “If I were only a boy of ten.”

Ethel did not hear the front porch gate snap shut, nor did she hear the sound of a horse’s hoofs as Prof. Gordon drove down the long lane and out into the public road. She was held in the power of the divine touch. And all the sweetness of her fresh young womanhood went out to the man, who in memory, was reverently kissing her hands. She could not measure his manhood by his beauty, his polished manners, nor his cultured speech; for his was the manliness of virtue, of reverence, of power.

Although Ned Barton was not seriously in hired, still he was badly bruised, and was compelled to keep to his bed for several weeks. But brave-hearted Ethel Barton made no complaint. She remained at home quietly, nursing her brother, assisting Aunt Lucy, her sten-mother. and comforting and helning her father and her younger brothers and sisters. And all the while her heart was full of glad dreams and happy plans for the future. It was during those long- autumn days at home that her father and step-mother told her of her dear, dead mother, who had passed away while Ethel was but a baby; and of her early life with her grandmother; and of many other experiences of which she had never before spoken freely with them. And although her time was so completely occupied with her home folks and home duties, still she did not complain. She would often tell Ned, jokingly, that it was a good thing he had been ill for a while, for it had given them all an opportunity of becoming acquainted, for the first time in their lives. She had been to town onlv a few times but she had met Prof. Gordon on almost every occasion. Once he hid sent a roll of magazines out to her father, again he had loaned her a choice book, and at their last meeting, he had insisted on her taking out some new musical selections, which he wanted her to assist him in presenting in a school- concert, later in the vear. All of these little courtesies coming from a man of his type and standing in the community gave Ethel a keen sense of pleasure. And although town gossip had informed her that he was the avowed escort of Florence Lindsay, still she felt a little thrill of triumph when he repeatedly bestowed his little remembrances upon her.

Finally, however, Ned was himself again, and Ethel’s usual pleasures and duties were taken up with fresh enthusiasm. She and Ned had been invited to an evening social at the home of Cecil Miller and she had been requested to bring her music. She was carefully selecting a few titles she thought most appropriate for the evening”, when Ned came bounding in from school.

“Here’s a letter from Willard Tavlor,” he announced; “shall I read it first?”

“No. thank you,” she smiled, “I think I can find time to read it myself.” She took the letter from his hand and smiled again as she recognized the handwriting — strong and plain, but still somewhat of a scrawl. Tt was a jolly school letter, telling of his work and his fun and asking all about the affairs at home. At supper time she read it aloud to the family — all save the post script — that was sacred to her, for it read, — “Don’t forget that night under the harvest moon.”

They were a little hte for the party but Cecil greeted them heartily as she met them in the hall.

“I am so glad you have come. We were afraid you were not coming: and we have been needing von so badly.”

“You are not going to put me to work so soon, are you?” laughed Ethel.

“I shall have to,” persisted Cecil in desperation. “Neither Lucy nor George are here yet. and Florence brought only one piece of music.”

“Oh, you’re a treasure, Ethel!” she ejaculated, picking up the scroll of music that Ethel had tucked behind a potted palm. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me.”

The guests greeted Ethel cordially and at once began bombarding her with jests, for her long absence from them.

“You need not desert us completely,” teased Fred Brown, “just because Willard Taylor has.”

“You can see that she’s guilty,” added another, not giving her time to answer.

“Yes, I’m guilty of anything, everything, only, don’t all attack me at once,” laughed Ethel, glad to hide her blushes under the pretext of confusion.

When they were quiet Roy Hardy asked in an exasperating tone, “Well, Ethel, how is Willard, anyway?”

“He is feeling fine and enjoying his work,” ‘he said in an unconcerned tone; “I had a letter from him today.”

Prof. Gordon moved uneasily in his chair. Florence Lindsay noticed it with a little pang of bitterness. But she lifted herself to the occasion and asked Ethel to sing for them. Ethel was glad to turn their thoughts to other channels, for it pained her to hear Willard’s name spoken so lightly by her friends. He was not just the comrade of old; for she could never again forget that night under the harvest moon.

But she played and sang and acted like her dear, charming self, and no one knew that pretty Ethel Barton had found a new world.

Prof. Gordon entered into the games cheerfully but he was somewhat more reserved and quiet than usual.

Cecil Miller was a charming hostess and as usual was refreshingly humorous. After serving delicious refreshments she insisted on her guests remaining for a few games she had provided.

Ethel begged to be excused as she had promised to bring Ned home early, and Prof. Gordon declined to play, saying he would watch the games. But as soon as Ethel left the room the games lost their interest for him, and he went in search of her.

He found her in the dining room waiting for her brother to finish a game of checkers with Frank Miller.

“Miss Barton,” he said, lightly touching her arm, “you are not going home, now?”

“As soon as Ned finishes this game,” she replied, pleasantly.

But I must speak with you one mom ent first,” he whispered. “Will you kindly step into Dr. Miner’s study for just a moment?”

Yes,” she replied, and under the spell of his magnetic personality, she turned and followed him into the study.

“Little woman,” he said, gravely, as soon as they were alone in the room, “how long are you going to make me wait for that promised visit with you at your home?”

“It is you who is waiting,” she laughed. “I told you long ago you might come.”

“That was whsn your brother was ill. That wis an age ago.”

Ethel smiled but moved uneasily toward the door.

“If it is not impertinent, Miss Barton,” he pursued, “there is one question I would like to ask you before I come.”

“Certainly, Prof. Gordon.”

“Who is Willard Taylor?”

Ethel’s heart fluttered at his unexpected question, but she calmly replied:

“My school fellow and comrade since I was a little girl of ten.”

“And where is he, now?”

“He is away this winter,” she said simply, “attending school.”

“And now,” he said, with a satisfied smile, “if you forgive my inquisitiveness, I’m going to make that date.”

Ethel turned, half uneasily, toward the door.

“Yes, Miss Barton,” he preceded her, “you must go now. And you will let me come out to your home to see you?”

“We shall be glad to see you.”

“And you will not mind if I come soon?”

“No.”

“Very soon?”

“Tomorrow, if you like.”

“Thank you, little woman, and God bless you,” he said;
“good night.””

He was holding her hand, and looking tenderly into her eyes.

“Good night,” she said.

And then Prof. Gordon joined the guests in the reception room and Ethel Barton rode home with her brother under the radiant moon, in the cold, beautiful night.

(To be continued)