For a couple of weeks, or perhaps a little longer we lingered on in our quiet retreat, every hour blissful with its evidence of returning strength. Gordon spoke often of Harold, but always now with a sweet trustfulness that was beautiful to see; I really believe God made him well by touching his spirit with the calm of a childlike faith. It was a miracle, I have never ceased to think, let the critics say what they will. And as his strength came back his heart began to turn wistfully towards his work; I really don't believe any one ever knew how much he loved St. Andrew's, and had loved it all through the years.
I protested against his returning, but in vain. So it was all arranged that we were to start home on the following Monday. The evening before, Gordon preached for a clergyman whose acquaintance he had formed, the minister of a little Methodist church not far away. I was there, of course; and the sermon was one of the noblest I ever heard Gordon give. It was from the words: "Casting all your care upon Him," and I know every listener felt that the message was heaven-born.
After the service was finished I was going down the aisle alone, when suddenly I heard some one pronounce my name.
"Miss Helen!" said the voice, and bygone years rolled back upon me at the tone.
I swung around, wildly excited. It was a voice from home. "Mr. Slocum!" I cried, so loud that everybody stood still and looked at me; "Frank Slocum!--Oh, Frank!" and I stood gasping in the aisle. It was one of the friends of my early girlhood--the same who had been my escort to the ball that far departed night when we had first discussed the Presbytery, and the attic guest it was to bring us.
"I wa'n't right sure," he began, rosy as the dawn; "but some one told me the preacher was Mr. Laird--then I knew you were Mrs. Laird."
"Oh, Frank!" I cried, "please call me Helen," for the music of it was refreshing; "come away--come, and go home with me and Gordon."
I believe Gordon enjoyed that evening with Frank quite as much as I, which is saying a good deal. He said afterwards that I reminded him of a child running hither and thither through a flower-strewn glade, plucking whatever her hands could reach. Thus did I gather news from Frank. My questions rained in on him from every point of the compass, leaping from one subject to another like a peewee on the shore. (That's a kind of witches' dance in metaphors, I know, but they all mean the same thing anyhow.) I cross-questioned Frank about everything and everybody, while Gordon sat listening with an amused expression on his face. Particularly did I put him through his facings about my old schoolgirl friends. The first question, without exception, was as to how many children they had--till this became so chronic that Frank would begin with this himself, not waiting to be asked. It saddened me some to learn that several of them had twice as many as I. One old friend, Sadie Henderson, had exactly three times as many--but two of them came at once, so that they didn't really count. Others, moreover, had none at all, which brought Gordon and me pretty well up on the average.