Nov. 7. At home once more after an absence
of three years; but home is changed. There
used to be a feeling of mother's presence everywhere
about the house, even if she were in the
remotest room; but now, Susannah and Priscilla
are wearing her apparel, and as they go in and
out, and I catch a glimpse of the soft
dove-coloured folds of the dresses, I look up with a
start, half in hope of seeing my mother's face
again. They are much older than I am, for
Priscilla was ten years of age when I was born,
and Susannah is three years older than Priscilla.
They are very grave and serious, and it is well
known, even in Germany, how religious they
are. I suppose by the time I am as old as they
are, I shall be the same.

I wonder if my father ever felt like a child;
he looks as if he had lived for centuries. Last
night I could not venture to look too closely into
his face; but to-day I can see a very kind and
peaceful expression underlying all the wrinkles
and lines of care. In his soul there is a calm
serene depth which no tempest can touch. That
is plain. He is a good man, I know, though his
goodness was not talked about at school, as was
Susannah's and Priscilla's. When the coach set
me down at the door, and he ran out into the
street bareheaded, and took me at once into his
arms, carrying me like a little child into our
home, all my sorrow upon leaving my school-fellows,
and the sisters, and our pastor, vanished
away in the joy of being with him. God helping
me—and surely he will help me to do this—I
will be a comfort to my father.

The house is very different to what it was in
my mother's time. The rooms look gloomy, for
the walls are damp and mildewed, and the carpets
are worn threadbare. It seems as if my sister
had taken no pride in household matters. To
be sure Priscilla is betrothed to one of the
brethren, who dwells in Woodbury, about ten
miles from here. She told me last night what a
beautiful house he had, and how it was furnished
with more luxury and costliness than our people
often care for, inasmuch as we do not seek
worldly show. She also displayed the fine linen
she has been preparing for herself, with store of
dresses, both in silks and stuffs. They looked so
grand, spread out upon the poor furniture of our
chamber, that I could not help but cast up in
my own mind what the cost would be, and I
inquired how my father's business prospered: at
which Priscilla coloured, but Susannah uttered a
low deep groan, which was answer enough.

This morning I unpacked my trunk, and gave
a letter from the church to each of my sisters.
It was to make known to them that Brother
Schmidt, a missionary in the West Indies, desires
that a fitting wife should be chosen for him by
casting of lots, and sent out to him. Several of
the single sisters in our settlement have given in
their names, and such is the repute of Susannah
and Priscilla, that they are notified of the
application, that they may do likewise. Of course
Priscilla, being already betrothed, has no thought
of doing so; but Susannah has been deep in
meditation all day, and now she is sitting opposite
to me, pale and solemn, her brown hair, in
which I can detect a silver thread or two, braided
closely down her thin cheeks; but as she writes,
a faint blush steals over her face, as if she were
listening to Brother Schmidt, whom she has
never seen, and whose voice she never heard.
She has written her name—I can read it,
"Susannah Fielding"—in her clear round steady
hand, and it will be put into the lot with many
others, from among which one will be drawn out,
and the name written thereon will be that of
Brother Schmidt's appointed wife.

Nov. 9. Only two days at home; but what a
change there is in me. My brain is all confusion,
and it might be a hundred years since I left
school. This morning two strangers came to the
house, demanding to see my father. They were
rough hard men, whose voices sounded into my
father's office, where he was busy writing, while
I sat beside the fire, engaged in household sewing.
I looked up at the loud noise of their voices,
and saw him turn deadly pale, and bow his
white-haired head upon his hands. But he went out
in an instant, and returning with the strangers,
bade me go to my sisters. I found Susannah in
the parlour, looking scared and bewildered, and
Priscilla in hysterics. After much ado they
grew calmer, and when Priscilla was lying quiet
on the sofa, and Susannah had sat down in
mother's arm-chair to meditate, I crept back to
my father's office, and rapping softly at the door,
heard him say, "Come in." He was alone, and
very sad.

"Father," I asked, "what is the matter?" and
seeing his dear kind face, I flew to him.

"Eunice," he whispered very tenderly, "I
will tell you all."

So then as I knelt at his knee, with my eyes
fastened upon his, he told me a long history of
troubles, every word of which removed my school-days
farther and farther from me, and made them
seem like the close of a finished life. The end of
all was that these men were sent by his creditors
to take possession of everything in our old home,
where my mother had lived and died.

I caught my breath at first, as if I should go
into hysterics like Priscilla, but I thought what
good would that do for my father? So after a
minute or two I was able to look up again
bravely into his eyes. He then said he had his
books to examine, so I kissed him, and came
away.

In the parlour Priscilla was lying still, with
her eyelids closed, and Susannah was quite lost
in meditation. Neither of them noticed me
entering or departing. I went into the kitchen
to consult Jane about my father's dinner. She
was rocking herself upon a chair, and rubbing
her eyes red with her rough apron; and there in
the elbow-chair which once belonged to my
grandfather—all the Brethren knew George
Fielding—sat one of the strangers, wearing a
shaggy brown hat, from under which he was