On the whole, Ester’s home coming was pleasant.  To be sure it was a wonderful change from her late life; and there was perhaps just the faintest bit of a sigh as she drew off her dainty cuffs and prepared to wipe the dishes which Sadie washed, while Maggie finished her interrupted ironing.  What would John, the stylish waiter at Uncle Ralph’s, think if he could see her now, and how funny Abbie would look engaged in such employment; but Sadie looked so bright and relieved and rested, and chatted so gayly, that presently Ester gave another little sigh and said: 

“Poor Abbie! how very, very lonely she must be to-night.  I wish she were here for you to cheer her, Sadie.”

Later, while she dipped into the flour preparatory to relieving Sadie of her fearful task of sponge setting, the kitchen clock struck seven.  This time she laughed at the contrast.  They were just going down to dinner now at Uncle Ralph’s.  Only night before last she was there herself.  She had been out that day with Aunt Helen, and so was attired in the lovely blue silk and the real laces, which were Aunt Helen’s gift, fastened at the throat by a tiny pearl, Abbie’s last offering.  Now they were sitting down to dinner without her, and she was in the great pantry five hundred miles away, a long, wide calico apron quite covering up her traveling dress, sleeves rolled above her elbows, and engaged in scooping flour out of the barrel into her great wooden bowl!  But then how her mother’s weary, careworn face had brightened, and glowed into pleased surprise as she caught the first glimpse of her; how lovingly she had folded her in those dear motherly arms, and said, actually with lips all a tremble:  “My dear daughter! what an unexpected blessing, and what a kind providence, that you have come just now.”  Then Alfred and Julia had been as eager and jubilant in their greeting as though Ester had been always to them the very perfection of a sister; and hadn’t little Minie crumpled her dainty collar into an unsightly rag, and given her “Scotch kisses,” and “Dutch kisses,” and “Yankee kisses,” and genuine, sweet baby kisses, in her uncontrollable glee over dear “Auntie Essie.”

And besides, oh besides! this Ester Ried who had come home was not the Ester Ried who had gone out from them only two months ago.  A whole lifetime of experience and discipline seemed to her to have been crowded into those two months.  Nothing of her past awakened more keen regret in this young girl’s heart than the thought of her undutiful, unsisterly life.  It was all to be different now.  She thanked God that he had let her come back to that very kitchen and dining-room to undo her former work.  The old sluggish, selfish spirit had gone from her.  Before this every thing had been done for Ester Ried, now it was to be done for Christ—­every thing, even the mixing up of that flour and water; for was not the word given:  “Whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God?” How broad that word was, “whatsoever.”  Why that covered every movement—­yes, and every word.  How could life have seemed to her dull and uninteresting and profitless?