Following heavenward

CHAPTER IX.

"TREMENDOUS FACTS!"

IT is well that Mrs. Marion Dennis felt entirely safe in her friend Flossy's hands, for her affairs were very thoroughly talked over that evening, and sundry conclusions arrived at.

One question Mrs. Roberts asked her husband, at the close of the conference, which apparently had nothing to do with Marion Dennis's affairs.

"Evan, do you know Dr. Everett?"

"Everett? Let me think—yes, I know of him; a young physician, comparatively, who has not been here long, and has made his mark."

"In what direction?"

"Several, perhaps; but I have heard of him chiefly in the line of his profession. He was accidentally called to attend a young lady belonging to a very wealthy family out in Brookline. I say accidentally—that is a common way we have of speaking, you know; of course I mean providentially.

"The nursery governess in the family was sick, and this Dr. Everett, who had fallen in with her somewhere, volunteered to cure her. He was calling on her one morning when the sick daughter, who, by the way, had been given up by her physician, was taken suddenly and alarmingly worse. In the emergency Dr. Everett was summoned, and while they waited for the regular physician, he succeeded in doing such good service that he inspired the mother with confidence. She became anxious to put the case entirely into his hands, which was done, and the young lady recovered, and Dr. Everett's position, professionally, was assured. Isn't that an interesting little item for you? He is said to have marked success; and, of course, since the Brookline occurrence his practice is largely among the wealthy. How has your attention been called to him?"

"My protector this morning said he was a 'swell' doctor, who was attending that Calkins boy. I wondered if he did it because he loved Christ. He might be a helper. I wait to call on that sick boy to-morrow if I can arrange it. I think I must take some one with me."

"You may take me with you," her husband said emphatically.

However much trips through alleys with Nimble Dick might be conducive to that young man's moral development, Mr. Roberts felt that his wife had experimented sufficiently.

Thus it transpired that, dressed in the plainest, quietest garb which her wardrobe could furnish, Mrs. Roberts went to the alley the next morning accompanied by her husband.

In one sense it was a mistake that the first call in the alley should have been made on the Calkins family. It was calculated to give Mrs. Roberts mistaken ideas as to the manner in which poor people lived. A bare enough room, certainly, not even a bit of carpet laid before the bed, but it was a clean room. Floor and window and cupboard door were as clean as water could make them; and the bed, while it looked hopelessly hard and dreadful to Mrs. Roberts, was really a pattern of neatness and purity to every dweller in that attic. There was a straw tick, covered with a dark calico spread which did duty as a sheet, and the boy who lay on it was covered by a patched quilt that had been mended, and was clean. Wonderful things these to say of such a locality!

Mr. Roberts suspected it, and Dr. Everett knew it. That gentleman was bending over his patient when the two guests arrived, and vouchsafed them not even a glance while the dark-haired, dark-eyed, homely, decently dressed girl gave Mrs. Roberts a seat on the one chair which the room contained, and set a stool for her husband that had been made of four old chair legs and a square board.

Sallie Calkins was somewhat flurried by this unexpected call. She had no idea who the people were, nor for what they had come. A vague fear that they might be in some way connected with her brother's "place" at the printing-office, which he was in such fear of losing that his night had been a restless one, made her hasten to say, in a tremulous voice,—

"The doctor thinks he will be well in a little while. It isn't a bad break, he says, and Mark wants to keep his place. He thinks, maybe, some of the alley boys would keep it for him, if you would be so kind."

She was evidently addressing Mr. Roberts, but she looked at Flossy. The fair, sweet face, that gave her such sympathetic glances, seemed the one to appeal to. Mr. Roberts, however, discerned that he was mistaken for the employer, and immediately dispelled the idea by asking where the boy worked, and how the accident had happened.

"It was the elevator, sir," she said eagerly. "The chain broke, and it went down with a bang, and Mark was on it, and he rolled off somehow, he doesn't know how; and he has been that bad that he couldn't tell me if he had. He was kind of wild, sir, all night, and talking about his place."

"Was there no one but you to be with him during the night?" Mrs. Roberts asked. "Where is the mother?"

"We've got no mother, ma'am; there is only Mark and me—and father," she added, after a doubtful pause. "But father was not at home last night. Oh, I didn't need no one to take care of Mark. I wouldn't have left him."

"And he likes to have you take care of him, I am sure. What do you give him to eat? He will need nourishing food, I think—beef teas and broths, and nice little tempting dishes made with milk, perhaps. Are you his cook, too? I wonder if you wouldn't like to have me show you how to make good things for him? I've learned how to make some nice dishes that sick people like."

Before the bewildered girl could answer, the doctor turned abruptly from his long examination of his patient, and gave the guests the first attention he had vouchsafed them. The truth was, this man had had some unfortunate experiences with district visitors, and had perhaps an unreasonable prejudice against them as a class.

"I can't help it, ma'am," he said to Mrs. Saunders, when she was taking him to task one day. "There are exceptions, of course, at least we will hope there are; but if you had seen some of my specimens, you would be the first to wish an infusion of common sense could be introduced among them. As a rule, they offer a tract where they should give a loaf of bread or a bowl of broth, and wedge their advice and reproofs in with every helpful movement. It is like so many doses of medicine to the patient—to be endured because he is at their mercy, and can't help himself. They mean well, the most of them; but the trouble is, we have a way of making district visitors out of people who have nothing to do, and who have never learned that 'all the nations of the earth were made of one blood.'"

Something in Mrs. Roberts's tones or words seemed to interest him, and he turned toward her.

"Does this alley belong to you?" he asked abruptly, his mind still full of the district visitor.

She regarded him with a puzzled air for a moment, then answered naïvely,—

"I don't think it does; if it did, I would have some things ever so different."

Dr. Everett laughed; and Mr. Roberts came forward and introduced himself.

"My wife has hardly answered you fully," he said. "I am under the impression that she desires to adopt a certain portion of this alley—at least I have heard of little else since last Sabbath afternoon. She is in search of some stray sheep who have been put under her care."

"Ah," the doctor said, turning quickly to her, "a Sabbath school teacher? Is this young man one of your scholars?"

No, she explained; but she had heard of him while inquiring where one of her boys lived, and she had called to see if she could help in any way. Dirk Colson was the boy, who, they told her lived near this place.

The eyes of the trim sister brightened.

"He lives in the next square," she said. "O, ma'am, are you his teacher, and do you care for him? I'm so glad."

"He is a favourite of yours, is he?" the doctor asked, looking from one speaking face to another, and seeming immensely interested in the matter.

"No, indeed!" the girl said quickly. "He's horrid! But I'm sorry for his sister; and she wants Dirk to get on, and he never does get on. But I thought maybe such a kind of a teacher could help him."

There was such intense and genuine admiration in the girl's voice for the vision of loveliness before her, that Dr. Everett could not help smiling.

"It doesn't seem unlikely," said he with significance; and added, "Who is this Dirk Colson who seems to be an object of interest?"

"He is one of the worst boys in the alley, sir; sometimes I think he is the very worst, because he is cross as well as hateful. But Mark is always kind of sorry for him, and says he has such a bad father, he can't help it. And Mart—that's his sister—she is a friend of mine, and she feels bad about Dirk, but she can't do nothing; he ain't a bit like Mark there."

The last words were spoken tenderly, and the sisterly eyes turned toward the boy on the bed, and obeying a sign from his eyes she went over to him. The doctor plied his questions,—

"Rave you recently taken a class, madam? And is their general reputation as encouraging as this special scamp of whom we are hearing?"

His words almost jarred on Mrs. Roberts. She had already prayed enough for her boys to have a sort of tender feeling for them—a half desire to cover their faults from the gaze of the indifferent world. Did Dr. Everett represent the indifferent world, or did he love her Master? She wished she knew.

"There is nothing encouraging about them," she said with grave earnestness, "save the facts that they are made in the image of God, and that he wants them to 'turn from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and an inheritance among them which are sanctified.'"

A rare flash of intelligence and appreciation greeted her now from those fine eyes bent so scrutinizingly on her.

"Tremendous facts!" he said. "Glorious possibilities! 'Himself hath said it.' I claim kinship with you; I am an heir of the same inheritance."

He held a hand to each, and they were cordially grasped. Then Dr. Everett proceeded to business.

"There is enough to do," he said; "everything is lacking here; there is severe poverty, united to the most scrupulous tenderness and the most tender love on the part of this brother and sister. I stumbled on the case, and will do, professionally, all that is needed. And I have a friend who would undoubtedly come to the rescue, but she is crowded just now. I shall be rejoiced to report to her a helper. Do you know Joy Saunders? Well, I wish you did; she is one whom you could appreciate. She is young, though, and without a husband to guard her, and there are some places to which she cannot come."

"Has she learned that important fact?" asked Mr. Roberts with a significant smile. Then some explanation seemed necessary. "This lady," he said, "tried the alley alone yesterday, and lost her way, and went lower down—quite near to Burk Street, I imagine."

"And what happened?" The quick question and the doctor's tone suggested possibilities not pleasant.

"Oh, she met one of her new recruits—as hard a boy, so one of the policemen on this beat tells me, as there is in the row—and pressed him into service to escort her back to civilization; and, strange to say, the fellow did it without playing any tricks."

The doctor turned on the small lady a curious glance.

"I think you may be able to do something, even for Dirk Colson," he said.

"Do you know him?"

He laughed over the eagerness of the question.

"Never heard of him before. I was only thinking of our friend's description of his awfulness.—Ah, whom have we here?"

For the door had opened abruptly, and a pair of great blue eyes, set in a frame of tawny hair all in a frizzle, had peered in on them. The vision was clothed in garments so torn, the wonder was that they stayed on at all, and there was a general look of abject poverty about her to which Sallie Calkins, with all the bareness of her lot, was a stranger.

She stood for just a moment, as if transfixed by astonishment at the unwonted sight in the room, then turned and sped way as swiftly and silently as she had come.

"That is Dirk's sister," Sallie Calkins said, coming forward, her homely face aglow with shame. "She isn't a bad girl, ma'am, she doesn't mean to be, but she has a dreadful time. Her mother is sickly, and has to go out washing, times when she isn't able to sit up; and there 'll be days when she can't hold up her head. And the father is bad, ma'am, and drinks, and swears, and sells things for drink till there ain't nothing left to sell; and Mart hasn't anything to mend her clothes with, and she doesn't know how, anyway; and she hasn't even got a comb to comb her hair with, her father he took it to sell. And everything there is horrid, and Dirk, he's awful."

It was strange—she could not herself account for it—but with every added word of misery that set poor Dirk Colson lower and lower in the scale of humanity, there seemed to come into this woman's heart, and shine in her face, an assurance that he was to be a "chosen vessel unto God."

The doctor was watching her again, curious, apparently, to see how this pitiful appeal for forbearance in judging of poor Mart affected her, and something in his face made her say, speaking low, "an inheritance among them which are sanctified."

"Amen!" he said.

And there came to Mrs. Roberts a feeling that this earnest prayer, for the second time repeated by two men who prayed, was a sort a seal from the Master.

She turned away from both gentlemen then; the tears were very near the surface. She must do something to tone down the beating of her heart. Sallie was at hand, and she went with her to another corner of the room, and a low-toned conversation was carried on, scraps of which floated back to the gentlemen in the form of "sheets," "grape jelly," "mutton broth," "a soft pillow," and the like.

"I feel my patient growing better," the doctor said with satisfaction.

"Is there no father here?" Mr. Roberts asked.

The doctor shook his head, but answered,—

"There is the most pitiful apology for a father that I ever saw—a mere wreck of a man! Spends his time in a sort of weak drinking, if I may coin a phrase to describe him; he actually uses no energy even in that business. Just staggers around and bemoans his lot—a most unfortunate man, in his own estimation, with whom the world, through no fault of his, has gone wrong. He is never downright intoxicated, and never free from the effects of liquor. He is much like a wilted leaf in the hands of this boy and girl. They could pitch him out of the window without much difficulty, and if the fall did not kill him, he would shed tears and say it was a hard world.

"But now, what do we see when the name of father is so dishonoured—made a wreck, as it were? Why, the order of nature is reversed, and these children take on the protective. They are father and mother, and he is the weak, sinning child. The way that that boy and girl have worked to keep their miserable father from starving or freezing is something to astonish the very angels. They shield him, too; nobody who wants to reach their hearts must blame him. They are a study!—As different from the other inhabitants of the alley as the sky is different from that mud-hole down there. It isn't a good simile, either. There is no religion in their efforts. They are the veriest heathen."

"How do you account for the development?"

The doctor shook his head.

"I don't account for it; it is abnormal. There must have been a mother who left her impress. I can't learn anything about the mother—she died when the girl was an infant; but I would like to know her history. I venture to assert that she belonged to Christ, and that a gleam of the divine pity that she saw in him, and loved, left its impress on her children. That is somewhat mystical," he added, smiling. "I rarely talk in this way; it must have been your wife who set me off."

"But she is the most practical and energetic of beings!"

"Ay, so are the angels, I fancy; and make us think of heaven directly we hear the rustle of their wings. Has your wife been a Christian long?"

"Barely two years since she began to think of these things."

"I thought as much. She impresses me as one who is being led; who does not choose to go alone; has not learned how, indeed. A very few Christians never learn how, and with them the Lord does his special work. Well, sir, I must go. I'm glad to have met you, and glad to leave you here. Good-morning!"

CHAPTER X.

"AND SHE ALWAYS TRIED."

OTHER business was transacted that morning which brought results. A curious habit of Mrs. Roberts's—one which, perhaps, most strongly marked the difference between her ways of working and those of other people—was that of appealing to the person at hand for information on any subject which chanced to be the one prominent in her mind at the time.

Where other and more systematic persons would have said, "He is not the one to ask about this matter; there is no reason for supposing that he has any knowledge in this direction," Mrs. Roberts would say, "I cannot be sure that he may not be able to give just the information which I need. In any case, what harm will it do to try?" And she always tried.

It was on this principle that she arrested Dr. Everett's speedy departure with a question,—

"Dr. Everett, are you familiar with boarding-houses for young men?"

Something like a vision swept instantly before the doctor, in which he saw the long line of young men and the long line of boarding-houses in the world; and he laughed with eyes and lips, the question seemed so queerly put.

"With how many of them, madam?" There was amusement in his voice, but there was also curiosity; he wanted to know what this original little lady was in search of.

"One would do, if it were of just the right stamp. I'll tell you what I want,—a nice, quiet, comfortable 'home' sort of place, with a small room, capable of being warmed, a single bedstead, with a passably good bed, and a moderate rate of board. Are not those modest enough requirements?"

"Not at all! They are preposterous! A boarding-house to which one could conveniently apply the word 'home'! 'Fire' in a young man's room! He is expected to enjoy freezing in a city; and if he come from the country, he should be grateful for the privilege! But the idea of calling for a good bed! That is the wildest suggestion of all!—Has she ever boarded, Mr. Roberts?"

"Not at a boarding-house, at least," said that gentleman, enjoying the fun.

But Mrs. Roberts looked grave.

"Are you serious?" she asked gently. "Is there no chance in this great city for a Christian young man to have the ordinary comforts of common life—just a little quiet room where he can pray, and where he can invite some tempted soul, and try to help him? Doesn't it seem all wrong?"

The laugh was gone from the doctor's face. There was a look of keen interest and genuine respect.

"How many young men are you thinking about? There are many Christians, I believe, among that class—poor young men away from home—and I have reason to fear that their chances for comfortable retirement are very scarce. I have thought about the problem somewhat how to help them. In the concrete, I don't see the way. Of how many are you thinking?"

"I am willing to think about them all," Mrs. Roberts said—and now it was her turn to laugh—"but I am planning for just one. I cannot work in great ways, but I thought I might help one."

"Exactly!—Mr. Roberts, if every Christian in our city would undertake to help one, the problem would be solved. Well, there is one boarding-house to which the word 'home' may properly be applied; and there is one small room on the third floor vacated yesterday. I wonder if the Master wants it for your young man. It seems to me if there is any one thing more than another that we need in that house just now it is a Christian young man. Of what type is your friend? Will he help or hinder a gay young scamp much sought after by Satan?"

"He will try hard to help," said both Mr. and Mrs. Roberts.

And before they parted the doctor had taken Mr. Reid's address, and promised to call on him and negotiate the matter.

"That plan will work in two ways," said Mrs. Roberts gleefully. "Mr. Reid will be in the same home with, and somewhat under the influence of, that grand doctor. Isn't it splendid that we asked just him?"

And her husband smilingly assented, and added that he should not have thought of such a thing as asking him.

On her way down town, Mrs. Roberts had dropped a letter in the mail, which also brought results. It read thus:—

   "DEAR MARION,—I have time for but a line, for I want to catch the morning mail. I have such a nice plan. Suppose you let your Gracie come and stay with me for a few weeks. You know she always liked me a little, and Evan and I think we can make it pleasant for her. I will try to get her so much interested in seven boys whom I know that she will forget all about Professor Ellis. Mr. Barnwell, a confidential clerk in the store (old and gray-headed), will go to-morrow to transact some business with papa. Evan will give him a letter of introduction to Dr. Dennis. He expects to return on Saturday, and if you will trust Gracie to us, and she is willing to come, she might travel in Mr. Barnwell's care, and we would meet her at the station. Dear Marion, we should like it ever so much; and I have prayed about it all the morning, and cannot help thinking that Jesus likes it too."

Thus it came to pass that when Mrs. Roberts took her seat on the next Sabbath afternoon before her seven boys at the South End Mission, a vision of loveliness, such as the mission had not often seen, came in with her, and looked with wide-open eyes on all the new and strange sights and sounds about her.

A very pretty creature was Gracie Dennis. Her eyes had lost none of their brightness, although they had shed some tears during her recent experiences. They were fairly sparkling to-day, for the great city into which she had come for the first time was like fairyland to her; albeit, she had passed through scenes that afternoon which bore no resemblance to her idea of fairyland.

What the boys thought of her could only be determined from their stares. Let us hope that her presence had nothing to do with their conduct, for never, in all the annals of the South End Mission, had seven boys comported themselves as did those before whom Mrs. Roberts sat that winter afternoon.

Nimble Dick, as if to be revenged for his unintentional courtesy of the Monday before, placed his ill-kept feet on the seat in front of him, in alarming proximity to Mrs. Roberts's shoulders, and chewed his tobacco, and defiled the floor with its juice, and talked aloud, and was in every sense disgusting. Neither was Dirk Colson one whit behind him. The spirit of entertainment was upon him. He mimicked Mr. Durant's somewhat hoarse tones, exaggerating the imitation, of course, until it was ludicrous. He imitated the somewhat shrill tenor and the nasal tones of Deacon Carter, who was doing good work with a class of meek-looking women. He even imitated Mrs. Roberts's soft, low voice, as she essayed to interest them in Moses and some of the wonders which he performed.

Vain hope! Struggle as she might to be intensely dramatic in her narrative, she did not for a moment gain the ascendency.

"Moses?" interrupted Nimble Dick in the very midst of one of her most earnest sentences. "Let's see! That was the old fellow who swallowed the serpents, wasn't it? I should have thought he would have been used up."

"You don't know nothin'," interrupted Stephen Crowley, with a nudge at Dirk that the latter pretended tipped him entirely off his seat, and left him a limp heap at Mrs. Roberts's feet.

"He don't know nothin'!" repeated Stephen, addressing Mrs. Roberts in a confidential tone. "'Twas the serpents swallowed Moses, wasn't it? Question is, How did he get around again?"

"Quit that!" came at this point from Dirk Colson, in his fiercest tone. "Look here, you Bill Snyder, if you try pinching on me again, I'll pitch you over the head of old Durant in less than a second!"

What was the poor, pale little woman to do? With one boy crawling about the floor and two others in a hand-to-hand fight, with the rest in a giggle, of what use to try to talk to them about Moses? You should have seen Gracie Dennis's eyes by that time! Horror and disgust were about equally expressed, and rising above them both, a look of actual fear. Mr. Durant came over to attempt a rescue, his face distressed beyond measure.

"Mrs. Roberts, this is too much. I am sure that patience has ceased to be a virtue. They have never gone so far before. I suspected mischief to-day. I have heard from several of them during the week, and never anything but evil. I am prepared for it: there is a full police force on guard in the next room; what I propose is to have every one of these fellows taken to the lock-up. It will be a lesson that they richly deserve, and may do them good."

Whispering was not one of Mr. Durant's strong points. He meant to convey secret intelligence of carefully-laid plans to Mrs. Roberts alone. In reality, not a boy in the class but heard every word. They were startled into silence.

"A full police force!"

They were not fonder of the lock-up than are most boys who deserve that punishment. They were skilful in escaping the hands of policemen. They had not believed that the South End Mission would resort to any such means. They recognized in the mission an attempt to do them good; and, without any effort at reasoning it out, they had by tacit consent decided that policemen and lock-ups and Christian effort did not match. They had chuckled much over the stationing of "little Duffer" at the door on guard. Any two of the strong young fellows were a match for him; and in the event of a riot, which they would like no better fun than to help to get up, how many choice spirits all about the room would join them if given the word, and in the delightful confusion which would result how easy to escape from sight and hearing while Policeman Duffer was summoning aid! They had felt comparatively safe; but "a full police force" detailed for duty was quite another thing.

They felt caught in a trap. Nimble Dick got up in haste from the floor and took his seat, and the boys looked from one to another with ominous frowns. There were reasons why none of them cared to come before the police court just now. What was to be done?

While they waited and considered, Mrs. Roberts did it. Her hand was on Mr. Durant's arm, and directly the loud whispering ceased, she spoke in low but distinctly emphatic tones,—

"I beg of you, Mr. Durant, do no such thing. I would dismiss every policeman at once, with thanks, if I were you. We shall not need their help. I give you my word of honour that the boys will be quiet during the rest of the session, not because they are afraid of policemen, but because they respect me, and do not want to see me frightened or annoyed. Please don't let a policeman come near us."

I am not sure which was the more astonished, the superintendent or the boys. He returned to his desk with the bewildered air of one whose deep-laid schemes had come to naught in an unexpected manner without giving him time to rally; and the boys looked at one another in perplexity, and were silent.

Mrs. Roberts turned to them with quiet voice.

"Boys," she said, "you have spoiled the story that I was going to tell you. I have lost my place, and there isn't time to go back and find it. I am sorry, for I think you would have liked the story. I spent a good deal of time this week trying to make it interesting. But never mind now, there is something else I want to say. Will you spend the hours from eight to ten with me to-morrow evening at my house? I brought cards with me for each of you containing my address, that you might have no trouble in finding the place."

Whereupon she produced the delicate bits of pasteboard with her name and address handsomely engraved thereon.

Nimble Dick took his between his soiled thumb and finger, turned it over in a pretence of great interest, and finally endeavoured to "sight" it with his eye as a workman does his board.

"What 'll you do with us if we come?" Stephen Crowley asked, fixing what was intended as a wise look upon her, the leer in his eye hinting that he was smart enough to see another trap, and meant not to fall into it.

Mrs. Roberts laughed pleasantly.

"It is an unusual question when one invites company," she said; "but I don't mind answering it. For one thing, I thought we would have an oyster stew and some good coffee together. Then, if any of you like music, I have a friend with me who is a good singer; and I have a few pictures I should like you to see, if you cared to; and—I don't know whether you are fond of flowers, but some of you may have a mother or sister at home who is, and the greenhouse is all aglow just now. Oh, how can I tell what I should do to entertain guests? Just what seemed to me to be pleasant at the time. That is the way I generally do. May I expect you?"

The boys stared. This was a new departure indeed! How much of it did she mean? What was she trying to do? Was it a trap? Still, she had rescued them from the police force, and they had not expected that, for every boy of them knew that he had treated her shamefully. Timothy Haskell was generally the quietest one of the group, and perhaps the most straightforward. He went directly to the point of the question that he saw in the eyes of the others.

"What do you do it for?"

"Yes, that's the talk," said Nimble Dick. "What do you want of us?"

"Why, I want you to spend the evening with me. Didn't I tell you? If you really mean to be friends with me, of course I must invite you to my home. What could I want except to have a nice time? I'm trying to make you like me. Of course I want you to like me. How can we have pleasant times together unless you do?"

CHAPTER XI.

"I HAVE BUT TO TRY AGAIN."

"PLEASANT times like we've been having to-day?" said Nimble Dick with a wicked leer.

If he meant to disconcert her, he missed his point.

"No," she said promptly; "we haven't had a bit nice times to-day; and as for liking you, I haven't done so to-day at all. If I had the least idea that you meant often to treat me as you have this afternoon, I should know it was of no use. But I cannot think that you will continue to treat a lady in such a manner, particularly when I am really trying to make a pleasant time for you. There is no object, you see, in spoiling it."

This plain bit of truth, for the time being, so commended itself to the judgment of the boys, that they regarded the speaker gravely, without attempting a reply. She was not moralizing—at least it was unlike any moralizing that they had ever heard. It seemed to be simply a bit of practical common sense. Not a boy would have owned it, but each felt, just at that moment, a faint hope that she would not decide it was of no use, and give them up. Straightforward Tim Haskell had one more question to ask:—

"Why didn't you let them bring in their police and settle us?"

Their teacher hesitated just a moment. Would the "whole truth" do to speak in this case? Could she hope to make them understand that she saw in it a step lower down, and that thus degraded before her eyes, she feared her possible hold on them would be gone for ever? No, it wouldn't do. A little, a very little piece of the truth was all that she could treat them to. A faint sparkle in her bright eyes, which every one of them saw, and she said:—

"I was afraid you might not be excused in time to keep your engagement with me to-morrow evening."

They all laughed, not boisterously—actually an appreciative laugh. They were bright; there is hardly a street boy living by his wits who isn't. They recognized the humour hidden in the answer, and enjoyed it.

Then the superintendent's bell rang. That bell always did seem to have an evil influence on those boys. Indeed, Mrs. Roberts was known to remark, a few Sundays afterwards, that if there were no opening and closing exercises in the Sabbath school, her work would be easier; that street boys did not seem to have one element of devotion in them, and needed to be kept at high pressure, in order to be able to control themselves.

The thought is worthy of study perhaps. It is just possible that our opening and closing exercises are too long drawn out even for those who are not street boys.

Be that as it may, the little spell which Mrs. Roberts had been able for a few minutes to weave around her boys on this particular Sabbath, was broken by the sound of the bell. The boys returned to their memories of insult, as they regarded the police force. They muttered sullenly among themselves about "traps" and "sells," and "guessed they wouldn't get caught here again;" and Mrs. Roberts, seeming not to hear, heard with a heavy heart.

How angry they looked! Even Nimble Dick's usually merry face was clouded over. What a curious thing it was that even they had their ideas of propriety, and felt themselves insulted. Was it an instinct, she wondered—a reminder that there was in them material for manhood?

Would they ever, any of them, be men—Christian gentlemen? It seemed almost too great a stretch for even her imagination. As she moved in her seat, her delicately-embroidered, perfumed handkerchief fell to the floor. Mrs. Roberts was used to young men—mere boys, even—whose instinctive movement would be to instantly restore it to her. Not a boy before her thought of such a thing. She had not expected it, of course. Yet she wondered if the instinct were not dormant, needing but the suggestion. It was a queer little notion, worthy of Flossy Shipley herself, who, from being continually busy about little things, had come to the conclusion that nothing anywhere was little—that the so-called trifles, which make up many lives, had much to do with the happiness of other lives. Was it worth her while to try to teach these street Arabs to pick up fallen handkerchiefs? She differed from many Christian workers in that, in her simplicity, she really thought it was.

There was a lull just at that moment. A hymn had been announced, but the organist's tune-book had been mislaid, and was being sought after. It could disturb no one if Mrs. Roberts tried her little experiment. She looked longingly at Dirk Colson, but his brows were black and his eyes fierce; this was no time to reach him. Nimble Dick looked much more approachable. She determined to venture him:—

"Mr. Bolton," spoken in her sweetest voice, "I have dropped my handkerchief."

"Anybody with half an eye could see that, mum, and a mighty dirty spot you picked out for such a nice little rag to lie in."

This was her only response. Then the discomfited experimenter told herself that she was a blunderer. How could this poor fellow be expected to know what she meant? Why had she not asked the service from him? She would try again.

Would he be kind enough to pick it up for her? It was long afterwards before Mrs. Roberts could think of his answer without a sinking heart. Fixing bold, saucy eyes on her, he spoke in deliberate tones, loud enough to be heard half-way across the room:—

"Why, pick it up yourself, mum! It is as near to you as it is to me, and you don't look weakly."

She picked it up, her poor cheeks burning, but she did not forget it.

The after-school conferences told their different stories.

"Well," Mr. Durant said, stopping in the act of mopping his hot forehead to shake hands with her, "Mrs. Roberts, I honour your courage. Those boys were simply fearful to-day; I really feared some outbreak that would be hard to quell. I'm afraid we shall have to give them up. Yes, I know how you feel; but you haven't been here to see what we have borne from them. All sorts of teachers have been tried. We have given them the best material we had, both men and women, and every one has failed. Then you actually want to try it for another Sabbath! Well, I'm glad of it. Oh, I don't want to give them up, it makes my heart ache to think of it; but if we can't keep them in sufficient order to get any benefit, nor find a teacher who is willing to hold on to them, what else is there for us to do? But that last complaint I needn't make so long as you 'hold on,' need I?" This last with a genial smile. "Well, God bless you; I couldn't begin to tell you how much I hope you will succeed."

But his face said, "However, I know you won't."

He turned from her and said as much to young Reid:—

"She is in earnest, Reid, and she has resources; but she won't catch them, simply because they don't mean to be caught; they come here to make trouble, and for nothing else. Just look at the way they have performed to-day—worse than ever; and they never had a better teacher. I've watched her, and I believe she knows how. I'll tell you what it is, Reid; we must hold on to her, and when she gives up those boys we must secure her for that class of girls down by the door. I really think we have a prize."

Now, if he had but known it, Mrs. Evan Roberts meant to teach no other class at the South End Mission save those boys.

"Flossy Shipley!" (This was Gracie Dennis's exclamation when she was very much excited; she went back to the old name) "What are you trying to do with those horrid boys? And how can you endure their impudence? I never saw anything like their actions in my life, and I thought I had seen bad boys. You look completely worn-out, and no wonder. I shouldn't think Mr. Roberts would let you do this. What good can you do such creatures, Flossy?"

"My dear Gracie, don't you think that Jesus Christ died to save them?"

"Well," said Gracie hesitatingly. It was a favourite phrase with her, as it is with many people when they don't know what to say next.

"And don't you think he wants them saved? And will he not be pleased with even my little bits of effort if he knows that my sincere desire is to save these souls for his glory?"

"But what I mean is, what good can you do them so long as they act as they do now? They didn't listen to a word you said, so as to get any good out of it."

"I don't know that dear, nor do you. Don't you think the Holy Spirit sometimes presses words on people that they do not seem to be heeding? In any event, that is a part with which I have nothing to do. I tried, and if I failed utterly, I have but to try again. It isn't as though there were some good teacher ready to take them. Nobody will make a second effort. Now there is one thing I can certainly do—I can keep on making efforts: who knows but some of them may bear fruit? By the way, Gracie, I want ever so much of your help."

"Mine!" said Gracie, with wide-open eyes. "I don't know how to help people; I'm not good." And her face darkened in a frown, some unpleasant memories that went far just then proving the truth of that statement coming to mind just then. After a moment she spoke in a somewhat more gentle tone: "Don't count on me, Flossy, for help about those boys. They frighten me; I never saw such fellows. I couldn't help wondering what—papa would have said to them."

Between the "wondering" and the noun there had been an observable pause. Mrs. Roberts suspected that the thought in Gracie's mind was rather what Mrs. Dennis, who was supposed to have much knowledge of boys, would have thought of them. But since her arrival Gracie had studiously avoided any reference to her stepmother, and Mrs. Roberts had humoured her folly.

"Never mind—you can help them; and when you begin to realize that, you will forget your fears."

"Do you expect to see one of the creatures to-morrow evening? What in the world would you do with them if they did come?"

"I'm not sure I expect them, I only hope for them. As to what to do with them, I trust to you to help to answer that question. I want to give them an idea of what a nice time is."

"I cannot help," said Gracie again; but she was interested, and referred again and again to the subject, cross-questioning Mrs. Roberts as to her plans and hopes, until that lady gave a satisfied smile at the thought that her seven boys had begun their work.

The first part of this conversation was held while they waited in one of the class-rooms for Mr. Reid to give in his report before joining them. The waiting suggested to Gracie another question,—

"Who is this Mr. Reid, who seems to have us in charge?"

"He is one of the clerks from the store, which accounts, in part, for his attendance on us. But I am interested in him for other reasons. He had a wonderful sister—that is, she was a wonderful Christian; she died when quite young, but one might be ready to go to heaven early if one had accomplished as much as she did.

"By one of those strange arrangements which I should think would go far toward making observing people believe in a special Providence, her life, or I might almost say her death, was the means of changing the current of my husband's life. He says he was a gay young fellow, a member of the church, but giving just as little attention to religion as many do whom you and I know. An accident to one of his family held him for several weeks in the town where this Esther Reid lived, and her physician, with whom he became acquainted, introduced him to her. It seems she was very much interested in young men—in their Christian development. He went to see her several times, and, to use his own expression, she first made him realize that there was such a thing as zeal, and then she set it on fire. What she had begun in life she finished in her death. Evan attended her funeral services, and the walls were hung with Bible texts of her selection. The most wonderful texts! All about Christian work, and about being in earnest, because the time was short. Evan says he began to understand then that the service of Christ was first, best, and always.

"Wasn't it a singular Providence that led him under the influence of that young girl during the closing weeks of her life? Only think, he has been doing her work ever since—doing it, possibly, in ways that she could not compass. That is one reason why I am so much interested in those boys. It seems to me as though they were her boys. Did I tell you that her heart went out especially after the neglected?

"I learned about the boys through Mr. Reid. He was but a child when his sister died, and yet she succeeded in so enthusing him with her ideas that he is all the time trying to carry out her plans. She had some wonderful ones. This idea of inviting the boys socially I had from her. Do you see how plainly she is working yet, though she has been in heaven so long?"

"Do you think," asked Gracie Dennis, a timid, gentle sound to her voice, "that all Christians ought to put religion 'first, best, and always,' as your husband said? I fancied that some were set apart to do a special work."

"We are all set apart, dear, don't you think? Given to Him to use as He will. The trouble is that so many of us take back the gifts, and use our time and our tongues as though they were our own."

"Our 'tongues!'" repeated Gracie, amazement in her voice.

"Why, yes; didn't you give Him your tongue when you gave Him yourself? And yet you are fortunate if you have not dishonoured Him with it many a time."

Said Gracie, "What a queer way you have of putting things."

Then came Alfred Reid in haste, and apologizing for the long delay. Gracie Dennis watched him curiously, listened critically to his words. Was it to be supposed that this young man put religion "first, best, and always," and considered his tongue as given to the Lord?

Alfred bore the scrutiny well. He took very little notice of Miss Gracie, being entirely absorbed with another matter. He had settled opinions about Mrs. Roberts now, from which he would not be likely to waver. He had seen much of her during the week, and he knew she had not been idle. She had given him much valuable information concerning the boys in whom he had been interested all winter, and with whom she had known for a week.

Also he was aware that Sallie and Mark Calkins had seen much of her to their great benefit. She had made him her messenger on one occasion, and he had seen Sallie Calkins take from the basket the clean, sweet-smelling sheets that were to freshen her brother's bed, and bestow on them rapturous kisses, while she murmured, "I'd walk on my knees in broad daylight through the gutter to serve her—that I would!"

"Sheets aren't much, I suppose," moralized the young man, as he walked thoughtfully homeward. "People with much less money than she has might have furnished them. It is thinking about things that makes the difference between her and others."

But he had not quite found the secret. The main difference between her and many other people lay in the fact that she set steadily about "doing" the things she thought of that would be nice to do.

On the whole, young Reid was fully prepared to sympathize with Mr. Durant's opinion, that the South End Mission had secured a prize. Not that he was very hopeful over those boys. He felt that their conduct, under the circumstances, showed a depth of depravity which was beyond the reach of mission schools; but it was a comfort to think that good things were arranged for them if they had but chosen to receive. He began at once to talk about them.

"Mrs. Roberts, they are worse than I had supposed. I am afraid that your patience is exhausted."

Her answer was peculiar:—

"Mr. Reid, I want you to spend to-morrow evening with me. I have invited my boys, and I depend on you and Gracie here to help to entertain them."

"Are you equal to such formidable work as that?" asked Gracie with a mischievous smile.

He did not respond to the smile; he was looking at Mrs. Roberts, studying her face as one bewildered with the rapidity of her moves.

"I want to be," he said with feeling; "I want to know how to work, and I'm learning.—Mrs. Roberts, I moved to my new boarding-house last evening, and my room is a perfect little gem. There is an illuminated text in it, and all around it is twined an ivy, growing, don't you think—hidden, you know, behind the frame in a bottle; and the text is one of my sister's treasures. Isn't that a singular coincidence?"

"It is very nice," said Mrs. Roberts, with satisfied eyes. She still made much use of that little word.

"And, Mrs. Roberts, I asked one of your boys to come in this evening and see my room."

CHAPTER XII.

"I WANT THEM TO GET USED TO PARLOURS."

"THOSE two people can think and talk of nothing but those dreadful boys," said Gracie to herself, half annoyed and wholly interested. She found herself that very evening turning over the music, with the wonderment in her mind as to what she could sing that they would be likely to care for—provided one of them appeared, which thing she did not expect.

But I have not told you of all the discussions had that day. The boys went their various ways, their minds also busy with the events of the afternoon. Dirk Colson and Stephen Crowley went off together; not that they were special friends, but their homes lay near together. For the distance of half a block they walked in silence; then Stephen Crowley spoke his mind:—

"Nimble Dick wasn't near as smart to-day as he thinks he was, accordin' to my way of thinkin'."

"He was meaner than dirt!" burst forth Dirk fiercely. "To go back on her like that, after she had saved us from a row with the police, ain't what I believe in. Why couldn't he have picked up the rag, seeing she wanted him to? That's what I say. I'd 'a done it myself if she had give me the chance."

"That there Dick Bolton can be too mean for anything when he sets out," said Stephen, with a grave air of superiority. "I don't go in for anything of that kind myself. We wasn't none of us much to boast of; but Dick, he went too fur. I say, Dirk, what do you s'pose all that yarn means about to-morrow night? And what be we goin' to do about it? Dick, he said it was all a game to get hold of us somehow, and he wasn't goin' to have nothin' to do with it."

Had Stephen Crowley desired exceedingly to secure Dirk's vote in favour of the proposed entertainment, he could not, at that moment, have chosen a better way. Dirk tossed his thick mat of black hair in a defiant fashion, and answered:—

"He needn't have a thing to do with it, so far as I care. I don't know who'll miss him; but if he thinks he's got all the fellows under his thumb, and they're goin' to do as he says, I'll show him a thing or two. I'm a-goin' to-morrow night. I don't care what it is, nor what it is for. She was nice and friendly to us to-day, and I'm willin' to trust her to-morrow. I shall go up there and see what she does want. It can't kill a fellow to do that much."

"Then I'm a-goin', too," declared Stephen with decision. "Dick, he thinks there won't none of us go if he don't; and I'd just like to show him that he must get up early in the mornin' if he wants to keep track of us."

If Dirk Colson needed anything to strengthen his resolution, there was material in that last sentence which supplied it. He had long chafed under the control of Dick Bolton; here was a chance to assert superiority. He even, just at that moment, conceived the brilliant idea of supplanting Dick—running an opposition party, as it were.

What if he should get every fellow in the class to promise to go, and Dick, the acknowledged leader, should find himself left out alone in the cold? The thought actually made his grim face break into a smile. Thus it came to pass that the most efficient worker for the success of the Monday evening entertainment, so far at least as securing the presence of the guests, was Dirk Colson.

In Mr. Roberts's mansion preparations for receiving and entertaining the hoped-for guests went briskly forward—preparations which astonished the young guest already arrived.

"Are you really going to let them come in here?" she asked, as she followed Mrs. Roberts through the elegant parlours, and watched her putting delicate touches here and there.

"Certainly; why not? Don't you open your parlours when you receive your friends?"

"I don't think we have such peculiar friends on our list," Gracie said with a little laugh; and then, "Flossy, they will spoil your furniture."

"If one evening in the Master's service will spoil anything, it surely ought to be spoiled," Mrs. Roberts answered serenely.

"But, Flossy,—" with a touch of impatience in her voice,—"what is the use? Wouldn't the dining-room answer every purpose—be to them the most elegant room they ever beheld, and be less likely to suffer from their contact?"

The busy little mistress of all the beauty around her turned to her guest with a peculiar smile on her face, half mischievous and wholly sweet, as she said:—

"I want them to get used to parlours, my dear; they may have much to do with them, as well as with dining-rooms."

"They are more likely to have to do with penitentiaries and prisons," Gracie said. But she abandoned discussion, and gave herself to the pleasure of arranging lovely flowers in their lovely vases.

There was a divided house as to the probability of the guests appearing,—Mr. Roberts inclining to the belief that some of them would come, while Gracie was entirely sceptical. Mrs. Roberts kept her own counsel, neither expressing wish nor fear, but steadily pushing her preparations.

As a matter of fact, the entire seven appeared together promptly as the clock struck eight.

At the last moment Dick Bolton, the usual leader, finding himself in a minority of one, not to be outwitted, protested that he had not the least notion of staying away; of course he was going, and good-naturedly joined the group.

I wonder if you have the least conception of how those boys looked? The ideas of some people cannot get below nicely-patched clothes, carefully brushed boots, clean collars, and neatly arranged hair.

Clean collars! Not a boy of them owned a collar. No thought of brushing their worn-out, unmended boots ever entered their minds. Their clothes were much patched, but in many places needed it still.

Stephen Crowley had made a somewhat unsuccessful attempt to put his mass of hair in order. Most of the others had not thought even of that. Why should they? Poor Dirk, you will remember, if he had thought of it, had no comb with which to experiment. It is doubtful if many of the others were any better off in this respect.

Imagine the seven standing, a confused, grinning heap, in the centre of Mrs. Roberts's large and brilliantly-lighted hall!

She came forward to welcome them, shaking hands, though they made no attempt to offer a hand in greeting. She had to grasp after each. She essayed to introduce Gracie; not one of them attempted a bow.

"Come this way," Mrs. Roberts said, "and take seats."

Then she led the way into the long, bright, elegantly-furnished, flower-decked room.

They followed her in a row. Midway in the room they made a halt. They caught a view of themselves—full length at that—revealed by the great mirrors. They had never seen themselves set in contrast before. They could not sit in a row, for the easy-chairs and sofas, though plentiful, had the air of having been just vacated by people who had left them carelessly where they had chanced to sit.

It required diplomacy to seat those boys. When at last Stephen Crowley dropped into one of the great pillowy chairs, he Instantly sprang up again, and looked at it doubtfully. Was the thing a trap? How far down would it sink with him? This was too much for Nimble Dick, even under the present overpowering circumstances—he laughed. His hostess blessed him for that laugh. The horrible stiffness was somewhat broken, and all were seated.

Just at that moment came Alfred Reid, hurriedly, like one who had intended promptness and missed it.

"All here ahead of me!" he exclaimed. "Mrs. Roberts, I beg your pardon. At the last moment I went in search of Dr. Everett; there was serious illness in a house next door, and I happened to know just where he was."

During this address he was shaking hands with his hostess, his manner easy and graceful, as one used to it all. Then he crossed the room, that wonderful room, treading down those flowers on the carpet as though he had no fears of breaking their stems.

"Good-evening, Miss Dennis," he said, and he was bowing in a manner that Dirk Colson was confident he could imitate. Then he turned to the boys, shaking hands:—

"How are you, Haskell?—By the way, Crowley, I called on you to-day at the office; sorry not to find you in."

"Mrs. Roberts, allow me!" And he wheeled one of the easy-chairs to the spot where that lady was standing.

"How well he enters into the thing," said Gracie Dennis to herself, looking on in admiration at this young man, who, still so young, was adapting himself to circumstances that might well have embarrassed older heads than his.

He plunged into talk with the boys, making them answer questions. He had come but a few moments before from Mark Calkins's, stopped there with a message from Dr. Everett; and these boys knew Mark and Sallie and the worthless father, and all the more or less worthless neighbours who ran in and out, and young Reid had a dozen questions to ask. His quick-wittedness, and the ease with which he made talk to these young men who lived in such an utterly different world from himself, surprised his hostess very much.

Even she did not know to what an exalted pitch his enthusiasm and excitement reached, though he had flashed a pair of most appreciative eyes on her when she gave him her invitation for the evening. Here was actually his sister Esther's darling scheme being worked out before his eyes!

Not only that, but he was being called upon to help. Esther had wanted him to grow up to undertake just such efforts as these; and only last week they had seemed to him so altogether good and noble and so impossible to try. Yet here he was helping to try them! No wonder Alfred Reid could talk.

It had been determined in family council that Mr. Roberts must absent himself. He was in the house, indeed—no further away than the library, ready for call in event of an emergency; but it was judged that another stranger, and such a formidable one as the head of the house, must be avoided for this one evening.

As for Mr. Reid, would they remember that he was not much older than some of them, and that he was not a rich young man living on his income, but was earning his living by daily work? And would they note the contrast between themselves and him? This was what their hostess wondered. A few moments and then came a summons to the dining-room. Seated at last, though one of the poor fellows stumbled over a chair, and barely saved himself from falling.

If you could have seen that dining-table, the picture of it would have lingered long in your memory. The whitest and finest of damask table linen; napkins so large that they almost justified Dick Bolton's whisper, "What be you goin' to do with your sheet?" China so delicate that Gracie Dennis could not restrain an inward shiver when any of the clumsy fingers touched a bit of it; and such a glitter of silver as even Gracie had never seen before.

One thing was different from the conventional tea-party—every servant was banished; none but tender eyes, interested in her experiment, and ready to help it on, should witness the blunders of the boys. So the hostess had decreed, and so instructed Alfred and Gracie. The consequence was that Alfred himself served the steaming oysters with liberal hand, and Gracie presided over jellies and sauces, while Mrs. Roberts sugared and creamed and poured cups of such coffee as those fellows had never even smelled before. If you think they were embarrassed to the degree that they could not eat, you are mistaken.

They were street boys; their lives had been spent in a hardening atmosphere. Directly the first sense of novelty passed away, and their poorly-fed stomachs craved the unusual fare served up for them, the fellows grinned at one another, seized their silver spoons, and dived into the stews in a fashion that would have horrified every servant in the house.

How they ate! Oysters and coffee and pickles and cakes and jellies! There seemed no limit to their capacities; neither did they make the slightest attempt to correct their table manners. None of them paid any outward attention to their "sheets," although Alfred and Gracie spread theirs with elaborate care; they leaned their elbows on the table; they made loud, swooping sounds with their lips; and, in short, transgressed every law known to civilized life. Why not? What did they know about civilized life?

Nevertheless, not one movement of young Reid's escaped the notice of some of them.

He tried still to carry on a conversation, though the business of eating was being too closely attended to on all sides to let him be very successful.

Gracie studied him, and was not only interested in his efforts, but roused to make some attempts herself. What could she talk about with such people? School? The literary club? The last concert? The course of lectures? The last new book that everybody was reading? No, not everybody; assuredly not these seven.

On what ground was she to meet them?

Yet talk she must and would. Mr. Reid should see that she at least wanted to help.

CHAPTER XIII.

"LET US BE FASHIONABLE."

ONE feature of the hour was not only entirely new to the boys, but gave them a curious feeling, the name of which they did not understand. When the last one sat back in his chair, thereby admitting himself vanquished, Mrs. Roberts, looking at the young man who sat at the foot of the table, said:—

"Will you return thanks?"

What did that mean? To be sure they had heard of thanking people, but even they were aware that it was an unusual thing for persons to demand thanks for themselves.

They watched. Behold, the young man bowed his head, and these were the words he spoke:—

   "Dear Saviour, we thank thee for the joys of this evening. We pray thee to teach us so to live that we may all meet some day in our Father's house. Amen."

The boys looked at one another, then looked down at their plates. Their sole experience of prayer was connected with the South End Mission. To meet it at a supper-table was a revelation. Did the people who lived in grand houses, and had such wonderful things to eat, always pray at their supper-tables? This was the problem which they were turning over in their minds.

Returning to the parlour, Gracie went at once to the piano. She had spent a good deal of Monday in settling the question of what to play, and had chosen the most sparkling music she could find. I am anxious to have it recorded that, all uncultured as they were, these boys neither talked nor laughed during the music, but appeared at least to listen. It was Dirk Colson who sat nearest to the piano, and who listened in that indescribable way which always flatters a musician.

"Do you like it?" Gracie asked, running off the final notes in a tinkle of melody.

His dark face flushed a deep red.

"I dunno," he said with an awkward laugh; "it's queer-sounding. I don't see how you make so many tinkles. Do you make all your fingers go at once on them black and white things?"

"Not quite; but sometimes they have to dance about in a very lively fashion. I have to keep my wits at work, I assure you."

"Is it hard to do?"

"Not very, nowadays. When I first commenced, the practising was horrid; I hated it."

"What made you do it, then?"

"Oh, the same reason which makes people do a great many things that they don't like," she said lightly; "I wanted the results. I knew if I worked at it steadily, the time would come when I should not only enjoy it myself, but be able to give pleasure to other people. Why, don't you ever do things that you don't particularly like?"

He shrugged his shoulders, and bestowed on her a very wise look.

"Often enough," he said fiercely, and he thought of his drunken father. "But then I wouldn't if I could help it."

"That would depend on whether you thought the thing would pay in the end, would it not?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she asked, "What is your business?"

"My business?" with a curiously puzzled air.

"Yes; how do you spend your time?"

"Hunting up something to eat," he said, with a grim smile, visions of his aimless loafing appearing before him all the only occupation he could be said to have. It had not occurred to him to try to mislead her, but she evidently did not understand.

"Oh, yes," she said seriously, "so I suppose. Isn't it queer how busy men and women have to be, day after day, and year after year, just getting themselves and others something to eat? Do you have other people to help to get it for—mother, for instance, and little brothers and sisters?"

"I've got a mother," he said, "and a sister."

"And that makes work easier, does it not? I always thought it would be stupid to work all the time just for one's self. But I meant, What do you work at in order to get the something to eat—there are so many different ways?"

"How do you know I work at all?"

Dirk's voice was growing sullen; a consciousness that he would appear at a disadvantage in admitting himself an idler in the busy world was dawning upon him as an entirely new idea.

At his question, Gracie turned on her music-stool and regarded him with surprise.

"Why, of course you work," she said; "people all do."

She was not acting a part. Her experience among poor people was limited to that outwardly respectable class who, however disreputable their conduct might be on Sabbath, had, nevertheless, a Monday occupation with which they pretended to earn a living.

Dirk shrugged his shoulders again.

"Do they?" he said.

Her evident ignorance of the world made him good-natured. She was not trying to preach to him, he decided—a thing which Dirk hated in common with all persons of his class.

But the lull in the music had started conversation in other parts of the room.

Dirk heard young Reid's question:—

"Mrs. Roberts, do you know of any young man looking for work? I heard of a good situation this afternoon. Oh, there are plenty of applicants but the gentleman is an old friend of my brother-in-law, and I could speak a helpful word for somebody."

"I have no one in mind," Mrs. Roberts said, and she glanced eagerly at the boys, lounging in various attitudes in her easy-chairs. Only three of them, she knew, made any pretence of earning their living. Did Alfred mean one of them?

"Here is a chance for you, young gentlemen," she said lightly; "who bids for a situation?"

"What is the place?"

It was Dirk Colson who asked the question. Ever since he could remember, he was supposed to have been hunting for work, but I am not sure that he ever felt quite such a desire to find it as at that moment.

"It is at Gray's, in Ninth Street, a good chance; but the one who secures it must have a fair knowledge of figures."

"Oh dear!" said Dirk, sinking lower in his easy-chair. "No use in me asking about it."

"Are figures your weak point?" Mrs. Roberts asked, smiling on him. "I can sympathize with you; I had to work harder over arithmetic than at any other study; but I learned to like it. Do you know I think it would be a favourite study with you? It is so nice to conquer an obstinate-looking row of figures, and fairly oblige the right result to appear. What did you find hardest about the study, Mr. Colson?"

The others chuckled, but Dirk glowered at them fiercely.

"There's nothin' to laugh about, as I see," he said. "I didn't find nothin' hard, because I never had no chance to try. I never went to no school, nor had books, nor nothin'; now that's the truth, and I'm blamed if I ain't going own it."

"What a good thing it is that you are young." This was her animated answer. "There is a chance to make up lost time.—Mr. Reid, I have such a nice idea. I heard you and Dr. Everett speaking of the literary club the other night. Why cannot we have a literary club of our own—a reading circle, or something of that sort? Suppose we should meet once a week and read aloud something interesting, and have talks about it afterwards?—Do you ever read aloud?"

If Mrs. Roberts in all sincerity had not been one of the most simple-hearted and, in some respects, ignorant little creatures on the face of the globe, she could never, with serious face, have addressed such a question to Nimble Dick.

Young Reid could not have done it, for he realized the folly of supposing that Nimble Dick ever read anything. By just so much was Mrs. Roberts ahead of him. She supposed that these boys had their literature, and read it, and perhaps met somewhere on occasion and read together. This made it possible for her to ask surprising questions with honest face.

"Bless me!" said Nimble Dick, startled into an upright posture. "Oh, no, mum, never."

And even Dirk Colson laughed at the expression on his face.

"Still I think you would enjoy it, after a little practice, and I can't help fancying you would make a good reader."

The boys were all laughing now, Nimble Dick with the rest.

"You're in for an awful blunder there," he said, good-naturedly. "I'm like Black Dirk, never had no chances, and didn't do nothin' worth speakin' of with them that I had. Why, mum! I can't even read to myself. I make the awfullest work you ever heard of spellin' out the show-bills. I have to get Black Dirk to help me; and him and me is a team."