CHAPTER XVIII.
"YOUR'N'S THE WAY!"
YOU are not to suppose, because this first Monday evening (which, by the way, was concluded with sandwiches and coffee) was a success, pronounced so by all concerned, that therefore the ones which followed were all rose-colour.
Fortunately, not one of the workers expected this, and so were brave and cheerful under drawbacks.
These were numerous and varied.
After the first novelty wore off, it took at times only the most trivial excuses to keep the boys away. Sometimes when they came, their conduct was anything but encouraging. They lolled in the easy-chairs, smelling strongly of tobacco and other bar-room odours, refused insolently to apply themselves to any work at hand, audibly pronounced the whole thing "slow," and in numberless ways severely tried the patience of both Alfred and Gracie.
For the others, they had counted the cost—at least the gentlemen had—and expected to move slowly, even to appear to go backward some of the time. As for Mrs. Roberts, I have told you that she worked in a peculiar manner, with the motto, "This one thing I do," apparently ever before her.
Each evening was distinct in itself, with efforts to make and obstacles to overcome; and at its close she had a way of laying it aside, as something with which her part was done, not attempting even to calculate results. Then she was ready to turn to a new day, and work steadily for that.
The winter was slipping away, and Gracie Dennis lingered. She could hardly have told you why, yet there were many apparent reasons. Mrs. Roberts wanted her, rejoiced in her, and coaxed irresistibly as often as the thought of going home was mentioned. Then Gracie, laugh over the peculiar work going on as she might, was undeniably interested in those boys. She was working for them, therefore of course she was interested.
"I don't see how you can go this week," would young Reid say to her, with a perplexed air; "you know we have that matter all planned for next Monday evening. How can we carry out the scheme if you are not there to do your part?"
Then would Gracie laugh, and demur, and admit, to herself only, that it was very pleasant to be needed—as she certainly was—for one night more; and so the nights passed.
Her work was to be "Professor of Elocution," as Mr. Roberts gaily called her when the workers were alone together. It had been discovered that she could read both prose and poetry with effect. So a reading-class was organized, and they chose for the first evening, not one of Bryant's or Whittier's gems, nor selections from Milton or Shakespeare, which would have suited part of the company, nor yet the "Easy Readings" in some standard spelling-book, which would have fitted the capacity of the others, but, with care and much discussion, one of Will Carleton's descriptive poems, full of homely yet tender language, full of pathos and of humour, was unanimously selected.
The first evening reading had been commenced with nuts and apples. There are those who can see no connection between this and the intellectual; happily for the characters with whom she had to deal, Mrs. Roberts was not one of them.
While the others were still enjoying the refreshments, she took the book and read. This was her quiet little sacrifice. It was not pleasant to her to become a public reader. It required courage to get through with one verse, with Dr. Everett sitting opposite, and Gracie Dennis on a low seat at her side, and her husband listening intently. Mrs. Roberts was not a good reader, and was aware of it. She pronounced the words correctly, it is true; but when you had said that, you had said all that there was to offer in praise of her effort. She had some exasperating faults. But she bravely read the two verses, and some of the boys listened, and one of them laughed; he had caught a gleam of the fun in the poem. This, of course, was Nimble Dick.
Then Alfred Reid made the same effort on the same verses; his performance was very little better, and he, too, knew it. He could write, but he was by no means a public reader; this was his offering to the general good. If those fellows, by reason of his mistakes, could be induced to climb, he was willing to offer his pride on the altar. No matter by what petty trials they were caught, so that they were really caught.
Then followed Gracie Dennis; and her own father, acceptable preacher though he was, might with credit to himself have taken lessons of her. She was certainly, for one so young and so unprofessional, a magnificent reader. So indeed was Marion Wilbur, and she had enjoyed teaching Gracie.
The poem blossomed in her hand. The crunching of nuts and apples entirely ceased. The boys sat erect, and listened and laughed, and flushed and swallowed suspiciously, over some of the homely pathos. They had never heard anything like that before, and they evidently appreciated it. She read through to the end.
Then were unloosed the tongues. They exclaimed in delight,—
"What an accomplishment it is!" said Mr. Roberts. "And how few possess it! Doctor, how many really fine readers have you heard in your life?"
"About three," said the doctor laconically.
"Well," said Mrs. Roberts, "let us all be exceptions.—Gracie, teach us how. I will try again."
And she did, on the first verse of the poem, with better success than before; but how sharp the contrast between her reading and Gracie's, she knew! It was not easy for her to read.
I don't know—possibly I am mistaken—but it seems to me that I have known people ready for large sacrifices, who yet would shrink painfully from these little ones.
In discussing the programme for the evening, the question had been, when each had done his part, How were they to influence the boys to join? Could they join? Was it probable that they knew enough about reading to attempt to speak the words of the poem? With reference to this obstacle, a poem had been chosen full of simple, homely words, such as are in common use; especially was the first verse free from what Mr. Roberts called "shoals." Having heard the verse read several times, it was hoped that some one of the seven might have courage to attempt it; but Gracie did not believe that such would be the case.
"I don't see how we can ask them, and do it naturally," said Dr. Everett. "It is such an unheard-of thing, you know; and I am afraid, do our best, it will present itself to them as a patronage, and that will be fatal. The people who are low enough to need patronage are the very ones who won't endure it."
Whereupon various ways of managing the matter were discussed and discarded. Suddenly Mrs. Roberts turned to her young lieutenant, who had been silent for some time, and said,—
"What are you thinking of, Mr. Reid Do you see a way out?"
"No," he said; "I have neither knowledge nor skill in such matters; but my thoughts just then were faraway. I was thinking how curiously certain apparently trivial instances of one's childhood will stand out with almost startling prominence."
"What sent you off in that direction?" questioned Dr. Everett. "There must have been an association of ideas."
"Oh, there was. I was thinking how vividly I remembered a discussion between my mother and my sister younger than Esther, in regard to some matter which perplexed them; and when they could come to no satisfactory conclusion, they appealed to my sister Esther, who was resting as usual on her lounge. I seem to hear her voice as she said,—
"'We haven't to do anything about it until to-morrow; perhaps to-morrow will have a light of its own for our direction.'"
"Thank you," Mrs. Roberts said, her eyes lighting with an appreciative smile; "we have not to do anything about this until Monday night, and perhaps Monday night will see us wise."
I don't know how many thought of this little conversation when Monday evening came; but certainly Alfred Reid and Mrs. Roberts did, for she glanced at him and smiled significantly when Dr. Everett, having apparently forgotten that anything beyond their own pleasure was in contemplation, challenged Gracie to a discussion as to the emphasis on a certain word in the second line; he had never heard it so read, and he called for an analysis that would sustain the reading, and received it, and was not yet prepared to yield the point, but read the verse as he had imagined it should be read.
And then Gracie, at Mr. Roberts's call, repeated it with her rendering; and I am not sure but all parties concerned actually forgot their final object in the interest of the discussion until they were suddenly called to it by an interrupting voice,—
"Your'n's the way," it said, with an emphatic nod of a shock of matted hair—"your'n's the way."
It was Dirk Colson. He had forgotten for the moment that anybody was listening to him, save the two readers. He was looking directly at Gracie, and the nods were evidently intended for her.
"Of course it is!" she said eagerly, her face flushing with a triumph that had nothing to do with the right emphasis.
"You read it, won't you, and show these people that we are right?"
Afterward, Mrs. Roberts confessed that she involuntarily placed her hand on her heart with a dim idea of hushing its beating, lest others would hear, so important to her did the moment seem.
Dr. Everett looked dismayed. The least hopeful one of the seven seemed Dirk. None of them knew of his dangerous talent for imitation. None of them believed that he would make any attempt at reading, but thought he would shrink into deeper sullenness. All of them were mistaken. He reached for the book, glanced for a moment over the lines, and then read the verse with so complete an imitation of Gracie Dennis, and yet with a voice and manner that so fitted the homely words and the homely scene described, that the effect was actually better than when Gracie read.
Instinctively the cultured portion of his audience greeted the effort with a clapping of hands. The blood, meantime, rolled in dark waves over Dirk's face. He had been cheered before. None of his present applauders could imagine what a set had often clapped their hands over his successful imitations; but Dirk, who liked applause as well as other human beings do, had never, in his wildest stretches of imagination, placed himself before such people as listened now, and received their approval.
Great was the excitement and satisfaction. The six companions, far from feeling any emotion of jealousy, seemed greatly elated, believing that one of their number had made a "hit" and increased their importance.
No one else could be found to attempt the verse. Nimble Dick shook his head good-naturedly, and declared that he would rather "undertake to run an engine to Californy" than try it; and the others were of like mind. Then came Gracie to the front again.
"I'll tell you what you must all do. I have been experimenting with that type-writer, Mr. Roberts, all the week. You know it will manifold, with the use of carbon paper; and it chances that when I was seized with a desire to try its powers in that direction, I chose this very verse to copy. So I have fifteen good copies in print. You must each take a copy and make this verse a study until next Monday; then I shall challenge you all to sustain me in my reading."
This proposition was hailed with such satisfaction by the older members that it immediately became popular, and each boy received his copy mechanically and gazed at it curiously, but Dirk Colson's thoughts were turned in a new channel.
"Look here!" he said, detaining Gracie by an imperious inclination of his head, as she handed him the copy. "How did you make these? Didn't you print them fifteen times? I didn't understand what you said."
"Why no," said Gracie; "the machine will manifold. I'll show you; come over to the end window: it stands there waiting to be displayed, and it is a little wonder."
Then they crowded around the type-writer, and Gracie, really proud of the skill she had acquired in a week's time, showed off the little wonder to great advantage.
The fact that the type-writer was new to most of the others, that they were decidedly ignorant as to its working, increased the comfort of the hour, by doing away with the embarrassing feeling that any one of them was playing a part. Dr. Everett was no more familiar with the type-writer than was Dirk Colson, and was just as eager to know about it.
Also, everybody apparently felt an equally strong desire to write his name on the marvellous little creature; and each in turn sat down before it and moved his awkward hands with nearly equal slowness over the keys, picking out the magic letters.
It was this episode that made the workers during their next conference branch out in new lines.
"We need something," said Dr. Everett, walking up and down the floor in puzzled thought—"we need something that shall be a genuine common interest, of which we are all, or all but one, equally ignorant—something that we can take hold of with zest, on as low a platform as the most ignorant of those seven. I was convinced of that when I saw the abandon with which we all went into the type-writer business with a naturalness and equality that, in the matter of reading and writing, it is impossible for us to feel. If the machine were complicated, so that it would take us each three months or so to master it, that would do. What can we take up that will place us on a level?"
CHAPTER XIX.
"WE HAVE BEGUN BACKWARDS."
"WELL," said Mr. Reid, "we should want to have one of our number not 'on a level.' How would it do to appoint you, Dr. Everett, to give us a few lectures in hygiene? Popular lectures about air and exercise and ventilation and bathing, and all sorts of every-day topics about which people are ignorant."
"That's a capital idea, Reid. Those fellows could certainly be benefited by a little attention to such questions; and I'm sure the rest of us would like to hear of the principles which govern these important laws. Such lectures put into popular form are decidedly interesting, I think. Let us vote for them." This was Mr. Roberts's hearty seconding.
But the doctor laughed.
"There is a ludicrous side to it which you do not see," he said. "Imagine me holding forth on the importance of ventilation, for instance, to a poor fellow who comes from a region where father and mother, and a horde of children of both sexes and all ages, crowd together in one room, and that a cellar, where the sun never penetrates, and the air that crawls in through the one small window is reeking With even more impurities than can be found inside; or talking about bathing to the poor wretches who have no clothes to change, and barely water enough, by carrying it long distances, to satisfy their most pressing needs!
"Still, Reid, I'm not quarrelling with your idea. There is a sensible side to it; there are things that I could tell even those boys which might interest them, and would certainly be to their advantage to know. The subject is one which can be popularized to suit even such an audience. I'll try for it occasionally if it shall seem best, but it doesn't meet my demand. I want us all on a platform where we shall start in equal ignorance and get on together. Of course you are all more or less familiar with all the facts that I should have to present, and the boys would know it. They are sharp fellows; it wouldn't take them an hour to discover that we were fishing for them; and if there is any one thing on which they are at present determined, it is probably that they will not be benefited. What is there that one of us knows of which the others are ignorant? French won't do, for Miss Dennis is acquainted with that language, I think, and so are you, Reid, are you not?"
"Well, I can stammer through a few sentences. I don't speak it like a native, as you do."
At this revelation a vivid blush glowed on Gracie Dennis's cheek. She remembered Professor Ellis's comments in French. Then the doctor had understood, though his face was so imperturbable! What could he have thought of the courtesy of her guest?
Meantime Mr. Reid wore a perplexed face.
"You are right," he said to the doctor; "we are not enough on a level; I felt our advantage last night when Miss Dennis was explaining the type-writer. But I don't see the way clear. What subject is there on which all but one of us could meet on common ground, and that one could turn professor?"
Here interposed Mr. Roberts, speaking in a meek tone of voice:—
"If I were not a modest man, I should venture a suggestion; as it is, I really don't know what to do."
The doctor turned to him quickly:—
"Out with it, man; if you are master of a profession, or a trade, or a theory, unknown to the rest of us, you are bound on your honour as a member of this unique organization to present it."
At the same moment Mrs. Roberts came to his aid.
"O Evan, teach us shorthand!"
Whereupon Mr. Roberts heaved what was intended to appear as a sigh of relief, and announced that his modesty was preserved.
Upon this suggestion they seized with eagerness; not one of them knew anything about phonetic writing, save Mr. Roberts, and he was master of the art.
"It is the very thing!" the doctor said with heartiness. "I should like exceedingly to learn it, and Reid and the ladies may be able to make it useful in a hundred ways; and as for the seven, if they really master it, it may be the foundation of a fortune for some of them."
So, without more ado, it was planned that on the very next Monday evening the subject should be skilfully presented, its importance and its fascinations discussed, and the boys be beguiled into taking a first lesson, sandwiched in between the all-important reading and writing lessons.
Alas for plans! On the very next Monday the conspirators, with the exception of young Reid, were together by seven o'clock. The faint aroma of coffee floated through the room. A fruit-basket filled with oranges occupied a conspicuous table, and everything waited for the guests.
While they waited, instead of enjoying themselves as the four were certainly capable of doing, they were noticeably restless—listened for the shuffling of careless feet on the steps, and the sound of uncultured voices in the hall, and waited expectantly whenever the bell pealed, only to be obliged to send word to some caller that "Mr. and Mrs. Roberts were engaged."
The special occupation of the four seemed to be to look at their watches and to remark that the doctor's was a trifle fast, and to wonder if half-past seven would be a more suitable hour for the boys, and to wonder what could be detaining Reid.
At last it was half-past seven, and then it was fifteen minutes of eight, and then it was ten minutes of eight!
And then the doorbell rang again. It was Reid, and he was alone! One glance at his distressed face told the lookers-on that something was amiss, even before he exclaimed:—
"You won't see a boy to-night!"
"Why?" "What is the trouble?" "Where are they?"
These were the various ways of putting the same question.
"One of the M'Cullum partners has become interested in the boys, it seems, and has concluded that he will try what he can do towards their elevation; so he has commenced by presenting each one of them with a ticket to the Green Street Theatre, and there they are at this moment!"
This startling intelligence was variously received.
Dr. Everett exclaimed,—"Is it possible?"
Gracie Dennis remarked that it was something like what she had expected; Mrs. Roberts said not a word; and Mr. Roberts added to the astonishment of the moment by bursting into a laugh.
Poor Reid seemed to feel the laugh more than anything; his face gathered into heavier clouds than before, he bit his lip to hold back the vexed words that were just ready to burst forth, and strode almost angrily to the farther corner of the room.
An embarrassed silence seemed to fall upon the others. At least Gracie felt embarrassed; the doctor looked simply expectant.
At last Mr. Roberts drew himself up from his lounging attitude and broke into the stillness.
"Ah, now, good people, don't let us make serious mistakes! Come back here, my dear young brother, and let us look this thing in the face, and talk it over calmly. Are we children playing at benevolence that at the first discouragement we should cry out,—
"'All is lost!' And retire vanquished?
"Come, I laughed because really this does not seem such a serious matter to me as it seems to present to the rest of you.
"What did we expect? Here are seven boys, right from the gutters; somehow we have had them laid on our hearts, and have enlisted to help to fight the battle that is going on about them in this world. Christ died to save them, and Satan means that the sacrifice shall be in vain. He is bringing all his powers to bear on them, and he has many and varied powers.
"Here comes into the scene a man benevolently inclined—not a Christian, but in his way a philanthropist. By accident, he has come in contact with one of the boys; by accident, he learns that something—he does not know quite what—is being attempted to benefit them. Can't you give him the credit of being honest? The only thing he thinks of that he can do to help is to give them an evening's entertainment. At one of the decent theatres there is being presented what seems to be known in their parlance as a 'moral play!' So he presents each boy with a ticket. Now, what did we expect of those boys?
"Last week a lady and two gentlemen who have been members of our church for years left the regular prayer-meeting and went to the Philharmonic concert.
"Ought we to expect that it would even occur to our seven boys to give up what to them is a rare treat for the pleasure of spending an evening with us? As for the moral obligation, they have probably never so much as heard the words.
"Isn't it time we knew what we were about? What are we after? It is well enough to teach the poor fellows to read and write, and to help to lift them up in other ways, but our efforts will amount to very little unless we succeed in bringing them to the great Lever of human society; unless Christ takes hold of this thing we shall fail. Now, has he taken hold? Is he, at least, as much interested in them as we are? Is his Holy Spirit preceding and supplementing all our efforts? And if this is the case, is an evening at a theatre going to ruin his plans?"
Long before these earnest sentences were concluded, Reid had returned from his distant corner and taken a seat near his employer. His eyes were full of tears, and his voice trembled:—
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Roberts; I'm an ignorant blunderer; I did feel for the moment as though everything were lost."
"We have begun backwards," said Mr. Roberts. "I was reading to-day what a mistake the missionaries made for years in trying to 'civilize' the Greenlanders. And what a perfect failure they made of it until one day, almost by accident, a man began to tell them about Christ on the cross, and the story melted them. I don't think we have thought enough about him in this matter."
"I stand convicted," Dr. Everett said; "I've made the same mistake, I believe, in all my efforts for people. I have been praying for them, it is true; but after all, I feel now as though there had been too much relying on human means, and not enough on God. It is a case of 'these ought ye to have done, and not to have left the other undone.'"
"Well," said Mr. Roberts, looking at his watch, "we are in the same condemnation; it is, I believe, the most common and one of the most fatal mistakes that Christian workers make. But there is a way out. We expected to spend until ten o'clock with those boys. It is nearly nine now: suppose we spend the next hour with Christ, asking for the power of the Holy Spirit on any and every effort that we may make for them in the future? Our ultimate aim is to bring every one of them to Jesus, and he knows it; now if we have gone about in the wrong way, we have only to ask his forgiveness and look to him steadily for guidance. What do you say, friends? Shall we spend the hour in taking them to the only One who really can afford them lasting help?"
I suppose that he who "maketh the wrath of man to praise him" is equally able to manage the folly of man. Could the injudicious philanthropist have looked into that room that evening, and heard the prayers that went up to God for those boys, and understood something of the power of prayer, he would have had one illustration of how God manages the foolishness of men.
It was a very earnest prayer-meeting. These workers had each one bowed in secret, and with more or less earnestness asked for God's blessing on their efforts; but it occurred to them that evening, as a very strange thing, that they had never unitedly prayed for this before.
Therefore, there was an element of confession in all the prayers that moved Gracie Dennis strangely. Especially was this the case when she heard her old acquaintance, Flossy, pour out her soul's longings. It happened, so strange are the customs of Christians, that though this was the daughter of a minister of the gospel, herself a Christian, she had never before heard a lady pray in the presence of gentlemen. She had heard of their doing so, heard them criticised with sharp sarcasm. Some of the criticisms which had sounded full of keenness and wit when she heard them, recurred to her at this time, and some way, with Flossy's low, earnest voice filling her heart, they dwindled into shallowness and coarseness. All the same, their baneful influence was on her, and helped to hold her back from opening her lips, for the critic had been Professor Ellis.
When the hostess and her young guest were left alone together that evening, the latter had a question to ask:—
"Flossy Shipley!"—the name, you will remember, which she always went back to when excited. "I didn't know you believed in praying in public! Have you changed in everything?"
"In public, my dear!" with a quiet smile. "Why, I am in my own house."
"Oh yes, but you know what I mean—before gentlemen. Do you really think it is necessary?"
"As to that, Gracie, I don't believe I thought anything about it. I wanted to pray for those boys, and so I prayed."
"And didn't you really shrink from it at all? How very queer! Flossy, I do believe nobody was ever so much changed by religion as you have been. I don't see what makes the difference. I'm sure I think I'm a Christian, but I could never do such a thing as that."
"Not if you believed it to be your duty?"
"But I don't believe it," said the fair logician, her face flushing; "I think it is out of place. I beg your pardon, Flossy, I don't mean I think it sounded badly in you; but only that for me it would be horrid, and I couldn't do it."
"Then what are you talking about, my dear? If you should never consider it your duty, you would certainly never be called upon to do it."
CHAPTER XX.
"OH, WHAT A NICE THOUGHT!"
THIS very calm view of the question gave Gracie time to recover from her excitement, and to laugh at her folly.
Then Mrs. Roberts said, still speaking very gently,—
"I don't want to argue with you, dear, and I couldn't if I wished—you know I am a dunce about all such things; but I just want to ask you a little question. You need not answer me unless you choose—not now, that is; perhaps some time we may want to talk about it. I would like to know the reasons that people have for thinking that it is out of place for a lady to kneel down with her Christian friends and speak to Jesus about a thing that they unitedly desire, and that they believe he is able to do for them? If it is not proper to speak before them, why is it proper to speak to them on the same subject?"
This question Gracie carried to her room for thought.
Meantime, as Dr. Everett and young Reid went homeward, they had a talk together.
"When I found out that those boys had gone to the theatre to-night I was completely discouraged," declared Reid. "It seemed to me that our work was a failure; I could almost see Satan laughing over the success of his scheme. I never felt so about anything in my life. And now it seems to me that perhaps the Lord will let it result in being the best thing that ever happened to us."
To all of which Dr. Everett made the apparently irrelevant answer,—
"Mr. Roberts and his wife are singularly well mated; how perfectly they fit into each other's thoughts. Reid, you and I have a great deal to learn from them."
"I have," said Reid meekly.
Yet another bit of talk closed this evening.
"M'Cullum has given me an idea," Mr. Roberts said to his wife as they sat together reviewing the day. "Not a bad one, I fancy. I wonder when we can act on it and watch results? There are tickets for other places besides theatres. Why couldn't we furnish them for some entertainment, lecture, or concert, or something of the sort that would be really helpful? The only difficulty is that there are few helpful places, as yet, within reach of their capacities. It takes an exceptional genius to hold such listeners."
But his wife, her face aglow, clasped her hands in an ecstasy of delight.
"What a beautiful thought!" she said. "And how nice that it should come to you just now, when there will be such a splendid opportunity to put it in practice! Why, don't you know? Gough, next week—half-a-crown tickets; on temperance, too! How grand! And, Evan, let us give them each two tickets. I want that Dirk Colson to take his sister. Perhaps he will not, but then he may; one can never tell. O Evan, won't it be nice?"
"Ah!" said Mr. Roberts. "As usual you are ahead of me. I had not thought of the two tickets apiece. That is a suggestion for their manliness. Flossy, we'll try it."
Yet another bit of talk.
They shambled down the stairs from the second-rate hall at a late hour that evening—those seven boys; quiet for them, though the play had been exciting, and not remarkably moral, "viewed" from the standpoint of a Christian.
"After all," said Nimble Dick, breaking a silence with speech, as though the subject of which he spoke had been under discussion among them, "after all, it was rather sneaking to bolt and say nothing; I kind of wish we hadn't done it."
"That's what I told you all along," said Dirk Colson with even unusual sullenness; "but you would go and do it, and we was fools enough to follow you."
"And I'll bet she had oysters or something!" This from Jerry Tompkins. You have probably no idea how hungry he was at that moment.
"They was goin' to do somethin' new to-night—that there Dennis girl told me so when I met her on the street yesterday; something that we would like first-rate, she said— a bran-new notion." This was Stephen Crowley's contribution to the general discomfort.
"Well," said Nimble Dick, and the sigh with which he spoke the word would have gone to Mrs. Roberts's heart, "I s'pose it's all up now; I shouldn't wonder if we never got another bid; I wouldn't if I was them, I know that. And their old theatre wasn't no good shakes, after all. We've been a pack of fools, and I don't mind owning it."
Whereupon, having reached the corner, they separated and went glumly to their homes. And this is gratitude! What a pity Mr. M'Cullum, who had been smiling over his benevolence all the evening, could not have heard them!
The weeks that followed this night were crowded with trifles on which hung important and far-reaching results. This is a very trite saying, I know. All weeks are crowded with eventful trifles—at least, we in our blindness call them trifles, although we are constantly discovering their importance, and being constantly astonished over them.
Among other things, the seven boys became nine, having taken to their companionship two choice spirits, apparently worse than themselves, and appeared at the South End Mission with all the bravado that boys of their stamp are apt to put on when they feel somewhat ashamed of themselves. The consequence was that the trials which Mrs. Roberts had to endure from them, though a trifle less apparent to others, were not a whit less distressing than usual.
But before the session was concluded they were treated to a sensation that held them in silent astonishment for nearly five minutes. Any person well acquainted with Alfred Reid could have told that he had a plan in view, and was trying to carry it in the face of some opposition. He looked convinced, and Mr. Durant looked astonished and troubled; there was much low-toned talk between them, and some shaking of head. Apparently, however, Mr. Reid came off victor, for his brow cleared, and he presently made his way to Mrs. Roberts's side and said a few words, and must have been gratified by the sudden lighting up of her face and her eager,—
"Oh, what a nice thought! Even if it fails apparently, it will not utterly, for the suggestion will help them."
In the course of time the new idea came to the front. There was to be a festival, or a social, or an entertainment at the South End in the course of a few weeks—a sort of anniversary of the starting of the mission. Among other work that was in progress, the decoration of the room, involving the hanging of pictures, banners, mottoes, wreaths, etc., required some strong arms and willing hands. Committees were to be formed. Two weeks before, teachers had been appointed to prepare a list of committees. It fell to young Reid to appoint the committee on decoration. When he was called upon for his report, he came promptly forward, like a man ready for action, and commenced,—
"A committee of four has been deemed amply sufficient for decoration, and I appoint for the purpose the following: Richard Bolton, Morris Burns, Miss Gracie Dennis, and Miss Annie Powell."
The teachers, who had been long at the mission, looked from one to another with a bewildered air. Morris Burns they knew—a clear-eyed young Scotchman, with willing hands and feet ever ready to run off errands for all workers, a boy of nineteen or so, whom everybody liked, warmhearted, unselfish, and thoroughly trustworthy. Annie Powell was one of the older girls in Mr. Durant's Bible-class—a sweet-faced, lady-like little factory girl, who would work in with Morris Burns nicely. Miss Gracie Dennis was Mrs. Roberts's beautiful young friend. All the teachers knew her, and all thought it very kind in her to throw her strength and taste into the preparations as heartily as though she were one of them. But who was Richard Bolton? Nobody knew. Yet their knowledge of business etiquette told them that he was chairman of the decoration committee. Where was he? Not a teacher, certainly, for they were intimately acquainted with one another; and they knew no such name in the one Bible-class made up of trustworthy helpers.
Over in Mrs. Roberts's class, with the single exception of the teacher, there was equal ignorance. The nine boys had stopped their restless mischief to listen, because there is a sort of fascination to boys in all the details of well-managed business. They liked to hear the appointments; but who Richard Bolton might be seemed not to occur to one of them. It is true that Jerry Tompkins nudged Nimble Dick in anything but a quiet way with his elbow, and murmured, "You've got a namesake it seems in this 'ere job." Yet no light dawned on them.
Mr. Durant, who, it is possible, has not appeared to you in a favourable light, for the reason that he was being much perplexed by the entirely new methods being introduced among the boys who had heretofore driven him to the very verge of desperation, was really a quick-witted man, and having succumbed to what he feared was a wild experiment, knew how to help to carry it out properly. He came briskly to the front—Alfred's committee being the last on the list—and began his work.
"The chairmen of these different committees will be kind enough to report to me as rapidly as possible the time and place of their first meeting for consultation, and I will make the announcements." Then he stepped to Mrs. Roberts's class. "Bolton," he said, bending toward that astonished scamp, and speaking as though this were an every-day affair, "you are chairman, I believe, of the decoration committee; where and when will you have them meet?"
Imagine Nimble Dick's eyes! Nay, imagine the eyes and faces of the entire nine! It would have been a study for an artist.
For a moment Nimble Dick was speechless; then he managed to burst forth with,—
"What in thunder are you talking about?"
"Your committee," said Mr. Durant politely, ignoring the manner of the questioner. "You must call them together, you know, to plan your work. Where shall it be, and when?"
"I ain't got no committee; and I ain't got no place to meet nobody; and I don't know what in thunder you're after."
Then came Mrs. Roberts to the rescue.
"Why, Mr. Bolton, you can meet at our society parlour, you know. It is the very place, and will be so convenient for Miss Dennis."
"What's to meet, and what's to do?" said Dick defiantly. "I ain't going to meet nobody."
"Why, it is just to hang mottoes and banners, and trim the room for the anniversary. Of course you'll help; I would have the meeting arranged there by all means."
"Very well," said Mr. Durant quickly, as though he had received the answer from the chairman himself. "Now as to time, you ought to come together to-morrow evening if you could; there is a good deal to do."
"Mr. Bolton, couldn't you come up at six o'clock for once? Then you could get your work all done before the time for our social. I can arrange for Annie Powell to be there at that time; and, Mr. Durant, doesn't Morris Burns work for you? Could he be present at six o'clock? Then I don't see but your meeting is nicely planned. You can be there at six, can't you, Mr. Bolton?"
"I tell you I don't know nothin' what you are talking about."
Nimble Dick, who was rarely anything but good-natured, was surprised by the bewilderments of the situation into being almost as fierce as Dirk Colson was habitually; the gaping amazement of his boon companions seeming to add to his irritation.
"But you will," said his teacher cheerily. "It is an easy matter to explain. Miss Dennis knows all about such things, and I'm going to help, though they haven't honoured me with an appointment."
At a sign from the lady, Mr. Durant stepped back to his platform and announced,—
"The chairman of the committee on decoration desires me to say that his committee is called together to-morrow evening at the Young Men's Social Parlours, No. 76 East Fifty-fifth Street, at six o'clock, 'sharp,' as the chairman has another engagement at seven."
"I had to coin a name for the place of meeting," he said to Mrs. Roberts afterwards. "I beg your pardon if it was wrong; but Reid has been giving me glowing accounts of that room, and you said something about its being a social parlour, didn't you?"
"It is a good name," said Mrs. Roberts. "We have awkwardly called it the 'new room.' I am glad it is christened. I will have some curtains hung through the centre to-morrow to make 'parlours' instead of parlour of it. I can see how a second room can be made useful in several ways."
Thus was the bewildering committee whirled into existence; the chairman thereof being still so dumbfounded with his position that he did not rouse until the laughing boys, by whom he was surrounded, began to take in some of the fun of the situation, and to assail him right and left with mock congratulations, ill-suppressed groans, hisses, and the like. Then he turned towards them with new-born dignity that would have fitted Dirk Colson, and said,—
"If you fellows don't shut up and behave yourselves something like decent for the rest of the time, I'll chaw half-a-dozen of you into mincemeat as soon as we are out of this!"
CHAPTER XXI.
"HAD HIS EXPERIMENT BEEN TOO SEVERE?"
DR. EVERETT was driving rapidly through the city—at least, as rapidly as the crowded character of the streets would permit. He was out on professional duty, and had just been congratulating himself that his regular calls were now made for the day, and unless something special intervened, he should have a couple of hours free for the alleys.
That meant professional duty, too, and of the very hardest character, one would suppose, as it brought him in contact not only with sickness in some of its most repulsive forms, but with abject poverty as well, and too often with loathsome forms of sin; yet he went about this work with a zest that his regular practice did not furnish. This was something done solely for Jesus' sake, and with an eye that was manifestly single to his glory.
He had already selected his alley, and was planning how, when his horses were safely stabled, he could make a crosscut to it, when his eyes were held by two persons who were ascending together the stairway that led to one of the public halls. His face darkened as he watched them. Apparently they were engrossed with each other, and took no notice of him; but there were reasons why he specially desired to keep them in view. A network of carriages and waggons such as is common to crowded thoroughfares blocked his path just then, and prolonged his opportunity to watch the two.
They made their way in a very leisurely manner up the long staircase, letting others, more in haste, pass them continually. Yet presently they joined the group who were passing up tickets of entrance.
The doctor signalled a policeman, and entered into conversation:—
"What is going on in Seltzer Hall?"
"Well, sir, there's a kind of a concert, I guess. They play on goblets, they say just common glass goblets—and make fine music."
"An afternoon entertainment?"
"Yes, sir, as a kind of introduction, you know; they expect to get a crowd for evening by this means."
"Do you know where tickets are to be had?"
The policeman indicated a bookstore at his left by a gesture from his thumb, and said, "Right here," and offered to secure some at once. He knew Dr. Everett; many of the policemen did.
His offer was accepted with thanks, and the doctor presently wound his way out from the network with two green tickets in his pocket. His plans for the afternoon had been suddenly changed. Instead of spending the time in Sewell Alley, he had decided to attend a musical exhibition, the instruments being goblets!
He must make all speed now, so he left the crowded street and dodged through several by-ways to the stables.
No use to keep his horses. "She would be afraid to drive through such crowds," he explained to himself, "and I should be afraid to leave the carriage standing."
Rushing out from the stables, he caught just the right street-car, and in a short space of time was ringing at Mr. Roberts's door.
Gracie Dennis was in the hall, dressed for the street.
"Ah," said the doctor, "I am either fortunate or unfortunate, I wonder which? I had set my heart on having you for a companion to what I fancy may be a unique entertainment. Is there another engagement in the way? I know this is a most unconventional method, but a doctor is never sure of his time."
But Gracie Dennis felt too well acquainted with Dr. Everett, and was too young and ready for enjoyment, to be disturbed about conventionality. She merrily declared her willingness to be taken to whatever entertainment the doctor had to propose. Mrs. Roberts was out with her husband on business connected with church matters, and she had only intended to walk a square or two for her health.
On the way the doctor was very quiet, Gracie having most of the talking to do herself. The truth was, he was trying to recall the faces of the people he had seen crowding into the hall, to make sure that he was not taking Gracie among people whom he would not care to have her meet. Apparently the couple whose movements had changed all his afternoon plans were not a sufficient guarantee of respectability.
However, his face cleared as he recalled one and another as being in the crowd seeking admission; they might not be of the class with whom Gracie was accustomed to mingle, but they were respectable people.
Gracie was in a merry mood. She understood enough of the doctor's busy life to feel sure that this sudden resolve to be entertained was quite out of his ordinary line, and that of itself served to mark the hour as exceptional.
"He feels the need of a little every-day fun," she told herself, "and I'll help him to have it if I can. Poor man! It must be doleful to go among sick and dying people all the time."
They were late at the hall; the concert was well under way; but there were plenty of vacant seats. Dr. Everett swept his eye over the room; then indicated to the usher just which seat he would have. It was one which commanded a view of the young man and woman who seemed to have such a mysterious influence over his plans.
He was relieved to find, quite early in the entertainment, that it really was unique, and, in its way, well worth her hearing. Had the surroundings been agreeable, he could easily have given himself up to enjoyment. However, they had been seated but a few moments when he saw by Gracie's startled eyes that she had seen and recognized at least one of the couple at their left.
Professor Ellis, in his usual faultless attire, lounged gracefully on the seat in such a manner that his side-face was distinct; he rested a well-shaped arm on the back of the seat next him, and his delicately-gloved hand almost, if not quite, touched the shoulder of his companion.
Both he and the lady at his side gave extremely little attention to the entertainment in progress. Apparently they had come thither for purposes of conversation. They kept up a continuous murmur of talk, interspersed at intervals with rippling laughter, and really seemed so entirely absorbed in each other as to have at times forgotten that the hall was public, and that the attention of many was being turned toward them.
The girl was pretty, extremely so, with an entirely different style of beauty from Gracie Dennis; and a certain indescribable something in her face and manner would have told even the most casual observer that she moved in a different circle. It was not her dress, unless that was a little too pronounced for the place and hour; but quite young ladies in good society sometimes make a similar mistake. Neither was her manner objectionable to the degree that you could have pointed to any one thing as offensive; yet you would have been sure, had you watched her, that she was without the pale of what we call society.
Gracie Dennis watched her with a kind of fascination, becoming at last so absorbed with the watching, and the apparently troubled thoughts which grew out of it, that she gave but slight attention to Dr. Everett's occasional remarks, nor seemed to observe that at last, he lapsed into total silence.
Once, during the hour, the young woman glanced casually in their direction, and the careless nod and free and easy smile with which she acknowledged Dr. Everett's presence drew a startled glance from Gracie to rest on him for a moment.
"Now I wish I had my horses," the doctor said, as at last they made their way down the aisle. "I have a mile's drive up-town to take, and I think the exercise might be good for you."
Gracie caught at the suggestion, and begged to be allowed to remain in the bookstore below while he went for the horses.
"I want a ride, and I want to talk with you," she said simply.
As this was precisely what he wanted, he went for the horses without more delay.
Meantime, Gracie, in one of the windows of the bookstore, was supposed to be employed in examining a recent book, but in reality gave much attention to the couple who were crossing the street, or rather waiting for an opportunity to do so.
They seemed in no haste, but were conspicuous, even in the crowded street, for their interest in each other. More than one policeman regarded them narrowly, as Professor Ellis stood with head bent toward the lady, engaged in eager and animated conversation. It was just the attitude of absorbed interest with which he had so often listened to Gracie—not on the street, it is true, but in some crowded parlour—and it had flattered her.
It made her frown to-day.
They were starting now to make the disagreeable crossing. He had taken his companion's hand, preparatory to a leap over a muddy spot; but Gracie could see that there was a pressure of it that was unnecessary, and, for the street, peculiar. His face, too, was distinctly visible, and the expression on it was what Gracie had seen before, but certainly she supposed no other person had.
Altogether it was probably well for Professor Ellis's peace of mind that he did not turn at that moment and get a glimpse of the young lady in the bookstore. Instead he took his lady away, and they were lost in the crowd.
Dr. Everett, making all haste with his horses, had still time for anxious thought. Had his experiment been too severe on Gracie? Was it possible that her interest in the man was such that the afternoon's experience had been mixed with pain as well as with disgust? He could not believe it possible that the pure-hearted young girl cared for such a man as Professor Ellis. Yet there had been a look on her face when she saw those two which startled and hurt him.
When fairly seated in his carriage, he did not speak until they had threaded the maze of waggons and reached clear ground. Even then, he only said, "Now for speed," and gave the horses their desire, until crowds and business were left behind, and they were driving down a broad avenue, lined on either side with stately yet quiet-looking houses. Then he drew rein, and obliged the horses to walk; he had by this time resolved on probing the wound, if there was one.
"I wish I knew just how much of a villain that man is." These were the somewhat startling words which broke his silence.
"What man?" Yet the very tones of Gracie's voice indicated that she knew of whom he was speaking.
"That man Ellis—Professor, I think he is called. I have reason to be very suspicious of him. By the way, Miss Gracie, I think he is an acquaintance of yours. Have you confidence in him?"
How promptly and indignantly such a question would have received an affirmative answer two months before! What should she say now?
"In what respect?" she faltered, more for the purpose of gaining time than because she did not understand the question.
"Well, in any respect, I am almost prepared to say. I have not the honour of the man's acquaintance; but whatever I hear about him, or see in him, I dislike and distrust. Just at present his ways are specially disturbing. You noticed him this afternoon, I think! The young girl in his company belongs to my Sabbath school. I have a deep interest in her, partly because she is the sort of girl who is always more or less in danger in this wicked world, and partly because she is capable of strongly influencing another, who is a special protégé of mine."
"Who is the girl?" Gracie's manner was abrupt, and her voice constrained. It was evident that she was making great effort to control herself, and appear indifferent to all parties.
The doctor took no notice of her constraint.
"Her name is Mason, Hester Mason. She attends the Packard Place Sabbath School, which you know I superintend. She is motherless, and worse than fatherless; is a clerk in one of the Fourth Avenue stores; and is, or was, inclined to be what is called gay. I do not know that that term conveys any special meaning to you; in young men I think they call the same line of conduct 'fast.' I hope and believe that you would not well understand either term; yet, I think, possibly, that watching her this afternoon in a public hall will give you some conception of the stretch that there is between yourself and her."
CHAPTER XXII.
"SOME PEOPLE ARE HARD TO WARN."
HAD Dr. Everett desired in a few words to show Gracie the gulf between herself and the man who had been the girl's companion for the afternoon, perhaps he could not have formed his sentence better.
She shivered visibly, and the doctor drew the carriage wraps more carefully about her, while he continued:—
"I would not want to give you a wrong estimate of Hester Mason, nor lead you to imagine for a moment that I believe a girl who serves behind a counter cannot be a true lady. I wanted rather to explain to you that her opportunities had been limited. She means to be a good girl, I think; in fact, I may say I have the utmost confidence in her intentions. She is not a Christian, but a few weeks ago I had her name on my note-book as one who was almost persuaded. She has been fighting the question of personal religion for some time; her special stumbling-block being that she is quick-witted, and has quite a clear idea of how Christians ought to live, and can find very few who seem to her to be living what they profess. However, as I say, I have been very hopeful of her until within a few weeks, when she came in contact with this man, and I tremble for the result. He is constant in his attentions, and she is evidently flattered and dazed."
"How long has he known her? How did he become acquainted?" Abrupt questions still, asked in that curiously repressed voice.
The doctor's face was growing very grave and stern. He feared that there was a real wound here.
"Inadvertently, Miss Dennis, it seems that both you and I are to blame, or, at least, are involved in the acquaintance. Do you remember a little incident which occurred in a street-car some six weeks ago? A young woman, in leaving the car, dropped a package, which you noticing, called our attention to, and pointed out the person crossing the street; and Professor Ellis announced his willingness to overtake her and return the package, as he was about to leave the car. Miss Mason was the person in question, and Professor Ellis presumed on that very slight introduction to cultivate an acquaintance. I have learned that he quoted my name in connection with the incident, and since that day has been on terms of exceeding intimacy with Hester."
Gracie was surprised out of her reserve.
"I remember the incident perfectly; but the girl I saw this afternoon cannot be the one who was on the car."
"Yes; she was in holiday attire to-day, and in her working garb when you saw her momentarily on the car. I remember a feeling of regret that Professor Ellis should have so promptly volunteered to do your errand; yet I did not know what I dreaded. I simply shrank from the man, and wanted others to do so."
"Dr. Everett, what is his motive in showing her attention?"
"I wish I knew. I can tell you what I greatly fear—that it is to play with the human heart; to see to what extent he can gain power over it. And in this case, certainly, it is a most cruel thing. The girl has no friends, no father or mother, to advise with or help her. She is bright and pretty, and is being shown glimpses of a world that seems to her like fairyland. She is dazzled, and one cannot blame her, for she has neither carefully-formed judgment nor trustworthy friends to lean upon. Miss Dennis, you can judge from her manner this afternoon what is her knowledge of the customs of polite society. I do not think she has an idea that she was conspicuous, save for her beauty and the fine appearance of her attendant. She is not one to shrink from what she would consider legitimate public admiration, and this you can see but adds to her danger."
"But, Dr. Everett, you do not think, you cannot mean, that he intends to pay her special attention—that he means anything more than the desire to give her a little pleasure?"
"Well," said the doctor, speaking slowly but with firmness, "you may judge, Miss Dennis, what I think—what any honourable person thinks—of a man who bestows in public the sort of attentions which we saw this afternoon. You would have been insulted by them. The only reason that this poor girl was not, is because she does not know any better. Did you observe the flashing of a peculiarly set ring on her finger? I have reason to fear that it belongs to him, and that she believes herself specially honoured in being asked to wear it."
Poor Gracie's cheeks were flaming now. She had not observed the ring; but she knew it well, and for one brief evening had worn it herself, and then had returned it to the owner with the assurance that she could not bring herself to wear it without her father's consent. She remembered what a wound she had felt herself bestowing when he had looked at her with those expressive, reproachful eyes, and replied that if she felt toward him as he did to her, she would not allow even a father to come between them. And he had actually given that ring into the keeping of this girl!
They rode on in silence, the doctor giving a hint to the horses that they might go as fast as they chose. He was in great doubt and pain of heart. Could it be possible that this carefully shielded young girl was caught in the toils of a man whom he believed to be an unprincipled villain?
If so, had he been unnecessarily cruel in his revelations? Ought he to take her home, or drive further and give her time to recover herself?
Could he have understood what was passing in her mind, he would have known better what next to say.
The simple truth was this: before she came to Mrs. Roberts, the child had believed herself to be a martyr to the unreasonable prejudices of her stepmother. She had been led to feel that her father had turned against her, solely because of his wife's influence over him; and that the wife was piqued because Professor Ellis had not paid her sufficient attention in the days of her maidenhood. This, the professor had succeeded in teaching Gracie to feel, was the sole charge against him.
He was therefore an ill-used man, and therefore her heart went out towards him in sympathy. It had not been at first a stronger feeling than this; but, flattered by his attentions, so much more marked and polished than had ever been offered to the young girl before, she had taught herself to believe that, but for her father's bitterness, she could be to Professor Ellis what he delicately and vaguely assured her no one else could, and fill a place that hitherto in his lonely life had been left void.
She had not engaged herself to him; indeed, he had never in actual words asked her to do so. But to the young and innocent and well-trained there is a language which speaks as clearly as words, and is held as sacred. Gracie had allowed herself to be looked upon as one who was held by others from being more to Professor Ellis than she was, who might always, perhaps, be held back; for she had resolved in her own sad heart that she would never marry against her father's consent, no, not if she were twice of age.
Of late, strange revelations had come to her. She had measured Professor Ellis with other men, Christian men, and he had appeared at a disadvantage. Also, she had measured herself by the side of other Christian workers, and herself had appeared at a disadvantage. A vague unrest and dissatisfaction with her Christian experience were growing on her. Moreover, she was growing interested in those boys as she had not believed that it would be possible for her to be interested when she first saw them. She began to believe that some of them at least would be saved. She wanted to help to save them, and to help others. Her martyrdom dwindled rapidly into insignificance, until there would pass entire days in which she did not once remember that she was an unhappy girl.
At last, but a week or two before this afternoon, she had taken her affairs in hand, and tried to look steadily at them. The result of her hours of thought and prayer was that she was bound to Professor Ellis: that is, provided there should come a time in the dim and distant future when her father should give his consent, it would be her duty and her pleasure, because of what had passed between them, to marry him. Still, she began to feel less amazed at her father's opinion of him, less angry about it. She began to say to herself, softly and pitifully:
"Poor, lonely man! He has no one to be his friend. He is not a Christian, and that is what makes so great a difference between him and others. It is that which papa misses. But I must not desert him; I must pray for him all the time, and work for his conversion. Then he will grow to be the sort of man whom papa can like, and everything will be right."
And while she said it, she was dimly conscious of a feeling of satisfaction over the thought that she was very young, and that it would be a long, long time yet before anything could be settled. And that meantime, it certainly was not right for her to have anything to do with Professor Ellis, only to pray for him. And that perhaps her father would allow her to carry out a project that was under delightful discussion in the Roberts family—namely, to remain in the city as a pupil in the famous Green Lawn School. And she did not know,—foolish little thing!—that so far even as her heart was concerned everything was wrong.
Perhaps it would be difficult for me to explain to you—that is, if you do not understand without explanation—what a turmoil she was thrown into by this afternoon's experience. She was far from realizing as yet that the uppermost feeling even now was not wounded love, but wounded pride—of what poor stuff she had been making a hero! Nothing had ever opened her eyes like this before. Was it possible that she had spent entire evenings with a man who stooped to set in unpleasant, even suspicious light, not his own character only, but that of an ignorant young girl?
It would not do to plead a lack of knowledge in excuse for him; he might be ignorant of the ways of the Christian world, but no one understood better the rules which governed society. During part of the afternoon she had been very angry with the girl; but after listening to Dr. Everett, it began to dawn upon her that her friend had been playing with the ignorance of a girl who probably trusted him fully. You are to understand that Gracie Dennis was the sort of girl who would be made very angry by such a suspicion. The glow on her cheeks was not all caused by the fresh air of the spring day.
"Dr. Everett," she said at last, breaking the silence, "what do you think he means by asking the girl to wear that ring, or by letting her wear it? Does he—do you suppose that he has engaged himself to her?"
"I wish I knew what he meant!" Dr. Everett said again, a surge of indignation rushing over him. "If he really meant anything so honourable as that, it would be bad enough business for poor Hester; but, as I said, I distrust the man utterly, and from my experience with the world I have reason. From your knowledge of him, Miss Dennis, could you suppose him to be honest and earnest in his attentions to that girl?"
It was a very plain question. It meant more to Dr. Everett than even Gracie saw, but she saw enough to know that she was admitting an intimacy that made her blush. However, she answered steadily,—
"No, I cannot think that he is honest or honourable."
"So I fear. Witness this afternoon. Gentlemen do not parade their friendships before the public gaze, and that man knows it."
The doctor's voice was very stern. He was sure now that there was a wound, and that it was being probed. He believed in making thorough work even with wounds; there would be more hope of genuine healing afterward.
Gracie's next question, if her companion had but known it, was a singular one.
"Why have not people who are her friends warned her against him, and held her back from making such a false step, if she does it in ignorance?"
O Gracie Dennis! How are warnings sometimes received, even by carefully-trained girls, who have every reason to trust the love that would shield them?
"Some people are very hard to warn," said the doctor. "I have tried it, and I have a friend who has tried to help her; but the poor girl, you must remember, has not been brought up in a Christian atmosphere—has never had a Christian friend who came with the authority of relationship. If she had a good father, the way would be made so plain. As it is, can't you see how naturally she distrusts the rest of us, in favour of the man who makes special professions of friendship? I am not surprised at Hester, I am only sorry for her."
Had the doctor been carefully informed as to all the circumstances connected with Gracie's intimacy with the professor, he could not have chosen words which would have touched her conscience more. Had not her good father tenderly and patiently warned her? And had she not chosen to blind her eyes to all his words, and believe rather in Professor Ellis than in him?