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diff --git a/38312-h/38312-h.htm b/38312-h/38312-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f0c743e --- /dev/null +++ b/38312-h/38312-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2008 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of, The Mansion, by Henry van Dyke. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + + h5 { + text-align: right; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +p.noindent { + text-indent: 0em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.narrow { + width: 10%; +} + +.pagenum {/* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /*visibility: hidden;*/ + position: absolute; + left: 95%; + font-size: 10px; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; + letter-spacing: normal; + text-indent: 0em; + text-align: right; + color: #999999; + background-color: #ffffff; +} /* page numbers */ + +.pagenum2 {/* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /*visibility: hidden;*/ + position: absolute; + left: 95%; + font-size: 10px; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; + letter-spacing: normal; + text-indent: 110px; + text-align: right; + color: #999999; + background-color: #ffffff; +} /* page numbers */ + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold; + margin-bottom: 2em; +} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-right: .5em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +span.dropcap { display: none; } +/* this goes around the first letter of the first word */ + +div.wrap_area { position: relative; } +div.wrap_area img { position: absolute; left: 0px; top: 0px; } +div.wrap_area p { position: relative; } + +div.shape_wrap div { float: left; clear: left; height: 45px} + +/* +div.wrap_area img { opacity: .5; filter: alpha(opacity=50); } +div.shape_wrap div { border: 1px solid #f0f; } +*/ + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mansion + +Author: Henry Van Dyke + +Illustrator: Elizabeth Shippen Green + +Release Date: December 15, 2011 [EBook #38312] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANSION *** + + + + +Produced by Jen Haines, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="450" height="704" alt="Book Cover" title="Book Cover" /> +</div> + +<h1>The Mansion</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="450" height="722" alt="[See page 57 +"BUT HOW HAVE I FAILED SO WRETCHEDLY?"" title="" /> +<h5>[See page 57</h5> +<h4>"BUT HOW HAVE I FAILED SO WRETCHEDLY?"</h4> +<h4> </h4> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/tp.jpg" width="400" height="629" alt="Title Page" title="Title Page" /> +</div> +<h1>THE MANSION</h1> + +<h2>BY</h2> +<h2><span class="smcap">Henry van Dyke</span></h2> + +<h3>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</h3> +<h2>ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN</h2> + +<h4>Illustration: Publisher Logo</h4> + +<h2>HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS</h2> +<h2>NEW YORK AND LONDON . M . C . M . X . I</h2> + +<h4>COPYRIGHT, 1910, 1911, BY HARPER & BROTHERS</h4> +<hr class="narrow" /> + +<h4>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</h4> +<h4>PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1911</h4> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/gs01.jpg" width="450" height="229" alt="Man with hands raised as if in prayer" title="Man with hands raised as if in prayer" /> +</div> + +<h1>The Mansion</h1> + +<div class="wrap_area"> +<img src="images/drop_t.jpg" width="100" height="178" alt="T" title="T" /> + <div class="shape_wrap"> + <div style="width: 102px;" ></div> + <div style="width: 102px;" ></div> + <div style="width: 25px;" ></div> + <div style="width: 25px;" ></div> + +</div> + + +<p class="noindent"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class = "smcap">here</span> was an air of calm +and reserved opulence about +the Weightman mansion that +spoke not of money squandered, +but of wealth prudently applied. +Standing on a corner of the Avenue no +longer fashionable for residence, it looked +upon the swelling tide of business with +an expression of complacency and half-disdain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum2"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> +<p class="noindent">The house was not beautiful. There was +nothing in its straight front of chocolate-colored +stone, its heavy cornices, its broad, +staring windows of plate glass, its carved +and bronze-bedecked mahogany doors at +the top of the wide stoop, to charm the eye +or fascinate the imagination. But it was +eminently respectable, and in its way imposing. +It seemed to say that the glittering +shops of the jewelers, the milliners, the confectioners, +the florists, the picture-dealers, +the furriers, the makers of rare and costly +antiquities, retail traders in luxuries of life, +were beneath the notice of a house that had +its foundations in the high finance, and was +built literally and figuratively in the shadow +of St. Petronius' Church.</p> +<span class="pagenum2"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +<p class="noindent">At the same time there was something +self-pleased and congratulatory in the way +in which the mansion held its own amid the +changing neighborhood. It almost seemed +to be lifted up a little, among the tall buildings +near at hand, as if it felt the rising +value of the land on which it stood.</p> +</div> + +<p>John Weightman was like the house into +which he had built himself thirty years ago, +and in which his ideals and ambitions were +incrusted. He was a self-made man. But +in making himself he had chosen a highly +esteemed pattern and worked according to +the approved rules. There was nothing irregular, +questionable, flamboyant about +him. He was solid, correct, and justly +successful.</p> + +<p>His minor tastes, of course, had been +carefully kept up to date. At the proper +time, pictures by the Barbizon masters, +old English plate and portraits, bronzes by +Barye and marbles by Rodin, Persian carpets +and Chinese porcelains, had been introduced +to the mansion. It contained a +Louis Quinze reception-room, an Empire +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>drawing-room, a Jacobean dining-room, +and various apartments dimly reminiscent +of the styles of furniture affected by deceased +monarchs. That the hallways were +too short for the historic perspective did +not make much difference. American decorative +art is <i>capable de tout</i>, it absorbs all +periods. Of each period Mr. Weightman +wished to have something of the best. He +understood its value, present as a certificate, +and prospective as an investment.</p> + +<p>It was only in the architecture of his +town house that he remained conservative, +immovable, one might almost say Early-Victorian-Christian. +His country house at +Dulwich-on-the-Sound was a palace of the +Italian Renaissance. But in town he adhered +to an architecture which had moral +associations, the Nineteenth-Century-Brownstone +epoch. It was a symbol of his +social position, his religious doctrine, and +even, in a way, of his business creed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A man of fixed principles," he would +say, "should express them in the looks of +his house. New York changes its domestic +architecture too rapidly. It is like divorce. +It is not dignified. I don't like it. Extravagance +and fickleness are advertised in +most of these new houses. I wish to be +known for different qualities. Dignity and +prudence are the things that people trust. +Every one knows that I can afford to live +in the house that suits me. It is a guarantee +to the public. It inspires confidence. It +helps my influence. There is a text in the +Bible about 'a house that hath foundations.' +That is the proper kind of a mansion for a +solid man."</p> + +<p>Harold Weightman had often listened to +his father discoursing in this fashion on the +fundamental principles of life, and always +with a divided mind. He admired immensely +his father's talents and the single-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>minded +energy with which he improved +them. But in the paternal philosophy there +was something that disquieted and oppressed +the young man, and made him gasp +inwardly for fresh air and free action.</p> + +<p>At times, during his college course and +his years at the law school, he had yielded +to this impulse and broken away—now +toward extravagance and dissipation, and +then, when the reaction came, toward a +romantic devotion to work among the poor. +He had felt his father's disapproval for both +of these forms of imprudence; but it was +never expressed in a harsh or violent way, +always with a certain tolerant patience, +such as one might show for the mistakes +and vagaries of the very young. John +Weightman was not hasty, impulsive, inconsiderate, +even toward his own children. +With them, as with the rest of the world, +he felt that he had a reputation to main<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>tain, +a theory to vindicate. He could afford +to give them time to see that he was +absolutely right.</p> + +<p>One of his favorite Scripture quotations +was, "Wait on the Lord." He had applied +it to real estate and to people, with profitable +results.</p> + +<p>But to human persons the sensation of +being waited for is not always agreeable. +Sometimes, especially with the young, it +produces a vague restlessness, a dumb resentment, +which is increased by the fact +that one can hardly explain or justify it. +Of this John Weightman was not conscious. +It lay beyond his horizon. He did not take +it into account in the plan of life which he +made for himself and for his family as the +sharers and inheritors of his success.</p> + +<p>"Father plays us," said Harold, in a +moment of irritation, to his mother, "like +pieces in a game of chess."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear," said that lady, whose faith +in her husband was religious, "you ought +not to speak so impatiently. At least he +wins the game. He is one of the most +respected men in New York. And he is +very generous, too."</p> + +<p>"I wish he would be more generous in +letting us be ourselves," said the young +man. "He always has something in view +for us and expects to move us up to it."</p> + +<p>"But isn't it always for our benefit?" +replied his mother. "Look what a position +we have. No one can say there is any taint +on our money. There are no rumors about +your father. He has kept the laws of God +and of man. He has never made any mistakes."</p> + +<p>Harold got up from his chair and poked +the fire. Then he came back to the ample, +well-gowned, firm-looking lady, and sat +beside her on the sofa. He took her hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +gently and looked at the two rings—a thin +band of yellow gold, and a small solitaire +diamond—which kept their place on her +third finger in modest dignity, as if not +shamed, but rather justified, by the splendor +of the emerald which glittered beside them.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "you have a wonderful +hand. And father made no mistake +when he won you. But are you sure +he has always been so inerrant?"</p> + +<p>"Harold," she exclaimed, a little stiffly, +"what do you mean? His life is an open +book."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he answered, "I don't mean +anything bad, mother dear. I know the +governor's life is an open book—a ledger, +if you like, kept in the best bookkeeping +hand, and always ready for inspection—every +page correct, and showing a handsome +balance. But isn't it a mistake not +to allow us to make our own mistakes, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +learn for ourselves, to live our own lives? +Must we be always working for 'the balance,' +in one thing or another? I want to +be myself—to get outside of this everlasting, +profitable 'plan'—to let myself go, +and lose myself for a while at least—to do +the things that I want to do, just because +I want to do them."</p> + +<p>"My boy," said his mother, anxiously, +"you are not going to do anything wrong +or foolish? You know the falsehood of +that old proverb about wild oats."</p> + +<p>He threw back his head and laughed. +"Yes, mother," he answered, "I know it +well enough. But in California, you +know, the wild oats are one of the most +valuable crops. They grow all over the +hillsides and keep the cattle and the horses +alive. But that wasn't what I meant—to +sow wild oats. Say to pick wild flowers, +if you like, or even to chase wild geese—to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +do something that seems good to me just +for its own sake, not for the sake of wages +of one kind or another. I feel like a hired +man, in the service of this magnificent +mansion—say in training for father's place +as majordomo. I'd like to get out some +way, to feel free—perhaps to do something +for others."</p> + +<p>The young man's voice hesitated a little. +"Yes, it sounds like cant, I know, but +sometimes I feel as if I'd like to do some +good in the world, if father only wouldn't +insist upon God's putting it into the ledger."</p> + +<p>His mother moved uneasily, and a slight +look of bewilderment came into her face.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that almost irreverent?" she +asked. "Surely the righteous must have +their reward. And your father is good. +See how much he gives to all the established +charities, how many things he has +founded. He's always thinking of others,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +and planning for them. And surely, for +us, he does everything. How well he has +planned this trip to Europe for me and +the girls—the court-presentation at Berlin, +the season on the Riviera, the visits in +England with the Plumptons and the Halverstones. +He says Lord Halverstone has +the finest old house in Sussex, pure Elizabethan, +and all the old customs are kept up, +too—family prayers every morning for all +the domestics. By-the-way, you know his +son Bertie, I believe."</p> + +<p>Harold smiled a little to himself as he +answered: "Yes, I fished at Catalina Island +last June with the Honorable Ethelbert; +he's rather a decent chap, in spite of his ingrowing +mind. But you?—mother, you +are simply magnificent! You are father's +masterpiece." The young man leaned over +to kiss her, and went up to the Riding Club +for his afternoon canter in the Park.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>So it came to pass, early in December, +that Mrs. Weightman and her two daughters +sailed for Europe, on their serious +pleasure trip, even as it had been written +in the book of Providence; and John Weightman, +who had made the entry, was left to +pass the rest of the winter with his son and +heir in the brownstone mansion.</p> + +<p>They were comfortable enough. The +machinery of the massive establishment +ran as smoothly as a great electric dynamo. +They were busy enough, too. John Weightman's +plans and enterprises were complicated, +though his principle of action was +always simple—to get good value for every +expenditure and effort. The banking-house +of which he was the chief, the brain, the will, +the absolutely controlling hand, was so admirably +organized that the details of its +direction took but little time. But the +scores of other interests that radiated from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +it and were dependent upon it—or perhaps +it would be more accurate to say, that contributed +to its solidity and success—the +many investments, industrial, political, benevolent, +reformatory, ecclesiastical, that +had made the name of Weightman well +known and potent in city, church, and +state, demanded much attention and careful +steering, in order that each might produce +the desired result. There were board meetings +of corporations and hospitals, conferences +in Wall Street and at Albany, +consultations and committee meetings in +the brownstone mansion.</p> + +<p>For a share in all this business and its +adjuncts John Weightman had his son in +training in one of the famous law firms +of the city; for he held that banking itself +is a simple affair, the only real difficulties +of finance are on its legal side. Meantime +he wished the young man to meet and know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +the men with whom he would have to deal +when he became a partner in the house. +So a couple of dinners were given in the +mansion during December, after which the +father called the son's attention to the fact +that over a hundred million dollars had sat +around the board.</p> + +<p>But on Christmas Eve father and son +were dining together without guests, and +their talk across the broad table, glittering +with silver and cut glass, and softly lit by +shaded candles, was intimate, though a +little slow at times. The elder man was +in rather a rare mood, more expansive and +confidential than usual; and, when the +coffee was brought in and they were left +alone, he talked more freely of his personal +plans and hopes than he had ever done +before.</p> + +<p>"I feel very grateful to-night," said +he, at last; "it must be something in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +air of Christmas that gives me this feeling +of thankfulness for the many divine mercies +that have been bestowed upon me. All the +principles by which I have tried to guide +my life have been justified. I have never +made the value of this salted almond by +anything that the courts would not uphold, +at least in the long run, and yet—or wouldn't +it be truer to say and therefore?—my affairs +have been wonderfully prospered. There's +a great deal in that text 'Honesty is the +best'—but no, that's not from the Bible, +after all, is it? Wait a moment; there is +something of that kind, I know."</p> + +<p>"May I light a cigar, father," said Harold, +turning away to hide a smile, "while +you are remembering the text?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly," answered the elder +man, rather shortly; "you know I don't +dislike the smell. But it is a wasteful, +useless habit, and therefore I have never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +practised it. Nothing useless is worth +while, that's my motto—nothing that does +not bring the reward. Oh, now I recall +the text, 'Verily I say unto you they have +their reward.' I shall ask Doctor Snodgrass +to preach a sermon on that verse +some day."</p> + +<p>"Using you as an illustration?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not exactly that; but I could +give him some good material from my own +experience to prove the truth of Scripture. +I can honestly say that there is not one of +my charities that has not brought me in a +good return, either in the increase of influence, +the building up of credit, or the +association with substantial people. Of +course you have to be careful how you give, +in order to secure the best results—no indiscriminate +giving—no pennies in beggars' +hats! It has been one of my principles +always to use the same kind of judgment in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +charities that I use in my other affairs, and +they have not disappointed me."</p> + +<p>"Even the check that you put in the +plate when you take the offertory up the +aisle on Sunday morning?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly; though there the influence +is less direct; and I must confess that I +have my doubts in regard to the collection +for Foreign Missions. That always seems +to me romantic and wasteful. You never +hear from it in any definite way. They +say the missionaries have done a good deal +to open the way for trade; perhaps—but +they have also gotten us into commercial +and political difficulties. Yet I give to +them—a little—it is a matter of conscience +with me to identify myself with all the enterprises +of the Church; it is the mainstay of +social order and a prosperous civilization. +But the best forms of benevolence are the +well-established, organized ones here at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +home, where people can see them and know +what they are doing."</p> + +<p>"You mean the ones that have a local +habitation and a name."</p> + +<p>"Yes; they offer by far the safest return, +though of course there is something gained +by contributing to general funds. A public +man can't afford to be without public spirit. +But on the whole I prefer a building, or an +endowment. There is a mutual advantage +to a good name and a good institution in +their connection in the public mind. It +helps them both. Remember that, my +boy. Of course at the beginning you will +have to practise it in a small way; later, +you will have larger opportunities. But +try to put your gifts where they can be +identified and do good all around. You'll +see the wisdom of it in the long run."</p> + +<p>"I can see it already, sir, and the way +you describe it looks amazingly wise and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +prudent. In other words, we must cast +our bread on the waters in large loaves, +carried by sound ships marked with the +owner's name, so that the return freight will +be sure to come back to us."</p> + +<p>The father laughed, but his eyes were +frowning a little as if he suspected something +irreverent under the respectful reply.</p> + +<p>"You put it humorously, but there's +sense in what you say. Why not? God +rules the sea; but He expects us to follow +the laws of navigation and commerce. Why +not take good care of your bread, even when +you give it away?"</p> + +<p>"It's not for me to say why not—and yet +I can think of cases—" The young man +hesitated for a moment. His half-finished +cigar had gone out. He rose and tossed it +into the fire, in front of which he remained +standing—a slender, eager, restless young +figure, with a touch of hunger in the fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +face, strangely like and unlike the father, at +whom he looked with half-wistful curiosity.</p> + +<p>"The fact is, sir," he continued, "there +is such a case in my mind now, and it +is a good deal on my heart, too. So I +thought of speaking to you about it to-night. +You remember Tom Rollins, the Junior who +was so good to me when I entered college?"</p> + +<p>The father nodded. He remembered very +well indeed the annoying incidents of his +son's first escapade, and how Rollins had +stood by him and helped to avoid a public +disgrace, and how a close friendship had +grown between the two boys, so different +in their fortunes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I remember him. He +was a promising young man. Has he succeeded?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly—that is, not yet. His +business has been going rather badly. He +has a wife and little baby, you know. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +now he has broken down,—something wrong +with his lungs. The doctor says his only +chance is a year or eighteen months in Colorado. +I wish we could help him."</p> + +<p>"How much would it cost?"</p> + +<p>"Three or four thousand, perhaps, as +a loan."</p> + +<p>"Does the doctor say he will get well?"</p> + +<p>"A fighting chance—the doctor says."</p> + +<p>The face of the older man changed subtly. +Not a line was altered, but it seemed to have +a different substance, as if it were carved out +of some firm, imperishable stuff.</p> + +<p>"A fighting chance," he said, "may do +for a speculation, but it is not a good investment. +You owe something to young Rollins. +Your grateful feeling does you credit. But +don't overwork it. Send him three or four +hundred, if you like. You'll never hear from +it again, except in the letter of thanks. But +for Heaven's sake don't be sentimental.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +Religion is not a matter of sentiment; it's a +matter of principle."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/gs02.jpg" width="400" height="378" alt=""It is not a good investment"" title=""It is not a good investment"" /> +</div> + +<p>The face of the younger man changed +now. But instead of becoming fixed and +graven, it seemed to melt into life by the +heat of an inward fire. His nostrils quivered +with quick breath, his lips were curled.</p> + +<p>"Principle!" he said. "You mean principal—and +interest too. Well, sir, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +know best whether that is religion or not. +But if it is, count me out, please. Tom +saved me from going to the devil, six years +ago; and I'll be damned if I don't help him +to the best of my ability now."</p> + +<p>John Weightman looked at his son steadily. +"Harold," he said at last, "you +know I dislike violent language, and it +never has any influence with me. If I +could honestly approve of this proposition +of yours, I'd let you have the money; but I +can't; it's extravagant and useless. But +you have your Christmas check for a thousand +dollars coming to you to-morrow. You +can use it as you please. I never interfere +with your private affairs."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Harold. "Thank +you very much! But there's another private +affair. I want to get away from this +life, this town, this house. It stifles me. +You refused last summer when I asked you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +to let me go up to Grenfell's Mission on the +Labrador. I could go now, at least as far +as the Newfoundland Station. Have you +changed your mind?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I think it is an exceedingly +foolish enterprise. It would interrupt the +career that I have marked out for you."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, here's a cheaper proposition. +Algy Vanderhoof wants me to join him on +his yacht with—well, with a little party—to +cruise in the West Indies. Would you +prefer that?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not! The Vanderhoof set +is wild and godless—I do not wish to see +you keeping company with fools who walk +in the broad and easy way that leads to +perdition."</p> + +<p>"It is rather a hard choice," said the +young man, with a short laugh, turning +toward the door. "According to you +there's very little difference—a fool's para<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>dise +or a fool's hell! Well, it's one or the +other for me, and I'll toss up for it to-night: +heads, I lose; tails, the devil wins. Anyway, +I'm sick of this, and I'm out of +it."</p> + +<p>"Harold," said the older man (and there +was a slight tremor in his voice), "don't let +us quarrel on Christmas Eve. All I want +is to persuade you to think seriously of the +duties and responsibilities to which God has +called you—don't speak lightly of heaven +and hell—remember, there is another life."</p> + +<p>The young man came back and laid his +hand upon his father's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Father," he said, "I want to remember +it. I try to believe in it. But somehow +or other, in this house, it all seems unreal +to me. No doubt all you say is perfectly +right and wise. I don't venture to argue +against it, but I can't feel it—that's all. +If I'm to have a soul, either to lose or to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +save, I must really live. Just now neither +the present nor the future means anything +to me. But surely we won't quarrel. I'm +very grateful to you, and we'll part friends. +Good-night, sir."</p> + +<p>The father held out his hand in silence. +The heavy portière dropped noiselessly behind +the son, and he went up the wide, +curving stairway to his own room.</p> + +<p>Meantime John Weightman sat in his +carved chair in the Jacobean dining-room. +He felt strangely old and dull. The portraits +of beautiful women by Lawrence and +Reynolds and Raeburn, which had often +seemed like real company to him, looked +remote and uninteresting. He fancied something +cold and almost unfriendly in their +expression, as if they were staring through +him or beyond him. They cared nothing +for his principles, his hopes, his disappointments, +his successes; they belonged to an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>other +world, in which he had no place. At +this he felt a vague resentment, a sense of +discomfort that he could not have defined +or explained. He was used to being considered, +respected, appreciated at his full +value in every region, even in that of his +own dreams.</p> + +<p>Presently he rang for the butler, telling +him to close the house and not to sit up, and +walked with lagging steps into the long +library, where the shaded lamps were burning. +His eye fell upon the low shelves full +of costly books, but he had no desire to +open them. Even the carefully chosen +pictures that hung above them seemed to +have lost their attraction. He paused for a +moment before an idyll of Corot—a dance +of nymphs around some forgotten altar in a +vaporous glade—and looked at it curiously. +There was something rapturous and serene +about the picture, a breath of spring-time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +in the misty trees, a harmony of joy in the +dancing figures, that wakened in him a +feeling of half-pleasure and half-envy. It +represented something that he had never +known in his calculated, orderly life. He +was dimly mistrustful of it.</p> + +<p>"It is certainly very beautiful," he +thought, "but it is distinctly pagan; that +altar is built to some heathen god. It does +not fit into the scheme of a Christian life. I +doubt whether it is consistent with the tone +of my house. I will sell it this winter. It +will bring three or four times what I paid for +it. That was a good purchase, a very good +bargain."</p> + +<p>He dropped into the revolving chair before +his big library table. It was covered +with pamphlets and reports of the various +enterprises in which he was interested. +There was a pile of newspaper clippings in +which his name was mentioned with praise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +for his sustaining power as a pillar of finance, +for his judicious benevolence, for his support +of wise and prudent reform movements, for +his discretion in making permanent public +gifts—"the Weightman Charities," one +very complaisant editor called them, as if +they deserved classification as a distinct +species.</p> + +<p>He turned the papers over listlessly. +There was a description and a picture of +the "Weightman Wing of the Hospital for +Cripples," of which he was president; and +an article on the new professor in the +"Weightman Chair of Political Jurisprudence" +in Jackson University, of which he +was a trustee; and an illustrated account +of the opening of the "Weightman Grammar-School" +at Dulwich-on-the-Sound, +where he had his legal residence for purposes +of taxation.</p> + +<p>This last was perhaps the most carefully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +planned of all the Weightman Charities. +He desired to win the confidence and support +of his rural neighbors. It had pleased him +much when the local newspaper had spoken +of him as an ideal citizen and the logical +candidate for the Governorship of the State; +but upon the whole it seemed to him wiser +to keep out of active politics. It would be +easier and better to put Harold into the +running, to have him sent to the Legislature +from the Dulwich district, then to the +national House, then to the Senate. Why +not? The Weightman interests were large +enough to need a direct representative and +guardian at Washington.</p> + +<p>But to-night all these plans came back +to him with dust upon them. They were +dry and crumbling like forsaken habitations. +The son upon whom his complacent ambition +had rested had turned his back upon +the mansion of his father's hopes. The break<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +might not be final; and in any event there +would be much to live for; the fortunes of +the family would be secure. But the zest +of it all would be gone if John Weightman +had to give up the assurance of perpetuating +his name and his principles in his son. It +was a bitter disappointment, and he felt that +he had not deserved it.</p> + +<p>He rose from the chair and paced the +room with leaden feet. For the first time +in his life his age was visibly upon him. His +head was heavy and hot, and the thoughts +that rolled in it were confused and depressing. +Could it be that he had made a mistake +in the principles of his existence? +There was no argument in what Harold had +said—it was almost childish—and yet it had +shaken the elder man more deeply than he +cared to show. It held a silent attack which +touched him more than open criticism.</p> + +<p>Suppose the end of his life were nearer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +than he thought—the end must come some +time—what if it were now? Had he not +founded his house upon a rock? Had he +not kept the Commandments? Was he not, +"touching the law, blameless"? And beyond +this, even if there were some faults in +his character—and all men are sinners—yet +he surely believed in the saving doctrines +of religion—the forgiveness of sins, the +resurrection of the body, the life everlasting. +Yes, that was the true source of comfort, +after all. He would read a bit in the Bible, +as he did every night, and go to bed and to +sleep.</p> + +<p>He went back to his chair at the library +table. A strange weight of weariness rested +upon him, but he opened the book at a +familiar place, and his eyes fell upon the +verse at the bottom of the page.</p> + +<p>"<i>Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon +earth.</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>That had been the text of the sermon a +few weeks before. Sleepily, heavily, he +tried to fix his mind upon it and recall it. +What was it that Doctor Snodgrass had +said? Ah, yes—that it was a mistake to +pause here in reading the verse. We must +read on without a pause—<i>Lay not up treasures +upon earth where moth and rust do corrupt +and where thieves break through and +steal</i>—that was the true doctrine. We may +have treasures upon earth, but they must +not be put into unsafe places, but into safe +places. A most comforting doctrine! He +had always followed it. Moths and rust and +thieves had done no harm to his investments.</p> + +<p>John Weightman's drooping eyes turned +to the next verse, at the top of the second +column.</p> + +<p>"<i>But lay up for yourselves treasures in +heaven.</i>"</p> + +<p>Now what had the Doctor said about that?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +How was it to be understood—in what sense—treasures—in +heaven?</p> + +<p>The book seemed to float away from him. +The light vanished. He wondered dimly +if this could be Death, coming so suddenly, +so quietly, so irresistibly. He struggled +for a moment to hold himself up, and +then sank slowly forward upon the table. +His head rested upon his folded hands. He +slipped into the unknown.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>How long afterward conscious life returned +to him he did not know. The blank +might have been an hour or a century. He +knew only that something had happened in +the interval. What it was he could not tell. +He found great difficulty in catching the +thread of his identity again. He felt that he +was himself; but the trouble was to make +his connections, to verify and place himself, +to know who and where he was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last it grew clear. John Weightman +was sitting on a stone, not far from a road +in a strange land.</p> + +<p>The road was not a formal highway, +fenced and graded. It was more like a +great travel-trace, worn by thousands of +feet passing across the open country in the +same direction. Down in the valley, into +which he could look, the road seemed to +form itself gradually out of many minor +paths; little footways coming across the +meadows, winding tracks following along +beside the streams, faintly marked trails +emerging from the woodlands. But on the +hillside the threads were more firmly woven +into one clear band of travel, though there +were still a few dim paths joining it here and +there, as if persons had been climbing up +the hill by other ways and had turned at last +to seek the road.</p> + +<p>From the edge of the hill, where John<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +Weightman sat, he could see the travelers, +in little groups or larger companies, gathering +from time to time by the different paths, +and making the ascent. They were all +clothed in white, and the form of their +garments was strange to him; it was like +some old picture. They passed him, group +after group, talking quietly together or +singing; not moving in haste, but with a +certain air of eagerness and joy as if they +were glad to be on their way to an appointed +place. They did not stay to speak to him, +but they looked at him often and spoke to +one another as they looked; and now and +then one of them would smile and beckon +him a friendly greeting, so that he felt they +would like him to be with them.</p> + +<p>There was quite an interval between the +groups; and he followed each of them with +his eyes after it had passed, blanching +the long ribbon of the road for a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +transient space, rising and receding across +the wide, billowy upland, among the rounded +hillocks of aerial green and gold and +lilac, until it came to the high horizon, and +stood outlined for a moment, a tiny cloud of +whiteness against the tender blue, before it +vanished over the hill.</p> + +<p>For a long time he sat there watching and +wondering. It was a very different world +from that in which his mansion on the +Avenue was built; and it looked strange to +him, but most real—as real as anything he +had ever seen. Presently he felt a strong +desire to know what country it was and +where the people were going. He had a +faint premonition of what it must be, but he +wished to be sure. So he rose from the +stone where he was sitting, and came down +through the short grass and the lavender +flowers, toward a passing group of people. +One of them turned to meet him, and held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +out his hand. It was an old man, under +whose white beard and brows John Weightman +thought he saw a suggestion of the +face of the village doctor who had cared for +him years ago, when he was a boy in the +country.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/gs03.jpg" width="350" height="329" alt=""Welcome! Will you come with us?"" title=""Welcome! Will you come with us?"" /> +</div> + +<p>"Welcome," said the old man. "Will +you come with us?"</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"To the heavenly city, to see our mansions +there."</p> + +<p>"And who are these with you?"</p> + +<p>"Strangers to me, until a little while +ago; I know them better now. But you I +have known for a long time, John Weightman. +Don't you remember your old doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he cried—"yes; your voice has +not changed at all. I'm glad indeed to see +you, Doctor McLean, especially now. All +this seems very strange to me, almost oppressive. +I wonder if—but may I go with you, +do you suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Surely," answered the doctor, with his +familiar smile; "it will do you good. And +you also must have a mansion in the city +waiting for you—a fine one, too—are you not +looking forward to it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the other, hesitating a +moment; "yes—I believe it must be so,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +although I had not expected to see it so +soon. But I will go with you, and we can +talk by the way."</p> + +<p>The two men quickly caught up with the +other people, and all went forward together +along the road. The doctor had little to +tell of his experience, for it had been a plain, +hard life, uneventfully spent for others, and +the story of the village was very simple. +John Weightman's adventures and triumphs +would have made a far richer, more imposing +history, full of contacts with the great +events and personages of the time. But +somehow or other he did not care to speak +much about it, walking on that wide heavenly +moorland, under that tranquil, sunless +arch of blue, in that free air of perfect peace, +where the light was diffused without a +shadow, as if the spirit of life in all things +were luminous.</p> + +<p>There was only one person besides the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +doctor in that little company whom John +Weightman had known before—an old bookkeeper +who had spent his life over a desk, +carefully keeping accounts—a rusty, dull +little man, patient and narrow, whose wife +had been in the insane asylum for twenty +years and whose only child was a crippled +daughter, for whose comfort and happiness +he had toiled and sacrificed himself without +stint. It was a surprise to find him here, as +care-free and joyful as the rest.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/gs04.jpg" width="400" height="273" alt="That free air of Perfect Peace" title="That free air of Perfect Peace" /> +</div> + +<p>The lives of others in the company were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +revealed in brief glimpses as they talked +together—a mother, early widowed, who +had kept her little flock of children together +and labored through hard and heavy years +to bring them up in purity and knowledge—a +Sister of Charity who had devoted herself +to the nursing of poor folk who were being +eaten to death by cancer—a schoolmaster +whose heart and life had been poured into his +quiet work of training boys for a clean and +thoughtful manhood—a medical missionary +who had given up a brilliant career in science +to take the charge of a hospital in darkest +Africa—a beautiful woman with silver hair +who had resigned her dreams of love and +marriage to care for an invalid father, and +after his death had made her life a long, +steady search for ways of doing kindnesses +to others—a poet who had walked among +the crowded tenements of the great city, +bringing cheer and comfort not only by his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +songs, but by his wise and patient works of +practical aid—a paralyzed woman who had +lain for thirty years upon her bed, helpless +but not hopeless, succeeding by a miracle of +courage in her single aim, never to complain, +but always to impart a bit of her joy and +peace to every one who came near her. All +these, and other persons like them, people +of little consideration in the world, but now +seemingly all full of great contentment and +an inward gladness that made their steps +light, were in the company that passed along +the road, talking together of things past and +things to come, and singing now and then +with clear voices from which the veil of age +and sorrow was lifted.</p> + +<p>John Weightman joined in some of the +songs—which were familiar to him from their +use in the church—at first with a touch of +hesitation, and then more confidently. For +as they went on his sense of strangeness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +fear at his new experience diminished, and +his thoughts began to take on their habitual +assurance and complacency. Were not these +people going to the Celestial City? And +was not he in his right place among them? +He had always looked forward to this journey. +If they were sure, each one, of finding +a mansion there, could not he be far more +sure? His life had been more fruitful than +theirs. He had been a leader, a founder of +new enterprises, a pillar of Church and State, +a prince of the House of Israel. Ten talents +had been given him, and he had made them +twenty. His reward would be proportionate. +He was glad that his companions +were going to find fit dwellings prepared for +them; but he thought also with a certain +pleasure of the surprise that some of them +would feel when they saw his appointed +mansion.</p> + +<p>So they came to the summit of the moor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>land +and looked over into the world beyond. +It was a vast, green plain, softly rounded like +a shallow vase, and circled with hills of +amethyst. A broad, shining river flowed +through it, and many silver threads of water +were woven across the green; and there were +borders of tall trees on the banks of the +river, and orchards full of roses abloom +along the little streams, and in the midst of +all stood the city, white and wonderful and +radiant.</p> + +<p>When the travelers saw it they were filled +with awe and joy. They passed over the +little streams and among the orchards +quickly and silently, as if they feared to +speak lest the city should vanish.</p> + +<p>The wall of the city was very low, a child +could see over it, for it was made only of +precious stones, which are never large. The +gate of the city was not like a gate at all, +for it was not barred with iron or wood, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +only a single pearl, softly gleaming, marked +the place where the wall ended and the entrance +lay open.</p> + +<p>A person stood there whose face was +bright and grave, and whose robe was like +the flower of the lily, not a woven fabric, but +a living texture. "Come in," he said to +the company of travelers; "you are at your +journey's end, and your mansions are ready +for you."</p> + +<p>John Weightman hesitated, for he was +troubled by a doubt. Suppose that he was +not really, like his companions, at his journey's +end, but only transported for a little +while out of the regular course of his life +into this mysterious experience? Suppose +that, after all, he had not really passed +through the door of death, like these others, +but only through the door of dreams, and +was walking in a vision, a living man among +the blessed dead. Would it be right for him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +to go with them into the heavenly city? +Would it not be a deception, a desecration, +a deep and unforgivable offense? The +strange, confusing question had no reason +in it, as he very well knew; for if he was +dreaming, then it was all a dream; but if his +companions were real, then he also was with +them in reality, and if they had died then +he must have died too. Yet he could not +rid his mind of the sense that there was a +difference between them and him, and it +made him afraid to go on. But, as he +paused and turned, the Keeper of the Gate +looked straight and deep into his eyes, and +beckoned to him. Then he knew that it +was not only right but necessary that he +should enter.</p> + +<p>They passed from street to street among +fair and spacious dwellings, set in amaranthine +gardens, and adorned with an infinitely +varied beauty of divine simplicity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +The mansions differed in size, in shape, in +charm: each one seemed to have its own +personal look of loveliness; yet all were +alike in fitness to their place, in harmony +with one another, in the addition which each +made to the singular and tranquil splendor +of the city.</p> + +<p>As the little company came, one by one, to +the mansions which were prepared for them, +and their Guide beckoned to the happy +inhabitant to enter in and take possession, +there was a soft murmur of joy, half wonder +and half recognition; as if the new and +immortal dwelling were crowned with the +beauty of surprise, lovelier and nobler than +all the dreams of it had been; and yet also +as if it were touched with the beauty of +the familiar, the remembered, the long-loved. +One after another the travelers were +led to their own mansions, and went in +gladly; and from within, through the open<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +doorways, came sweet voices of welcome, +and low laughter, and song.</p> + +<p>At last there was no one left with the +Guide but the two old friends, Doctor McLean +and John Weightman. They were +standing in front of one of the largest and +fairest of the houses, whose garden glowed +softly with radiant flowers. The Guide laid +his hand upon the doctor's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"This is for you," he said. "Go in; +there is no more pain here, no more death, +nor sorrow, nor tears; for your old enemies +are all conquered. But all the good that +you have done for others, all the help that +you have given, all the comfort that you +have brought, all the strength and love that +you have bestowed upon the suffering, are +here; for we have built them all into this +mansion for you."</p> + +<p>The good man's face was lighted with +a still joy. He clasped his old friend's hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +closely, and whispered: "How wonderful +it is! Go on, you will come to your mansion +next, it is not far away, and we shall see +each other again soon, very soon."</p> + +<p>So he went through the garden, and into +the music within. The Keeper of the Gate +turned to John Weightman with level, quiet, +searching eyes. Then he asked, gravely:</p> + +<p>"Where do you wish me to lead you +now?"</p> + +<p>"To see my own mansion," answered the +man, with half-concealed excitement. "Is +there not one here for me? You may not +let me enter it yet, perhaps, for I must confess +to you that I am only—"</p> + +<p>"I know," said the Keeper of the Gate—"I +know it all. You are John Weightman."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the man, more firmly than +he had spoken at first, for it gratified him +that his name was known. "Yes, I am +John Weightman, Senior Warden of St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +Petronius' Church. I wish very much to see +my mansion here, if only for a moment. I +believe that you have one for me. Will you +take me to it?"</p> + +<p>The Keeper of the Gate drew a little book +from the breast of his robe and turned over +the pages.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he said, with a curious look +at the man, "your name is here; and you +shall see your mansion if you will follow +me."</p> + +<p>It seemed as if they must have walked +miles and miles, through the vast city, passing +street after street of houses larger and +smaller, of gardens richer and poorer, but all +full of beauty and delight. They came into +a kind of suburb, where there were many +small cottages, with plots of flowers, very +lowly, but bright and fragrant. Finally +they reached an open field, bare and lonely-looking. +There were two or three little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +bushes in it, without flowers, and the grass +was sparse and thin. In the center of the +field was a tiny hut, hardly big enough for a +shepherd's shelter. It looked as if it had +been built of discarded things, scraps and +fragments of other buildings, put together +with care and pains, by some one who had +tried to make the most of cast-off material. +There was something pitiful and shamefaced +about the hut. It shrank and drooped and +faded in its barren field, and seemed to +cling only by sufferance to the edge of the +splendid city.</p> + +<p>"This," said the Keeper of the Gate, +standing still and speaking with a low, +distinct voice—"this is your mansion, John +Weightman."</p> + +<p>An almost intolerable shock of grieved +wonder and indignation choked the man for +a moment so that he could not say a word. +Then he turned his face away from the poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +little hut and began to remonstrate eagerly +with his companion.</p> + +<p>"Surely, sir," he stammered, "you must +be in error about this. There is something +wrong—some other John Weightman—a +confusion of names—the book must be +mistaken."</p> + +<p>"There is no mistake," said the Keeper +of the Gate, very calmly; "here is your +name, the record of your title and your +possessions in this place."</p> + +<p>"But how could such a house be prepared +for me," cried the man, with a resentful +tremor in his voice—"for me, after my long +and faithful service? Is this a suitable +mansion for one so well known and devoted? +Why is it so pitifully small and mean? Why +have you not built it large and fair, like the +others?"</p> + +<p>"That is all the material you sent us."</p> + +<p>"What!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We have used all the material that you +sent us," repeated the Keeper of the Gate.</p> + +<p>"Now I know that you are mistaken," +cried the man, with growing earnestness, +"for all my life long I have been doing things +that must have supplied you with material. +Have you not heard that I have built a +school-house; the wing of a hospital; two—yes, +three—small churches, and the greater +part of a large one, the spire of St. Petro—"</p> + +<p>The Keeper of the Gate lifted his hand.</p> + +<p>"Wait," he said; "we know all these +things. They were not ill done. But +they were all marked and used as foundation +for the name and mansion of John +Weightman in the world. Did you not plan +them for that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the man, confused and +taken aback, "I confess that I thought often +of them in that way. Perhaps my heart was +set upon that too much. But there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +other things—my endowment for the college—my +steady and liberal contributions +to all the established charities—my support +of every respectable—"</p> + +<p>"Wait," said the Keeper of the Gate +again. "Were not all these carefully recorded +on earth where they would add to +your credit? They were not foolishly done. +Verily, you have had your reward for them. +Would you be paid twice?"</p> + +<p>"No," cried the man, with deepening +dismay, "I dare not claim that. I acknowledge +that I considered my own interest too +much. But surely not altogether. You +have said that these things were not foolishly +done. They accomplished some good in +the world. Does not that count for something?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the Keeper of the Gate, +"it counts in the world—where you counted +it. But it does not belong to you here. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +have saved and used everything that you sent +us. This is the mansion prepared for you."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, his look grew deeper and more +searching, like a flame of fire. John Weightman +could not endure it. It seemed to strip +him naked and wither him. He sank to the +ground under a crushing weight of shame, +covering his eyes with his hands and cowering +face downward upon the stones. Dimly +through the trouble of his mind he felt their +hardness and coldness.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, then," he cried, brokenly, +"since my life has been so little worth, how +came I here at all?"</p> + +<p>"Through the mercy of the King"—the +answer was like the soft tolling of a bell.</p> + +<p>"And how have I earned it?" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"It is never earned; it is only given," +came the clear, low reply.</p> + +<p>"But how have I failed so wretchedly," +he asked, "in all the purpose of my life?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +What could I have done better? What is it +that counts here?"</p> + +<p>"Only that which is truly given," answered +the bell-like voice. "Only that good +which is done for the love of doing it. Only +those plans in which the welfare of others is +the master thought. Only those labors in +which the sacrifice is greater than the reward. +Only those gifts in which the giver +forgets himself."</p> + +<p>The man lay silent. A great weakness, +an unspeakable despondency and humiliation +were upon him. But the face of the +Keeper of the Gate was infinitely tender as +he bent over him.</p> + +<p>"Think again, John Weightman. Has +there been nothing like that in your life?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he sighed. "If there ever +were such things, it must have been long +ago—they were all crowded out—I have +forgotten them."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was an ineffable smile on the face +of the Keeper of the Gate, and his hand +made the sign of the cross over the bowed +head as he spoke gently:</p> + +<p>"These are the things that the King never +forgets; and because there were a few of them +in your life, you have a little place here."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The sense of coldness and hardness under +John Weightman's hands grew sharper and +more distinct. The feeling of bodily weariness +and lassitude weighed upon him, but +there was a calm, almost a lightness, in his +heart as he listened to the fading vibrations +of the silvery bell-tones. The chimney clock +on the mantel had just ended the last stroke +of seven as he lifted his head from the table. +Thin, pale strips of the city morning were +falling into the room through the narrow +partings of the heavy curtains.</p> + +<p>What was it that had happened to him?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +Had he been ill? Had he died and come +to life again? Or had he only slept, and +had his soul gone visiting in dreams? He +sat for some time, motionless, not lost, but +finding himself in thought. Then he took +a narrow book from the table drawer, wrote +a check, and tore it out.</p> + +<p>He went slowly up the stairs, knocked +very softly at his son's door, and, hearing no +answer, entered without noise. Harold was +asleep, his bare arm thrown above his head, +and his eager face relaxed in peace. His +father looked at him a moment with strangely +shining eyes, and then tiptoed quietly to +the writing-desk, found a pencil and a sheet +of paper, and wrote rapidly:</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, here is what you asked +me for; do what you like with it, and ask for +more if you need it. If you are still thinking +of that work with Grenfell, we'll talk it over +to-day after church. I want to know your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +heart better; and if I have made mistakes—"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/gs05.jpg" width="400" height="278" alt=""God give us a good Christmas together"" title=""God give us a good Christmas together"" /> +</div> + +<p>A slight noise made him turn his head. +Harold was sitting up in bed with wide-open +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Father!" he cried, "is that you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my son," answered John Weightman; +"I've come back—I mean I've come +up—no, I mean come in—well, here I am, +and God give us a good Christmas together."</p> + +<p>THE END</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANSION *** + +***** This file should be named 38312-h.htm or 38312-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/3/1/38312/ + +Produced by Jen Haines, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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