diff options
Diffstat (limited to '78992-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 78992-0.txt | 7285 |
1 files changed, 7285 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/78992-0.txt b/78992-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a5e9d23 --- /dev/null +++ b/78992-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7285 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78992 *** + + + [Cover Illustration] + + “A DAILY RATE.” + + BY + GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL + + AUTHOR OF + “A Chautauqua Idyl,” “In the Way,” “Lone Point,” + “Katharine’s Yesterday,” etc. + + + + The UNION PRESS + Philadelphia. + •1122 CHESTNUT STREET• + + + + + [Copyright, 1900, by The American Sunday-School Union.] + + A Daily Rate + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + +The world would not have looked quite so dreary to her perhaps, if it +had not been her birthday. Somehow one persists in expecting something +unusual to happen on a birthday, no matter how many times one has had +nothing but disappointment. + +Not that Celia Murray was really expecting anything, even a letter, on +this birthday, though she did stand shivering in the half light of the +dim, forlorn front room that served as a parlor for Mrs. Morris’ +boarding-house, watching for the postman to reach their door. She did it +merely because she wished to be near, to get the letter at +once,—provided there was a letter,—and not that she really hoped for +one. + +It was Saturday evening, and the close of a half holiday in the store in +which she usually stood all day long as saleswoman. The unusual half day +off was on account of some parade in the city. Celia had not spent her +afternoon at the parade. Instead, she had been in her small, cold, back +bedroom in the third story, attending to various worn garments which +needed mending. They had been spread out on the bed in a row, and she +had gone steadily down the line putting a few stitches here, a button +there, and setting in a patch in another, counting every minute of +daylight hoping to finish her work before it faded, for the gas in her +room was dim, the burner being old and worn out. She tried to be gay +over the work. She called it her “dress parade.” She knew it was the +best way in which to accomplish as much as she wished to do. + +And now it was six o’clock, and she had turned down the wretched, +flickering light in her room and descended to the parlor to watch for +the postman. + +He was late to-night, probably on account of the parade. She leaned her +forehead against the cold glass and looked out into the misty darkness. +Everything was murky and smoky. The passers-by seemed tired and in a +hurry. Some had their collars turned up. She wondered where they were +all going, and whether there were pleasant homes awaiting them. She let +her imagination picture the homes of some. There was a young working man +hurrying along with breezy step and swinging dinner pail. He had not +been to the parade. His parade was at home awaiting his coming,—a +laughing baby, a tidy wife, and the house redolent of fried onions and +sausage. She had passed houses often at night where these odors were +streaming forth from quickly opened and closed doors. The young man +would like it; it would be pleasant to him. And the thought brought no +less cheer to the watching girl because to her this supper would not be +in the least appetizing. + +There passed by a strong old German, a day laborer perhaps. She pictured +the table full of noisy children of various ages, and the abundance of +sauerkraut and cheese and coffee and other viands set out. Then came a +stream of girls, some clerks like herself, and some mill girls. On other +evenings they would present a different appearance, but many of them +to-night were in holiday attire on account of the half holiday which had +been generally given throughout the city. These girls, some of them, had +homes of more or less attractiveness, and others, like herself, were +domiciled in boarding-houses. She sat down on one of the hard haircloth +chairs and looked around that parlor. In the dimness of the turned down +gas, it appeared more forlorn than usual. The ingrain carpet had long +ago lost any claims to respectability. It had a dragged out, sodden +appearance, and in places there were unmistakable holes. These, it is +true, had been twisted and turned about so as to come mostly under the +tables and sofa, but they were generally visible to the casual observer. +The parlor suite of haircloth, by reason of being much sat upon, had +lost the spring of youth, and several of the chairs and one end of the +sofa looked like fallen cake. There was an asthmatic cabinet organ at +the end of the room which had been left by some departing boarder, +(under compulsion) in lieu of his board. There were a few worn pieces of +music scattered upon it. Celia knew that the piece now open on the top +was that choice selection “The Cat came back,” which was a great +favorite with a young railroad brakeman who had a metallic tenor voice +and good lungs. He was one of the boarders and considered quite a singer +in the house. There was a feeble attempt at the æsthetic in the form of +a red, bedraggled chenille portière at the doorway, bordered with large +pink cabbage roses. The mantel had a worn plush scarf embroidered in a +style quite out of date and ugly in the extreme. On it stood a large +glass case of wax flowers, several cheap vases, and a match safe. Over +it hung a crayon portrait of the landlady’s departed husband, and +another of herself adorned the opposite wall, both done in staring +crayon work from tin types of ancient date, heavily and cheaply framed. +These with a marriage certificate of the clasped-hand-and-orange-wreath +order, framed in gilt, made up the adornments of the room. + +Celia sighed as she looked about and took it all in once more. It was a +dreary place. She had been in it but a week. Would she ever get used to +it? She did not curl her lip in scorn as many other girls would have +done over that room and its furnishings. Neither did she feel that utter +distaste that is akin to hatred. Instead was a kind of pity in her heart +for it all, and for the poor lonely creatures who had no other place to +call home. Where there is such pity, there is sometimes love not far +away. She even rose, went to the doorway and looped the loose, +discouraged folds of the chenille curtain in more graceful fashion. +Somehow her fingers could not help doing so much toward making that room +different. + +Then she sighed and went to the window again. She could see the belated +postman now across the street. She watched him as he flitted back and +forth, ringing this bell and that, and searching in the great leather +bag for papers or packages. His breath showed white against the dark +greyish-blue of the misty evening air. His grey uniform seemed to be a +part of the mist. The yellow glare of the street-lamp touched the gilt +buttons and made a bright spot of the letters on his cap as he paused a +moment to study an address before coming to their door. + +Celia opened the door before he had time to ring and took the letters +from his hand. There were not many. The boarders in that house had not +many correspondents. She stepped into the parlor once more, and turned +up the gas now for a moment to see if there were any for herself. +Strange to say, there were two, rather thin and unpromising it is true, +but they gave a little touch of the unusual to the dull day. She noticed +that one bore a familiar postmark and was in her aunt’s handwriting. The +other held the city mark and seemed to be from some firm of lawyers. She +did not feel much curiosity concerning it. It was probably some +circular. It did not look in the least interesting. She pushed them both +quickly into her pocket as the front door opened letting in several +noisy boarders. She did not wish to read her letters in public. They +would keep till after supper. The bell was already ringing. It would not +be worth while to go upstairs before she went to the dining-room. +Experience taught her that the supper was at its very worst the minute +after the bell rang. If one waited one must take the consequences, and +“the consequences” were not desirable. The meals in that house were not +too tempting at any time. Not that she cared much for her supper, she +was too weary, but one must eat to live, and so she went to the +dining-room. + +Out there the gas was turned to its highest. The coarse tablecloth was +none of the cleanest. In fact, it reminded one of former breakfasts and +dinners. The thick white dishes bore marks of hard usage. They were +nicked and cracked. There were plates of heavy, sour-looking bread at +either end of the table. The butter looked mussy and uninviting. The +inevitable, scanty supply of prunes stood before the plate of the young +German clerk, who was already in his chair helping himself to a liberal +dish. The German clerk was fond of prunes, and always got to the table +before any one else. Some of the others good-naturedly called him +selfish, and frequently passed meaning remarks veiled in thin jokes +concerning this habit of his; but if he understood he kept the matter to +himself, and was apparently not thin-skinned. + +There was a stew for dinner that night. Celia dreaded stews since the +night of her arrival when she had found a long curly hair on her plate +in the gravy. There were such possibilities of utility in a stew. It was +brought on in little thick white dishes, doled out in exact portions. +There were great green fat pickles, suggesting copper in their pickling, +and there was a plate of cheese and another of crackers. A girl brought +each one a small spoonful of canned corn, but it was cold and scarcely +cooked at all, and the kernels were large and whole. Celia having tasted +it, pushed her dish back and did not touch it again. On the side table +was a row of plates each containing a slim, thin piece of pale-crusted +pie, its interior being dark and of an undefined character. Celia tried +to eat. The dishes were not all clean. Her spoon had a sticky handle and +so had her fork. The silver was all worn off the blade of her knife, and +she could not help thinking that perhaps it was done by being constantly +used to convey food to the mouth of the brakeman with the tenor voice. + +One by one the boarders drifted in. It was surprising how quickly they +gathered after that bell rang. They knew what they had to depend upon in +the way of bread and butter, and it was first come first served. Little +Miss Burns sat across the table from Celia. She was thin and nervous and +laughed a good deal in an excited way, as if everything were unusually +funny, and she were in a constant state of embarrassing apology. There +were tired little lines around her eyes, and her mouth still wore a baby +droop, though she was well along in years. Celia noticed that she drank +only a cup of tea and nibbled a cracker. She did not look well. It was +plain the dinner was no more appetizing to her than to the young girl +who had so recently come there to board. She ought to have some delicate +thin slices of nicely browned toast and a cup of good tea with real +cream in it, and a fresh egg poached just right, or a tiny cup of good +strong beef bullion, Celia said to herself. She amused herself by +thinking how she would like to slip out in the kitchen and get them for +her, only—and she almost smiled at the thought—she would hardly find +the necessary articles with which to make all that out in the Morris +kitchen. + +Next to Miss Burns sat two young girls, clerks in a three-cent store. +They carried a good deal of would-be style, and wore many bright rings +on their grimy fingers, whose nails were never cleaned nor cut +apparently—except by their teeth. These girls were rather pretty in a +coarse way, and laughed and talked a good deal in loud tones with the +tenor brakeman, whose name was Bob Yates, and with the other young men +boarders. These young men were respectively a clerk in a department +store, a student in the University, and a young teacher in the public +schools. Celia noticed that neither the student nor the school-teacher +ate heartily, and that the young dry goods salesman had a hollow cough. +How nice it would be if they all could have a good dinner just for once, +soup and roast beef, and good bread and vegetables, with a delicious +old-fashioned apple dumpling smoking hot, such as her aunt Hannah could +make. How she would enjoy giving it to them all. How she would like to +eat some of it herself! She sighed as she pushed back her plate with a +good half of the stew yet untouched, and felt that it was impossible to +eat another mouthful of that. Then she felt ashamed to think she cared +so much for mere eating, and tried to talk pleasantly to the little old +lady beside her, who occupied a small dismal room on the third floor and +seemed to stay in it most of the time. Celia had not yet found out her +occupation nor her standing in society, but she noticed that she +trembled when she tried to cut her meat, and she was shabbily clothed in +rusty black that looked as if it had served its time out several times +over. + +Mrs. Morris came into the dining-room when the pie was being served. She +was large and worried-looking, and wore a soiled calico wrapper without +a collar. Her hair had not been combed since morning and some locks had +escaped in her neck and on her forehead and added to her generally +dejected appearance. She sat down heavily and wearily at the head of the +table, and added her spiritless voice to the conversation. She asked +them all how they enjoyed the parade and declared it would have been +enough parade for her if she could have “set down for a couple of +hours.” Then she sighed and drank a cup of tea from her saucer, holding +the saucer on the palm of her hand. + +It all looked hopelessly dreary to Celia. And here she expected to spend +the home part of her life for several years at least, or if not here, +yet in some place equally destitute of anything which constitutes a +home. + +Except for her brief conversation with the old lady on her right and a +few words to Miss Burns, she had spoken to no one during the meal, and +as soon as she had excused herself from the pie and folded her napkin, +she slipped upstairs to her room, for the thought of the two letters in +her pocket seemed more inviting than the pie. She turned the gas to its +highest though it did screech, that she might see to read her letters, +and then she drew them forth. Her aunt Hannah’s came first. She tore the +envelope. Only one sheet and not much written thereon. Aunt Hannah was +well, but very busy, for Nettie’s children were all down with whooping +cough and the baby had been quite sick, poor little thing, and she had +no time to write. Hiram, Nettie’s husband, too, had been ill and laid up +for a week, so aunt Hannah had been nursing night and day. She enclosed +a little bookmark to remember Celia’s birthday. She wished she could +send her something nice, but times were hard and Celia knew she had no +money, so she must take it out in love. + +Hiram’s sickness and the doctor’s bills made things close for Nettie or +she would have remembered the birthday, too, perhaps. Aunt Hannah felt +that it was hard to have to be a burden on Nettie, now when the children +were young and she and Hiram needed every cent he could earn, but what +else could she do? She sent her love to her dear girl, however, and +wanted her to read the verse on the little ribbon enclosed and perhaps +it would do her good. She hoped Celia had a nice comfortable “homey” +place to board and would write soon. + +That was all. The white ribbon bookmark was of satin and bore these +words: + +“His allowance was a continual allowance . . . a daily rate. 2 Kings +xxv. 30,” and beneath in smaller letters: + + “Charge not thyself with the weight of a year, + Child of the Master, faithful and dear, + Choose not the cross for the coming week, + For that is more than he bids thee seek. + Bend not thine arms for to-morrow’s load, + Thou mayest leave that to thy gracious God, + Daily, only he says to thee, + ‘Take up thy cross and follow me.’” + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +Celia read the words over mechanically. She was not thinking so much of +what they said, as she was of what her aunt had written, or rather of +what she had not written, and what could be read between the lines, by +means of her knowledge of that aunt and her surroundings. In other words +Celia Murray was doing exactly what the words on the white ribbon told +her not to do. She was charging herself “with the weight of a year.” She +had picked up the cross of the coming months and was bending under it +already. + +Her trouble was aunt Hannah. Oh, if she could but do something for her. +She knew very well that that little sentence about being a burden on +Nettie meant more than aunt Hannah would have her know. She knew that +aunt Hannah would never feel herself a burden on her niece Nettie,—for +whom she had slaved half her life, and was still slaving, unless +something had been said or done to make her feel so; and Celia, who +never had liked her cousin-in-law, Hiram, at any time, for more reasons +than mere prejudice, knew pretty well who it was that had made good, +faithful, untiring aunt Hannah feel that she was a burden. + +Celia’s eyes flashed, and she caught her hands in each other in a quick +convulsive grasp. “Oh, if I could but do something to get aunt Hannah +out of that and have her with me!” she exclaimed aloud. “But here am I +with six dollars and a half a week; paying out four and a quarter for +this miserable hole they call a home; my clothes wearing out just as +fast as they can, and a possibility hanging over me that I may not suit +and may be discharged at any time. How can I ever get ahead enough to do +anything!” + +She sat there thinking over her life and aunt Hannah’s. Her own mother +and Nettie’s mother had died within a year of each other. They were both +aunt Hannah’s sisters. Mr. Murray did not long survive his wife, and +Celia had gone to live with her cousins who were being mothered by aunt +Hannah, then a young, strong, sweet woman. Her uncle, Mr. Harmon, had +been a hard working, silent man, who had supplied the wants of his +family as well as he could, but that had not always been luxuriously, +for he had never been a successful man. The children had grown fast and +required many things. There were five of his own and Celia, who had +shared with the rest,—though never really getting her share, because of +her readiness to give up and the others’ readiness to take what she gave +up. Somehow the Harmon children had a streak of selfishness in them, and +they always seemed willing that aunt Hannah and Celia should take a back +seat whenever any one had to do so, which was nearly all the time. Celia +never resented this for herself, even in her heart; but for aunt Hannah +she often and often did so. That faithful woman spent the best years of +her life, doing for her sister’s children as if they had been her own, +and yet without the honor of being their mother, and feeling that the +home was her own. She had never married, she was simply aunt Hannah, an +excellent housekeeper, and the best substitute for a mother one could +imagine. As the children grew up they brought all their burdens to aunt +Hannah to bear, and when there were more than she could conveniently +carry, they would broadly hint that it was Celia’s place to help her, +for Celia was the outsider, the dependent, the moneyless one. It had +fallen to her lot to tend the babies till they grew from being tended +into boys, and then to follow after and pick up the things they left in +disorder in their wake. It was she who altered the girls’ dresses to +suit the style, and fashioned dainty hats from odds and ends, turning +and pressing them over to make them as good as new for some special +occasion. And then when it came her turn, it was she who had to stay at +home, because she had nothing to wear, and no time to make it over, and +nothing left to make over, because she had given it all to the others. + +Then had come the day,—not so many weeks ago: Celia remembered it as +vividly as though it had happened but yesterday; she had gone over the +details so many times they were burned upon her brain. And yet, how long +the time really had been and how many changes had come! The boy came up +from the office with a scared face to say that something had happened to +Mr. Harmon, and then they had brought him home and the family all too +soon learned that there was no use in trying to resuscitate him,—all +hope had been over before he was taken from the office. Heart failure, +they said! And instantly following upon this had come that other phrase, +“financial failure,” and soon the orphans found they were penniless. +This was not so bad for the orphans, for they were fully grown and the +girls were both married. The three boys all had good positions and could +support themselves. But what of aunt Hannah and Celia? Nettie and Hiram +had taken aunt Hannah into their family, ill-disguising the fact that +she was asked because of the help she could give in bringing up and +caring for the children, but Celia had understood from the first that +there was no place for her. + +She had been given a good education with the others, that is, a common +school course followed by a couple of years in the High School. She had +her two hands and her bright wits and nothing else. A neighbor had +offered to use her influence with a friend of a friend of a partner in a +city store, and the result was her position. She had learned since she +came that it was a good one as such things went. She had regular hours +for meals and occasional holidays, and her work was not heavy. She felt +that she ought to be thankful. She had accepted it, of course, there was +nothing else to be done, but she had looked at aunt Hannah with a heavy +heart and she knew aunt Hannah felt it as keenly. They had been very +close to each other, these two, who had been separated from the others, +in a sense, and had burdens to bear. Perhaps their sense of loneliness +in the world had made them cling the more to each other. Celia would +have liked to be able to say “Aunt Hannah, come with me. I can take care +of you now. You have cared for me all my life, now I will give you a +home and rest.” Ah! if that could have been! Celia drew her breath +quickly, and the tears came between the closed lids. She knew if she +once allowed the tears full sway, they would not stay till they had +swept all before them, and left her in no fit state to appear before +those dreadful, inquisitive boarders, or perhaps even to sell ribbons in +Dobson and Co.’s on Monday. No, she must not give way. She would read +that other letter and take her mind from these things, for certain it +was that she could do nothing more now than she had done, except to +write aunt Hannah a cheering letter, which she could not do unless she +grew cheerful herself. + +So she opened the other letter. + +It was from Rawley and Brown, a firm of lawyers on Fifth street, +desiring to know if she was Celia Murray, daughter of Henry Dean Murray +of so forth and so on, and if she was, would she please either write or +call upon them at her earliest possible convenience, producing such +evidences of her identity as she possessed. + +The girl laughed as she read it over again. “The idea!” she said, +talking aloud to herself again as she had grown into the habit of doing +since she was alone, just to feel as if she were talking to some one. +“If they want to identify me, let them do so. I’m not asking anything of +them. If I’m I, prove it! How very funny! What for, I wonder? There +can’t be a fortune, I know, for father didn’t have a cent. I’m sure I’ve +had that dinged into my ears times enough by Nettie, and even Uncle +Joseph took pains to tell me that occasionally. Well, it is mysterious.” + +She got up and began to walk about the room singing to herself the old +nursery rhyme: + + “‘If it be me, as I suppose it be, + I’ve a little dog at home and he’ll know me; + If it be _I_, he’ll wag his little tail, + And if it be _not_ I, he’ll bark, and he’ll wail.’ + +“Dear me!” said Celia, “I’m worse off than the poor old woman who fell +asleep on the king’s highway. I haven’t even a little dog at home who’ll +know me.” She sighed and sat down, picking up the white ribbon that had +fallen to the floor. Then she read it over again carefully. + +“How like aunt Hannah that sounds!” she said to herself, as she read the +poem slowly over, “‘Child of the Master, faithful and dear.’ I can hear +aunt Hannah saying that to me. She was always one to hunt out beautiful +things and say them to me as if they had been written all for my poor +self. If aunt Hannah had ever had time, I believe she would have been a +poet. She has it in her. How entirely I have been doing just exactly +what this poem says I must not do: choosing my cross for the coming +week. Yes, and bending my arm for to-morrow’s load. I have been thinking +what a dreary Sunday I should have, and wondering how I could endure it +all day long in this ugly, cold room. And I won’t stay down in that mean +parlor and listen to their horrible singing. It wouldn’t be right +anyway, for they have not the slightest idea of Sabbath keeping. Last +Sunday was one hurrah all day long. I wonder what that verse at the top +is—‘His allowance was a continual allowance.’ I declare I don’t +remember to have ever read it before. But trust aunt Hannah to ferret +out the unusual verses. I must look it up. Second Kings: who was it +about, anyway? The twenty-fifth chapter. Oh! here it is!” She read: + + “‘And it came to pass in the seven and thirtieth year of the + captivity of Jehoiachin king of Judah, in the twelfth month, on + the seven and twentieth day of the month, that Evil-me-rodach + king of Babylon in the year that he began to reign did lift up + the head of Jehoiachin king of Judah out of prison; + + And he spake kindly to him, and set his throne above the throne + of the kings that were with him in Babylon; + + And changed his prison garments: and he did eat bread + continually before him all the days of his life. + + And his allowance was a continual allowance given him of the + king, a daily rate for every day, all the days of his life.’” + +Celia paused and read the verses over again. + +She began to see why her aunt had sent it to her, and more than that why +her heavenly Father had sent it to her. It was the same thought that was +in the bit of a poem. God was taking care of her. He was a king and he +was able to lift her head up out of prison, if this was a prison, and +set her even on a throne, and change her prison garments, and more than +that give her an allowance of grace to meet all the daily needs of her +life. A continual allowance: she need never worry lest it should give +out. It was “all the days of her life.” And aunt Hannah was his also. He +would care for her in the same way. There was nothing to be done but to +trust and do what he gave her to do. Perhaps it was unusually hard for +her to do that. She had always been so accustomed to looking ahead and +bearing burdens for others and planning for them. She recognized her +fault and resolved to think more about it. Meantime, obviously the next +duty for her to perform, and one by no means a cross, was for her to +write a long cheery letter to aunt Hannah, who she could easily see was +homesick for her already, though it was but a week since they had been +separated. She gathered together her writing materials, drew her chair a +little nearer the poor light, put on her heavy outdoor coat, for the +room was chilly, though it was only the latter part of October, and +began to write; thinking meanwhile that she could perhaps make a +pleasant Sabbath afternoon for herself out of the study of Jehoiachin, +who was so much a stranger to her that she had hardly remembered there +was such a person spoken of in the Bible. + +The letter she wrote was long and cheerful. It abounded in pen pictures +of the places and things she had seen, and it contained descriptions in +detail of the different boarders. She tried not to tell the disagreeable +things, for she knew aunt Hannah would be quick to understand how hard +it all was for her to bear, and she would not lay a feather’s burden +upon those dear hard-worked shoulders. So she detailed merry +conversations, and made light of the poor fare, saying she had a very +good and a very cheap place they all told her and she guessed they were +right. + +She also drew upon her imagination and described the dear little home +she was going to make for aunt Hannah to come and rest in and spend her +later years, and she told her she was going to begin right away to save +up for it. She made it all so real that the tears came to her eyes for +very longing for it, and one dropped down on the paper and blotted a +word. She hastily wiped it out, and then took a fresh page, for aunt +Hannah’s eyes were keen. She would be quick to know what made that blot. +She paused a minute with her pen in air ere she closed the letter. +Should she, or should she not tell aunt Hannah of that letter from the +lawyers? No, she would not until she saw whether it came to anything, +and if so, what. It might only worry her aunt. There were worries enough +at Hiram’s without her putting any more in the way. So she finished her +letter, sealed and addressed it, and then ran down to put it in the box. + +As she returned from her errand into the misty outdoor world, and closed +the door behind her shivering, glad she did not have to go out any more, +she met the tall, lanky cook in untidy work dress and unkempt hair. +Celia noticed instantly that it was curly hair and black, like the one +she found in the stew the night she came. She was passing on upstairs +but the cook put out her hand and stopped her. + +“Say,” she said in familiar tones, “I wish you’d jes’ step into Mis’ +Morris’ room and stay a spell. She’s ben took dreadful sick this +evenin’, and I’ve ben with her off an’ on most all the time, an’ I’ve +got pies yet to bake fer to-morrow, an’ I can’t spend no more time up +there now. She ought to have some one, an’ the rest seems all to be gone +out ’cept that ol’ lady up there, an’ she’s gone to bed by this time, I +reckon.” + +Celia could do nothing but consent to go, of course, though the task +looked anything but a pleasant one. Mrs. Morris had never struck her +pleasantly. She enquired as to the sickness. The woman didn’t exactly +know what was the matter. No, there had not been any physician sent for. +“There wan’t no one to go in the first place, and, secondly, doctors is +expensive things, take ’em anyway you will, medicine and all. Mrs. +Morris can’t afford no doctors. She’s most killed with debt now.” + +Celia turned on the stairs, and followed the woman’s direction to find +Mrs. Morris’ room. Over in her mind came those words she had read a +little while ago. + + “Daily, only, he says to thee, + ‘Take up thy cross and follow me.’” + +She smiled, and thought how soon the cross had come to her after she had +laid down the wrong one of a week ahead, and tapped softly on Mrs. +Morris’ door, lifting up her heart in a prayer that she might be shown +how to do or say the right thing if action were required of her. Then +she heard a strained voice, as of one in pain, call “Come in,” and she +opened the door. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + +Mrs. Morris lay on her unmade bed, still in the soiled wrapper. Her +expansive face was drawn in agony and she looked white and sick. She +seemed surprised to see Celia, and supposed she had come to prefer a +request for another towel, perhaps, or to make some complaint. + +“You’ll have to ask Maggie,” she said without waiting to hear what the +girl had to say. “I can’t talk now, I’m suffering so. It’s just +terrible. I never was so sick in me life.” + +“But I’ve come to see if I can’t help you,” explained Celia. “Maggie +told me you were sick. Tell me what is the matter. Perhaps I can do +something for you. I know about sickness and nursing.” + +“Oh, such awful pain!” said the woman, writhing in agony, “I suppose +it’s something I’ve et. Though I never et a thing, all day long, but a +little piece of pie at dinner to-night and me tea. Me nerves is all used +up with worrying anyway, and me stomach won’t stand anything any more.” + +Celia asked a few practical questions, and then told her she would +return in a minute. She found her way in haste to the kitchen, though +she had never before penetrated to that realm of darkness—and dirt. She +ordered Maggie peremptorily to bring her a large quantity of very hot +water as soon as she could, and send somebody for a doctor. Then she +went up to her own room and hastily gathered a bottle or two from her +small store of medicines and a piece of an old blanket she had brought +from home. She hesitated a moment. She ought to have another flannel. +The woman was too sick to find anything, and she had said she did not +know where there were any old flannels. It was necessary. She must take +up this cross to save that poor woman from her suffering and perhaps +save her life, for she was evidently very sick indeed. She waited no +longer, but quickly took out her own clean flannel petticoat. It was +nothing very fine, and was somewhat old, but it was a sacrifice to think +of using any of her personal clothing down there in that dirty room, and +for that woman who did not seem to be scrupulously clean herself. +However, there was no help for it, and she hurried back as fast as she +could. She gave the poor woman a little medicine which she thought might +help her, and she knew could do no harm till the doctor could get there, +and then plunging the cherished blanket into the hot water, she wrung it +as dry as she could and quickly applied it to the seat of pain, covering +it with the flannel skirt. She knew there was nothing like hot +applications to relieve severe pain. She saw by the look of relief that +passed over the sick woman’s face that the pain had relaxed to some +extent. After a moment, Mrs. Morris said: + +“I don’t know as you’d a needed to send for a doctor, this might have +helped me without him. I can’t bear to think of his bill. Bills’ll be +the death of me yet, I’m afraid.” + +But a spasm of pain stopped her speech, and Celia hastened to repeat the +applications. + +It was some time before the doctor arrived. The girl had to work fast +and hard. It was evident when he came that he thought the patient a very +sick woman. Mrs. Morris realized this, too. After the doctor was gone +and Celia was left alone with her, she asked her if she supposed the +doctor thought she was going to die. + +“Though I ain’t got much to live for, the land knows—nor to die for +either for the matter of that.” + +“Oh you forget!” said Celia, reverently, aghast that one should speak in +that tone of dying, “There is Jesus! Don’t you know him?” + +The woman looked at her as if she had spoken the name of some heathen +deity, and then turned her head wearily. + +“No,” she said, “I don’t suppose I am a Christian. I never had any time. +When I was a girl there was always plenty of fun, and I never thought +about it, and after I got married there wasn’t time. I did tell the +minister I would think about joining church the time of my daughter’s +funeral, but I never did. I kind of wish I had now. One never is ready +to die, I s’pose. But then living isn’t easy either, the land knows.” + +A grey ashen look overspread her face. Celia wondered if perhaps she +might not be dying even now. She shuddered. It seemed so terrible for +any one to die in that way. She had never been with a very sick person +near to death, and she did not know the signs well enough to judge how +much danger there might be of it. She felt however that she must say +something. The woman must have some thread of hope, if she should be +really dying. She came close to her and took her hand tenderly. + +“Dear Mrs. Morris! Don’t talk that way. Dying isn’t hard, I’m sure, if +you have Jesus, and he’s always near and ready, if you will only take +him now. I know he helps one to die, for I can remember my own dear +mother, though I was but a little girl. She had a beautiful look on her +face, when she bade me good-bye, and told me she was going to be with +Jesus, and that I must always be a good girl and get ready to come to +her. She looked very happy about it.” + +Mrs. Morris opened her eyes and gave her a searching look. Then she said +in a voice half-way between a groan and a frightened shout: + +“Why do you talk like that? You don’t think I am dying, do you? Tell me, +quick! Did the doctor say I was going to die? Why did he go away if that +was so? Send for him quick!” + +Then the inexperienced young girl realized that she had made a mistake +and been too much in earnest. There was danger that the woman might make +herself much worse by such excitement. She must calm her. To talk to her +thus would do no good. She must wait until a suitable season. + +“No, Mrs. Morris,” she said, rising and speaking calmly, “he did not say +so, and I do not believe you are going to die. You must not get so +excited, or you will make yourself worse. Here, take your medicine now, +for it is time. I did not mean you to think I thought you were dying, +and I’m sorry I spoke about my mother’s death, it was very foolish of +me. Please forget it now. I only wanted to tell you how Jesus was +standing near ready to be a comfort to you always, whether you lived or +died. But now you ought to go to sleep. Would you like me to sing to +you? Is the pain a little easier? The doctor said you must lie very +quiet. Can I get you anything?” + +By degrees she calmed the woman again, and then sat down to watch and +give her the medicine. There seemed to be no one whose business it was +to relieve Celia. Maggie put her head in the door about midnight to say +she was going to bed now and had left a fire, if any more hot water was +needed. Celia sat there gradually taking in the fact that she was left +to sit up all night with this sick woman, an utter stranger to her. It +was scarcely what she would choose as a pleasant task. But she +recognized it as the cross the Master had laid upon her with his own +hand, and there was a sense of sweetness in performing this duty which +she would not have had otherwise. It occurred to her that it was well +this was Saturday night instead of some other, for she could ill afford +to sit up and lose all her sleep when she had to stand at the counter +all the next day. She smiled to herself in the dim light and thought +this must be part of the Master’s plan, to fix it so that she could do +this duty and her others also. This was all he asked her to do, just +what she had strength for. He gave her the daily allowance of that. But +what if she should have to sit up to-morrow night? “Daily, only, he says +to thee,” and “Thou mayest leave that to thy gracious Lord,” came the +answering words, for now she knew the little poem by heart. She went +upstairs, hastily changed her dress for a loose wrapper, and secured her +Bible and one or two articles which she thought might be useful in +caring for the sick woman. When she came down again Mrs. Morris seemed +to be asleep, and Celia settled herself by the dim light with her Bible. +She felt that she needed some help and strength. She had not read long +when Mrs. Morris said in a low voice, “Is that the Bible you’ve got? +Read a little piece to me.” + +Celia hardly knew where to turn for the right words just now, but her +Bible opened easily of itself to the twenty-third psalm and she read the +words in a low, musical voice, praying the while that they might be sent +of the Spirit to reach the sick woman’s heart. When she stopped reading +Mrs. Morris seemed to be asleep again, and Celia settled herself in the +least uncomfortable chair in the room, and began to think. + +But she had not long for this occupation, for this was to be a night of +action. The terrible pain which for a time had been held by some +powerful opiate the doctor had given when he first came in, returned in +full force, and the patient soon was writhing in mortal agony once more. +Celia was roused from her thoughts. She called Maggie and sent for hot +water and the doctor again, and it was not until morning was beginning +to stain the sky with crimson that she sat down to breathe and realize +that Mrs. Morris was still alive. It seemed almost a miracle that she +was, for the doctor had said when he arrived that there was doubt +whether he could save her. + +Early in the morning Miss Burns came in to relieve her watch, and Celia +snatched a little sleep, but she found on awaking that she was needed +again. Mrs. Morris had asked for her. She went down to the breakfast +table and found, what she had not supposed possible, that the breakfast +was so much worse than former breakfasts, since the mistress was sick, +that it was hardly possible to eat at all. It seemed that Mrs. Morris +had made some difference in things, though Celia had thought the night +before that they could not very well be much worse. She had yet to find +that there were many grades below even this in boarding-houses. + +The Sabbath was not spent in studying Jehoiachin. It was full, but not +with attending church services. She did not stay in her cold little +room. She would have been glad to have been allowed to flee to that +refuge. Instead, she made her headquarters in Mrs. Morris’ room and from +there she began by degrees to order things about her, for Mrs. Morris +seemed to have placed all her dependence upon her. It was she who +answered the questions of Maggie about this thing and that, and who kept +the entire list of boarders from coming in to talk to Mrs. Morris and +commiserate her. She also cleared up the room and gave a touch of +something like decent care to the sick woman and her surroundings. Once +or twice the patient opened her eyes, looked around, seemed to see the +subtle difference, and then closed them again. Celia could not tell +whether it pleased her or whether she was indifferent. But it was not in +Celia’s nature to stay in a room and not make those little changes of +picking up a shoe and straightening a quilt and hanging clothing out of +sight. She did it as a matter of course. + +Occasionally, when she had time to do so, she wondered what aunt Hannah +would think if she could see her now, and she smiled to think that this +was just what she seemed to have had to do all her life,—give up to +help other people. Then she thought perhaps it was the most blessed +thing that could happen to her. + +Occasionally there would come to her a remembrance of that letter from +the lawyers, and she would wonder what it meant, and how she could +possibly go to work to find out. + +Sunday evening she sat with her landlady for a couple of hours. The pain +seemed to be a little easier, though she had spent an intensely trying +day. She seemed worried and inclined to talk. Celia tried to soothe her +and persuade her to get calm for sleeping, but it was of no use. + +“How can I sleep,” answered the woman impatiently, “with so many things +to fret about? Here am I on me back for the land knows how long, and the +doctor wanting me to go to the hospital. How can I go to the hospital? +What will become of me house, and me business if I up and off that way? +And then when I get well, if I ever do, what’s to become of me? Me house +would be empty, or me goods sold for grocery debts and other things, and +I should starve. I might as well take the chances of dying outright now +as that. I know I’d die in the hospital anyway, fretting about things. +That Maggie never could carry on things, even if I was only to be gone +two days. She never remembers to salt anything. Those two girls from +that three-cent store have been complaining about the soup to-day +already. They say it was just like dish water. And that German fellow +came and told me to-night, with me lying sick here, that he’d have to +leave if things didn’t improve. He said I ought to get better help! +Think of it! How am I going about to get help and me on me back not able +to stir? I don’t much care if he does leave, he always ate more than all +the rest of them put together. But land, if I should get well right away +and keep on, I don’t see where I’m coming to. There’s bills everywhere, +milk and meat and groceries and dry goods. I don’t know how I’m ever to +pay ’em. It’ll be just go on and pay a little, and get deeper into debt, +and pay a little of that and make more debt, till I come to the end +sometime, and I s’pose it might as well be now as any time.” + +Poor Celia! She had no words ready for such trouble as this. Debt had +always been to her an awful thing, a great sin, never to be committed. +She never realized that there were people to whom to be in debt seemed +the normal way of living from day to day. She tried to think of +something comforting to say, for how could a woman get well with such a +weight as this on her mind? It would do no good to quote verses of +Scripture about taking no thought for the morrow, nor to quote that +sweet poem of hers about not bearing next week’s crosses. The poor woman +would not understand. She had not so lived in the past as to know how to +claim the promise of being cared for. She would scarcely understand if +Celia tried to tell her that if she would but cast her care now on Jesus +he would help her in some way at once. This was what she longed to say, +but her experience of the night before led her to fear saying anything +which might excite the poor nervous woman. + +“How much money do you need to pay all your debts and set you straight +again?” she asked, thinking a little opportunity to go over her troubles +might quiet her. + +“Oh, I don’t know,” wailed the poor woman. “If I just had a thousand +dollars, I’d sell out me business and go somewhere and get out of it. +Things seem to be getting worse and worse.” She began to cry feebly, and +Celia was at her wit’s end. Everything she said seemed to make matters +worse. Suddenly she began to sing in a low soft voice, + + “Jesus, Saviour, pilot me, + Over life’s tempestuous sea.” + +Her voice was sweet and pure, and the woman paused to listen while Celia +sang on until she fell asleep. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + +Celia discovered that the firm of lawyers who had written her, had their +office in a building not many blocks from Dobson and Co.’s store. She +felt anxious to find out what they wanted of her, and so the next +morning she obtained permission for a few minutes’ extra time at the +lunch hour and hastened there. + +She reached the number at last, and searched the dirty sign board for +the names “Rawley and Brown.” There it was almost the last one on the +list, “Fourth floor, back.” She climbed up the four flights of stairs, +for the elevator was out of order and arrived panting before the dingy +office. When she entered the room, two elderly men sat at desks on which +were piled many papers, and each was talking with a client who sat near +his desk. They did not cease their talking with these men until Celia +had stood for some moments by the door. Then the elder of the two looked +over his glasses at her, and she ventured to say she was Miss Murray +come in response to their letter. She was given a chair and asked to +wait until Mr. Rawley was at leisure, and in the course of a few minutes +both the clients had withdrawn, and she was left alone with the two +lawyers. Over in the corner behind a screen, she could hear the click of +a typewriter and see the top of a frizzy head which she knew must belong +to the operator, probably the one who had written the letter to her. + +Mr. Rawley at last turned to her and began a list of questions. Celia +answered everything she could, wondering when this mystery would be +explained. As soon as she had finished telling Mr. Rawley the names of +her different living relatives, he cleared his throat and looked at her +sharply and yet thoughtfully: + +“Miss Murray,” said he, as if about to ask something very important, +“did you ever hear your father speak of having a great uncle?” + +Celia paused to think a moment. She had been but ten years old when her +father died. She could remember some conversations between her father +and mother about relatives whom she had never seen. She searched her +mind. + +“I’m not sure about the ‘_great_’ part of it. He might have been a great +uncle, but I know there was one father called uncle Abner. He must have +died long ago. He was a very old man then. I can remember father saying +laughingly to mother one day that he would never see anybody prettier +than she was, not if he lived to be as old as uncle Abner.” + +“A-ahem!” said Mr. Rawley, uncrossing his feet and recrossing them again +and putting his two thumbs together as he looked at them seriously under +his bushy eyebrows. “Yes. Ah! Well, and did that uncle have +any—ah—heirs?” + +Celia wanted to laugh. She had already begun to plan how she would make +aunt Hannah laugh by a letter she would write describing this interview +with the lawyers, but she kept her face straight and answered steadily. + +“I do not know.” + +“Well, I must say, my dear young lady,” remarked Mr. Rawley, after a +somewhat prolonged pause, “that your evidence is somewhat—that is to +say,—inadequate. You could hardly expect us, with so little to go +upon—that is to say, without more investigation, you could hardly +expect us——” + +“You forget, sir,” said Celia, really laughing now, “that I have not the +slightest idea what all this is about. I expect nothing. I came here to +be informed.” + +The old lawyer gave her another searching look and then seemed to +conclude that she was honest. + +“Well, young lady, I think I may safely tell you this much. There was +property of Mr. Abner Murray’s, which naturally descended to his only +son. This son had been in India for years. He did not return at his +father’s death, and in fact his whereabouts was not definitely known, +until a very short time ago, when positive information of his death +without heirs was received. The property would then revert to Mr. Abner +Murray’s next of kin, and his heirs. Mr. Abner Murray had a brother, who +is supposedly your father’s father. If this should prove to be the case, +through his death and your father’s, his only heir, you being the only +living child of your father, the property would naturally fall to you. +Do you follow me closely?” + +Celia looked at Mr. Rawley respectfully now and very gravely. The matter +had taken on a different aspect. It was a complete surprise. She had not +even in her wildest dreams allowed herself to hope for any such thing. +Fortunes only fell to girls in books, not to flesh-and-blood, hard +working, everyday girls. + +She looked at the lawyer in silence a minute and then she smiled gravely +and said: + +“That would be very nice if it’s true. I wish it might be. And now I +suppose you are done with me for the present, until you have +investigated the truth of my statements.” + +Mr. Rawley seemed surprised that she took it so coolly and asked no more +questions. She rose as if to go. The truth was she had caught a glimpse +of the clock and she saw that she had barely time to reach her counter +before the limit of her nooning would be over, and she had had no lunch. +Her position might be forfeited if she exceeded her time. That was worth +to her at present all the mythical fortunes that the future might hold +for her. So, without more ado, she hurried away, and, not even stopping +for a single bite to eat, laid aside her wraps and was in her place +behind the counter when the minute hand pointed just one minute after +the time allotted her. + +It was a very busy afternoon. She had not much time to think. Everybody +seemed to want ribbons. “Perhaps I shall be in a position to buy some of +these yards myself, instead of measuring them off for other people, some +time, if that old Mr. Rawley ever finds out whether _I_ am _I_,” she +thought to herself as she skillfully clipped off two yards of blue satin +and three yards of pink taffeta. + +“Property!” he had said. What did property mean? Had great uncle Abner +left an old house standing somewhere, which would be of no earthly use +to anybody unless sold, and bring nothing then? Or perhaps it was some +musty old library. She had no faith that there was much money. Such +things did not run in their family. It would turn out to be very little. +But oh, what if it should be something worth while? What, for instance, +if it should be a thousand dollars! What might she not do? Why, a +thousand dollars would enable her to do some of the nice things she +longed so to do. She could bring aunt Hannah here to the city, and set +up a tiny home with her in it somewhere. With that much money to start +on, they could surely make their living, she in the store and aunt +Hannah at home sewing. It flashed across her mind that that was just the +sum Mrs. Morris had wished for. She had said if she only had a thousand +dollars she could pay her debts and have enough left to start on and get +out of her uncomfortable life. + +How nice it would be if she, Celia, could have money enough to say, “I +have the thousand dollars, Mrs. Morris, and I will give it to you. You +may pay those people and go away to some more quiet, restful life.” Then +how delightful it would be to take that poor miserable boarding-house +and make it over. Make the boarders’ lives cheerful and pleasant, give +them healthful food and clean, inviting rooms to live in! What a work +that would be for a lifetime! If she ever did get rich, she believed she +would do just that thing. Hunt up the most wretched boarding-house she +could find and take it, boarders and all, and make it over. She believed +she could do it with aunt Hannah’s help. Aunt Hannah could cook and +plan, and she could execute and beautify. The thought pleased her so +well that she carried it out into details, during the long walk back to +her boarding-house that night. She even went so far as to think out what +she would give them for dinner the first night, and how the dining-room +should appear—and how their faces would look when they saw it all. What +fun it would be! Miss Burns should have something every night that would +tempt her appetite, and the poor old lady in the third story should be +given the very tenderest cut in the whole steak, so she need not tremble +so when she cut it. And there was that poor young school-teacher, he +needed rich creamy milk. She had heard him decline the muddy coffee +several times and once he asked if he might have a glass of milk, and +Maggie had told him they were all out of milk. + +She debated whether she would retain her position in the store and +decided that she would for a time, because that would give her a chance +to carry out some plans without letting the boarders know who was at the +bottom of it all. Things should not be changed much at first, except +that everything should be made entirely clean and wholesome. Then +gradually they would begin to beautify. Perhaps the others would help in +it. Perhaps she could lure the young man from the dry goods store into +spending an evening at home and helping her. She had a suspicion that he +spent his evenings out, and remained late in places which did him no +good, to say the least. It would do no harm for her to try to get +acquainted with him and help him, even if she never got a fortune to +enable her to raise her neighbors into better things. She would begin +the reformation of young Mr. Knowles that very evening, if there came an +opportunity. With these thoughts and plans in mind she completed her +long walk in much shorter time than usual and with a lighter heart. It +did her good to have an interest in life beyond the mere duties of the +hour. + +She found Mrs. Morris in much the same state of depression as on the day +before. The doctor had urged again that she go to the hospital for +regular course of treatment. She was as determined as ever that she +would not, or rather _could_ not do it. She wanted Celia to come and sit +with her. She had taken a liking to her new boarder, and she did not +hesitate to say so, and to declare that the others were an unfeeling set +who bothered her and didn’t care if she was sick. Celia tried to cheer +her up. She gave her a flower which one of the other workers in the +store had given her, and told her she would come up after dinner was +over. Then she went down to the table, and found Mr. Knowles seated +before his plate looking cold and coughing. She wondered if her +opportunity would come. His seat was at her left hand. They exchanged +some remarks about the weather, and Celia told him he seemed to have a +bad cold. He told her that was a chronic state with him, and then +coughed again as he tried to laugh. She entered into his mock gaiety, +and told him that if his mother were there she would tell him not to go +out that evening, in such damp weather and with that cough. + +His face grew sober instantly, and he said very earnestly: + +“I suppose she would.” + +“Well, then, I suppose you’ll stay in, won’t you?” said the girl. “It +isn’t right not to take care of yourself. The wind is very raw to-night. +Your cough will be much worse to-morrow if you go out in it. You ought +to stay in for your mother’s sake, you know.” + +It was a bow drawn at a venture. Celia stole a glance at him. He looked +up at her quickly, his handsome, gay face sober and almost startled. + +“But mother isn’t here,” he said, his voice husky. “She died a year +ago.” + +“But don’t you think mothers care for their sons even after they have +gone to heaven? I believe they do. I believe in some way God lets them +know when they are doing right. You ought to take care of yourself just +the same, even if she is not here, for you know she would tell you to do +it, now wouldn’t she?” + +“Yes, I know she would,” he answered, and then, after a minute’s pause, +he added, “but it is so hard to stay in here. There is no place to sit +and nothing to do all the evening. Mother used to have things +different.” + +“It _is_ hard,” said Celia, sympathizingly, “and this is a dreary place. +I’ve thought so myself, ever since I came. I wonder if you and I +couldn’t make things a little pleasanter for us all, if we tried.” + +“How? I’m sure I never thought I could do anything in that line. How +would you go about it?” + +“Well, I’m not just sure,” said Celia, thinking rapidly and bringing +forth some of her half made plans to select one for this emergency. “But +I think we ought to have a good light first. The gas is miserable.” + +“You’re right; it is that,” responded Mr. Knowles. + +“Didn’t I see a big lamp on the parlor table?” + +“Yes, I think there is a lamp there, but it smokes like an engine, and +it gives a wicked flare of a light that stares at you enough to put your +eyes out.” + +“Well, I wonder if we couldn’t do something to cure that lamp of +smoking. I’m somewhat a doctor of lamps myself, having served a long +apprenticeship at them, and I think if you’ll help me I’ll try. I have +some lovely pink crepe paper upstairs that I got to make a shade for my +room, but I’ll sacrifice that to the store if you can get me a new wick. +What do you say? Shall we try it? I’m sure Mrs. Morris won’t object, for +it will save gas, besides making things pleasanter for the boarders. I +have a book I think you will enjoy, after the lamp is fixed for reading. +If you are going to be a good boy and stay at home to-night I’ll bring +it down.” + +The young man entered into the scheme enthusiastically. He was a very +young man, not more than nineteen, or Celia would not have cared or +dared to speak to him in this gay, half-commanding way. But she had been +used to boys, and to winning them to do what she wished, and she won her +way this time surely. The young man was only too glad to have something +to keep him in, and his heart was still very tender toward his lost +mother. Celia saw that he would not be hard to influence. She wished she +were wise and able to help him. Her soul felt with oppression the need +of all these other souls in this house with her, and she wished to be +great and mighty to lift them up and help them. How strange it was that +the way kept opening up before her for daily helping of others. She +seemed to be the only Christian in this house full of people. What a +weight of responsibility rested upon her if that was so. How she ought +to pray to be guided that she might be wise as a serpent and harmless as +a dove; that she might, if possible, bring each one of them to a +knowledge of Jesus Christ. And what was _she_ to do all this? A mere +weak girl, who was discouraged and homesick, and could not get enough +money together to keep herself from need, perhaps, nor grace enough to +keep her own heart from failing or her feet from falling. What was _she_ +to think of guiding others? How could she do all this work? She must +shrink back from the thought. She could not do it. It was too much. Ah! +She might leave all that to her gracious Lord. She had forgotten that. +All he wanted her to do was to take the duty of the hour or the minute +and do it for him. What matter whether there were results that showed or +not so long as he was obeyed? When she slipped up to her room for that +pink crepe paper she knelt down and asked that it and the book and the +lamp and her little effort for the evening might be blessed. Then she +went down to conquer that lamp. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + +“For the land sake! Yes,” said Mrs. Morris, turning wearily on her +pillow, “do what you please with it. I wish it was a good one. I’d like +to afford a real good one with a silk shade with lace on it, but I +can’t. There’s lots ought to be done here, but there’s no use talking +about it. I’m clean discouraged anyway. I wish I could sell out, bag and +baggage, and go to the poorhouse.” + +“Oh, Mrs. Morris, don’t talk that way!” said Celia, brightly. “You’ll +get well pretty soon. Don’t think about that now. We’ll try to keep +things in order till you are able to see to them yourself. And meantime, +I believe I can make that lamp work beautifully. I’ll come back by and +by and report progress. Now eat that porridge. I know it can’t hurt you. +The doctor told me it would be good for you. I made it myself, and it’s +just such as aunt Hannah used to make for sick people. There’s nothing +like twice boiled flour porridge. Is it seasoned right? There’s the +salt.” + +Then she flitted downstairs to the lamp. + +Young Mr. Knowles was already on hand with the new wick he had purchased +at the corner grocery, having carefully taken the measure of the burner. + +Celia with experienced hand soon had the lamp burning brightly. Frank +Hartley, the University student, had been attracted by the unusual light +and declared he would bring his books down to the parlor for a while. It +was cold as a barn in his room anyway. He and Harry Knowles stood by +watching with admiring eyes, as Celia’s fingers, now washed from the oil +of the lamp, manipulated the pretty rose-colored paper into a shade, and +when it was done, with a gathering string, a smoothing out on the edges +and a pucker and twist here and there, and then a band and bow of the +crepe paper, it all had looked so simple that they marveled at the +beauty of the graceful fall of ruffles, like the petals of some lovely +flower. + +She put the promised book in Harry Knowles’ hand, a paper-covered copy +of “In His Steps,” and saying she would come down later to see what he +thought of the story, she slipped away to Mrs. Morris’ room. She must +get time to write to aunt Hannah some time to-night about her visit to +the lawyers, for aunt Hannah might have some evidence which would serve +her in good stead, but this duty to the sick woman came first. She +turned her head as she left the room and saw the two young men settling +themselves in evident comfort around the bright lamp. The +school-teacher, George Osborn, came in the front door just then, and +catching the rosy light from the room stepped in, looked around +surprised, then hung up his hat and went in to stand a minute before the +register to warm his hands. It was a touch of cheer he had not expected. +Presently he went upstairs and brought down a pile of reports he must +make out, and seated himself with the other two around that light. + +Celia upstairs was telling Mrs. Morris about the lamp, how well it +burned, and giving a glowing account of the three young men seated +around it. Mrs. Morris listened astonished. + +“Well, I’ve told them boys time an’ again that they ought to stay at +home, but they never would before. It must be some sort of a spell +you’ve worked on them. Of course, that teacher he stays up in his room a +lot. But he’s trying to support his mother and put his brother through +college, and you can’t expect much of him. He’ll just give himself up +entirely to them and that’ll be the end of his life. There’s always some +folks in this world have to be sacrificed to a few others. It’s the way +things are. I’m one of those meself, though the land knows who’s the +better for me being sacrificed. It does seem as if I had had to give up +every blessed thing I ever tried for in me life. Just set down a while. +I feel a little easier this evening and I’ve been a-doing a powerful lot +of worrying all day. I haven’t a soul to advise me that knows anything. +You seem to be made out of good stuff, and you’ve been real good to me, +and I just wish you’d tell me what you think I ought to do.” + +Celia sat down. She wondered what could be coming next. It was strange +to have her advice asked this way. Coming out into the world alone to +earn one’s living places a great many responsibilities upon one +sometimes. She felt very incapable of advising. She felt she had not +wisdom to settle her own life, let alone another’s, and one so much +older than herself, that it would seem as if experience ought to have +taught her much. But she tried to be sympathetic, and told Mrs. Morris +to tell her all about it, and she would do the best she could. In her +heart she prayed the Father that she might have wisdom to answer wisely. + +“Well, you see it’s this way. I’m just deep down in debt. I told you +that before. It’s been going on worse and worse every year, and every +year I’d hope by the next to make the two ends meet somehow. But they +never did. I’ve cut down and cut down. And then I got left two or three +times by boarders going off without paying what they owed after I had +trusted them a long time. There was that Mr. Perry now, he left that old +rickety organ. It was well enough to have an organ for the boarders, but +you see I couldn’t afford to have one. If I could have, I’d have bought +a new one, you know. Well, things like that have happened time and +again. Once a woman who recited pieces for a living came to the house. +She had a lot of dirty satin clothes, and afterward she left quite +suddenly and I never knew she was gone till a man came for her trunk. Of +course I got the trunk for her board. She had been here two months and +only paid one week’s board, kept putting me off and off. When I had that +trunk sold at auction it brought me in just one dollar and sixty-two +cents. What do you think of that? And she had the second story front +alone too; and _airs_, why she’d have her breakfast sent up every +morning about ten o’clock. She made me think she was a great woman. +Well, I learned better. But it does seem as though I’ve had more trouble +with folks. There was the time the woman was here with her little girl, +and the child took scarlet fever and the Board of Health came in and +sent everybody off, and scared them so ’twas a long time before I could +get them back. Well, there’s been a plenty of other things just like +that. You don’t wonder, do you, that I’m in debt? The worst of it is +it’s been getting worse and worse. That Maggie just wastes everything +she lays her hands on, and I don’t know’s I’d better myself any if I +tried to get somebody else. There’s always changes and new things to +buy. Now what would you do? You see it’s this way. I’ve got a sister out +west that lives by herself in a little village. She’s a widow and she’s +got enough to live on, and she’s written to me to come out and live with +her, and she thinks I could get a little sewing now and then, and I +could help her in her house. I can’t ask her for money, for I haven’t +got the face to, having asked her once before. Besides, she’s not one to +give out and out that way, even if she could afford to, which I guess +she can’t, though she’d be willing and glad to give me a home with her. +I’m too proud to borrow what I know I never could pay, and I won’t skip +out here as some would and leave me debts behind me. I’m honest, +whatever else I ain’t. Now what would you do? No, I don’t own this +house; if I did I’d been bankrupt long ago with the repairs it needs, +that I couldn’t get out of the landlord. But I took it for the rest of +the year, and the lease don’t run out till April, so you see I’m in for +that. It’s just the same old story. ‘A little more money to buy more +land, to plant more corn, to feed more hogs, to get more money, to buy +more land, to feed more hogs.’ Only, I always had a little less of +everything each time. Now Miss Murray, what would you do if it was you?” + +“Haven’t you anything at all to pay with? No,”—she hesitated for a word +and the one she had heard that day came to her—“Haven’t you any +property of any sort? Nothing you could sell?” + +Celia was always practical. She wanted to know where she stood before +she gave any advice. Mrs. Morris looked at her a moment in a dazed way, +trying to think if there was anything at all. + +“No, not a thing except my husband’s watch and this old furniture. I +suppose I might sell out me business, but nobody would buy it and I’d +pity ’em, poor things, if they did.” + +She talked a long time with the woman, trying to find out about +boarding-houses and how they were run. Before she was through she began +to have some inkling of the reason why Mrs. Morris had failed in +business and was so deeply in debt. She was only a girl, young and +without experience, but she felt sure she could have avoided some of the +mistakes which had been the cause of Mrs. Morris’ trouble. Finally, she +said in answer to the twentieth “What would you do if you was me?” + +“Mrs. Morris, I don’t quite know till I have thought about it. I will +think and tell you to-morrow, perhaps, or the next day. It seems to me +though, that I would stop right now and not run on and get more deeply +in debt. That cannot better matters. I think somebody might buy your +things, and—some way might be found for you to pay your debts,—but, in +the first place, you must get well, and we’ll do the very best we can to +get on here till you are well enough to know what you will do. Now may I +read to you just a few words? And then you ought to go to sleep. Just +you rest your mind about all those things, and I promise you I will try +to think of something that will help you.” + +She turned to the little Bible she had brought in with her and read a +few verses in the fourteenth chapter of John “Let not your heart be +troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in me.” + +She was very tired when she reached her room that night. The letter she +intended to write to aunt Hannah was still unwritten. The book she had +taken from the public library to read was lying on her bureau untouched. +She had been bearing the burdens of other people, and the day had been +full of excitement and hard work. She threw herself on her bed, so +nervously tired that she felt convulsive sobs rising in her throat. What +had she done? She had promised to think up some way to help Mrs. Morris. +Mrs. Morris was nothing to her, why should she take this upon herself? +And yet she knew, as she asked herself these questions, that she had +felt all along that God had as truly called her to help that poor woman +as ever he had called her to sell ribbons for Dobson and Co., or to help +aunt Hannah with the mending. She had not wanted to do it, either. It +was very unpleasant work, indeed, in many ways, and had required +sacrifices of which she had not dreamed when she began. There was the +pretty lampshade she was planning to have. She had given that up for the +general good of the house. Now, when she got the lamp she intended to +buy at a cheap sale somewhere, she would have to wait till she could +afford more paper and a frame for her shade. Well, never mind! She +surely was repaid for that act, for those young men had enjoyed it. How +much pleasure a little thing can give! How many things there were about +that house which might be easily done to make things brighter and +pleasanter, and how much she would enjoy doing them,—if aunt Hannah +were only here! How nice it would be if she had some money and could buy +Mrs. Morris out and help the poor thing to get off to her relatives, and +then get to work and make that house cheerful and beautiful and a true +home for its present inmates. How aunt Hannah would enjoy that work too! +It was just such work as would fulfill that good woman’s highest dreams +of a beautiful vocation in life. + +Suddenly Celia sat bolt upright on the hard little bed, and stared at +the opposite wall with a thoughtful, and yet energetic expression on her +face. + +“What if it should!” she said aloud. “What if there should be some +money, say as much as a thousand dollars, and maybe a little over, for +an allowance lest we might run behind. Wouldn’t that be grand! Oh, you +dear old uncle Abner, if it proves true, and if you up in heaven can +see, I hope you know how happy you’ll make several people. I’ll do it, I +surely will! And aunt Hannah shall come and run the house and be the +housekeeper, and maybe we can get old Molly, for I’m certain we never +could do a thing with that Maggie, she’s so terribly dirty, and Molly +would leave anywhere to be with aunt Hannah! There now, I’m talking just +as if I was a ‘millionairess’ and could spend my millions. I ought not +to have thought of this, for it will turn my head. I shall be so +disappointed when Mr. Rawley tells me, to-morrow or next day, that I’m +not myself, or that the property is some old hen house and a family cat, +that I’m afraid I shall not be properly thankful for the cat. I wonder +if it isn’t just as bad to take up the happy crosses for the coming year +as the uncomfortable ones. I wonder how that is. I must think about it. +Meanwhile, aunt Hannah must be written to, for Mr. Rawley wanted those +marriage certificates she has, and somehow I feel quite happy.” She +sprang from the bed and jumped around her room in such a lively fashion +that Miss Burns who roomed below wondered what was the matter. + +Writing to her aunt sobered her down somewhat. She began to think of +herself a little. + +“Celia Murray, do you know what you are doing?” This was what she heard +whispered to her from behind. “You have come to the city to earn your +living, and you have come here to board, not to nurse sick landladies, +nor to become a guardian angel for stray young men, nor to exercise the +virtue of benevolence. You must think of yourself, somewhat. How in the +world will you ever be fit for your work if you spend so much time and +energy on working for other people and staying up nights? Had you not +better seek out another boarding-house? There must be plenty in this +city, and probably if you looked about a little you might find one where +you would have more conveniences and a better room and board. Leave Mrs. +Morris to get along the best way she can. You are not responsible for +her. She is a grown woman and ought to know enough to take care of +herself. Anyway, she is only suffering the consequences of her +foolishness. Better try to-morrow to find another boarding-house.” + +Yet, even as Celia heard these words spoken in a tempting voice, she +knew she would not go. She was not made of that kind of stuff. Besides +she was interested. Whatever her cross for the coming week was to be, it +would not be one to her to remain here now and help work out God’s +plans, if she might be permitted so to do. + +“And if it might only please my King to lift my head up out of prison +and set me up where I might help others in this boarding-house, I would +try to make as good a use of my liberty and my allowance as Jehoiachin +did. I wonder what he did do with his allowance anyway. And it must have +been such a pleasant thing to him to know, to fully understand that his +allowance would not fail all the days of his life. I wonder if he got +downhearted sometimes, and feared lest Evil-merodach might die and leave +him in the lurch, or whether he might turn against him some day. Now +with me it is so different. My King is all-powerful. What he has +promised, _I know_ he will perform. I need never dread his dying, for he +is everlasting. I can trust him perfectly to give me an allowance all +the days of my life of whatever I need. And yet, daily and hourly I +distrust, and fear and tremble, and dread lest I may be left hungry some +day. What a strange contradiction, what an ungrateful, untrustful, +unworthy child of the King I am.” + +Then she turned out her light and knelt to pray. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + +It is said that Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon his +knees. It is probably true that he also hies him away to take counsel +with his evil angels to see if they cannot by some means overtake that +saint in his resolves and endeavors, and make him tremble, and perhaps +fall. It certainly seemed to Celia the next morning as if everything had +conspired to make her life hard. + +In the first place it was raining. A cold, steady drizzle, that bade +fair to continue all day and for several days, if it did not turn into +snow. The furnace, none too good at any time, was illy managed. Mrs. +Morris usually regulated it herself, but Maggie made a poor hand at it. +She chose this morning to forget to see to it at all until the fire had +gone out. There was no time to build it up then, for she had breakfast +to get for the boarders who must be off to their work at their appointed +hours. Celia dressed quickly, for her room was so cold she was in a +shiver. With her blue fingers she tried to turn the pages of her Bible +to read a few words while she combed her hair, but finally gave it up +she was so cold. She was sleepy, too, for she had lost much sleep of +late, and it was hard to get up before it was fairly light and hurry +around in the cold. Life looked very hard and dreary to her. She thought +of aunt Hannah getting breakfast for Nettie’s family, and buttoning the +children’s clothes between times. Somehow the thought of aunt Hannah +weighed heavily upon her this morning. She could not get away from it. +It brought a sob in her throat and a pain at her heart. Why did they +have to separate? It was cruel that life was so. The tears came to her +eyes. She jerked a snarl out and broke two teeth of her comb at the same +time. This did not serve to help her temper. She did hate to use a comb +with the teeth out and once out there was no putting them back. Neither +could she afford a new comb for some time to come. She glanced at her +plain little silver watch and saw it was later than she usually rose, +and she hurried through her toilet as much as possible, and ran +downstairs to the dining-room. The German stood at the dining-room door, +an expression of belligerence on his face and his attitude one of +displeasure. He filled up the door so completely that Celia was obliged +to ask him to let her pass before he moved. She was indignant at him for +this. She found herself likening him to one of the animals condemned in +the Bible. It was unchristian of course, but Celia did not feel in a +very sweet spirit this morning. She recalled what Mrs. Morris had said +and wished the German would leave the house. He looked like a man whom +it was impossible to please anyway. But she found the cause of his +displeasure was that there was no breakfast forthcoming as yet. Mr. +Knowles came down, greeted her pleasantly, looked at the empty table, +and the clock, filled his pocket with some crackers on a plate there, +and remarked that he guessed he would skip, that it was as much as his +place was worth if he did not get to the store on time, and he would +have to run all the way to the car to make it now, it was so late. Celia +felt indignant that this young man was obliged to go to a hard day’s +work unfed. But there was nothing to be done now, he must go. It was the +hard fate of the wage-earner. He must be on time, if the house fell. She +went to the kitchen door and peered in. Maggie was slamming about in a +grand rage. The biscuits she was baking were not even beginning to brown +yet, as Celia saw by a glimpse into the oven door when Maggie opened it +and slammed it shut. There was some greasy-looking hash cooking slowly. +It did not look as if it ever would be done at the present rate it was +cooking. The stove looked sulky and the ashes were not yet taken up. + +“Maggie,” she said, “can I help you get something on the table? These +people all have to go to work and so do I. If we can’t eat in five +minutes we’ll have to go without.” + +“Well, then, go without!” said Maggie, rising in a towering passion. +“I’m sure it won’t hurt you fine folks once in a while. I never hired +out to do everything and I ain’t responsible. I’ll get the breakfast as +soon as I can and not a bit sooner, and you can get out of my kitchen. I +don’t want you bothering ’round. I get all flustered with so many folks +coming after me. Go on out now, and wait till yer breakfast’s ready. And +tell the rest I won’t cook any dinner fer ’em, if a soul comes in this +kitchen again.” + +Celia retreated, indignant and outraged. To be spoken to in such a +manner when she was but offering help was an insult. It was a +peculiarity of hers that when she felt angry the tears would come to her +eyes. They came now. It was exasperating. She went quickly to the window +to hide them, and looked out in the dim little brick alley that ran +between the houses and watched the rain drop all over the bricks. There +was a blank brick wall of the next house opposite her, and a little +further toward the front she could see a window and some one standing at +it. She turned quickly away again. There was no refuge there. Taking in +at a glance the table with its unbrushed crumbs, and the dishes of +uncooked hash and underdone biscuits that Maggie was just bringing in, +she resolved to follow the example of Mr. Knowles and take some +crackers. Then seizing her hat and coat from the hall rack where she had +put them, on coming downstairs, she started for the store. It was a +long, cold walk and she got very wet, but she did not feel justified in +spending the five cents which would have carried her there. In her +present mood she had no faith in uncle Abner’s fortune. It would +probably turn out to be some poor land somewhere which would never be +worth a cent. That was the kind of inheritance which usually came to any +one in their family, like the lot in a new town out west that was left +to aunt Hannah by her eldest brother, where the city authorities +compelled property holders to pave the streets and pay large taxes and +where there were no purchasers. Such inheritances one was better off +without. She felt very bitter in her heart. As she walked along in the +rain, she remembered that she had forgotten to kneel by her bedside in +prayer before she left her room that morning, it was so cold and late. +She knew that must be the reason why she felt so cross and unreasonable, +and she tried to pray as she walked along in the rain, but there were +many things to distract her thoughts, and she had to watch carefully +that she did not run into some one with her umbrella turned down in +front of her to keep off the driving rain. She thought of aunt Hannah +again, now probably washing the breakfast dishes, or doing some sewing +or ironing, and she sighed and felt that earth was wet and cold and +dreary. Half-way to the store, she encountered a little newsboy who +followed by her side, and begged her to buy a paper. He looked hungry. +His feet were out at the toes from his shoes, much too large. Celia had +no money to buy a paper and she answered the boy in a decided negative +that made him turn hopelessly away. It made her cross to see his need, +when she had no power to help him. She realized how cross her voice had +been and that vexed her. Then she blindly stepped into a mud puddle and +splashed the water over the tops of her shoes. She shivered as she felt +the dampness through the thin leather of her boot, and wondered what she +would do when the inevitable sore throat, which always with her resulted +from getting her feet wet, arrived. And so she hurried on, tugging after +her the heavy cross which she had carefully made that morning for +herself to carry, out of bits of her own and other people’s troubles, +and letting it spoil the sweet peace God had sent her, and soil the +clean heart he had washed from sin for her. It was too bad. Her guardian +angel pitied her that she could so soon forget her high resolves, and +her heavenly Father. + +Matters were no better when she reached the store. One of the girls who +belonged at the ribbon counter with her was sick. Celia had to do her +duty and the girl’s also. This might not have been so bad if she had +been left to herself, but the head of that department, a young woman +with a sour expression and disappointed eyes, was also out of temper, +and did her ordering in an exceedingly disagreeable manner. She found a +great deal of fault and kept demanding of Celia more than she could well +accomplish in a given time. Celia had hoped it would not be a busy day +on account of the rain, but on the contrary every woman in town seemed +to be in need of ribbon and to have hit upon that particular rainy +morning in which to shop, thinking doubtless that the others would stay +at home and leave the store to her. When the noon hour came Celia was +cut down to half time on account of the rush, and obliged to take a few +precious minutes of that in putting up some ribbons left carelessly on +the counter by another saleswoman who had gone to her luncheon leaving +them there. To the young girl new to her work, and fresh from a home +where every _necessary_ comfort at least had been hers, it was a long, +hard day, and she looked forward with no hope of a let-up to the evening +that was to follow. She grew crosser as the day began to wane, and she +grew hungry, and then faint, and then lost both those feelings and +settled down to a violent headache. It was then that a new cause for +trouble loomed up before her imagination. What if she should get sick? +Who would take care of her and how should she live? Aunt Hannah would +have to come, and what an expense that would be!—No, aunt Hannah could +not come. There was no money anywhere to pay her fare, or her board when +she got there, and she was bound to stay with Nettie and Hiram as long +as they were supporting her. She would have to get along without telling +aunt Hannah. What would become of her? Oh, why of course, she would have +to go to the hospital among strangers and be nursed, and perhaps die, +and aunt Hannah never hear and then worry and worry and no one would +tell her. + +It was just in the midst of these thoughts that there came the clear +voice of the floor walker: + +“Miss Murray, will you step to the office a moment. There is a message +there for you, a special delivery letter I believe.” + +With her heart throbbing violently at thought of the possibilities +contained in a special delivery letter, she walked the length of the +long store. Aunt Hannah must be sick and they had sent for her. Surely +they would do that if aunt Hannah should be so ill she needed care, for +Nettie would never care for her, she was no nurse and hated sick rooms. +Besides, to be perfectly honest, Nettie would have enough to do in +caring for her home and children. There was no hospital in the little +town where Hiram lived, so he would, of course, rather pay her fare and +keep her while she did the nursing than to hire some one to care for +aunt Hannah. All this reasoning went clearly through her brain, as she +walked swiftly in the direction of the office. It seemed as if the +writing of her name on the receipt book was one of the longest actions +she ever performed, and her hand trembled so when she retired to the +little cloak room to read her letter that she could scarcely open the +envelope, nor take in at first that the letter bore Rawley and Brown’s +printed heading. And then she read just a few lines from them asking her +to call once more upon them and as soon as possible. She went back to +her place among the ribbons feeling almost angry with Rawley and Brown +that they had frightened her so, and yet relieved that there was nothing +the matter with aunt Hannah. + +It was nearly five o’clock, and the crowd of women who were doing rainy +day shopping had gone home. The rain was pouring down harder than ever. +The store was comparatively empty. Perhaps she might get away for a few +moments now; she would ask. Permission was granted her, as she had had +only half her noon hour, and she hurried up to the dark little office +again. + +She found that she was not too late, for Mr. Rawley had not yet gone +home, though he had his overcoat on as if about to depart. It appeared +that he wished to ask a few more questions to establish certain facts. +Celia answered them as best she could, and then as he seemed to be +through with her, she asked timidly: + +“Would you be so kind as to tell me what this is all about, anyway? You +said there was property. If it should turn out to be mine, what would it +be? I suppose you do not mind giving me a general idea of that, do you?” + +He looked at her almost kindly under his shaggy brows. “Why no, child!” +he said. “That’s perfectly proper, of course. Why, I haven’t the exact +figures in my head, but it’s several thousands, well invested, and an +old farm up in New York state that’s well rented. There would be enough +to give a pretty good income every year you know, and if you left the +investments as they are, it would be a continuous one, for they are not +likely to fail or fall through. Then, too, there is a considerable +accumulation owing to the doubt about the heir. I hope you’ll turn out +to be that heir and I have no doubt you will. Good-afternoon.” Celia +tripped down the dark old staircase as if it were covered with the +softest carpet ever made. Several thousands! What wealth! What luxury! +She had wished for one single thousand, and her Father had sent her not +one, but many. For she began to believe now that the money was hers. All +the evidence seemed to point that way. The lawyer seemed to be +convinced, and it needed only the coming of a few documents in +possession of her uncle Joseph’s old lawyer to corroborate what she had +told him. She felt pretty sure that it was all true. And here she had +been cross and growling all day, and worse than that, she had been +carrying crosses not meant for her shoulders, and probably leaving +undone the things God had laid out for her to do. What wickedness had +been hers. Only last night she had knelt in earnest consecration, and +now to-day she had fallen so low as almost to forget that she had a +Father whose dear child she was, and who was caring for her. Could she +not retrieve some of the lost day? She had but one hour left in the +store. She would try what she could do. She smiled on the beggar child +who stood looking wistfully in at the pretty things, in the store window +as she passed in to her work. When she reached the ribbon counter again, +she found the head of the department looking very tired, and complaining +of a headache. There were other burdens besides her own she could bear. +She might offer to do her work for her and let her rest, and she could +bring her a glass of water. It was not her business to put up certain +ribbons not in her own case, but she could do it for the other girl who +was absent and save the head girl. As she made her fingers fly among the +bright silks and satins, she wondered if there were more burdens for her +to bear for others when she reached the boarding-house, and whether Mrs. +Morris would be better to-night and able to sit up and direct things a +little, and then there came to her mind the joyous thought that perhaps +she was to have the means soon to make that house permanently better in +some ways and help its inmates. How light her heart and her shoulders +felt now that she had laid down that heavy self-imposed cross! It was +wonderful! Oh, why could she not learn to trust her Master? The verse of +a loved hymn came and hummed itself over in her mind. + + “Fearest sometimes that thy Father + Hath forgot? + When the clouds around thee gather, + Doubt him not! + Always hath the daylight broken— + Always hath he comfort spoken— + Better hath he been for years, + Than thy fears.” + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + + +Miss Hannah Grant sat in her room under the eaves darning little +Johnnie’s stocking. Her hair was grey and rippled smoothly over her +finely shaped head. Her sweet face wore a sad, far-away expression. It +had grown habitual with her ever since she had come to live with her +niece Nettie. Perhaps a close observer would see that the sadness was a +shade deeper this afternoon. Her eyes were deep grey and seemed to go +well with her hair. She gave one the impression of being able to see +further with them than most people, and there was a luminousness about +them that lit up her otherwise plain face, and made it truly beautiful. +Her gown was plain and old and grey. She always wore grey dresses. They +had been becoming long ago in the days when it mattered whether she wore +becoming things, and now that she cared no more about the becomingness, +she wore them for sweet association’s sake, and for the sake of one long +gone who used to admire them when she wore them. She did not seem to +know that they still suited her better than any other color, or absence +of color, could have done. + +The hole was large and ill-shaped, for Johnnie was hard on his +stockings, but she darned it patiently back and forth, and seemed to be +thinking of something else. Once she laid it down and went to the closet +for her little grey worsted shawl to throw around her shoulders, for the +room was heated only by a drum from the stove downstairs and she felt +chilly. She usually sat in the sitting-room in the afternoon to sew or +mend, but there had been a reason for her coming up here to-day. She had +settled herself as usual by the west window downstairs to get a good +light on her work. She had a large peach basket full of stockings by her +side, and her workbasket on the window. The baby, creeping about the +floor, had upset the peach basket and scattered its contents around, and +Nettie, coming down just then in a new red cashmere shirt waist she had +finished the day before, had jerked him unceremoniously away from among +the stockings and hastily bundled them all into the basket, shoving it +behind aunt Hannah’s chair and out of her reach. As she did so, she +remarked in a disagreeable tone that she wished aunt Hannah wouldn’t +bring that old thing into the sitting-room. Couldn’t she bring a pair of +stockings at a time, and not litter up the whole room? She was expecting +Mrs. Morgan and her sister in with their embroidery and crocheting, and +she did like to have things look a little nice. Aunt Hannah had meekly +disposed of the stocking basket behind her ample apron, and there had +been silence in the room for a few minutes. Then young Mrs. Bartlett +remarked: + +“Aunt Hannah, I think you had better go and change your dress, if you +are going to sit there. That old grey thing doesn’t look very well. I +wish to goodness you had a black silk, or something, like other folks. +You always waste your money on grey things when you have to buy +anything. It’s a dreadfully gloomy color. It makes you look sallow, too, +now you’re getting older.” + +Nettie had gone out in the kitchen then for a minute and returned just +as aunt Hannah was starting upstairs with the darning basket. + +“Aunt Hannah!” she called, “take your shawl and bonnet up with you, +won’t you? I s’pose you’d just as soon keep them up there, wouldn’t you? +Hiram says he hates to see the hall rack cluttered up so.” + +Aunt Hannah put down the basket on the stairs, descended swiftly, +gathered her shawl and bonnet and one or two other belongings of hers +which were downstairs, in inconspicuous places, and carried them all +upstairs. She was not in the habit of leaving her bonnet and shawl on +the rack, and had only done so last night when she came in from prayer +meeting, because she had buckwheat cakes to set before going to bed, and +when that was done and she started to take them away, Nettie had asked +her to carry a lamp and two comfortables up for her, and in doing so the +shawl and bonnet had escaped her notice. It was a little thing, and she +realized that the hall rack looked better without her shawl and bonnet, +but somehow it was one of the many little things that gave her the +feeling that she had no home. She had put them all meekly away and sat +down in her little cold room near the drum to darn. She had done what +she was asked to do with one exception. She did not change her dress and +go down again. She saw that Nettie would like to have her out of the way +for the afternoon, and she did not wish to remain where she was not +wanted. She did not sigh as some women would have done. Instead, her +eyes took on that far-away look. She was beginning to long so sorely for +the open gates of her home above where she need never more feel that +desolation of not belonging, and where she would meet loved ones, and +above all her Father, face to face. Yet she knew her heavenly Father was +with her, even in this home where she was treated as a burden, and she +could be content to stay and do his bidding, only sometimes that great +longing for the face to face view grew upon her till her heart ached +with the desire to go. + +In her bureau drawer, safe hid in tissue paper in a white box smelling +of rose leaves there were some letters, and an old daguerreotype. The +picture was in an old-fashioned leather frame that closed with a little +brass hook, and was lined with stamped purple velvet. The face inside +was of a young man with sweet, serious eyes, a grave, handsome face, +smoothly shaven, heavy, dark hair tossed back from a high white +forehead, and the dress of the olden time—a high rolling collar and +stock. The letters were from this man to Hannah Grant, written when he +was in the theological seminary, and they contained bright glad plans +for their future, Hannah’s and his. They might not have seemed bright to +some women, for they were planning, so soon as he had finished his +ministerial training, to go to the Foreign Mission field and work +together for the Master they both loved better than anything else. And +next to him they had loved each other. How bright her life had seemed to +her then as she did her daily duties; sang about them; thought of the +future and wrote her happy letters; and thanked the Lord daily that she +was to be permitted to do his work in this honorable way. The time had +gone by rapidly then, and the years of study had been completed. +Hannah’s wedding day was set, her simple lovely wedding gown was +finished, and it was grey. He loved grey. It had little touches of soft +white about the throat and wrists, just enough to bring out the coloring +of Hannah’s delicately cut face. And then,—suddenly there happened one +of those mysteries of the kingdom which we shall understand by and by, +and to which now we can only say “It is the Lord, let him do what +seemeth him best,” and trust. The earnest young missionary was taken up +higher, there to receive his reward. His bride, when she could rally +from the shock of this sudden ending of her life joy, bowed to the will +of him to whose keeping she had long ago given her will and her life, +and was enabled to say with tears of triumph that like that man of God +of old her beloved had “walked with God and was not, for God took him.” + +She had thought even then to go alone, and take the message of Jesus to +those who knew him not, and bear her sorrow more easily by thinking she +could do some of the work which they would have done together. But God +opened another door for her and showed her plainly that he had called +her to a duty at home, and so she took her saddened heart, her sweet +face and her tender ways to her sister’s motherless little children and +had lived there ever since. Sometimes now, when she thought how she was +not wanted in this home, and yet could not go anywhere else by force of +circumstances, she would take out that pictured face and wonder if James +could know how she was being treated what he would think and feel about +it, and think how he would guard her from the world and shield her if he +were only here. And then she would be glad that he could not know, or +that if he could, he was where he knew it would not any of it be for +long, and that she would soon come home to be with Jesus and with him +forevermore, and that time to him was only a brief space. It was at such +times that her eyes would take on their far-away look. + +So she sat and worked and thought that afternoon. In due course of time +the expected visitors arrived. The woman upstairs heard their voices, +and presently they drew nearer to the stove in the sitting-room. Their +talk could be quite distinctly heard now, but Hannah was absorbed in her +own thoughts, and she paid no attention as they gossiped on about this +one and that, with “You don’t say sos,” and “Well, I always thought as +muchs,” and “Did-she-say thats,” until she heard Nettie say, “Yes, she +will stay with us this winter anyway. No, it isn’t quite as pleasant as +to be alone you know, but then what could we do? She had no home to go +to. My husband wanted my cousin to come, too, though it was more than we +really could afford to do to feed and clothe two more, but she was very +ungrateful, and wanted to have her own way and see the world a little. I +expect she’ll come back humbly enough when she’s been away a couple of +weeks longer, and if she does I’m sure I don’t know what in the world we +shall do with her. Oh yes, aunt Hannah helps me a little here and there, +but you can’t ask much of people that are getting on in years. (Aunt +Hannah was forty-nine.) My father always kept her in luxury as she was +my mother’s only sister. Yes, people do get spoiled sometimes that way. +But, dear me, all she can do wouldn’t make up for the outgo. Yes, she +was a sort of acting housekeeper in our home after mother died, but you +know no one can ever take a mother’s place. (Johnnie, shut that door and +go away and stop your coaxing, or I’ll take you upstairs and give you a +good spanking. No, you _can’t_ go down by the pond to play to-day.) No, +I never had so much to do with her as the younger children. I was the +elder daughter, you know.” + +Aunt Hannah quickly and noiselessly moved away from her position by the +drum to the other side of the room. And this from the little girl she +had so carefully mothered, and tended, and tried to train! And had +loved, too, for Hannah Grant loved all that God loved and placed in her +way. Ah, this was hard! And must she go on living here and knowing that +she was not wanted, that she was a burden, and that lies—yes, actually +lies, for there was no use trying to call them by a softer name—were +being told to the people in the village about her? How could she? She +could see just how it would go on from year to year. Hiram would come in +cross at night and either ignore her altogether, or else contradict +every word she spoke, and find fault with anything he knew she had done, +in a surly, impersonal way, which he knew and she knew he meant for her. +The children would grow up to disrespect her, as they were beginning to +do already. And her dear Celia! She was toiling bravely far away from +her! There was no prospect of anything better for years to come, perhaps +never so long as she lived. She knelt down by her bed, and prayed for a +long time. Then she arose quietly and went back to her window, a +chastened look upon her face. This was not more than he had helped her +to bear before. Indeed, it was not nearly so much. It was what Jesus had +himself borne, being despised and rejected of men. She darned on till +the room grew dark, and then she sat in the twilight and thought. She +could not bring herself to go downstairs yet, not till she must to get +supper. She thanked the Lord she had a room to herself where she might +take refuge alone and think of him. It was seldom that aunt Hannah had +had even this privilege in the daytime since she had come to live with +Nettie, there was always so much to be done, and Nettie seemed to expect +it to be done quickly. + +The company below had departed, but Miss Grant took no heed. She sat and +watched the grey sky grow into night. There was no sunset. It had been a +grey day. There was not even a point of light to make the sky lovely. It +sank into darkness quietly, soberly, unnoticed and unlovely. She thought +it was like herself. But then there had been some reason why God had not +made a bright sunset to-night, and there surely was some reason why he +had wanted her life grey instead of rose-colored. She sighed just a +little, and now that the darkness had stolen softly upon her, she let a +tear have its way down her cheek. + +Downstairs Nettie was growing restless. Hiram came in a little earlier +than usual with a sour look and asked how long it would be before +supper. Nettie said it would not be long, and wondered why aunt Hannah +did not come downstairs. Hiram remarked that if the old woman was +getting lazy and taking on fine-lady airs they had better give her a +warning, for he couldn’t support her for nothing. He threw a letter for +her upon the table while Nettie was lighting the lamp. Nettie took it +up, glanced at the writing, and then sent Johnnie up with it and told +him to tell aunt Hannah his father had come and wanted his supper right +away. + +“It’s from Celia again,” she said, in a contemptuous tone. “She wastes +more money on postage. I don’t think it’s right to do that in her +position. If she has any extra money she better save it up and help with +supporting aunt Hannah. A great fat letter, too. I don’t see what she +finds to write about. This is the third one this week. It’s perfectly +absurd!” + +But aunt Hannah did not hear what they said, she was not sitting near +the drum, and would not again, even if she was cold. + +Johnnie came down and reported that aunt Hannah had a light in her room +and Nettie rattled the stove with all her might, and slammed the dishes +around more than was necessary, but still aunt Hannah did not come, and +finally Nettie began to get supper herself. She sent Johnnie up again +pretty soon to tell aunt Hannah she wished she would come downstairs, +that she needed her, and Johnnie came back and said aunt Hannah told him +to tell mamma she would be down pretty soon, she could not come just +now. + +“Well, really!” said Hiram, looking up from his paper, “seems to me she +is putting on airs at a great rate. If I were you, Nettie, I would just +sit down and wait till she comes. I wouldn’t get supper at all. If you +haven’t the grit to tell her to come down now when you send for her, +I’ll do it for you.” + +But Nettie rattled the stove and the dishes and managed to get supper +ready pretty soon. She did not quite understand her aunt. This was a new +development. Never in all the years she had known her and been cared for +by her had aunt Hannah ever refused a request for help. It must be +something serious. Was she sick? Nettie had some little heart left in +her, and it irritated her to have her husband speak so of her relatives, +so she bristled up at him, while she made the coffee. + +“You’ll not do any such thing, Hiram Bartlett. I guess she has a right +to stay in her room once in a while. I’m sure I never knew her to do the +like before in the whole of her life. If she was your aunt, you wouldn’t +speak of her in that way. I think you ought to be a little grateful for +the way she took care of you last week when you were so sick, and me +with the baby sick, too. If she hadn’t been here I should have had my +hands more than full. I don’t know what I should have done. Johnnie, +make that baby stop crying! Lillie, pick that doll up off the floor! I +keep walking over something of yours all the time. I s’pose Celia’s got +into some trouble and aunt Hannah’s worried about her. I expected as +much. That girl hadn’t experience enough of the world to go off to the +city alone. Somebody ought to have taken her home to live. If one of the +boys had been married she could have gone with them, but the boys are so +selfish they never think of other people. If you had any sense of the +fitness of things you’d have done it yourself.” + +They talked on in a wrangling way until supper was ready, but it was not +until they had nearly finished the evening meal that the hall door +opened and aunt Hannah walked in. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + +Aunt Hannah had lighted her lamp a few minutes after the light of the +day went out, to get a little comfort from her Bible before going +downstairs to face her trials, for it must be confessed that aunt Hannah +had not had a cross so heavy to bear in many a year, as it was for her +to go downstairs that night and face Hiram and Nettie calmly after the +words she had heard her niece speak. She had tried to think of all the +comfort in the Bible as she sat in the twilight. She had a great store +of the precious words to draw from, for her Bible had ever been her +chief delight. She knew just where to turn in her memory for the right +help and it came trooping forth. + +“Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I +will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee +with the right hand of my righteousness. . . . When thou passest through +the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not +overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be +burned. . . . God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted +above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to +escape, that ye may be able to bear it. . . . Blessed is the man that +endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of +life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him. . . . For I +reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be +compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. . . . All things +work together for good to them that love God. . . . To be conformed to +the image of his Son. . . . If God be for us, who can be against us? +. . . Nay in all these things we are more than conquerors through him +that loved us.” + +Then she lighted the lamp to search out another promise, for it seemed +to her as if just to look upon the words would somehow help her. It was +at that moment Johnnie brought up Celia’s letter. She opened it quickly, +the anticipation of another trouble arising in her mind, for what might +not have happened to Celia so far away in that great city alone, since +the last letter she wrote? + +It was a thick letter and she read it slowly through, taking no thought +of time because the matter it contained absorbed her mind completely, +and when Johnnie came up the second time, she had something new to think +about which demanded immediate attention and had claims prior to any +downstairs. The letter read thus: + + “DEAR AUNT HANNAH: + + “Do you remember the words on the little bookmark you sent me + for my birthday? I know you do, for you have a way of hiding all + such words away in that wonderful memory of yours. You know the + heading was about an allowance, from the king, a continual + allowance. When I read it I knew just what you meant by sending + it to me. You wanted to remind me that my King had plenty of + extra strength to give me, and that he had promised to furnish + me with enough for every day of my life to bear that day’s + trials. It did help me, for I knew I was trying to bear some of + them all by myself, and that I often and often forget that I do + not have to take up next year’s crosses and worry about them. + But I remember, when I first read the words, I couldn’t help + longing deep down in my heart, that I could have a real earthly + allowance of money, just solid hard dirty money, coming in every + week, and every month, and every year, and enough to supply all + the actual needs so that I might live with you and work for you + and have you all to myself. Then I felt indeed that my head + would be lifted up out of prison forever—for I read the chapter + about Jehoiachin as you meant I should, you dear good + auntie—and it helped me too. You see I had been taking up a big + heavy cross for the year to come for you. I didn’t feel happy + about you there at Hiram’s, for in spite of me I cannot like + Hiram’s ways and I don’t believe you do. I know for one thing, + and a very small thing, that you hate tobacco smoke and have + never been used to it, and yet Hiram smokes all over the house + whenever he pleases, without even so much as caring whether it + is repulsive to you or not. In fact, I am wicked enough to + suspect that he might do it the more, just because you don’t + like it, to show you he is master of his own house. I am so + sorry I have to feel that way about my cousin-in-law, but I + can’t help it. There is this comfort about it, I don’t believe + Nettie minds, and as she is the one that has to be his wife and + go through life with him, it is a relief to think she doesn’t. + But there! That is all out of the way, and unchristian, and I + have been too much blessed to allow myself to say anything + unchristian about any one. Only I did want you to understand + that I appreciated how hard it was for you to cheerfully accept + Nettie’s proposal and go to live with her for a few years. I did + not say so then because I thought any words would only make it + harder to bear, and I know my own dear auntie’s old way of + always finding a thing easier to bear if she succeeds in making + other people think she is perfectly happy. That is just one way, + and the only way in which you ever are the least little bit + dishonest. + + “But I must hurry on with my main theme which has not even been + hinted at yet. And I have a great deal to write, and must get it + in to-night, for I cannot bear to have you wait a minute longer + than is necessary to hear the good news. + + “In the first place, you are not to stay at Nettie’s another + day—that is not unless you prefer to, of course—but you are to + pack up every scrap that belongs to you and take the first train + to Philadelphia, sending me a telegram (at my expense) to say + what train you start on. You must come to the Broad Street + station—have your trunks checked there too, and don’t leave any + of your things behind, for there is plenty of room to put all + your things here, and you are not to go back to Nettie’s unless + you go on a visit of pleasure.” + +Aunt Hannah glanced up to see if the little room with its old ingrain +carpet and cheap furniture was still about her. She was almost +breathless with the proposal of the letter. Things seemed to whirl +around her. She wanted to get something to steady her before she read +on. She saw the black side of the sheet-iron drum and remembered the +afternoon, and a glance toward her open Bible showed her the lines “God +is faithful . . . will with the temptation also make a way to escape, +that ye may be able to bear it.” She drew a long breath and closed her +eyes for a minute’s lifting of her heart to God. He was going to make +the way to escape. She did not yet understand how it was to be done, but +her faith caught at the fact that it was to be done. Then she went back +to the letter. + + “You are to give your checks to the porter on the car—and you + are to take a sleeper if you come at night, or a parlor car if + you choose to come in the daytime. I enclose your ticket.” + +Aunt Hannah noticed then that a small pink and white paper had fallen +from the letter when she opened it, and slipped to the floor. She +stooped and picked it up in a dazed way. Good for one trip to +Philadelphia it certainly was. This was something tangible and brought +her back to everyday life. She really was to go, for here was the +ticket. She went on with the letter eagerly now. + + “You are to have the porter carry your satchel into the station + for you, and I will meet you at the gate and take you home. Yes, + HOME, aunt Hannah, yours and mine, do you hear that? It isn’t + very pretty, nor inviting yet, but it is ours for a while, for + as long as we want it, and we shall fix it into a charming home. + And now you want to know how it all happened and what it means. + + “Well, this morning I was sent for again to come to Rawley and + Brown’s office on very important business, and as they told me + it might keep me some time I asked for the day off at the store. + I couldn’t have had that, if I had not done double duty for the + last week in place of a girl who was sick. Mr. Dobson was very + nice and said certainly in such a case he would give me + permission. Of course, I suppose I’ll lose my pay for that day, + but it had to be done, and it doesn’t matter now anyway. Well, + Mr. Rawley hemmed and hawed a good deal, and finally told me + that everything was satisfactorily settled at last and that I + had been duly declared by the court to be uncle Abner’s heir, + without any question or doubt anywhere, and that he wished to go + over the papers with me and place the property in my hands. + There was some red tape to be gone through with which I needn’t + stop now to tell you about. It was all very interesting to me, + the number of times I had to sign my name, and all the + witnesses, and I felt just like a girl in a book, but I haven’t + time for that. There is better to come. It seems uncle Abner had + a farm where he lived after he got old, and his wife died and + his son went to India, and there was a young farmer and his + family who lived there and took care of him, and they have + rented the house ever since. They still live there. The farm is + pretty good, way up in New York somewhere I think, I didn’t pay + much attention to it. Then he owned an interest in a coal mine + near Scranton and a few government bonds, not many of those, but + the whole is well invested and brings in a nice little income + every year, sure, and I couldn’t help thinking of Jehoiachin + when Mr. Rawley was telling me about it. He said it was so well + invested that it was, as near as anything earthly could be, + sure, a continual ‘income as long as I lived’ if I kept things + in their present shape, for uncle Abner had been a very careful + man and always invested in pretty safe things with what little + he had. I didn’t tell him I considered it much instead of + little, though. It seems a fortune to me. I suppose I shall + learn better hereafter, but I am going to try to be very wise + with it anyway, with God’s help. + + “Now you want to know how much it is, I know. Well, it amounts + to about nine hundred dollars a year at the lowest calculation, + besides several years of accumulated interest not invested yet. + Isn’t that riches? Why, you’ve often told me that not many + ministers and few missionaries get more than that. Now then, why + shouldn’t you and I be missionaries? I know it has been your + dear desire all your life, and I don’t know of anything that + would be grander work. And as we can’t go as foreign + missionaries just now, what if we should be home missionaries? + Of course, two lone women couldn’t take mortar and bricks and + build a church and preach, at least I shouldn’t like to try it, + though I’m not at all sure but I could do it. You know we always + thought, if we had the time and the material and the pattern, + you and I could do almost anything anybody else could if we + tried. Well, I began to think about a mission for us, and before + I had gotten half-way home to write to you it came to me just + what I would like to do. Why shouldn’t you and I make a real + home mission for ourselves right here in the city of + Philadelphia, by making a good home for a few people who have + none of their own? It seems to me there is as much gospel + sometimes in a good sweet loaf of bread such as you can make, as + there is in—well—_some_ sermons. Don’t you think so? Then we + could get a hold on the people who ate it, and get them to go to + the churches, and try to help them in their everyday lives. Why, + some of the young men here would stay at home evenings + occasionally, perhaps regularly, if they had a pleasant, warm, + light place to stay in. Instead of that they go out to the + saloons, perhaps. Anyway, auntie dear, they don’t look rested in + the morning when they come down to breakfast. And oh, what a + breakfast we did have this morning! It seems as though I never + can like hash again, though I always used to enjoy ours so much + at home when you made it. But hash in Mrs. Morris’ + boarding-house is a very different dish indeed. When I got home + I went straight up to Mrs. Morris’ room. She has not gotten + entirely well from her severe sickness of a few weeks ago yet, + though she goes around and directs things, but she seems to be + so worried all the time. You know I told you how many bills she + has unpaid and how hard times have been for her. You wouldn’t + wonder a bit if you could be here and watch the way things go a + little while. She was lying on her bed when I went in and + looking as if she would like to cry, if she only were young + enough and had the energy. She told me right away that she was + in trouble again. She was a month behind in her rent, and the + agent had been around and said it must be paid in advance after + this and he couldn’t wait longer than till five o’clock. She + only pays twenty-five dollars a month, and with all her boarders + you might think she could pay it, but she doesn’t, that’s all. + While she was talking I began to revolve my plans very rapidly. + I didn’t want to act too rashly, for you know you always tell me + that is one of my great faults, but I knew if I did anything it + ought to be done very soon. Probably it would have been wiser to + have asked Mr. Rawley’s advice, and perhaps some of my + relatives, but I had an innate suspicion that I would not be + allowed to do it at all, if I asked. And why shouldn’t I? The + money is mine, and I am of age if I am not very experienced. I + knew you would like it, at least I felt very sure you would, and + if you and God like a thing I don’t care what all the rest of + the world think. So I asked Mrs. Morris a lot of questions, some + I had not asked her before. You see I had a whole two hundred + dollars in my pocketbook, Mr. Rawley had given me. He said it + was mine, and I might as well take it to begin on. So I took it. + I knew I would want to do a lot of things right away, and that + the first one would be to get you here at once, and to buy your + ticket. I was just aching to spend some money, for it was the + first time in my life I ever had much to spend. I asked Mrs. + Morris about her butcher’s bill, and her grocery bill, and + things and I found they were not so very big as she had made me + think at first. Then I asked her point blank how she would like + to let a woman come in here in her place for three months or so, + and take the boarding-house off her hands, paying the bills for + the present, and letting her pay them by and by, if she chose, + or if not, holding the furniture as collateral. She didn’t know + what I meant by collateral, but she soon understood, and said + she would be only too glad, only she never could find any woman + who would be so foolish. She said, too, that she was afraid if + she once got away she would never be willing to come back, but + just stay and leave the old furniture to make it right with her + debts, and she sighed and returned to her trouble and began to + cry. Then I couldn’t stand it any longer. I told her I thought I + knew the right one for her, and I would write to her at once and + attend to it all if she was sure she agreed to it. It did not + take her long to decide what she would do after she was fully + convinced that I meant what I said. She began to pack up her + clothes right away and to talk about what she would take with + her. She hasn’t much worth while, I guess. She will want those + horrid crayon portraits of her family and herself, I hope, and a + few other ornaments. But when we had gotten to this point, we + found it was five o’clock, and the door bell made Mrs. Morris + remember the rent agent. Sure enough, he had come, and Maggie + came up to call Mrs. Morris. She looked at me blankly as much as + to say: ‘What shall I do?’ She had forgotten all about him. I + thought just a minute and then I told her I had some money, + enough I thought to pay the agent and satisfy him, and I would + go down and see if I could make him behave till we got things + settled. Then I went downstairs and put on my most dignified + air. He bristled at me and demanded Mrs. Morris. + + “‘Mrs. Morris is not well and is lying down,’ said I, ‘and I + have come down in her place. Is there anything I can do for + you?’ + + “‘Well, I’ve got to see her if she _is_ lying down,’ he said in + a loud voice, and he took a couple of steps toward the stairs as + if he would go up to her at once. ‘She’s got to pay her rent. + She’ll be put out if she don’t do it at once. This thing has + gone——’ + + “‘Oh,’ I said, ‘it isn’t in the least necessary for you to get + excited, if that is all. I can attend to the rent as well as any + thing else. Are you the agent?’ + + “‘Yes, I _am_,’ he said, ‘and I won’t have any more talk either. + I want my money.’ + + “I had my pocketbook in my hand, and I tried to freeze him with + a look as I opened it. When he saw me bring out a big roll of + bills he almost looked faint, he was so astonished. + + “‘How much is it that is back?’ I asked. + + “‘Two months and a half,’ he snarled. + + “I began to count out the money, and then I remembered my own + experience with Rawley and Brown and thought I would give him a + little taste of it. I drew back and said ‘You are sure you are + the agent and fully entitled to receive this money? Can you give + me any credentials?’ + + “He was very much taken aback, and got red and embarrassed and + at last remembered that Mrs. Morris knew him. Then he grew angry + again and demanded to see her. I sent a message up to Mrs. + Morris that if she was able we would like to have her come down, + and she came. When it was finally all settled and the receipt + signed, I told the young man that he might tell the owner that + the rent hereafter would be paid in advance and on time, and + that there were a few repairs which needed immediate attention + and we would like to have him call at his earliest convenience. + He went away quite crestfallen, and I began to feel quite like a + householder. The only thing that troubles me is Mrs. Morris’ + extreme gratitude, because, dear auntie, I’m afraid I haven’t + loved her as much as I ought to for Christ’s sake, and I + therefore can’t take to myself the credit she would give me. It + is all very selfish in me. + + “Now the matter stands this way. If you possibly can come this + week, do so. Mrs. Morris will be ready to leave on your arrival. + She will go to her sister out West, and I doubt if she ever + returns. I have given her some money to go with. It isn’t always + you can buy a full fledged boarding-house, boarders and all so + cheap. I suppose some one would call it dear, but I am very + happy in my purchase. I shall keep my place in the store till + you come anyway, for I don’t care to have the boarders find out + my connection with the business, till they see some of the + changes I want to have made for the better. The only servant + here is worse than none. She is so dirty and saucy you never + could stand her. If you possibly can induce Molly to come with + you, bring her. I enclose a New York draft which I think will be + all the money you will want to bring her, and pay any little + bills till you get here. And now, dear auntie, I do hope and + pray you will say yes, and come at once, and not find any + ‘oughts and ought nots’ in the way, as you sometimes do. You see + I have gone ahead and burned my bridges behind me, because I + felt that you ‘ought’ whether you think so or not, for I mean to + take care of you now myself and you are working too hard there. + Here we will keep you in pink cotton and only let you direct. I + shall keep good servants, and if I don’t always make the two + ends meet why I shall have ‘a continual allowance’ given me of + my King to draw upon. + + “Your loving, eager + “CELIA.” + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + + +There was a calmness and “upliftedness” about Miss Grant’s face as she +entered the dining-room that the people about that table did not +understand, and it rather angered them than otherwise. She walked +quietly to her accustomed chair and sat down. Nobody spoke, but she had +so far forgotten her afternoon’s troubles as to be oblivious of this. +Hiram was trying to think of the most sarcastic thing he could say, and +so failed to say anything, while Nettie in her various revulsions of +feeling did not know how to begin. Aunt Hannah herself opened the +conversation in the calmest, most self-contained tone possible, as if +the question she asked was one she often asked of her nephew. + +“Hiram, can you tell me what time the through Philadelphia trains go?” + +Hiram raised his cold, black eyes to her face in astonishment, a moment, +and stared at her as much as to say, “What possible concern of yours is +that?” and then dropped them to his plate again and went on eating. +After a suitable pause he said freezingly, “No.” Aunt Hannah tried +again. + +“Isn’t there a time-table in the paper? Could you find out for me?” + +“I don’t know,” said Hiram, this time without looking up. “I suppose if +it’s there you can find it as well as I can.” + +“What in the world do you want with the time-table, aunt Hannah?” asked +Nettie, peevishly, with an undertone of anxiety in her voice. “There +isn’t anything the matter with Celia, is there? I presume she has lost +her place and is coming back on us. I always supposed that was the way +her venture would turn out. She ought to have tried to get a place in +the country for housework. It was all she was ever trained to do. +Anybody might know she couldn’t get on in the city.” + +“Nothing is the matter with Celia, Nettie,” answered her aunt, “except +that she has written me to come to Philadelphia. She has found something +there for me to do, and I have decided that it will be best for me to go +at once. I shall have to start to-morrow, if possible, because I am +being waited for.” + +“You go to Philadelphia!” exclaimed Nettie dropping her fork. “The +perfect idea! Has Celia gone crazy? Why aunt Hannah you couldn’t get +along in the city. Why, you—you—wouldn’t know how to get anywhere. You +don’t understand. Philadelphia is a large city and you couldn’t get +across the street alone. And what could you do? You are not going to +start in as a clerk in a store at your time of life, I hope. You would +break down at once, and then we should have you both to care for, for I +fully expect to have something happen to Celia soon, and then we should +have you both to care for, and you know aunt Hannah, willing as we are, +we are not able to do that.” Nettie paused for breath. + +Then Hiram turned his little black eyes on her and asked contemptuously, +“And who is going to pay your fare on this pleasure excursion you are +going to take? You certainly can’t expect me to do it. I think I’ve done +all I’m called upon to do. I understood the bargain was that you were to +work for your board here.” + +Hiram had never been so openly insolent before. If he had, Miss Grant +would have left long ago, even though she had been obliged to walk the +streets in search of work for her living. She turned her clear eyes upon +him full, and said quietly with the strength of the grace the Father +gave her from her communings with him: + +“Yes, Hiram, that was the bargain, and I certainly have worked. I +consider that I have fully earned all that I have eaten, and the amount +of shelter that has been given me. As for any further assistance, I +think I have never yet asked it, and I hope I may never be obliged to do +so. Celia has sent me money and a ticket,—and I shall not be obliged to +ask any favors of any one.” + +“Celia sent you money!” Nettie fairly screamed it. “Where in the world +did she get money?” + +“Yes, where did Celia get money?” asked Hiram, sharply. “It seems to me +there’s something pretty shady about this business. Miss Celia’ll get +into serious trouble which will bring no credit to her family, if she +keeps on.” + +Aunt Hannah rose from her untasted supper, drew herself up to her full +height and looked down upon Hiram Bartlett till he seemed to shrink +beneath her glance. There comes a time when a strong sweet nature like +Hannah Grant’s can be roused to such a pitch of righteous indignation +that it will tower above other smaller natures and make them cower and +cringe in their smallness and meanness. She had reached one of those +places in her life. Nettie, as she watched her, thought to herself that +aunt Hannah must have been almost handsome once when she was young. + +“Hiram,” said aunt Hannah, and her voice was quite controlled and +steady, “don’t you ever dare to breathe such a thought as that again +about that pure-souled girl. You know in your inmost soul that what you +have said would be impossible. Some time, when you stand before God, you +will be ashamed of those words, as you will be ashamed of a good many of +your other words and actions.” That was all she said to him. She did not +lose her temper, nor say anything which she did not feel she ought to +say, or which she would have taken back afterward. Then she turned to +Nettie and quietly said: + +“Celia has had a little estate left her from her father’s great uncle +Abner. She is now quite independent as regards money, and she wishes to +have me with her as soon as possible, and I intend to go to-morrow +evening, if I can get ready.” + +She turned from the room then and went upstairs, but when she got there, +instead of going to work at packing, she turned the key in the lock and +knelt down by her bed, to pray first for Hiram, and second that God +might overrule anything that she had said amiss. + +Meantime below stairs there was astonishment and confusion. Celia as a +poor shop girl, and Celia with money were two very different people. +Even Hiram felt that. He retired behind his paper till a suitable time +had elapsed for his wife to talk out her anger, astonishment, and +humiliation, and then he began to reflect that it would be a very +convenient thing to have the management of Celia’s money, even though it +was not much, for he was just beginning business for himself and every +little helped in the matter of capital. + +“It would just serve you right, Hiram Bartlett, if Celia should turn out +to be rich,” said his wife, angrily. “The way you have treated her and +aunt Hannah ought to make you ashamed, but I don’t suppose it will. Now +what am I to do I should like to know? Three children, and one a fretful +baby, and all my housework to do all alone. If you had treated aunt +Hannah nicely, she would have stayed anyway. Maybe Celia would have come +here to live and taught the children. She is real good at teaching +little children anything. I remember she used to be so patient with the +boys at home. It would be awfully convenient to have somebody around +with money.” + +In the course of the evening, while aunt Hannah swiftly gathered her +possessions in array preparatory to packing, Nettie knocked at her door. +She wanted to ask a great many questions, and she wanted to argue with +aunt Hannah and show her the inadvisability and impossibility of her +thinking of such a thing as going to Philadelphia to live with Celia, +when her plain duty was here with Nettie and her family. When she saw +she was making no headway, she tried to work on her aunt’s strong sense +of duty, and finally cried, and told her she never thought she would be +left by aunt Hannah in that way, with all those children and no help, +that she always knew aunt Hannah cared more for Celia than for any of +them, and that it was not fair when they had offered her a home and done +everything for her, and she had come there with the understanding that +she would stay several years anyway. It wasn’t fair to Hiram. + +When she had talked this way for some time, her aunt turned to her +almost desperately. She did not want to say anything rash. But Nettie +must be shown how inconsistent she was. + +“Nettie,” said she, just as calmly as she had talked to Hiram, “you know +that you and Hiram never wanted either me or Celia with you. You know +that you consider me in the way, and that I am only good to work. I +don’t say anything against that, for that may be true, but you know that +you grudge me my home here, and that you are giving out to your friends +that you are doing a great deal to care for me in my helpless old age, +and that I am a burden. You know yourself whether that is quite fair, +and whether I have not worked as hard as any woman could for my board +and lodging. But that is not to the point. You have a perfect right to +think so about me. It may be all true, and I cannot stop you in saying +such things to outsiders, but I have a right to say whether I will be +taken and disposed of as if I was a piece of goods, and cared for as if +I was a baby. I am not quite so infirm yet but that I can earn my living +where I shall be more welcome. I thank the Lord that a way has been +opened for me to go where I am wanted, but I must honestly tell you, +Nettie, that I should have gone just the same if I had not known that +you felt so, for I feel that my place is with Celia, if I can be with +her. She is alone in the world. You have your husband and your children. +She has nobody but me. I bear you no grudge, Nettie, and I think you +will be happier with me away.” Then she went on packing and Nettie +retreated to talk with her husband. + +The result was a proposition that they should coax Celia to come home +and live with them, and Nettie said a few nice things which she hoped +would patch up aunt Hannah’s feelings, but aunt Hannah was firm, and +would not even delay to write to Celia. She went diligently on with her +preparations. + +Gradually they settled down to the inevitable, and by the next noon had +so far calmed down as to be able to ask some questions about the more +definite details. Aunt Hannah had started out on an expedition very +early in the morning without telling them where she was going, or +without seeming to remember that there was breakfast to be gotten and +cleared away. She seemed to be living by faith. She certainly ate +nothing that morning. She visited a certain little house in a by-street +where lived an old servant, Molly by name, who had declined the most +earnest solicitations of Nettie to live with her at exceedingly small +pay, and preferred to earn her living by doing fine ironing. She also +visited the station, the telegraph office, the bank, and the +expressman’s office, and then went back to her packing again. Later in +the afternoon, she went out again and made a few calls, on the +minister’s wife and the doctor’s wife and a few very dear friends, +bidding them a quiet good-bye, for she wished to slip away without +making any more talk than was necessary. But it was at the dinner-table +that Celia’s whole plan was ferreted out by Nettie. + +“Celia has bought a boarding-house!” exclaimed Nettie. “What an absurd +idea! What does she or you either know about keeping boarders? You’ll +both let them run right over you. You’ll get in debt the very first +week. Why, aunt Hannah, you have no right to encourage Celia in such a +scheme. She’s too young, anyway, to be away off there in a city without +a guardian. She ought to be here. Hiram could manage her money and make +it double itself in time, and if she really has as much as you say, she +has plenty to live quite comfortably without doing anything. You ought +to tell her so.” + +But aunt Hannah did not seem to be intimidated by this. Nettie tried +again. + +“And then think how plebeian it will be! It was bad enough to work in a +store, but a boarding-house keeper, and for one who has money of her +own. It is simply unheard-of. I shall be ashamed to death to have Mrs. +Morgan know about it. I think I have had trouble enough without having +to be ashamed of my family. Celia always did do queer things, anyway. +Don’t you think it is very impractical, Hiram?” + +Nettie asked his opinion as if that would settle the matter for +everybody concerned, and he answered in the same manner. + +“I certainly do think it is the most wild and impossible scheme I ever +heard of, and one which ought not to be permitted. It will be the ruin +of Celia’s property, and when that is all gone, and you and Celia are in +trouble, I suppose I shall be called upon to help you out. Of course I +shall do the best I can, but you must remember that I have not very much +money to throw away on wild childish schemes.” He spoke with the air of +a martyr, and aunt Hannah answered him cheerily. She had recovered her +spirits since she had sent her telegram. + +“You needn’t worry, Hiram. I don’t believe either Celia or I will ever +be in need of your help. But if we are, I don’t think we shall trouble +you. You know they have a good many charitable institutions in the City +of Brotherly Love, and we shall surely be well cared for if the +improbable happens.” Then aunt Hannah placed her nicely prepared little +coals of fire in the hands of her two grand nephews and her grand niece, +and went smiling upstairs. The coals were tiny paper parcels each +containing a bright five dollar gold piece. She had lain awake last +night, worried about the sharp words she had felt obliged to speak, and +the sentence Nettie had flung out about her leaving her without help, +and she wanted to show that she bore no grudge for what they had said. +Celia had sent her the money to spend as she thought best, and aunt +Hannah knew her girl well enough to feel she would say this was a good +way to spend it. Besides, she felt sure she could run a boarding-house +successfully in a financial way, as well as some others, if she had the +chance, so she might by and by have more five dollar gold pieces to do +with as she chose. She was beginning to be very happy, as she packed and +strapped the last trunk, and smoothed her hair and tied on her grey +bonnet and grey veil. At the last Hiram and Nettie behaved quite well. +Those five dollar gold pieces had gone a long way toward making the +bereavement of aunt Hannah’s departure felt. Hiram took her satchel +down, and Nettie walked beside her carrying her umbrella and wheeling +the baby, while Johnnie and Lily trotted on ahead. There was an éclat +and importance attached to a sudden and first-class departure such as +aunt Hannah’s was turning out to be, which could not well be carelessly +neglected. They made an interesting procession down the street. More +than one neighbor looked out of her window, and a few knew that Miss +Hannah was going away. But they had said good-bye, and only turned their +heads the other way to wipe away a tear of regret, or sigh perhaps that +their good friend was not to be near any more with her cheery face and +her words of comfort. When it was observed by one or two that Molly +Poppleton had also passed down the street accompanied by an old colored +man wheeling her ancient trunk on a wheelbarrow, and carrying a +good-sized bundle, several of the good women came to their gates to look +down the street, and wait till Nettie returned to ask what it all meant. +And Nettie enjoyed a triumphal march back to her home. “Yes, she’s gone, +we shall miss her very much.” Her nose was red with being rubbed and her +eyes had a suspicious redness about them. “No, Celia isn’t ill, but she +couldn’t stand it any longer without aunt Hannah. You know Celia has had +a fortune left her? Oh yes, she’ll have plenty now. Yes, aunt Hannah has +to go and be her chaperon. I suppose she’ll quite come out in society +now she has money enough to do about as she pleases. Oh yes, she’s very +generous, she always was. She sent the children each handsome presents +in gold. Yes, aunt Hannah has taken old Molly for a maid. She’ll be +obliged to have a maid there, you know. Funny, isn’t it, that a woman +who knows how to work should need a maid? I shouldn’t like it myself, +but then one has to do as other people do.” Then Nettie went home and +got supper and washed up her dishes and put her three babies to bed, and +sat down wearily and wished for aunt Hannah. + +But aunt Hannah sat serenely in the sleeper, waiting for her berth to be +made up, and thinking to herself that she also, like Jehoiachin, had had +her head lifted up out of prison. + + + + + CHAPTER X. + + +It was perhaps one of the happiest nights that aunt Hannah ever spent. +She lay down in her bed in the sleeper and slept like a little child for +a time, for she was as tired as a baby after her day and night of +excitement, but in the early dawn she awoke and lay there listening to +the regular cadence of the moving train. It was music to her. Her life +had for years been a monotonous one, and every detail of the journey was +a delight to her. The turning wheels seemed to sing a tune to her, “Now +hath mine head been lifted up above mine enemies round about me.” She +tried to turn that thought out of her mind as soon as she discovered its +significance, for she did not like to think that even in her heart had +hid a feeling that Hiram and Nettie were her enemies, but somehow the +rejoicing stayed anyway. + +She began to look forward to the morning and the day that was to follow, +the opening of her new life. What would it hold of good or of ill for +her? Would there be trials? Yes, but there had been trials before. She +would have “his strength to bear them, with his might her feet could be +shod. She could find her resting-places in the promises of her God,” as +she had done before. And it was such delightful work before her, a +prospect of making over a home and making it pleasant. Aunt Hannah took +rest, too, in the thought of experienced Molly Poppleton now reposing in +the berth above her. She was going on a mission at last. How good God +had been to her! He had tried her for a little while, but he was +bringing her out into a large place. She could see that, even though she +could not know the trials that were before her. Of course there were +trials, she expected that, earth was full of them; but she did not need +to carry them; Christ had borne them all for her long ago. She would +trust and he would bring her safely through as he had done before and +was doing now. Then her thoughts dwelt in sweet reflection upon her +Saviour whom she loved so much, and she communed with him and promised +to try to help every person who came within that house that she was to +make pleasant for him and his children, and to try to live for him +before them every day. And that crowded, rushing car became a holy +place, because God met her there and blessed her. + +The train reached the Broad Street station at a very early hour. Celia +was glad of that, for it gave her plenty of time to meet her aunt and go +with her back to the house, without being late at the store. She had not +had time to reflect yet as to whether she would give up her position. +She was hardly ready to do so. It seemed to her that perhaps she might +do more good if she retained it for the present, at least until she +found some one else who needed it, and to whom she could give it with +profit, both to that person and to her employers who had been very kind +to her. Besides, she wished not to appear before the boarders yet as an +active agent in the reforms of the house. + +At exactly half-past five she arrived at the Broad Street station. It +was an early hour for her to be out alone, and it was still dark save +for the electric lights which glared everywhere as if trying to keep off +the day. But the train would come in at five minutes to six, and Celia +had been too eager and too happy to sleep longer, so she paced up and +down in the ladies’ room until the train was almost due, watching the +people come and go and wondering about them all as she was wont to do. +As the time drew near for the train she went out and stood behind the +gates watching the trains moving back and forth. She began to say to +herself, “Oh, what if she should not come? What if something has +happened to the train? Or what if Nettie and Hiram have persuaded her at +the last minute not to come? Or what if she missed her train? But no, +she would have telegraphed. ‘Charge not thyself,’—dear me! How much I +do that. I must stop worrying ahead about everything. Aunt Hannah must +have seen that fault in me very glaringly. I never realized how much I +do it.” And then the train whistled and rolled into the station, and the +passengers began to alight, and stream into the gates, looking sleepy +and cold. Celia stood there in the dim greyness of the cold, foggy +morning and began to tremble with the excitement and joy of watching for +aunt Hannah. Suddenly she saw the ample form of Molly Poppleton loom up +behind the gilt-buttoned porter and she caught a glimpse of a little +grey bonnet just behind and knew that aunt Hannah was come. + +She took them home in the street-car, and then escorted them up to her +little third story back room. She had risen early and put it in order. +Molly looked around in disdain. + +“Well, Miss Celia, you don’t have things as fine in the city as I +expected,” she said. “The idea of their putting you up in such a room as +this! Why, Miss Celia, it ain’t as good as the kitchen chamber at +Cloverdale. I always heard a city was a dreadful place to live, but I +never thought it was this bad. The wonder to me is anybody that don’t +have to, stays in ’em. But we’ll have it _clean_ pretty soon anyway, +don’t you worry.” And she stalked to the window and surveyed the narrow +court below, where she surmised she would be obliged to dry her clothes. +She sniffed to herself, but Celia could see her practical eye already +planning how she would change the position of the ash bucket and the +garbage pail. She gave a sigh of relief at the thought of Molly +Poppleton’s ability, and turned to aunt Hannah, fairly smothering her in +kisses. Then she put a hand on each soft, loved cheek, held her off at +arm’s length and looked into her face. + +“Now, you dear, good auntie, tell me just what you think of me? Am I a +wild, impractical girl, full of crazy schemes? Tell me right away.” + +“Well,” said aunt Hannah, a queer little twinkle in her eyes, “that’s +what Hiram thinks.” + +“Oh, he does, does he? Well, I don’t really suppose it will matter much, +do you? But I mustn’t stop now to talk. I have to be at that store in an +hour, and it takes half of that to get there. We must talk business. Do +you think you can get along to-day by yourself, with Molly? That is, I +mean without my worthy advice and assistance? Of course I’ll be home at +half-past six, and I’ll give in my resignation there if you think best, +but I hardly like to do it quite so soon after Mrs. Green was so kind +about getting it for me. It doesn’t seem quite fair to the firm either +to stop now, after they have had all the trouble of teaching me. Mrs. +Morris is to leave on the noon train. She is ready, except that her +faith hasn’t been quite equal to believing that you were really coming +to take her place. She told the boarders this morning that she was going +away for her health, and that she had secured a woman to take her place +for a while. She guessed they would like it just as well. She wasn’t +sure when she should return. The German promptly gave notice that he +should leave, and I am glad of it. Some of the others said that if +things didn’t go better than they had been doing for a week they would +have to follow his example, but I think they will change their minds +when they see the difference. I amused myself going to market last +evening. I bought a great big roast, one of the finest cuts, and some +fine potatoes and apples and yeast and flour. I know Mrs. Morris’ flour +isn’t good, for she can’t make anything out of it fit to eat. I also got +some spinach and celery and sweet potatoes, canned tomatoes and a few +other things. I want to have a regular treat the first night regardless +of the cost. You can figure things down afterward, but I thought we’d +have enough for once to make up for the days of starvation. That Maggie, +down in the kitchen, is a slouch and a bear. She gets in a towering rage +whenever you go near her. I have not said anything about her, except to +ask what contract Mrs. Morris had with her. I find it is on a day to day +basis, so you can do as you please. If you and Molly want her, and can +get the right kind of help out of her, keep her. If not, get rid of her +and we’ll find a second girl who knows how to do things right. Now, +shall we go down and see Mrs. Morris? And are you sure you are equal to +all this, and not too tired to begin to-day? I suppose Mrs. Morris would +wait till you are rested, if you want her to.” + +But aunt Hannah smiled and said no, she was eager to begin. Then she +took off her bonnet and smoothed her grey hair and went down. + +Mrs. Morris had on the inevitable old calico wrapper. Celia wondered if +she meant to travel in it. Her hair had evidently not been combed that +morning, only twisted in a knot. She seemed embarrassed by aunt Hannah +in her trim grey traveling dress, and hardly knew on what footing to +meet her. + +“For the land sake!” she exclaimed, wiping her hands, from custom +perhaps, on the side of her wrapper before shaking hands. “So you’ve +come! And you’re really willing to undertake it, and think you can +succeed? I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. It’s a hard life! You look +too good for such a life. They’re an awful torment, boarders are! Me +heart has just been broke time an’ again with the troubles I’ve been +through with them. I’ll show you all around, and if you feel you can’t +do it, _yet_, I shouldn’t feel you was bound in any way to stick to your +bargain. Miss Murray she seemed to be so sure, but I wouldn’t want you +to be took at no disadvantage. You see I am afraid, if I get away, I +shan’t want to come back again, and I don’t want to go off and feel I +left you dissatisfied.” + +They went down to breakfast soon, and Celia saw her aunt seated before +the uninviting meal. She felt sorry for her, and yet she thought she +would enjoy the meal with the prospect of the one she would give the +boarders later in the day. But she was scarcely prepared for the look of +horror that gradually overspread the good woman’s face, as she tasted +dish after dish and found them alike unpalatable. There was oatmeal that +morning. It was thick and lumpy, and only half cooked. Besides the salt +had been forgotten. There was pork and greasy fried potatoes, but they +were both cold, and unseasoned. The coffee was weak and muddy. Celia +swallowed a few bites. She felt that she could go hungry for one day. +Then she said a soft good-bye to aunt Hannah, squeezing her hand under +her napkin so the boarders would not see and slipped away. + +Aunt Hannah finished all she cared to of her meal and went back to Mrs. +Morris. Molly Poppleton sat down to her breakfast in undisguised +disgust. Nothing but the prospect of the power that was to be hers held +her tongue from expressing her mind on the subject of good food decently +cooked. She did not even pretend to eat much, and she looked at the +slatternly form of Maggie as she lounged in to gather some plates, with +animosity in her eye. She spent most of her time in the dining-room +counting the fly specks and finger marks on the wall and windows. She +made up her mind that she would get time for those windows somehow +before dinner, if possible. If not, they should be done before another +dawn of light and breakfast anyway. + +Meantime Mrs. Morris was showing aunt Hannah the house. This room +brought so much a week, and that one only so much, and so on, and at +each room she had a tale to tell of its various inmates during the years +she had kept a boarding-house. Aunt Hannah listened quietly, mentally +making notes of what she would and would not do. She saw, without +seeming to do so, the worn furniture, the need of a patch on a carpet, +or a turning of furniture to hide it, the need of a wardrobe, or bureau +in some cases. She set down in her mind the number of window shades +torn, or worn out or lacking, and thought how much some cheap muslin +curtains would improve things. She felt like a rich fairy, as she went +from room to room seeing its need, and knowing that she could wave a +wand and change it all. Sometimes the bareness or the attempt at +decoration by the boarder was pitiful. She paused a moment before a +picture of a quiet sweet-faced woman, in a dark velvet frame on Harry +Knowles’ bureau, and wondered who she was, and if the young man whom +Mrs. Morris said roomed there was worthy of a mother with such a face as +that. Then she went at Mrs. Morris’ request with her to her room and sat +there during an hour of conversation, in which Mrs. Morris, with many +sighs and tears, detailed her entire life and troubles for her benefit. +Aunt Hannah’s quiet, respectful attention and sympathy led her on until +she had unburdened all her heart. Then was the Christian woman’s +opportunity, and she spoke the word in season to the other woman, that +word which cannot fail to bear fruit in due time. Mrs. Morris, with her +empty life and joyless spirit, while she received the words with tears +and some gratitude, but gave no outward sign that they had more than +touched the surface of her life, yet remembered what had been said to +her, and as she sat in the train that afternoon, speeding far away from +the scene of her disappointments and disheartening, her fare paid by one +Christian, her house taken and managed by another whom she saw must be a +true saint, pondered all these things in her heart. + +Mrs. Morris was gone, and aunt Hannah descended to the kitchen, bidding +the impatient Molly Poppleton wait until she called her. + +Just before Mrs. Morris’ departure, she had informed the sullen-looking +Maggie that Miss Grant was the woman who was to take her place. Maggie +had responded with a significant look, which did not promise much for +taking the new mistress into her favor. She met Miss Grant in the middle +of the dining-room during her progress to the kitchen. Her hair was +frowsy, her dress soiled and torn, and her arms akimbo. Altogether she +would have furnished a formidable encounter to a woman who was not used +to managing servants and holding the reins of her household well in her +own hands. + +“I just came to see what you wanted fer dinner,” she announced. “There’s +some things come from a new place where we never deal. I thought I’d let +you know.” + +Aunt Hannah thought a minute. Then she said: + +“Yes, Maggie, I’ll be out in the kitchen soon to attend to dinner, but +meantime it is only one o’clock and there is time enough to get this +room in order first. I think you would better wash those windows.” + +Maggie stood aghast. + +“And what’s the matter with this room, I’d like to know?” she said in a +loud, belligerent tone. “It’s just the same as it always is, and what’s +good enough fer Mis’ Morris ought to be good enough fer you. Indeed I’ll +wash no windows to-day. I’ve got me afternoon’s work all planned out. +This room’ll be swep’ when I sets the table fer dinner, an’ that’s all +it’ll get to-day. And you needn’t trouble your self about comin’ in the +kitchen. I never likes to have the missus in the kitchen, it flusters +me. I know me business and I ’tend to it, and I likes to have them as I +live with attend to theirs. If you’ve got any orders, give ’em, and I’ll +get dinner on time, you needn’t worry about that.” + +Maggie had backed up against the kitchen door, her arms still akimbo, +and stood as if to defend the fortress of her dominion. + +Aunt Hannah waited till she had drawn down a crooked shade and rolled it +straight again, pinning the torn edge, before she answered. Then she +turned and calmly faced the irate Maggie. + +“I always manage my own kitchen, Maggie,” she said, in a quiet voice, +“and I intend to do so still. I want this dining-room put in order +first, before anything else is attended to. Get some cloths and hot +water right away, please.” + +There was a dignity about aunt Hannah that was new in Maggie’s +experience. She had been accustomed to intimidate Mrs. Morris by such +conversation as she had just used, and she supposed she could do the +same by her new mistress. She never expected to have it treated with +such calm indifference. She was forced to her last resort. + +“I can’t stay in a house where things are managed that way. No lady goes +into the kitchen. I know me business, and I don’t like to be interfered +with. If you ain’t suited with me doing as I think best, I can find +plenty of places.” + +“Oh, certainly, if you prefer,” said aunt Hannah, pulling down the other +shade and fixing it neatly. + +“Well, if I do, I’ll go right away, and then what’ll you do?” burst out +the astonished Maggie. “There’s all them boarders got to have their +dinner. You can’t fool with boarders, you know. They’ll all leave you.” + +“I shall do very well,” answered aunt Hannah. “I brought one of my home +servants with me, and I can get others very easily. If you choose to +stay and do as I say I would like to have those windows washed at once, +otherwise you may go.” + +Poor Maggie! She was crestfallen. This was new treatment. The mistresses +she was used to had to cater to the desires of their servants. She did a +great deal of work, and she preferred to do it her way. But aunt Hannah +was firm. Molly at that moment, too impatient to begin to be able to +wait any longer, put her head in at the door and asked if Miss Hannah +was ready for her. She eyed the crestfallen Maggie with the superiority +of a conqueror. That was enough. Maggie tossed her head and declared she +would not do another stroke of work in that house, and demanded back +pay. Miss Hannah settled up with her, and she departed, leaving Molly +monarch of the kitchen and scornfully surveying her new realm. + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + + +“It’s just a pigpen! That’s what it is!” declared Molly Poppleton, +holding up her ample calico skirts and clean gingham apron in a gingerly +way. “I don’t know where to begin. I didn’t suppose a human being +_could_ be so dirty!” Then she plunged into work. The range got such a +cleaning as it had not had in years. The ashes were cleaned out, and the +soot removed from all its little doors and traps and openings. Molly was +not used to a city range with all its numerous appliances, but she had +very keen common sense and she used it. She knew dirt and ashes could +not help a fire to burn, so she removed them. While she was about it, +she gave it a good washing inside and out, for she found the oven +encrusted with burned sugar and juice of some sort, and the top was +covered with grease. Then, in the most scientific manner, she started a +fire, and before very long it was glowing, and the water in the old tank +was steaming hot. + +It appeared there really was no time for those dining-room windows that +day, after all. With skirts tucked together and sleeves rolled high +Molly generously used the hot water and soap in the kitchen. She +unceremoniously took the old ragged cloths which must have been Maggie’s +wiping towels for scrubbing rags, trusting to Miss Hannah’s sense of the +fitness of things to provide others in some way. The kitchen table and +shelves and windows and paint and sink were scrubbed, and even the +floor, and then Molly stood back and surveyed the room now pervaded with +a damp atmosphere redolent of soap. + +“There! I guess it’ll do fer over night, and the fust chance I get I’ll +give it a good cleaning. I never saw the like in my life! How them poor +boarders stood it eating out of a dirty hole like this I don’t see. Now, +what’s to do? That sink was a caution! The water and dust was all in a +mess underneath and the top was slimy! I wonder what that creature that +called herself Maggie thought she was made for.” + +Meanwhile Miss Hannah had gone to her trunk and arrayed herself in an +old grey gingham and a dark apron that enveloped her completely. She had +discovered that they must begin at the very foundation before they could +hope to do anything toward getting dinner. She investigated Celia’s +stores and found they were ample for present needs. Celia’s training had +not been for nothing. She knew by intuition that her aunt and Molly +would enquire for soap and yeast and baking powder among the first +things. She had thought of the little things that might not be in stock +in Mrs. Morris’ kitchen and had a supply for the present. The stores in +the pantry were not very full. There was a plate with a pile of sour +white-looking pancakes, another with some lumpy oatmeal, a few boiled +potatoes, a bowl of watery soup and two or three ends of baker’s loaves. +Miss Hannah applied her nose to one of these and then laid it down again +and said, “Bah!” + +After looking at the array a few minutes, she gathered them all into a +pan and dumped them into the garbage pail. A heavy, lifeless pie on a +higher shelf also met the same fate. Then she got the dish pan and some +clean hot water and washed a few dishes for her immediate use. Having +done this she prepared to set some bread. It was late in the day, but it +would not take long, and it could rise while she was doing other things +and be baked after the dinner was cooked. Then she could hurry up part +of it by making it into pulled rolls so that they could be used for +dinner. The bread done she started on a searching expedition for bread +cloths and clean rags. She could not work without tools. In one of her +trunks was a roll of old rags and linen; with Molly’s help she +unstrapped the trunk and searched it out. It was a great satisfaction to +have that bread covered with a clean cloth and feel that so much of her +work was going on right. She decided that the dishes must all be washed. +She and Molly both worked at this, Molly washing off the shelves while +she wiped the dishes. By that time it was four o’clock. + +“It’s high time we was seeing about the dinner,” said Molly, as she +thumped the last pile of plates upon the clean shelf. “What are you +going to do for a tablecloth? That one in there ain’t fit, an’ there +ain’t a clean one about the drawer anywhere. There’s a pile of dirty +ones behind the door in the back stairway. I reckon I’ll have to wash +one. As for napkins I should suppose they didn’t use ’em. I can’t find +any.” + +Miss Hannah went on another hunt, and discovered more soiled tablecloths +and a stack of soiled napkins. There was nothing for it but to wash +some. Molly already had the washtub going and was working as if her life +depended upon it. Well for Miss Hannah’s plans and Celia’s hopes that +Molly was equal to emergencies, nay delighted in them, and that she was +a swift worker. By the time Miss Hannah had the tablecloth and dishes +off the table and the dining-room swept and dusted that linen was +swinging in a brisk breeze in the back yard and the irons were growing +hot on the range. + +“Five o’clock and the table not set yet!” commented Molly. She was +working on time and the pleasure of the race depended upon her getting +done before Miss Celia should arrive, and being able to ring that dinner +bell exactly on time. “Well, I reckon we’ll get through somehow. You +can’t turn a pigpen into a parlor in one day, you know. I declare, Miss +Hannah, it was a pity to turn that girl loose on the community. We ought +to have kept her by main force and taught her how to scrub, before we +let her go. The things that wasn’t too filthy dirty to be burned or +rusted is burned and rusted, and the things that had anything about them +to get lost and broken has got that the matter with them. I reckon we’ll +have a few things to buy ’fore we get fixed out for comfort.” + +But Molly was working swiftly all the while she talked. She had filled +the little salts and peppers, and rubbed up the knives. The careful +Celia had not forgotten bath brick nor silver polish, though there was +very little that had any pretension to silver to clean. The dishes and +table appointments were of the plainest. Many would have said it was +impossible to make any difference in that table without spending a lot +of money. Miss Hannah did not think so. She knew the subtle difference +between order and disorder, and the startling contrast between +cleanliness and dirt. Cleanliness was next to godliness and she was +practicing that to-day. The godliness she hoped would follow hard after. +While she pulled the little cushions of responsive velvety dough for the +rolls, she prayed a rich blessing on that first meal in the house under +her care. Then she let her mind wander for a moment to the home she had +left which had been no more of a home to her than this was yet to its +inmates. She wondered how they were getting on, and if the baby was +well. The only drawback to the joy of leaving Nettie’s had been the +baby. Aunt Hannah could not help loving babies, and enjoying the +clinging of their soft dimpling arms about her neck and their apple +blossom breath upon her cheek. The babies always loved aunt Hannah. It +was only after they grew older and began to imitate the grown-up people +that they began to be saucy, impertinent, and unloving. Even then, +Johnnie and Lily had always come to aunt Hannah with a burn or a bump to +be comforted, for somehow her motherly arms knew just how best to gather +in the troubled little one and comfort it. But aunt Hannah had no time +to think of duties past, and troubles. She gave the last little jerk to +the puffy roll and tucked it in the pan to rise for the last time, and +then hastened in to set that table. Molly had laid the crisp tablecloth +which she had literally forced to dry quickly with her hot irons, on the +table and was ironing away for dear life at the napkins. Molly and aunt +Hannah had high ideals, brought from comfortable private homes, and they +wished this house they had come to take care of to be a home in the best +sense of the word. They worked faster now, for the clock was warning +them that it was getting late. The roast beef well seared in the most +scientific way was roasting away in the oven with a good supply of sweet +and Irish potatoes on the grate below, grouped about a huge baked apple +dumpling which Molly had hastily concocted, and Molly was straining the +spinach and subjecting it to a rubbing through the colander, after which +it went back on the stove to keep hot before its butter and last +peppering were applied. She looked doubtfully at the water the spinach +was cooked in and then with a daring glance at the clock rushed about to +carry out another resolution, calling to Miss Hannah: + +“You ken put on the soup plates ef your a mine to. I’ve found I can make +a taste of spinach soup with the water and some milk and flour and +butter. It’ll make things seem nicer I guess for the first night, and +don’t take a minute. That’ll give the rolls time to get a little browner +before they’re needed, you know.” Then she began to sing at the top of +her voice: + + “Am I a soldier of the cross,—” + +Molly Poppleton always sang at the top of her lungs when she had some +important work to do or was in an unusual hurry with her work. It made +her very happy to have a good deal of work, and hard work at that. + +Celia, opening the front door with her latchkey just then, heard the +singing and rejoiced. There was the old Molly. She had not become +discouraged and gone home, but was at work with heart and voice as in +their old kitchen at home. She ran out into the dining-room to see how +things were getting on before she went upstairs. But she stopped in the +doorway astounded. Even her highest hopes had not realized the change +there would be. What made it? Was it the shining tablecloth, or the +glistening glasses, or the knives and forks laid straight, or what? A +nice square cake of butter was in each butter-plate at the ends of the +table. The salts were smoothed off and stamped with the bottom of the +salt-cellars. The plates were in a pile at one end of the table instead +of being upside down on the napkins at each place. Where were the plates +of crackers and gingersnaps which had not failed to appear at every +dinner since she had been boarding there? Where was the inevitable dish +of prunes? Gone, and in its place a dish of translucent cranberry jelly +which Molly had found time somehow to fix. It was all very wonderful. +Even the gas had a clean globe on it. Celia wondered that so much had +been accomplished in one short afternoon. She heard the door being +opened from the outside and hurried into the kitchen, closing the +dining-room door behind her first. This must burst upon them all at once +when they entered the dining-room. + +Aunt Hannah was taking the brown balls from the roll pan and piling them +on a plate, when she went into the kitchen, and she greeted her with: + +“Celia, go upstairs and wash your hands and then come down and fix the +celery. Molly and I haven’t a second to do it, and it is time to ring +that bell in five minutes. Have the boarders come yet?” + +Celia rushed away and was soon back, bearing aunt Hannah’s white apron +and a brush to smooth her hair that she might not be delayed from coming +to dinner on account of her appearance, and at last the dinner was ready +and it was time to ring the bell. She put the two glasses of celery on +the table, and handing Molly the bell went into the parlor. She did not +wish anybody yet to know she had a right in the kitchen. She was just +the ribbon girl from Dobson and Co.’s. There were things she wanted to +accomplish first which could better be done that way, she thought. + +The bell rang and the boarders trooped down. The little old lady from +upstairs was first and interrupted the advance of the others, for a +moment. She walked into the dining-room followed by Miss Burns. Both +stopped blinking in the doorway and staring around, before they slowly +walked in a dazed way to their respective places. The two girls from the +three-cent store became embarrassed, and stood back awkwardly against +the wall staring undisguisedly. The three young men came after, Harry +Knowles ahead. + +He drew a long whistle, and turning on his heel, started back into the +hall again. “Whew! this is great!” he said as he went. “I’m going to +wash my hands and comb my hair. I don’t fit in there.” + +Aunt Hannah with her grey hair and placid face and grey dress with its +white apron presided well over that table. The dishes might be thick and +the tablecloth coarse, but no dinner on any rich man’s table was ever +cooked or served better, nor more thoroughly enjoyed. After they were +seated Miss Burns began with her nervous little giggle: + +“Oh really, now, this is simply,—simply—simply _fine_, don’t you know. +This is quite a change, isn’t it, dear?” and she looked across the table +at Celia who was passing celery and handing soup plates as aunt Hannah +ladled out the pale green tempting soup. Her guests ate of it in wonder. +They were not acquainted with pureè of spinach. They wondered how it got +colored, and what it was anyway, and the most of them ate every drop in +their plates, some of them tilting the plates to accomplish it. The +three-cent store girls and the university student asked for more and got +it, and then Molly, her sleeves rolled decorously down and a white apron +over her dark one, took out the soup and brought in the platter with +that great brown perfectly cooked roast, and brought potatoes and +spinach and hot plates, while aunt Hannah with experienced hand and keen +knife, sharpened by herself, cut great juicy pink slices in generous +plenty and filled the plates. + +They were a rather silent table that first night. They were embarrassed +to a degree by their surroundings which were so familiar and yet so +unfamiliar. And then the dinner was absorbing. It absorbed their +thoughts and they absorbed it. + +When it came time for the dessert they sat back satisfied, and feeling +that perhaps it were as well that the inevitable pie, which they always +had for dessert, did not come to spoil this ideal repast. But they +forgot such feelings when that great pudding was brought in, its crust +browned to a nicety on the top, and light as feathers when it was cut, +its luscious quarters of amber apples in the bottom, and a dressing of +some sweet transparent syrup with just a dash of cinnamon. + +“I tell you what!” said Harry Knowles, leaning back in his chair to fold +his napkin and talking in an aside to Celia, “that was the best dinner I +have tasted since I left home. I feel as if I had been invited out, +don’t you? I don’t know what it means, do you? She certainly can’t keep +it up. I suppose she’s just standing treat for the first night, but I +declare, if I could have meals like that, I’m not sure but I might be a +different kind of a fellow and amount to something. How’s our lamp +getting on? I thought of a way to fix the spring in that sofa the other +night. I believe I’ll stay in and try it to-night.” + +Aunt Hannah, as they were leaving the table, apologized for not having +put the rooms in order that day. She had only been in power, she said, +since one o’clock, and there had not been time to do everything. She +hoped to have things in better shape very soon if they would all be +patient. Then the boarders went into the parlor to whisper with one +another about that good dinner, and Celia slipped unseen out to the +kitchen to exult and to help. + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + + +Out in the street, not far from that boarding-house, two young men met. +“How are you, Horace? Glad to see you, old fellow! You look as thin as a +rail. What do they feed you on down in that miserable hole where you +hide yourself? I say, Horace, you ought to have either a new +boarding-place or a wife.” + +The other man laughed. “I’m hunting one,” he said, “that is, a new +boarding-house, not a wife.” + +“Well, you may find the one while in search of the other, you know. They +always used to say, when we were children, that if you lost a thing you +never could find it till you lost something else and went to hunting +that. Now you haven’t exactly lost a wife, you know, because you never +had one. So that’s just as bad, but maybe you’ll find her. However, I +fear that any one you’d find in hunting a boarding-house wouldn’t be +worth her salt. That’s my experience. Say, old fellow, why don’t you +come up our way and live? It isn’t much further, and you are a good +walker. You could walk to that blessed church of yours, if you still +hold to your puritanical ideas about not riding on the trolley on +Sunday. Now there’s the place Royce boards; that would be first-rate, +and I happen to know there’s a vacant room there now, second story +front, fine sunny room, all conveniences and splendid board.” + +“But I can’t afford second story fronts, Roger; my salary has mostly to +be paid by myself yet. You know we are building and the church is just +struggling to live. It is all made up of poor people.” + +“Well, what in the world did you go down there for? You might have had a +church in Germantown if you would have taken it, and you also had a +chance out in West Philadelphia I heard. Why, you’ve friends enough to +have got you hearings in several big churches down in the heart of the +city where they pay big salaries. I’m sure I don’t see any virtue in +your hiding your light under a bushel. For my part, I think you are as +good, if not better, than any preacher I’ve heard in the city, if you +only would consent to let go of a few high and impossible views you have +about social equality. However, I suppose that’s neither here nor there. +You’re here and the churches are there, and so it will continue to be, I +presume, in spite of all I can say, and there’ll be nothing for me but +to tend you in your last sickness and pay the funeral expenses, if you +go on at this rate. I must see what I can do about getting our church to +help that mission of yours, if you persist in your folly.” + +“I wish you would, Roger, for they need help, and a church in this +neighborhood is much more needed than in the quarters you have +mentioned, where there is a church of some sort every two blocks almost. +But I must go on, for I have a meeting this evening, and I want to go to +one more place before I go to church.” + +They parted, the young man Roger wishing the other would reconsider, and +come higher up in town to board, and thus be near his friends. Then +Horace Stafford went on his way, and having consulted a list of +addresses in his notebook, in a moment more paused at a door and rang a +bell and the door was opened by Celia. + +Now Celia was very happy over the successful dinner. She had lingered +about the halls catching words that the boarders had dropped, and she +knew that they were intensely pleased and surprised. When she was happy +or excited a clear red color came into her cheeks and a brightness into +her deep, grey-blue eyes which made her very beautiful. She was not +always beautiful, although she was always pleasant to look at: certain +conditions, however, had the power of making this charm bloom into +beauty. To-night the color and the shine were there, and she seemed a +charming picture to the young man who had spent the afternoon in calling +at boarding-houses, and had begun to know just what to expect to see +when the door opened. He was agreeably surprised, therefore, as he +stepped into the hall and waited while Celia called aunt Hannah, for he +had said he wanted to see Mrs. Morris, having been directed there for +board. He glanced into the parlor and sighed. It was the same grade of +parlor he had grown to expect, a dreary enough place, but he did not +know what was the matter with it, and as he should have to spend very +little time in it, it did not make great difference. He heard a low +cultured voice upstairs saying: “Tell Molly I will send her some in a +moment,” and then Miss Grant appeared before him. + +It is true she did not know much about taking new boarders, but she did +the best she could. She told him there was one room left vacant that +day, that it was not in order yet, but if he cared to see it, he might +come upstairs and do so. He followed her to the room. It happened to be +the second story front. It was not large, for economy of space had been +exercised to a great degree in the building of that house, but it had a +sunny exposure, and the young man knew by an uncomfortable experience in +a dark room that that was a great advantage in a room. The bed did not +look very soft nor inviting, and the two chairs in the room were rather +dilapidated. The bureau was a cheap one with a rheumatic castor, which +gave it a reeling appearance. The bed clothing was tumbled in a heap on +the bed, as the German had left it. Altogether it was not just what one +would call luxury. But it was so much better than some the weary man had +seen that he ventured to ask timidly, “Could I have some sort of a table +to write on?” + +Miss Hannah thought a moment and told him that she thought he could. He +asked the price and it proved to be not much more than he was now +paying. After a little reflection he said he would take it. Afterward, +when he had gone downstairs to the parlor to wait for the supper which +she had said he might have, in response to his question if it was too +late for the evening meal, he wondered why he had done so. What power +had been upon him upstairs to make him determine to cast his lot in +here? It was not that room, even though it was a second story front, for +that was very forlorn in the dim flickering gaslight, with the disorder +of the German upon it. It was not the general look of the house, for +that certainly was not attractive. And now as he sat in the dimness of +the shadow of the front window, and watched some of the boarders at the +further end of the room, he felt that same sense of desolation steal +over him which he had felt in so many boarding-houses that afternoon. He +could not hope to find many congenial spirits here. He sighed. It was +hard not to have some pleasant friends about one who could talk of the +things one knew and loved, when one came in at night after a hard day’s +work. But as Miss Hannah came back through the hall and in that quiet +sweet voice of hers that made one feel as if a benediction had been +pronounced upon one, told him that he could come to the dining-room now, +he followed her and knew that it was his landlady who had drawn him to +select this as his temporary home. She seated him and poured his coffee, +and then excused herself and left him. He looked about him after he was +left alone, and had bowed his head a moment, more in supplication that +the Lord would give him rest and strength for his work, than in +thankfulness for his food, for he had learned that there were kinds of +food which were as hard to eat as they were to digest. With pleased +surprise he saw the tablecloth was clean and free from crumbs. The plate +before him held food as appetizing as any he could remember in +pleasanter homes than those he had occupied lately. Of course the +potatoes had been heated over and were not so nice as when first served, +but the meat was tender and juicy, and he ate it with a relish, for he +was weary and had not had anything to really tempt his appetite for six +weeks, that being the length of time since he had gone to his friend +Roger’s, to dinner. Those delicious rolls and that coffee were enough in +themselves to satisfy a hungry man, and he began to feel that he had not +chosen his home amiss. Then the kitchen door opened, and Celia entered +bringing a bounteous plate of apple dumpling covered with plenty of +sauce. She put it down beside his place and began to remove the empty +dishes, asking him if he would have anything more. + +[Illustration: “_I have had plenty and it has been so good._”] + +“Thank you,” he said, looking up and smiling, “I have had plenty and it +has been so good. I have been boarding where they had miserable fare, +and I did not know how hungry I was. This meal has tasted like my +mother’s cooking.” + +Celia’s eyes danced as she said demurely she was very glad. As she went +back to the kitchen with the dishes, she could not help thinking what +handsome eyes that man had, and how they were lit up by his smile. He +was tall and thin with an intellectual face which many persons would +have called homely, but of the style which Celia always designated to +herself and aunt Hannah as “homely handsome.” + +The new boarder went out after his meal was finished. He had told his +landlady that he would bring his belongings when he returned later in +the evening, and she had promised to have his room ready for him. + +Celia went upstairs to see if she could do anything. She was bubbling +over with delight over the house and its inmates and all she wished to +do. No child in a fairy tale ever had such delightful possibilities put +into her hands, she thought, as had been given to her. + +“Now,” said aunt Hannah, “that room must be fixed for that man, for he +will come back by and by, and what shall we do with it to make it more +habitable? Poor fellow! He must have been hard put to it indeed for +shelter to have taken it looking like that, or perhaps he doesn’t know +any better. But it did look so desolate I couldn’t bear to take him to +it.” + +“Yes, he does know better, aunt Hannah,” said Celia, laughing. “I know +he does. He has a mother—and,” she added half ashamed, “he has a +smile.” + +“Well, I’m glad he has that,” said Miss Hannah, pulling the bedclothes +off in a gingerly way and extracting the German’s sheets and +pillow-cases from the mass. “He’ll need it to keep cheerful in this room +to-night, I think. Celia, I do wish I could get into my grandmother’s +linen and blanket closet for a little while to-night. I should like to +burn this quilt.” She held it out by her finger and thumb and examined +it carefully. + +“Burn it, then,” said Celia solemnly. “Haven’t we got an allowance? +We’ll buy another.” Then she went to work to try and make that room less +dreary. + +When the bed was made up with the cleanest things aunt Hannah could +find, the wash bowl and pitcher and soap dish immaculate, and two copies +of those flaring chromos called “Wide Awake” and “Fast Asleep” framed in +varnished coffee berries had been removed from the walls, there was not +much more to do. It was too late to do more at the paint than to wipe it +off with a damp cloth, and the floor needed only brushing up. Aunt +Hannah found a kitchen table in Mrs. Morris’ room which had done duty +for a dressing-table. She had Molly carry this upstairs for a +writing-table, and sighed that there was no cover for it. Celia +meditated a moment, and then went up to her own back-room and took the +embroidered denim cover from her trunk which she had made for a +Christmas present for aunt Hannah and brought it. It was a little +sacrifice but the table needed it. It wasn’t too fine for use, and it +would cause the bare room to look more habitable. + +“There, aunt Hannah,” she said, “I made it for you, but you may do what +you like with it.” + +Then aunt Hannah took Celia’s face between her hands and kissed her and +said, “My dear girl!” and put the pretty cover on the table. + +“I don’t know as I should have done that,” meditated Celia later, “if it +hadn’t been for that smile and his speaking about his mother.” + +She looked around the room once more as she was about to leave it. Aunt +Hannah had gone down to the kitchen to help Molly prepare for breakfast. +Her eyes fell upon the two rickety chairs. She thought of Harry Knowles. +A moment’s reflection, and she ran down to the parlor and beckoned him +to come into the hall. + +“Harry,” said she, (they had already gotten well enough acquainted so +that she could call him by his first name; she exercised that +prerogative which a girl a little older than a young man likes to use +and which the young man seems to be proud to have exercised sometimes. +It was a pleasant brotherly and sisterly way to treat one another), “did +you know there was a new boarder? I was passing the room just now. It +looked awfully dreary before it was fixed up. The worst thing is the +chairs. I wonder if you couldn’t bring up your hammer and fix them a +little. It seems too bad for a new boarder to find things all run down +on the first night he comes.” + +“All right, I’m with you, Miss Murray,” said Harry, interested at once. +“I know how it feels myself. Besides that good dinner has given me a +longing to do something for somebody else.” + +They went upstairs to the chairs, and as they went Harry said in a +confiding tone, “Say, Miss Murray, I believe that Miss Grant is going to +be great, don’t you? She seems kind of like a woman who knew how, don’t +you know? Sometimes she makes me think of my mother just a little.” + +Celia smiled and said she thought so, and they went to work. + +It was after the room was all in order, and some delicious cakes set +rising in the yellow bowl downstairs for the morning breakfast, set with +buckwheat that smelled of the waving fields it came from. The lights +were out and everything quiet and Celia, lying awake to think over all +that had happened, suddenly became aware that her aunt Hannah was awake +also. Upon questioning her she at last ferreted out the reason for her +wakefulness. + +“Well, you see, Celia, I suppose I’m rather tired to-night, though I +don’t feel it one bit, I’ve been so interested in it all. But somehow +I’ve just begun to think that maybe I ought not to have let you +undertake this scheme. It is all very nice and benevolent, but what if +it shouldn’t succeed? If it should run behind and take a good deal of +your money and you have to work hard for your living again, I should +never get over blaming myself. Then too, I’m a little worried about that +new man. I don’t know as I ought to have taken him into the house +without knowing the first thing about him, and I’ve always heard a city +was an awful place to get taken in. He may be a robber, or some dreadful +kind of a man, though to be sure he didn’t look it. I must confess that +I liked his looks very much, but you know, Celia dear, Satan sometimes +appears as an angel of light. I have heard that gamblers are often +mistaken for ministers. I know perfectly well that I am ‘green,’ as the +boys used to say, and perhaps I have been deceived. He was very late +getting in and he looked pale. It may be he is dissipated, though I +cannot really think that.” + +“Now, auntie dear,” laughed Celia, putting her arms about her, “that +isn’t a bit like you. You must be over-tired or you never would talk +like that. Just remember your own words to me ‘Charge not thyself with +the weight of a year’ and ‘Bend not thine arm for to-morrow’s load. Thou +mayst leave that to thy gracious Lord.’ Don’t you fret one bit. What if +he is a gambler or a robber? He can’t do us any harm. We’ve nothing to +gamble and nothing to rob. Perhaps we’ll do him some good, and anyway I +don’t believe he’s anything but good—he talked to me—that is he said +he had a mother and she cooked like that, and then he smiled.” + +Then they both laughed and Miss Hannah kissed her niece and thanked her +for the reminder that she need not bear burdens. After that they fell +asleep. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + + +The minister was very weary when he went up to his new room that night, +and he put down his satchel and looked around him hoping the bed would +be more inviting than when last he saw it, though he had grown +accustomed to sleeping soundly on any bed no matter how hard or uneven. +He drew a long sigh of relief. It looked clean anyway. He turned down +the covering and smoothed the sheets. They had no appearance of having +been slept in before. He drew another sigh. That was one fear off his +mind. He noticed next the table with its pretty cover. He was not +accustomed to fancy work. He did not know whether this was done by hand +or machinery. He only knew that it was a touch of beauty in his dreary +room and he felt gladdened by it. He went over to the table and +awkwardly felt of the material, passed his hand over the embroidery and +smiled. He said to himself he would write to his mother about it and she +would be pleased. Then he knelt down beside the table and bowed his head +in prayer upon it asking that he might receive and give a blessing in +that house where he had come to take up his abode, and that if possible, +it might be such a place that he would feel it was right and best that +he should remain for a time. + +About that same time Harry Knowles stood before the bureau in his room +and looked at his mother’s picture. His face was grave and sad. He +looked into the pictured eyes with a questioning longing as if he would +have her with him again that he might ask her advice. He looked into her +face till the tears started in his own eyes. He let them drop unheeded +on the bureau and on the little velvet frame. She seemed to him to be +looking into his life, and asking him what he had done with his time +since she left him. At last he turned away his head and said aloud, +“Well, I’m glad I didn’t go to-night anyway. I s’pose the boys’ll give +me no end of chaff about backing out, but I’ve proved to myself that I +can stay at home _once_ when I say so. I wish mother _was_ here. I’d +tell her all about it, I believe, and promise her to start over again. I +wonder if ’twould be any use! If a fellow only had some one to help +him!” and he sighed and went to bed. + +It is not quite certain what time Molly Poppleton arose the next +morning. Celia told her if she had only gotten up a very little earlier, +she might have met herself going to bed. The range unused to such +treatment brightened up early too, and was soon baking and boiling away +to please the most fastidious cook. The oatmeal had been cooking slowly +all night, and was getting ready to be a delicious porridge, such as is +found in its perfection only in the land of Scotland. Molly had coaxed +the milk by all the arts she knew, till it actually gave forth a thin +yellow cream for the oatmeal. True, she scoffed at it and said it wasn’t +as rich as skim milk in Cloverdale, but then the boarders were not used +to Cloverdale milk, and they called this cream. She picked and shredded +the codfish to a degree of fineness that would have made the departed +Maggie stand in amaze at such a waste of labor, and then with all the +skill of long experience, she mixed just the right proportion of +potatoes for the most delectable codfish balls, when they should be +browned to a crisp, that ever any one tasted. + +“Codfish balls are good, and anybody that doesn’t like ’em when they are +made just right doesn’t know, that’s all. Besides one can’t have +beefsteak every day and there’s plenty else to eat.” So said Molly. + +Then she tested the buckwheat cakes to be sure there was exactly the +right amount of soda and enough milk to make them brown on both sides, +and set the coffee where it would get its finishing-off, and rang the +bell. Just one minute ahead of time that bell rang. Molly Poppleton did +love to get ahead of time, even if it was but one minute. + +“I say,” said Harry Knowles, holding a golden-brown fish-ball up on his +fork and admiring it, “if that is a fish-ball, then I never saw one +before. It is a libel on that pretty thing to call it by that name, or +else all the ones I ever tried to eat were very poor imitations.” Molly, +coming in just then with a generous supply of hot buckwheats heard the +remark, and her soul swelled with joy and pride, and thereafter Harry +Knowles was her favorite of all the boarders unless it was the minister +who grew into her good graces by another way not long after. He had come +in just a moment before, and was enjoying his dish of oatmeal and +wondering what made the difference between it and all the other oatmeal +he had tried to eat in the weeks since he came to Philadelphia to live. +Was it possible that he had at last found a place where things were +really good to eat, or was he getting a good appetite from working so +hard? He resolved, at any rate, to ask the cook, sometime when he was +well enough acquainted, if he might take a dish of this to the old +Scotch woman who was lying sick in an attic and longing for her dear +home across the seas. + + * * * * * + +That breakfast was a pleasant surprise to more than one of the boarders. +The brakeman, coming in a little late from his all-night run, having +taken his dinner the night before at the other end of his line, and +therefore not being prepared for changes except the mere fact that Mrs. +Morris had gone away, and some one else was to supply her place for a +while, was dumbfounded. He drew his chair up to the table with his usual +familiar assurance, and then looked around in almost embarrassment a +moment. He was not quite sure what made him feel so. Was it the +pleasant-faced, white-haired woman at the head of the table, who smiled +a good-morning to him in a tone which was cordial and yet had a note in +it that made him feel she was from another world than his own? Or was it +the few flowers in the tiny vase in the centre of the table? Or? But he +was unable to detail the rest of the changes, they seemed to him so +subtle. He turned his attention to the breakfast which certainly was +good. Maggie had improved, evidently. + +In short, those boarders went to their day’s work well fed and +comfortable for the first time in many weeks, and were therefore better +workers, and better human beings in every way, because they were not all +day troubled by the demands and complaints of nature in consequence of +what they had eaten, or what they had not eaten. + +Just as Celia was going out of the door, Miss Hannah, who had followed +her, put her hand on her arm and drew her into the parlor for a moment. + +“Celia, dear,” she said, “we must have a talk to-night as soon after +dinner as possible, and find out how this house is to be run and decide +some questions. You know we cannot go ahead blindly and get into debt as +Mrs. Morris did.” + +“I’ll risk you, auntie dear,” Celia said, as she kissed her behind the +red chenille curtain. “But we’ll have our talk, and I’ll get home just +as early as I can to help, if you need me. Then after dinner we’ll have +a cozy time and do a lot of figuring. I’ve done some already. Good-bye. +Don’t try to reform everything to-day, leave just a little for +to-morrow. Do you want me to stop at some employment office and get +another servant?” + +“No, not yet, dear. There’s too much to be done before we introduce any +new elements, and besides we don’t know yet whether we can afford +another servant. We mustn’t run behind, you know.” + +Then they parted with a smile of perfect understanding, and aunt Hannah +went to her new duties with enthusiasm. There were a few things she +meant to have radically different in some of her guests’ sleeping rooms +before that day drew to a close, and there was much planning and +marketing to do. Molly Poppleton was in her element in the kitchen. Miss +Hannah could hear her voice singing above the clatter of pots and pans, + + “What though the spicy breezes + Blow soft o’er Ceylon’s isle; + Though every prospect pleases, + And only man is vile;—” + +Molly was cleaning out the departed Maggie’s kettle closet under the +back stairs, and stopped occasionally in her singing to express her mind +as to some dirty corner and then went on— + + “In vain with lavish kindness + The gifts of God are strewn; + The heathen in his blindness, + Bows down to wood and stone!” + +Aunt Hannah smiled as she went upstairs. She knew that the good-hearted +Molly was mingling the theme of her song with her own thoughts about the +dirty house and the need of the boarders and that she would work it all +out by and by. + + “Shall we whose souls are lighted + With wisdom from on high,— + Shall we to men benighted, + The lamp of life deny?” + +went on the singer, and Miss Hannah knew the hard working singer’s +thought was that she would make a cheerful, clean house and good food, +and give the rest of them a chance to try and help save the poor city +heathen boarders, for Molly Poppleton looked upon all native city +boarders as heathen in the truest sense of the word, and she had taken +with joy the few words Miss Hannah had spoken to her about the mission +they were going to try to start, the mission of making one bright little +clean home spot for a few people who had hitherto been in discomfort. + +The dining-room windows were washed that morning, and several other +windows, and Molly Poppleton sang a great many of Isaac Watts’ hymns +through before she prepared lunch for herself and Miss Hannah. She did +not remember when she had been so happy. Neither, indeed, did Miss +Hannah. + +It had been the one great ambition of Hannah Grant’s life, since she had +lost the love of her youth, and been made to see that hers was not to go +on the great mission of salvation to the heathen of other nations, that +she should have some spot which she could call her own, where she might +exercise her powers of helping people. And now it seemed as though she +was to have opportunity. She thanked her heavenly Father every hour, +even for the dirt and desolation of the place, because he had given to +her the sweet privilege of brightening a place that had hitherto been +dark. + +It was after dinner. The minister was in his room writing to his mother, +before he went out to a meeting at the mission. Down in the parlor the +brakeman sat at the organ accompanying himself as he sang in stentorian +voice the touching ballad of + + “Granny’s only left to me her old armchair.” + +Celia smiled as she ran upstairs where her aunt was waiting for the +conference. + +“Just listen, auntie dear, did you ever hear the like,” she said, +putting her head in at the door, and the words of the chorus in decided +nasal twang floated up the two flights of stairs: + + “How they tittered, how they chaffed, + How my brothers and my sisters laughed, + When they heard the lawyers declare, + Granny’s only left to me her old armchair.” + +“Do you really think, aunt Hannah, that it’s any use to try to reach and +help people who have that sort of taste in music, even if you try +through their taste in buckwheat cakes?” + +Celia’s face was gay with laughter, but there was an undertone of +trouble in it which Miss Hannah detected and understood. + +“Dearie, Christ died for him, even if he does seem to be too +coarse-grained to understand the little refining influences you are +trying to weave around him. Yes, of course it is worth while. You can’t +expect him to turn into a person with the tastes of a Beethoven. You are +not that yourself, remember, and it’s all in the scale of life. But I +know what you mean, and I do think it’s worth while to try. You see if +it wasn’t, God wouldn’t have put him just here for us to try on. You +mustn’t expect the same result as you would from——” + +“From your new boarder, auntie? The gambler with the smile you mean?” +Celia was laughing now, for both had seen with the morning light that +whatever else their new boarder was, he was a man to be trusted. + +“Yes,” said aunt Hannah. “You mustn’t expect the same results from +trying to help this man that you would the other, but you’ll find he +will have a depth to his nature which you don’t suspect, if you look for +it. Listen! He is singing something else. It may give you a clue.” + +Again the voice rang out deeply, pathetically and nasally, + + “Lost on the Lady Elgin, + Slumbering to wake no more, + Numbering about three hundred,— + Who failed to reach the shore.” + +“Oh, auntie, I can’t stand another line,” said Celia rushing into the +room and throwing herself on the bed in a paroxysm of laughter. “To have +those awful words in that ludicrous song roared out in that dramatic way +is too, _too_ funny. And he asked me if I would sing ‘Where is my +wandering boy to-night?’ with him. How _could_ I?” + +“How, dear girl,” said aunt Hannah sitting down on the bed beside her, +“perhaps that is just your chance. Sing ‘Where is my wandering boy +to-night?’ with him some time. You may be able to help him to higher, +more refining things in some way, even if he does continue to amuse you +with his music. If you want to help all these people, you will have to +do as Paul did and be all things to all men, that you may by all means +save some.” + +Celia sobered down at once. + +“Yes, I know, aunt Hannah, but somehow I never could be that, unless I +was interested in people. It troubles me sometimes, but this +black-eyebrowed, smiling, conceited brakeman isn’t in the least +attractive. Now that boy Harry Knowles is. I feel sorry for him. He +misses his mother, and I’m afraid he goes with a wild set. I got him to +fix some chairs last night and he seemed interested and stayed at home. +But to-night he slipped out just before I came up, and looked the other +way when I came down the hall, as if he didn’t want me to see him and +ask him to stay in, at least I fancy that was the reason, because I’ve +asked him to stay once or twice. It worries me to think he is going +wrong, and I feel as if I could pray all night that God would save him. +I can’t get away from that look in the eyes of his mother’s picture. He +brought it down to the parlor one night and showed it to me. And he is +so young, only just eighteen. Auntie, I want to do so much for the +people, do you suppose God will let me do something at least?” + +“Dear child,” said aunt Hannah as she bent over and kissed her, “I feel +sure he will, and he will hear your prayers and help you to work in the +right way and to be interested in the uninteresting, too. And now get +your pencil and paper and let’s go to work.” + +Celia sprang up and soon they were hard at work. + +“What I want to do is this, aunt Hannah,” said Celia. “I want to make +this as pleasant a home for us all, as it can be made on the money that +we all pay in for our board. You and I will pay ours too, you know, that +is if it can’t be run without that, and then we’ll just have things as +nice as we can on that. If we need anything extra, why you and I can +count that a gift, you know, from our allowance. But to be strictly +honest as a boarding-house, and not a charitable institution, we ought +to run it on what is paid in, oughtn’t we? I would like to prove that a +boarding-house can be comfortable as well as cheap. Do you think it can +be done?” + +“I do,” said the elder woman, thoughtfully. “I have done some careful +thinking myself, and I think it can. I shall enjoy trying, anyway.” + +“And auntie, there’s another thing; this allowance of mine is half yours +you know. I won’t have it any other way. You and I have nine hundred +dollars a year to live on, besides what is now in the bank in cash, and +we can do what we please with it, give it away if we want to. If we can +make this house pay our board, then we will have the rest to live on. +But if we can’t, we’ll run the house up to the full extent of what we +can afford to put into it, for a few months at least, just to give these +poor souls a taste of something like home. I would rather do that than +give my money somewhere else, for I think they all need it. Do you +think, auntie, we have enough money to start on to hope to make things +go nicely at the beginning? Nine hundred dollars a year seems to me a +great deal of money, but people say that money doesn’t go far in the +city.” + +Celia’s brow was clouded as she spoke. + +“There goes my girl down into her cellar of despair over a thought,” +said aunt Hannah, leaning over to smooth the pucker out of her niece’s +brow. “I wish you would get just a little more trust in your heavenly +Father, that he will take care of the work he has put into your hands, +and see that it prospers in spite of your worries. Now tell me +everything you know about this house and the way it is run.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. + + +Aunt Hannah and Celia had finished the last puzzling question, added up +the final row of figures, and were peacefully sleeping in their beds. +All the lights in the house were out, when there was heard a loud noise +at the street door, as if some one was thrown, or threw himself, several +times heavily against it. This was followed by voices talking loud and +excitedly, and then in more muffled tones. The door knob was turned and +rattled, and a latchkey clicked and half turned in the lock as if +handled by clumsy or unacquainted fingers. + +The minister heard the noise first, as his room was over the front of +the house, and rising he opened his window and tried to speak and quiet +the disturbance, but he received only curses for his interference, and +he thought he recognized in one of the midnight revelers the form of one +of the boarders. Closing his window, he dressed as rapidly as possible, +that he might go down if his assistance was needed. By the time he was +half-way down the stairs, however, and was just striking a match, the +fumbling latchkey at last turned, and the door burst open, literally +tumbling into the hall three young men just at Horace Stafford’s feet. +Miss Grant and Celia, though they slept on the third floor, were near +the stair landing and had at last heard the noise. They had slipped on +wrappers and slippers and stood at the head of the stairs just above Mr. +Stafford, as he struck the light. + +“What does this mean?” said aunt Hannah, in as stern a voice as she +could muster, with Celia, bewildered and trembling, clinging to her arm +and begging her to come back. + +But there was too much disturbance below for her to be heard, and she +and Celia could but stand and watch. + +The new boarder seemed to know what to do in the present emergency. He +promptly lighted the gas, turning it up to its full strength, and then +extricated the three young men, who seemed to be in a helplessly tangled +condition on the floor at his feet. Two of them were promptly withdrawn +from the hall by their comrades outside, and the one left stood +miserably against the wall and looked about him. + +It was hard to recognize in this dirty, rough fellow with bloodshot eyes +and white face, the gay, bright young man who always looked so neat, and +whom everybody liked and called “Harry.” + +“Oh, auntie, that is Harry Knowles,” said Celia, in horrified tones, and +then the young man looked up. + +“Hulloa, Celia,” he called, in a pitifully gay voice, “is that you? Yes, +I’m here all right, only I’ve been out on a lark and the lark’s gone to +my head. Come down, and talk to a fellow a while, just fer a change, you +know.” + +Celia shrank back in dismay, as she saw the poor fellow stagger toward +the stairs and heard him say, “Can’t you get down? Well, I’ll come up +and get you. Awful shaky stairs, I know, but I’ll manage ’em yet, don’t +you be afraid.” + +And then a strong hand grasped his arm and a clear, commanding voice +said, + +“Stand right where you are! Don’t stir a step, and don’t speak another +word to those ladies.” Then the minister turned to the frightened women +and said in low tones, + +“Don’t be afraid, go to your rooms and I will take care of him.” + +Harry had sat stupidly down on the stairs saying meekly, + +“All right, cap’n, jes’s you say. You’re boss, an’ I’m sleepy.” + +Miss Hannah took assurance from the calm face and powerful frame of her +new boarder and led Celia away, while the minister carefully and even +tenderly helped the young man to his room and took care of him as if he +had been his own brother. + +Miss Hannah had her hands full with Celia. The young girl had thrown +herself on the bed in a violent fit of weeping, and it required all her +aunt’s persuasive powers to quiet her and try to soothe her to sleep. +Celia had not been accustomed to young men who drank. Her cousins had +been steady, whatever else they might not have been. She had never seen +a man come home at night drunk, and she had never been spoken to by one. + +The familiar tone and the vacant, silly stare with which the young man +had looked up at her had given her a shock she could not forget. +Whenever she tried to be quiet and sit up and listen to aunt Hannah, she +would shudder again at the thought of the scene she had just witnessed. +By and by, when she was calmer she wailed out, + +“Now we shall have to give up the whole thing, auntie. We can’t have +people getting drunk,” and she shuddered again. + +“Now, child! Don’t get into your cellar of despair again. It’s like some +people’s cyclone cellars out West, always there ready for you, and you +fly down the stairs at sign of the first little cloud that appears in +your sky. Can’t you remember we have a heavenly Father who is looking +out for us? Get a little more trust, dear. No, of course we shall not +have to give up, just for one boarder who has gone wrong. We are not +obliged to keep him, you know, if he makes a disturbance. But I’d not be +the first one to turn him out without another trial. What are we here +for but to try to help such as he? Maybe he never was really drunk +before. He is young and doesn’t look to be bad. He’ll be sorry enough +for it all to-morrow, I’m sure, or I’ve mistaken the face of that +picture of his mother on his bureau. A boy who has had a mother like +that can’t go wrong all at once. We’ll do what we can for him. You have +some work to do for him, dear, and you must try and forget to-night for +Christ’s sake!” + +“Oh, aunt Hannah!” groaned Celia, “how can I ever speak to him again, +after his talking that way to me, and calling me by my name, too, as if +I was a little girl? The idea of his taking the liberty of speaking that +way. Oh, I feel as if I never could try to help anybody again.” + +“Now, Celia!” said aunt Hannah, speaking rather sharply for her, “you +must _not_ talk that way. That wasn’t Harry Knowles that spoke to you +to-night. It was a demon that he had swallowed that had taken entire +possession, and put out for a time the light of reason in him. You told +me yourself that he has always been respectful, and he’s nothing but a +boy in years, much younger than you. And Celia, he is very dear to your +Saviour.” + +Aunt Hannah’s heart had gone out to the poor motherless boy, and she +longed to save him from the awful destruction that she saw yawning in +front of the path he was treading. Celia knew her aunt was right, and by +degrees she regained her composure, and began to mount up into the first +story at least of her faith, and believe that everything was not gone to +destruction yet. However, she went to the store the next morning with a +heavy heart. She had so great a horror of drunkards and drunkenness, and +so strong a belief in the power of appetite, that she felt little or no +hope of trying to save any one from the awful end of a drunkard, who had +once commenced to tread that downward path. She went about all day, +feeling as deep sadness as if she had witnessed the terrible death of +some friend. + +Miss Hannah had spent a long time in prayer that night, after she heard +once more the regular breathing of Celia, and knew she was asleep. She +asked God’s grace to help her do what was best for this poor homeless +boy, and if it might be that he would honor her with bearing the message +of salvation to his soul, she would give God all the glory. Her soul +longed for the soul of the boy whose feet were astray, and she was +filled with a kind of divine compassion for him, such as Jesus would +have us feel, such as he felt, for those for whom he died. + +The minister, meantime, had put the poor boy to bed. He was docile +enough, and almost grateful in a maudlin sort of way, for the help given +him, and he sank at once into a deep sleep. Horace Stafford turned the +gas low, and established himself by the bedside for some time, until he +felt certain that there was nothing else the matter with the slumberer. +Then he knelt beside the boy, and asked God’s mercy for him and went to +his own room. + +It was not until far into the afternoon that the sleeper roused. Horace +Stafford had found out by judicious questioning, and without revealing +his condition to the other boarders (who fortunately had none of them +heard the disturbance in the night), where the young man worked. He had +then gone himself to the store, and asked for the head of the firm, +giving his own card and explaining that the young salesman was ill, and +unable to come to work that day. The head of the firm had been very +kind. He had recognized the name of the minister as well as that of the +mission chapel which he mentioned in introducing himself, thinking the +word of a minister might go further toward excusing the absence of the +young man, and asked kindly how the work was getting on. He said he had +meant to send in a contribution to that work, but had let it slip by +without attention, and he handed the minister a crisp ten dollar bill. +Then he promised to see that young Knowles’ place for the day was +supplied, and asked to be notified if the illness should prove serious, +and there was anything he could do for him. He said he liked the young +man, though of course he knew but little of him, but he feared he had +not good health, as he looked frail. When Horace Stafford left the +store, he had a better opinion of employers than he had been led to hold +from some reading he had been doing lately. + +When Harry Knowles awoke that afternoon, he was conscious first of his +physical condition. His head ached miserably, and he could not bear to +stir. His throat burned as with fire, and all things seemed full of a +ghastly horror. He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was his +mother’s picture. It stood on the bureau opposite his bed. Miss Hannah +had been softly going about the room that morning, putting things to +rights, and putting a touch of home here and there where she could do it +in a few minutes. She had wiped the dust from the velvet and polished +the glass of the frame with a damp cloth, and the clear sweet eyes of +Harry’s mother looked straight into his, so full of love and compassion +and motherly tenderness, that Harry felt it all and suddenly realized +his present condition and what had caused it. He could not bear his +mother’s tender love. She seemed to be looking through into his very +soul. He closed his eyes to shut hers out. As he did so, all his +experiences of last night came swiftly and stood before him one by one, +and passed before his mother’s eyes too. He seemed to know at every +instant what she would be feeling about it all. He recalled his resolve +to stay in, and how the boys called for him before he had settled down +to doing anything, and asked him to just come out for a while; how they +had coaxed him away from his resolves, and interested him in their plans +for the evening. They had planned an evening at the theatre and a supper +afterward, and they made him feel that he was being considered mean not +to join in and help with the expenses, since they had taken his coming +as a matter of course, and ordered a seat and a plate for him. They +joked him unmercifully, and said they believed he had been going to +Sunday-school again, and had promised his nice little teacher that he +would be good. They called him a “dear little fellow,” and said they +wouldn’t bother him any more, he should have a stick of pink and white +candy so he should, and one of them actually bought it and presented it +to him. He had knocked it into the street, and declared he had no +intention of not joining them and bearing his share of the expense, and +then they all seemed glad and turned his mind to enjoyment. “We didn’t +really believe you were getting to be a sissy boy,” they said. His +conscience had had no time to reproach him. They had not mentioned going +in to any of their favorite haunts for a game—that game which he had +begun to fear on account of the way it reduced his always scanty funds. +They only seemed bent on having an innocent good time. Oh, they had +known well how to get him into the thing. They knew they could touch +something that he called his sense of honor, when they said he had left +them in a tight place, as they had ordered supper for him, and if he +didn’t pay for it they would have to do it. And they took him to a play +that was _very_ funny. He enjoyed fun. There were one or two things +toward the end that had brought a warm flush to his cheeks at the time, +because he couldn’t help thinking how ashamed his mother would be to +know he was listening to and laughing at such things. But he wouldn’t +have had the fellows know that for anything. He had gone to that supper +and been as jolly as any of them after it. But he had resolved, when he +gave it to them, that he would not drink. That had been the great reason +why he had tried to decline. When people offered him drink, he could +always hear his mother’s voice saying, “Harry dear, mother hopes you +will always have courage to say no, if you are ever asked to drink wine +or any strong drink.” He tried to make it right with his conscience when +he turned to go with the boys, by saying that he would not drink a drop. +He knew they would ask him, and it would be uncomfortable to refuse, but +he had done it heretofore, and he would do it to-night. After to-night, +he would try to gradually drift away from that set. It would not do to +break off all of a sudden, but he would try to do it gradually. Of +course he could. Had he not stayed at home that evening when Miss Murray +fixed the lamp, and then again last night? Both of these times he had +promised to go with the boys. He felt strong with the sense of having +conquered once before. He did not remember a Bible verse then that his +mother used often to quote to him, “Let him that thinketh he standeth +take heed lest he fall,” he only told himself that he had proved to +himself that he was fully able to break off going with those boys +whenever he chose, and therefore he had a right to go with them for a +little innocent fun just once more. + +Ah, but he did not know even now, as he lay here in his bed with shame +in his heart, and the tears of repentance overflowing his eyes and +trickling between the tightly closed lashes, that Satan had leagued +against him last night, and that those boys had vowed to conquer his +foolish protests once and for all, and get him gloriously drunk. Once +let him break down that silly shame, they said, and he would be a jolly +good fellow, for Harry was bright and quick-witted. Why they wanted to +do it is not quite certain. Perhaps some of them were fiendish enough to +want to drag him down as low as themselves, just for very love of +deviltry. Others, perhaps, felt rebuked by his shrinking back at daring +things which were proposed, and still others, older in their sin, liked +him for his gay words and witty sayings, and were resolved to make of +him a thoroughly good bad-fellow whom they could enjoy. Their experience +had taught them that when one such once goes astray, he will dare more +than some who never had any scruples. + +Harry only knew that they had passed some cider first. They declared +they had ordered it for his sake as they knew his temperance principles, +and they laughed and nudged one another as it was passed and winked, and +Harry felt goaded to do almost anything to prove that he was just as +good, or as bad, as they were. + +Now Harry was not fond of sweet cider. The few times he had tasted it, +it had seemed insipid to him. He knew, indeed, that there were some +people who went so far as to object to cider drinking. In a general way, +he knew that there was a difference between sweet and hard cider, and it +would have been well for him that night, if he had been possessed of a +few decided opinions on the subject himself. He hesitated and then took +some, but his hesitation was noticed and the boys had asked him if he +were afraid of that too. He had flushed crimson and declared that he was +not, and they had unmercifully passed his glass for more, and watched to +see if he drank that. Then something else had been brought on, Harry did +not just know what, whether wine or beer or something else. The cider +had been by no means sweet and must have gone to his head. When they +passed by his chair with the wine glasses, he had caught the whispered +words and laughs of his companions over him, and turning quick without a +thought for anything than to prove his—what?—cowardice? he ordered the +waiter to give him some. A tremendous cheer had arisen from the boys, so +loud it almost brought him to his senses. He drank that glass and +another, and then he felt a feverish desire to swallow more, and they +filled his glass again and again, he not asking or caring what it +contained. That was the story. He did not know now, or stop to ask +himself how he got here, to what he called home. He supposed it was in +the same shameful way that some of the others were taken sometimes, the +way that had hitherto been a strong barrier in the way of his joining in +their drinking festivities. Whether any one saw or knew, he did not dare +to ask. He only knew that he lay here, and that his mother’s eyes were +over there, and that God always seemed to be near his mother, and that +he did not dare to open his eyes again. He heard the soft movement of a +woman’s dress, and a light step. It seemed like his mother’s. He could +almost think as he lay here that this was his home once more, and his +mother was nursing him from some dreadful illness. Only this bed was so +hard. Oh, the shame and horror if this had happened at his dear old home +with his mother in it. It would have killed her. He groaned aloud, and +then he heard that soft step again and wondered. Was he dead? Was this +the—where? the judgment seat—perhaps? For his mother surely was there +and God! Oh!—— + + + + + CHAPTER XV. + + +Some one stood beside him and put a large cool hand on his aching brow, +and a woman’s voice, gentle and low, said “Drink this.” + +Then, although his very being was filled with disgust at the thought of +eating or drinking anything, he let himself be raised from the pillow +and swallow down the hot steaming coffee that was held for him. Miss +Hannah gave his pillows a shake, and he settled back again with his eyes +closed. He did not care for the coffee; he wondered that he could have +drunk it, and yet he knew by the aroma of it that it was unlike any +coffee he had ever drank in that house before, and there gradually crept +over him a sense of relief from the drinking of it. It was not that the +throbbing in his temples was any less, but perhaps he felt a little +better able to bear it. Miss Hannah brought a clean linen cloth and a +large soft towel, and washed his hot face and hands, just as his mother +used to do when he was sick, and gently smoothed his tumbled hair. He +did not look at her. His eyes were closed tight, and he was trying with +all his might to force back the hot tears that were surely burning their +way out beneath his lashes. The tears came and Miss Hannah saw them. She +stooped and kissed him softly on his forehead and said in that gentle +pitying voice again, “Poor boy!” and then she slipped away and left him +alone. + +If Hiram Bartlett had been there he would have said that aunt Hannah was +encouraging drunkenness by giving the young man so much attention; that +pity was not what such a fellow needed, he ought to be soundly thrashed. +He would get an idea that it was a fine thing to come home drunk, if he +were petted and taken care of for it. But Hiram Bartlett was not there, +and aunt Hannah was glad. She did what she felt in her inmost soul Jesus +Christ would have her do, if she could hear his voice telling her. + +When she slipped away and left Harry alone, it was to tap lightly on the +minister’s door and tell him Harry was awake. + +It was not the first time that day she had been to the minister’s room. +She had resolved in the watches of the night that she would discover for +herself what sort of a man was the stranger whom she had taken in the +first night she came. He seemed to be all right, and he had helped nobly +in this emergency. Now, if he only were a Christian, how much help he +might be with this young man. She thought she knew a way to discover for +herself without asking him, so instead of letting Molly “do his room” +the next morning, she attended to that hall herself. She knew, if he +were a Christian, she would be likely to find evidence of it somewhere +about his room. It therefore gave her much pleasure and some surprise, +when she found on entering to make the bed, not only the Bible in full +view, but also a number of what appeared to be theological books. She +glanced them over. There was a row of old familiar ones, in rusty +bindings, “Barnes’ Notes” and a few kindred commentaries standing +against the wall, on the floor. There was a soap box beside them +containing other volumes yet unpacked, not many, but at the top lay two +of F. B. Meyer’s, and Andrew Murray’s “With Christ in the School of +Prayer.” These were dear favorites and friends of hers, and she began to +hope that perhaps she was entertaining a minister. This hope was +confirmed a few minutes afterward when the postman came and brought +several letters for the Rev. Horace Stafford. She made his bed and set +in order that room with a light in her face then, for was she not +serving one of her Master’s high messengers? When Mr. Stafford came in +later, she had a short conference about young Mr. Knowles, and they +agreed that he should go to the store, and after the young man awoke he +should have a little talk with him. + +Harry lay still for some minutes reviewing his miserable existence, and +going over the last few months of mistakes and sins. Suddenly it +occurred to him that it must be late and he ought to get up and go to +his work. With a moan, he turned over and tried to get out of bed, but +he was dizzy and sick, and he had to sit still and cover his eyes. He +was not yet so used to dissipation that he could rise and go about like +any one else the next day, and the dissipation had been deeper than he +knew. What mixed or drugged glasses were given him, after he began to +drink, he did not remember. Therefore, he could scarcely account for the +effect they had had. + +Just then there came a knock at his door and Mr. Stafford entered. He +had been listening for some sound, and was ready. He wanted to help the +boy when he should fully come to his senses and realize his condition, +and keep him, perhaps, from rushing out to drink again. Of course, he +knew nothing about Harry’s past life, but he judged from his appearance +and from what little he could learn of his character that this was +probably a first experience, or if not the first, that at least he was +not yet a hardened sinner. + +“Do you feel any better?” asked Mr. Stafford, in a pleasant, everyday +tone, such as he would use for any illness of any one. + +Harry looked up, his bloodshot eyes and white face making a pitiful +picture of wretchedness. + +“I feel worse than I ever felt in my life before,” he answered, all the +bright gaiety with which he was usually bubbling over, gone entirely out +of his voice. + +“Better lie down again,” said his visitor. “You are hardly able to get +up yet.” + +“But I must get up,” said Harry in a despairing tone. “What time is it? +It must be late. I’ll get fired if I’m not on time. They’re terribly +particular down there.” + +“Never mind the time. You’re not to go to the store to-day,” answered +the other quietly, in a tone that seemed used to commanding obedience. + +“Why not!” asked Harry sharply, looking at Mr. Stafford with sudden +apprehension in his eyes. “Have they found out and sent me my walking +papers already? What time is it? How long have I been here? Let me up. +But it’s no use if they’ve found out. I’m done for. I might as well go +to destruction first as last,” and he sank back with a groan and turned +his face to the wall. + +“Listen, my boy,” said the young minister bending over him and placing a +kindly hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say that. You are not going to +destruction. We won’t let you. And you need not feel like that. You have +not been dismissed. Your place is waiting for you when you are able to +go back. The firm knows nothing but that you are too ill to be at your +work to-day. It is afternoon, and you have slept all day. You are to lie +still now until you are perfectly able to get up, and I am going to take +care of you. Is there anything you would like to have?” + +Harry turned over and opened his eyes in astonishment. + +“How do you know I’m not to be dismissed? Has any one been there?” + +“Yes, I was there this morning and had a good long talk with Mr. +Prescott. He seemed very sympathetic and asked me to send him word, if +you were not better to-morrow.” + +Harry closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He was almost overcome by the +kindness that had been shown him. Suddenly, he remembered dimly the +scene of the night before. + +“Say,” said he, huskily, “where was I, that is—how, what did I—do? Who +was down there last night when I came in? How did I get here?” + +“I brought you up here,” answered Mr. Stafford, quietly, in a +matter-of-fact tone. “Miss Grant was present.” He thought it as well +that Harry should not know that Celia had been there; it could do no +good and would only add to his embarrassment. “You have slept ever +since,” he finished briefly. + +“Were the boarders around? Do they know?” + +“No.” + +There was silence a moment. Harry was trying to recall some faint +memory. At last he spoke. + +“Didn’t I,—Wasn’t Miss Murray there too? Did I talk nonsense to her?” + +The minister turned about and faced the young man and said truthfully, +“Yes, she was there, and you didn’t speak very respectfully to her, I +must own.” + +Harry groaned again. “Oh, she’s been very kind to me,” he moaned. Then +after a pause. “But yet they didn’t turn me out of the house. If they +had turned me out I could have stood it, but I can’t stand being treated +this way. I haven’t been treated kindly since mother died.” Then his +weakened nerves gave way and he cried, as if he had been a girl. + +Horace Stafford let him cry for a few minutes. He thought it might do +him good. He had no mind to minimize the offence. It was grave and +serious and must be realized. + +Presently he began to talk in low, grave tones, and the young man on the +bed ceased moaning and showed that he was listening. When he was +quieter, Mr. Stafford drew from him as much of the story of the evening +before as he could remember. He talked with him long and seriously about +life and the true meaning of it, about the wonderful trust that God gave +each one, when he put him upon the earth and gave him the responsibility +of doing the best he was capable of. He drew him on to speak of his +mother and his boyhood life. He did not talk too long. This man who was +a fisher of men had been gifted with rare tact. He seemed to know just +what to say and when to say it and, what is sometimes much more +important, he knew when to keep still. He gave just the right note of +warning to the young man before him, but he knew enough of human nature +to see at once that here was true repentance, and deep humiliation, and +that that lesson did not need to be further impressed this time. What he +needed now was kindly sympathy and help to get upon his feet again. + +Harry, in a pause, reverted to Celia. What should he do? He never could +look her in the face again, and she had been so kind to him. + +“Tell her so,” said Mr. Stafford, promptly, as if it were the easiest +thing in the world to do. “Just beg her pardon as manfully as you can, +and then look out that you are never so placed that you will do so +again.” + +The slender frame of the young man on the bed shook involuntarily as he +said fiercely, “I should hope not.” + +There came Miss Grant’s light tap at the door, and a dainty tray was +handed in. Harry thought to himself that he could not eat, that he never +could eat again, but when the tray was placed in front of him, and Mr. +Stafford said in his quiet, commanding voice, “Now eat every bit of +that,” he found that he could. + +Miss Grant knew by instinct just what to prepare for the invalid. Not +dainties, and jellies and confectionery. Just a small, thin, white china +bowl of very strong soup, containing much nutrition in small compass and +sending forth an odor most delicious; some thin beautifully toasted +slices of bread, a ball of sweet butter and more of that black aromatic +coffee. The minister mentally decided that aunt Hannah must be an expert +in the culinary art. So many kind women would have brought forth sour +bread, muddy coffee and a piece of dyspeptic pudding or pie or cake, or +perhaps tried more solid substantial foods where there was no appetite. +He noted also the fineness of the napkin with which the tray was +covered, the thin transparency of the china bowl, and that the spoon was +apparently solid silver, old and thin as if it were an heirloom, but +bright and unmistakably of aristocratic origin and pleasant withal to +use. He noticed these things because they had been a part of his former +existence before he had given his life up to saving souls, and because +since he came to live in boarding-houses, he had sometimes missed their +absence in a vague, undefined way. He had not known that he cared about +these little accessories of a refined life, but he was conscious that he +recognized a friendly look in that spoon and bowl and fine linen. He did +not know that these things were among the very few bits of home that +Miss Grant had brought with her, and that she had carefully hunted them +out of a trunk that had not yet been unpacked, because she felt that +perhaps these dishes might help in the work of saving that soul. + +Nor was she wrong. Harry knew silver when he saw it. This lunch seemed +like one his mother would have prepared for him. + +“Now, sir,” said Mr. Stafford, as he lighted the gas and prepared to be +cheerful while the young man ate his supper, “you must forget everything +about this for a while, and just eat your supper and enjoy it.” He +laughed pleasantly, and Harry looked up with a wan smile and thanked him +in his heart for lifting the heavy burden for a few minutes. Mr. +Stafford could talk, even if Harry just then could not, and he showed +that he had no trouble in summoning to his command just the right thing +at the right time. He began to tell in detail the story of a young man +in whom he was interested, who had a wife and young family dependent +upon his efforts, and who was out of work, and unable to find a +position. He had spent some time that day trying to find him work, +unsuccessfully, and he told his various efforts describing the different +employers so well, that once Harry forgot his own troubles and was +beguiled into a laugh. + +Celia, passing the door just then, heard them laughing and one more +little wrinkle crept into her white brow of care. She thought Mr. +Stafford must be a queer minister to laugh with a young man who had +recently committed so grave an offence against the laws of God and of +society. Poor Celia, she had had a hard day, what with doing her own +work, and carrying on her heart the thought of Harry Knowles drunk. It +was not that she cared more for that boy than she would have done for +any other, but it was the shock to her faith in human nature to find one +whom she had believed to be at least tolerably good and interesting, +suddenly appear in the condition in which he had been. Young people are +often prone to look upon their faith in human nature as something akin +to their faith in God, something holy and religious, which if broken +outrages their belief almost in the kindness of their God. Perhaps this +is the reason that sometimes, sweet honest souls have to pass through +the fiery trial of believing in, even to loving, some human brother or +sister, only to find them utterly false. Such need to learn the lesson +of quaint George Herbert, that + + “Even the greatest griefs + May be reliefs, + Could he but take them right, and in their ways. + Happy is he whose heart + Hath found the art + To turn his double pains to double praise.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. + + +“It’s my opinion,” said Molly Poppleton, standing with her arms akimbo +and facing Miss Grant as she entered the kitchen one morning shortly +after breakfast, “that them three-cent girls need ‘tendin’ to.” She set +her lips firmly and then returned to the polishing of her range. + +Miss Hannah went on with her work. She was rubbing pumpkin through a +colander and reducing it to the velvety texture she always required in +her pies. She waited calmly for Molly to go on with her reasons, as she +knew she would soon. Molly finished the oven door and stood up again. + +“Yes, they need ‘tendin’ to bad. If you’d just go up to their room once +you’d find out. There’s a stack of paper novils in their closet knee +deep, an’ there’s pictures round that room of women from the-_ay_-tres, +without much clo’es on, that are perfickly scand’lous. Besides, they’ve +got a picture of them two took in a tin type down to Atlantic City with +bathing suits on, an’ two young fellers along side of ’em without much +on but a little underclo’es. They are grinning fit to kill, and look +real silly. No decent girls would have a picture took like that, let +alone keep it round in sight afterward.” + +“Well, Molly, you know all girls have not been brought up alike,” said +Miss Hannah, as she measured out the cinnamon and ginger. “Molly, bring +me the big yellow bowl and the molasses jug.” + +“I should hope not,” said Molly, as she put the jug down on the table +with a thump, and went back to her range. “Not like them, anyway. You +don’t know all. They have any amount of little pink and blue tickets +lying round droppin’ out of pockets and the like, an’ I give that one +they call Mamie one I picked up in the hall, thinkin’ it was something +valuable, an’ she laughed an’ said it was no good, just an old +the-_ay_-tre ticket, been used. ‘My land!’ says I, not being able to +keep still. ‘If all them round your room is the-_ay_-tre tickets, you +must’ve been an awful lot!’ Then she giggled an’ got red an’ says, ‘Yes, +most every night now,’ an’ the other one, the one they call Carrie, she +spoke up, and says she, ‘Yes, she’s got plenty of gentlemen friends, +Molly, an’ so have I,’ an’ then they both laughed and went out. Now I +s’pose it ain’t none of my business, but I must say them girls ought to +be back with their mothers. They can’t be over fifteen a day, or sixteen +anyway. They ought to be in bed every night by nine o’clock. They ain’t +fit to sit at the same table with Miss Celia with their bangs and their +dirty teeth and black finger nails. The fact is I’d like to give ’em +both a good bath anyway.” + +Molly slammed out of the kitchen and Miss Hannah heard her sweeping the +dining-room with all her might and main. + +She went on measuring her milk and beating her eggs, and fashioning the +flaky crust in the pie pans, and thinking. The fact was she had been +troubled about those two girls herself. She felt that they needed a +great deal of help and so far she had been utterly unable to approach +them. They seemed shy and uncomfortable when she came near them, and had +grown silent at the table, too, unless the tenor brakeman was present. +Then the three carried on a bantering conversation in suppressed tones, +with half glances toward the others. Miss Grant wondered what it was +that there always seemed to be some people about her whose hearts she +could not reach. It was just so with Nettie, she never could make any +headway in training that child. As a little girl, she had been sullen +and silent when she was remonstrated with by her aunt for any fault, and +as a young woman she had been impertinent and cold for days after any +attempt on the part of aunt Hannah to change her plans. With Hiram too, +aunt Hannah had felt the same repellent influence and she wondered why +it was, though she had prayerfully and conscientiously longed to be to +these people what God wanted her to be, that she did not seem able to +reach their hearts in any way. Now these two girls weighed heavily upon +her. She had watched them for days and had determined to make some move +pretty soon. She felt sure there was need of help for them, and urgent +need, far beyond what Molly had bluntly expressed. And while aunt Hannah +weighed and measured and baked and thought, she was making in her mind a +plan for the salvation of Mamie Williams and Carrie Simmons. + +She had noticed Mamie several times lately when Celia came to the table, +and she knew that she watched Celia intently and admired her afar, at +least she admired her in so far as outward adornments were concerned. +Even during the few weeks since aunt Hannah had come to Philadelphia, +she had noticed the gradual change in Mamie’s dress, from gay and fussy +and frivolous, to a style somewhat more subdued and neat. She had +reduced the baggy bunches of frizzy hair that used to project over her +forehead and loop far down over her ears, till they were more like +Celia’s graceful braids with a stray curl slipping out here and there. +She still wore her many colored finger rings, but there were other +little changes about her that showed she was to a certain extent making +Celia a model just now. Aunt Hannah’s brow cleared. She thought she knew +a way to Mamie’s heart and perhaps through hers to Carrie’s. Celia had +an influence and she could help. But how to bring that about in the +wisest way, that was aunt Hannah’s puzzle, for Celia was very much +disgusted with the actions of the two “three-centers” as she called +them. She never noticed them in any way, and her dignified bearing at +the table was always meant to be a rebuke to them. Celia did not like +those two girls, and while she was willing that their lives should be +made more comfortable by their sharing in the good food that aunt Hannah +now provided for Mrs. Morris’ old boarders, still Celia would not have +felt badly to have had them leave that their places might be occupied by +more interesting people. + + * * * * * + +Celia was getting to be a sort of a puzzle anyway. She did not enter +into some things as her aunt had supposed she would. Instead she held +aloof, and seemed troubled about something. She did not even make +friends with the young minister, in whom aunt Hannah saw growing +possibilities of a valued friendship for them all. He and she had talked +together on themes of mutual interest, and he had shown that he was a +man of culture and education. Aunt Hannah was not a match-maker, and did +not immediately think of every young man in the light of a possible +husband for her dear Celia, but she did have ambitions that Celia might +have friends who would be helpful in every way to her, both spiritually +and mentally, and she felt that such a friendship, though it were +nothing more than occasional converse on some literary theme, would be +excellent for the young girl whose ambitions and abilities were so far +beyond her opportunities. But Celia only smiled, and remained quiet and +distant, and told aunt Hannah that the young minister belonged to her, +and she must not expect her niece to take him on faith. Nevertheless, +she knew that no movement or word of Mr. Stafford’s at the table escaped +Celia. It was evident that she was measuring him. + +Celia had not entered very heartily into the plans made for Harry +Knowles. She had done what she was told, it was true, but she had not +made plans herself. She seemed to have received a set-back on the night +when Harry came home drunk. There had been much to do in the evenings, +however, and her aunt had not had time to have a good long talk with +her. She felt that it ought to come at once. She put the pies in the +oven, closed the oven door carefully, and glancing at the clock went to +her own room to kneel as was her custom in perplexity and lay her +trouble all at her Master’s feet. Then she came back to her work about +the house with calm brow and untroubled heart, feeling sure the way +would be opened and words given her, if she must speak. She would have +made a good model for a study of a saint as she stood beside the +moulding board soon after and patted the smooth, light loaves into shape +for their last rising, bending her sweet, thoughtful face to her work, +her mind busy with the problems of souls, while she worked with her +hands to feed their bodies. + +It was like a revelation of what God can do in a human soul through +sorrow, to look at Hannah Grant and think of her past life with its +buried and risen joys. + + “Methinks we do as fretful children do, + Leaning their faces on the window pane + To sigh the glass dim with their own breath’s stain, + And shut the sky and landscape from their view. + And thus, alas! since God, the Maker, drew + A mystic separation ’twixt those twain, + The life beyond us, and our souls in pain, + We miss the prospect which we’re called unto + By grief we’re fools to use. Be still and strong, + O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath, + And keep thy soul’s large window pure from wrong, + That so, as life’s appointment issueth, + Thy vision may be clear to watch along + The sunset consummation-lights of death.” + +“Auntie, who is the youth in the parlor so redolent of Hoyt’s German +cologne and cigarette smoke?” asked Celia, gaily, coming into her aunt’s +room just after dinner that night. “You opened the door for him, you +ought to know. I do hope he is not a new boarder, for I’m morally +certain he wouldn’t be any help, and I think we have enough heathen to +work for at present, don’t you? How don’t tell me you called me up to +ask my permission to take in that oily-looking youth, aunt Hannah.” + +Aunt Hannah laughed and then grew grave. + +“No, dear, not that,” she said, and then she drew the little rocker +close beside her own and said “Sit down, dear, I want to talk to you.” + +“Why, aunt Hannah, what have I been doing that’s naughty?” asked Celia, +pretending to be scared. “This sounds like old times,” but she settled +herself comfortably and nestled her head lovingly on her aunt’s +shoulder. + +“Well then, first of all, Celia, why do you act so strangely sometimes, +and what is the matter with Mr. Stafford? You and he ought to be +friends, and he could help much in the work you planned we should do +together. You seem to me to have lost your interest in the house and +everything in it, and I do not understand it. There is much that you +could do and ought to do at once, and you do not seem to care to go +about it.” + +“Why, aunt Hannah, what has the minister to do with it all? I am afraid +you are mistaken in him as a helper. In fact I know you are. I had just +come home that night—the night after Harry had been drinking, you +know,—and was passing the door, and I heard Mr. Stafford’s laugh, and +then I heard Harry laugh, too, and I couldn’t help hearing that Mr. +Stafford was telling a funny story to Harry as I went on up the hall. +Now just think of that after what had happened. A pretty minister he is, +I think. He ought to have been preaching a sermon.” + +“Celia! Take care how you judge without knowing. You cannot tell what +may have been the pointed moral of the funny story, and you do not know +but the Lord could use a laugh just then to help that young man better +than anything else, and he doubtless put it into the heart of his +servant to know that. I believe that man has rare tact in winning souls. +Be very careful, and be very slow ever to criticise the actions of a +minister. His office brings him nearer to God than most men.” + +Celia’s cheeks flushed a little. She was slightly annoyed to have her +aunt speak in that way, but she respected the elder woman’s opinion too +much to resent the words or refuse the lesson. After a moment she said: + +“Well, aunt Hannah, maybe I have been wrong, I’ll try to be good.” In +her heart Celia had another reason for her dignified coldness toward the +minister. She had recognized, after a few days, that he was a man of +unusual education and refinement. She immediately began to wonder +whether or not he looked down upon her, a saleswoman in a store, a poor +girl, who had to earn her own living. She settled it in her mind that he +probably did in a certain undefined way, though he probably did not +confess such things to himself as that might have conflicted with +certain Christian theories he felt himself bound to abide by. She told +herself that he should see that she never expected anything in the way +of courtesy even from him, and that she was one girl in the world, who +was not ready to fling herself forward for companionship with any +desirable young man that should chance to be thrown in her neighborhood. +She had been still further strengthened in her determination by a little +occurrence one evening a few days before this talk with her aunt. + +The minister had gone to prayer meeting, having been busily engaged in +his room all day, so that aunt Hannah had not been able to finish +certain dusting and setting to rights there as thoroughly as she +desired. The evening had found her hands full of some kitchen work, and +she had requested Celia to slip up there when the halls were quiet, +while the occupant of the room was in meeting and finish the dusting. +Celia had been glad to help. She had turned the gas up and gone to work +in earnest, glancing interestedly at the rows of books over the little +table against the wall, and wishing she had opportunity to look them +over, but she would not put so much as a hand upon them except to do her +necessary work, in the absence of their owner. When she came to the +bureau she had to move some things to wipe the dust off beneath them. A +Bible was lying there open before a painted miniature of a most lovely +young woman. The pictured face was so beautiful that she could not but +look at it again as she carefully wiped the dust from the velvet and +gold of its case. The blue eyes and golden hair and the sweet +intellectual face stayed in her memory, and from the fact that the +miniature stood open before his Bible, she judged it was of some one +quite near and dear. Celia did not reason it out in words, but she +thought it well that she should maintain a maidenly dignity. However, as +her aunt talked, she saw that she had carried this feeling to an absurd +extremity. What was it to her what the young man thought, or how many +velvet-framed girls he carried in his pocket next his heart? She was in +the same house with him and must treat him with Christian courtesy, and +she need not necessarily make herself prominent before his eyes either. +She would try to do differently. He should henceforth be as one of the +other boarders to her. + +“What else, auntie?” she asked, after a minute of thought, looking up. + +“Harry, next,” said her aunt. “You ought to interest him in something +occasionally, as you once told me you did in a lamp. He is having a very +hard struggle to keep away from those companions who are after him every +day now, Mr. Stafford says. He does all he can for him, but you know his +meetings occupy so many evenings that he can do very little and he +hasn’t thought it wise to try to take him to church yet. You know he’s +nothing but a boy. He wants to be interested in something.” + +“Yes,” said Celia, “I know. I’ll try. But, auntie, I can’t forget how he +looked that night,” and she shuddered. “But I’ll try to get up something +to help and that right away. Now what else? You always save the worst +dose till the last, I know you of old. Which is it? Miss Burns or the +tenor brakeman? Or—O _auntie_, now it _isn’t_ those three-centers! +Don’t tell me to try to do something for them, for I can’t,” and the +girl put up her hands in mock horror. + +Miss Grant detailed to her what she knew of them, including an account +of Molly’s moralizing on the subject, and Celia laughed, and then grew +grave. + +There came a call to the kitchen for Miss Grant then and she left Celia +thinking. When she returned a few minutes later she was greeted with +“Aunt Hannah, are those boards still in the cellar? Are they of any use +there? Because if they are not I’m going to make a cozy corner in the +parlor if you don’t object. I’ve thought of a beautiful way. Harry will +help, I’m sure. He sat in the parlor looking glum when I came up. Do you +suppose I must get the three-centers to help? Would they come, do you +think? And say, by the way, auntie, who did you say that oily youth in +the parlor was?” + +“His name, he said, was Mr. Clarence Jones and he asked for Miss +Simmons. I called her and I think she went out with him, for I don’t see +either of them about. I don’t know whether Mamie Williams is in her room +or not. I think it would be a good plan to see. By all means make as +many cozy corners as you please, dear, and the boards are of no use to +me.” + +Celia departed to find her helpers, and Miss Hannah locked the door and +prayed for them before she went about darning some tablecloths. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. + + +“Now, Harry, where are you going?” said Celia, with dismay in her voice, +as she ran down the stairs and saw that young man with his overcoat on +and his hat in his hand just opening the front door. + +He started and looked guilty as she spoke. In truth, he had been sitting +in the parlor for an hour trying to keep himself in the house, and away +from an especially alluring evening the boys had held out as bait; and +one, too, which seemed, from their account of it, to be perfectly +harmless. + +He hesitated and stammered out: + +“Nowhere, I guess,” and then laughed and sat down in the hall chair. “Is +there anything I can do for you, Miss Murray? The fact is I don’t quite +know what to do with myself to-night, for some reason.” + +Celia’s heart filled with pity for the poor lonely fellow and with +remorse that she had not sooner attempted to do something to cheer him +up. + +“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, earnestly, with a true ring to her voice +which he recognized at once. “But if you are lonesome and really have +nothing pressing to do, why take off your coat and come and help me +carry out a scheme. I’m going to make a cozy corner in the parlor. In +fact, I think I’ll make two, one in the bay window and one over there by +the organ. Will you help? You’re such a good carpenter, you know, and +this parlor does look so bare and desolate.” + +“All right, I’m with you,” answered the young man, taking off his +overcoat with alacrity. “Only tell me what to do. I don’t know the first +thing about cozy corners, but if you know as much as you did about +lamps, I’ll be willing to say they’ll be a success. Let’s have a +half-dozen of ’em if you say so. Now what’ll I do first?” + +“Bring that lamp and come down into the cellar. Wait, I don’t know +whether you can do it alone, they are pretty heavy and there are a good +many. Perhaps Mr. Hartley or Mr. Osborn would help a minute in bringing +up the boards. I’ll show you what we want first, and then you can pick +out the right boards. You see I want a good firm seat here in the bay +window to fill the whole place to the edge of the window frames either +side, just a foot from the floor, so, and then I want another over here, +to reach from here to here, so wide, and the same height from the floor. +Here is my tape measure. Now you can pick out your lumber.” Celia moved +about the dull uninteresting parlor, furnishing it with gesture and +imagination, till the young carpenter was quite interested. He called +the two young men upstairs, who came willingly and helped for a few +minutes showing not a little interest and curiosity in the undertaking. +They all lingered with advice and offers to help, and when Celia had +seen the carpentry work well started, she ran upstairs and knocked at +the door of the two young girls. + +“Come in,” drawled the voice of some one chewing, and after a moment’s +hesitation she entered. + +Mamie Williams lay across the foot of the bed, the two pillows and a +comforter under her head, the gas turned as high as it would go, and a +paper-covered volume in her hand. She was chewing gum. When she saw that +it was Celia who had entered, her tone of indifference changed to one of +pleased surprise. She sat up quickly and hid her book beneath the +pillows. Then she put her hand up to straighten her hair. + +“Why, is it you!” she exclaimed, and Celia knew that her aunt’s +conjecture that she was admired by this girl was true, from the evident +pleasure the visit gave. This unbent Celia still more, and she tried to +be winning. When Celia tried she was very winning indeed. + +“We are having some fun downstairs fixing up that old barn of a parlor,” +she explained, still standing by the door, though her hostess had +slipped from the bed and cleared a chair from a pile of clothing thrown +upon it. “I thought maybe you would like to help. Is your friend here?” + +“No, she ain’t, she’s gone out with a gentleman friend,” said Mamie, +with a conscious giggle. “It’s a wonder you found me in. I’m mostly out +when she is. Sit down, can’t you? I’m real glad you come up, I was +lonesome. The book I had wasn’t any account either. What did you say you +was doing?” + +Celia essayed to explain and succeeded in interesting Mamie to the +extent that she hunted out her thimble from a mass of ribbons and +collars tumbled into a bureau drawer, and went downstairs to see what +was going on, though she confessed she was not much used to doing things +like that. + +They went to work in good earnest. Celia had some printed burlap, which +she had brought home from the store one night to make curtains for an +improvised clothespress, in her room. It was cheap and there was plenty +of it. The clothespress could wait. Those cozy corners must be finished +to-night, at least as far as possible. She gave the tick of the cushions +to Mamie to run the seams, while she applied herself to sewing the +burlap cover for it. Meanwhile, the hammering and sawing and directing +went forward, and by half-past nine when Mr. Stafford opened the front +door and came in there were two very solid looking rough wooden shelves +a foot from the floor, in the parlor, one occupying the entire bay +window space in the front of the room, the other one being at the +further end of the room. To the sides of this Harry Knowles was just +nailing some more boards to serve as ends, under the supervision of the +other two young men, while Celia and Mamie were upon their knees in +front of the bay window tacking the dark blue burlap printed in a +heraldic design, in a pleated valance. A nearly completed cushion lay +beside them on the floor, but not tied as yet. Mr. Stafford, attracted +by the unusual noises, entered the room and stood behind them looking at +the work a moment. Then, as Celia turned from the valance and attempted +to thread a large needle with a cord and then vainly endeavored to pull +its short proportions through the thick cushion, which had been stuffed +with excelsior and a layer of cotton on the top, he said quietly: + +“You need an upholsterer’s needle for that, Miss Murray. I think I have +one upstairs that we used in fixing up the pulpit chairs at the mission. +I’ll go and get it.” + +Celia was pleased that he entered into the work and thanked him. As he +turned toward Harry, he said, “Knowles, why don’t you put springs in? It +would be twice as comfortable.” + +“Springs!” said Harry jumping up and facing round. “Do you expect us to +turn into upholsterers the first night?” and he laughed good-naturedly. + +“No, but indeed it isn’t a difficult job,” explained the minister, “you +just have to tie them down firmly. I’ll show you if you don’t mind +running out with me to that little upholsterer’s around the corner. I +think it’s open yet. It was when I came by. The people live over the +store and they don’t shut up shop early.” + +“By all means, let us have springs,” answered Celia to Harry’s look of +enquiry, “I didn’t look for such luxury as that, but we will take what +grandeur we can get.” Her cheeks had grown red with excitement, and her +eyes were shining. The minister, as he turned to go on his +self-appointed errand, was reminded of the first evening he had come to +that house. Harry and Mr. Stafford were soon back with several sets of +springs and the three young men, with Celia demurely in the background, +took a lesson in putting in springs, which they found to be not such a +very difficult matter after all. The minister had not forgotten to get +some small dark blue cotton upholstery buttons when he was out, and +Mamie and Celia soon learned how to use the queer double pointed needle +and tie the cushion with the little buttons. Altogether it looked very +pretty, and quite like real upholsterer’s work when it was finished. + +In spite of the proverbial “many hands” and “light work,” it was nearly +eleven o’clock when the two seats were finished, and a light frame work +over the seat in the back end of the parlor erected. Miss Hannah had +come down to send them all to bed, but found them in a state of childish +enthusiasm to see their work completed. Celia had remembered that she +had upstairs two or three pieces of plain and printed denim and some +turkey red calico. Mounted on the stepladder beside the canopy frame, +she deftly draped the rough wood, being materially assisted by Mr. +Stafford who seemed to understand what she wanted to do, and to be able +to drape a graceful fold of cloth, if he _was_ only a man, and that a +minister. He, by way of contribution, brought down a Chinese sword made +of coins which the Chinese use as a talisman, for the purpose of +frightening away evil spirits, and hung it above the drapery. This +roused the others to emulate his example. The university student thought +he knew where he could get a couple of Arabic spears to help out that +canopy drapery, and Harry Knowles declared he would hunt around and find +one of those dull old filigree bull’s-eye lanterns that hang by long +chains from the centre. Mamie said her contribution should be a couple +of sofa pillows, and Celia promised to make some more. Miss Burns, +coming in just then looking weary and worn, brightened as she came into +the parlor and exclaimed over the new furnishings, “They are +simply,—now—simply—_fine_—aren’t they, Miss Grant? Indeed they +_are_! What _wonderful_ taste and _skill_ has been exhibited here! I +declare it is _simply marvelous_! _Simply fine!_ Indeed—_indeed_—it +is!” she giggled wearily. She asked permission to contribute a pillow +also. + +“Now we need a low bookcase running along that wall and turning that +corner,” said the minister, as they turned to go to their rooms. “Can’t +you manage that, Knowles?” and Celia’s eyes sparkled over the idea. The +minister evidently understood esthetics anyway. The bookcase would be a +great addition. She went upstairs so excited over her new work she could +hardly sleep. She had almost forgotten her three-cent protégée, till +Mamie squeezed her hand over the stair railing and said, “Good-night, +Miss Murray, I’ve enjoyed myself ever so much. And say, would you mind +coming into my room a few minutes to-morrow night? I want to ask you +some questions very particular.” + +Celia promised readily enough, though the prospect was not a pleasant +one, but she had made up her mind to try to help this girl, so she might +as well accept the situation and the opportunity together. + +But aunt Hannah sat up that night till nearly one o’clock, and looked +over the stair railing till she heard the night key click, and saw the +befeathered hat of Carrie Simmons as she came airily in. + +“Poor child!” murmured the watcher, as she turned out the hall light and +went to bed, “something must be done! Out till one o’clock and with that +kind of a young man!” + +The next morning she noticed that Carrie had dark rings under her eyes, +and was developing thin, sharp lines about her nose and mouth, which did +not add beauty to her pert, weak face. + +The next evening as Celia started for Mamie Williams’ room, Carrie +having again departed with the aforementioned youth, aunt Hannah called +her. “Celia dear, two things,” she said, with her hand on Celia’s arm. +“Don’t forget to pray before you go, and if you get a chance mention +soap and water. Don’t forget that cleanliness is next to godliness. +Perhaps in this case it comes first.” Celia laughed and said, “All +right, auntie,” and went back to her room to take the first advice +given. + +Reinforced by a turning of her heart to her heavenly Father for +guidance, she went to her unpleasant task, her mind more than half full +of the new bookcase and some other plans she had for the adornment of +the parlor. The minister seemed to have taken Harry Knowles away with +him immediately after dinner, so she had no one to help her carry out +any parlor schemes just at present, and she could not help being +disappointed that she must turn aside to another piece of work. + +Mamie was evidently expecting her this time. She had given the room some +semblance of a clearing up: that is, she had picked up Carrie’s old +store dress from the floor where she left it, and tumbled everything +that was out of place on the bureau and table into a drawer, for the +confusion of some future hour of need. + +She seemed to be in earnest, and plunged at once into her subject when +she had seated Celia. + +“Say, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind telling me how you do it. You +see I thought you wasn’t any more pretty than I, and you haven’t got +expensive clo’es, but you manage somehow to look awful stylish and +pretty in spite of it. I know it takes a knack, but don’t you think I +could learn? I’ve been trying ever since you came here to do my hair the +way you do, but I can’t make it act right. I thought maybe you wouldn’t +mind doing it a few times for me, to get me started, and perhaps you +could tell me what the difference is between you and me. I know it ain’t +very polite to ask you things like this, but I thought you was so kind +last night asking me to help that I’d just be bold and ask you. You +ain’t mad, are you?” + +Celia ignored the doubtful compliments and tried to smile, albeit her +very soul shrank within her. What, handle the coarse greasy hair of that +girl who seemed actually dirty to her? How could she? Surely the Lord +did not require that sacrifice. Why had she undertaken this task anyway? +It was _dreadful_. She half rose from her chair, as she began to foresee +the magnitude of the possible proportions of this proposition. What +might she not be asked to do? Then she remembered whose she was and whom +she served, and sank back again in her chair, putting up a petition for +help to her heavenly Father. + + “What is prayer? + ’Tis the telegraphic cord, + Holding converse with the Lord; + ’Tis the key of promise given + Turning in the lock of heaven.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + + +“Do you think I’m too homely to fix up?” anxiously asked Mamie, as her +visitor did not at once respond. + +“Oh no, indeed!” said Celia laughing, “I was only trying to think how to +answer you, and it’s so funny for you to want to copy me. I have never +tried to be ‘pretty’ as you call it. I only tried to be clean and neat, +and have things look as nice as I could without spending much money. But +now that you’ve asked me, if you really want to know how you could +improve your appearance, in my eyes at least, I’ll try to tell you a few +things. What is it that troubles you most? We’ll begin with that.” + +“Oh my sakes!” giggled Mamie. “There’s so many things. Well, my hands +and my feet. They’re so big, and in the way. My hands are red and rough +and bony, and my face is always breaking out in little ugly black +pimples, and my hair won’t get into any shape I want it to, and my teeth +aren’t pretty, and then of course my clothes, and I just _wish_ I could +walk across a room like you,” she finished with a sigh. + +Celia laughed and began, + +“Your hands,” she said, “let me see them.” She turned up the gas and +surveyed them critically a moment, while Mamie waited in breathless +anxiety comparing her red, beringed fingers to Celia’s small white ones. + +“Well, if I were you I would take all those rings off first,” said +Celia, decidedly. “They look gaudy and out of place, except perhaps on a +woman in society, and even then I should prefer to see just one or two +at a time, and not a whole jewelry store at once.” + +Mamie looked disappointed. She drew them off slowly. “I thought they +were pretty,” she said, the least bit of dismay in her voice. “Don’t you +like any rings?” + +“Not for young girls,—unless they mean something. Have you any that +have tender associations?” + +“Some,” simpered Mamie looking conscious. + +Celia ignored or did not understand this answer. “Which one?” she asked. +“Did your mother, or father, or brother, or sister give it to you?” + +Mamie blushed. “Well, yes, I have got one ma give me, but it isn’t any +of them. It’s a little plain gold thing, looks kind of out of style now. +I don’t wear it any more.” + +“I’d wear that one,” said the oracle, “and put the others all away. +You’re too young to have rings given you to wear by strangers. Now about +training those hands, I can give you some little exercises that they +gave me when I was taking music lessons, which I think help the hands to +be graceful. First, if I were you, I would go into the bathroom and give +them a good washing in hot soap suds, finishing off with cold water. +That will make them more pliable. Have you a nail brush? You ought to +have one. There is nothing like it for making the nails look rosy. I +suppose you find great trouble in keeping them clean, working all day, +don’t you? I do. But a nail brush makes the work much easier. I would +cut the nails more in this shape if I were you, see?” and Celia held out +one seashell tipped hand to be inspected. + +When the hands were duly scrubbed, Celia gave her a short lesson in +Delsarte, an exercise for each joint of the finger and hand. Mamie’s +eyes sparkled and she proved herself an apt pupil. “Now,” said Celia, +“practice that, but be sure you never do it where any one can see you. +It will have its effect on your movements in time, but never practice in +public. Don’t think about your hands. That’s the best way to do. If they +are clean they will take care of themselves, and the more you think +about them and think how awkward they are, the more awkward they become. +Did you never try making people stop staring at you by looking hard at +their feet in the street cars? Well, try it some time. It is very funny. +I have been annoyed once or twice by somebody staring at me till I was +very uncomfortable. I remembered what I had read somewhere, and looked +down at their feet as if I was very much interested in them. They very +soon took their eyes from me and began to draw their feet back out of +sight and to fidget around and wonder what was the matter with their +shoes.” + +Mamie laughed and looked at her new teacher with admiration. She began +to think she had made a mistake in saying Celia was not pretty. + +“Now the complexion,” began Celia again in a business-like tone. “Your +general health will affect that. You ought not to eat much fat or sweets +for one thing, and you ought to bathe all over every day and rub your +skin till it’s all in a glow. That will make a great difference in the +complexion. How often do you bathe?” + +“Oh my!” gasped Mamie, “I do hate to take a bath. Why, ma used always to +scrub us children all around oncet a week, and I s’pose I’d ought to +keep that up, but sometimes I do skip a week, it’s so dreadful cold in +the morning.” + +“Well, if I were you I would bathe every day, for a while anyway. You +don’t know what a lot of good it will do you, and after a while you will +get to love it. Once a week you ought to have a thorough wash with warm +water and plenty of soap, and finish off with a cold dash, and a good +hard rub, and then every morning take a sponge off in cool water and a +good rubbing. That you will find will make your complexion very +different. Then I would give the face some treatment of hot and cold +water. Wash it in water just as hot as you can stand it every morning +and then in very cold. That will make your cheeks have some color, too, +I think. As for your teeth, let me see them. Oh, Mamie, it’s too bad to +let such nice even teeth get into such a condition. They are hopelessly +black, and you can’t get them white yourself. Do you brush them every +day, after every meal?” + +“My land, no!” exclaimed Mamie. “What an awful nuisance that would be! I +never had a tooth brush but once, and then Carrie used it to scrub the +ink off her fingers when she was going to the theatre.” + +Celia could scarcely repress the exclamation of disgust that rose to her +lips on this announcement, but Mamie was luckily too interested in her +own words to hear. + +“Don’t you think I could ever do anything with my teeth?” + +“Why yes, you must go to a dentist at once and have them attended to. +They need a good cleaning, and while you are there you ought to have him +go over your teeth and put them in first-class order. It doesn’t pay to +let your teeth go before you are a woman yet. He will tell you how to +take care of them. You ought not to eat much candy or to chew gum. That +injures the teeth.” + +“Oh!” said Mamie, in a sort of despair. “You don’t have much fun, do +you, if you try to do all them things? But I don’t mind, for I do want +to look pretty, an’ I’m willin’ for it all, if it’ll do any good.” + +Celia’s pulses quickened, for she thought if this girl would do so much +for the outward adorning, perhaps she might be able some time to +persuade her to do as much for the beautiful inward adorning of a meek +and quiet spirit which is in the sight of God of great price. + +“Then your hair,” went on Celia, “needs to be washed often. I would wash +it first with powdered borax in the water. It isn’t good to use borax +often, for it makes the hair so brittle it breaks, but it will take out +the extra oil now, and that is what you need. Then it will need to be +thoroughly rinsed, and dried and combed. After that you can do almost +anything you want to with it. I’ll let you watch me do mine once, and +then you will see how it is done. That is the best way to learn. And +then about your dress, why that is a long subject. You will need to take +a lot of time for that. You’ll have to decide things one at a time. One +rule I go by, in buying. I never buy a thing that is in the very extreme +of fashion, because for one reason it will look queer very soon, and for +another it is sure to be poor material, or else it is very expensive. It +is always best to get good material. The plainer things are the better, +you can be sure, as a general rule. Then you ought to study your +complexion and eyes and buy things to become you. You will excuse me, if +I mention the necktie you have on. I don’t think you ought ever to wear +that color. Cerise may be becoming to some people with dark eyes and a +very clear complexion, but it ought not to be worn by blue-eyed people +with light brown hair. Dark blue would be more becoming to you. Then +too, I think a necktie is an unbecoming thing on you, anyway. You would +look much better in a close, round collar.” + +Mamie looked down at her cherished silk scarf, to be able to buy which +she had gone without new stockings for some time. Her mind was something +akin to the maiden’s about whom our grandmothers used to tell, who said: +“I ken wear my palm-leaf and go bare-footed, but I _must_ have a buzzom +pin.” + +Celia’s zeal was perhaps on the eve of getting the better of her wisdom. +She was growing interested in making over this girl as her aunt was +interested in making over Mrs. Morris’ boarding-house, and she forgot +that there were probably a long line of prejudices to be overcome before +the girl would be willing to walk in the way laid out for her, even +though she had asked to be directed in that path. It would look thorny +to her at first. + +“Mamie,” she said, seeing the downcast expression on the young girl’s +face, “don’t get discouraged with all these new things. You can’t do +every one of them right at first, but, do you know, I think it makes a +great difference when people try to be and look the best that is in +them. You must not think you are a homely looking girl. You are not. You +were meant to be a pretty one, and I think you can make yourself look +ever so much prettier, I do indeed. Now I wonder if you would be willing +to do something just to please me.” + +“Why of course I would!” said Mamie, readily enough and brightening up +at the encouraging words. “What is it? You’ve been awful kind to me and +I sha’n’t forget it, Miss Murray,” she added. + +“Well then, it is this. You see out in Cloverdale, where I used to live, +I belonged to a little society of girls. We were each pledged to read +one verse of the Bible every day, and to pray every day, and when some +of us left the home and the society, we each promised to try and get up +another band where we were going, even if we could get but one other +person to join it. Now I was wondering if you wouldn’t join it to start +my new circle? We called ourselves the Bible Band. I believe there are a +good many such bands all over the country. We have this little gold +badge. Isn’t it pretty?” and Celia held out a tiny scarf pin with a +pendant gold heart, on which were the letters engraved B. B. “If you +will join us, I’ll give you this pin of mine, and I can send and get +another.” + +Mamie grew interested as soon as she saw the pin. Jewelry of all sorts +was attractive to her. It would be quite delightful to appear in the +store with a new pin on, engraved with mysterious letters, and let the +girls and the young men there try to guess what they meant. Of course +she didn’t need to tell them if she didn’t want to. She asked again what +would be required of her, though Mamie belonged to the class, from which +are derived so many untrue members of the Christian Endeavor societies, +and, sad to say, also of the church; that class who are eager and +willing to join anything, and care very little what obligations they +thus take upon themselves; as little as they care when they break these +solemn vows. To such, indeed, might apply the many and various arguments +against pledge taking, not because pledge taking is bad, but because the +pledgers themselves are not made to understand the solemnity of the +pledge they take. Mamie cared very little what pledge she took, so long +as the performing of it might be done in private and at her own +discretion. She did not stop to think long, but accepted the pledge card +and donned the pin with pride, thanking Celia. + +“Though I ain’t much of a hand at prayin’, Miss Murray, I never could +think of anything to say when I was a little girl, and ma used to make +us say our prayers every Saturday night. I guess I could learn a prayer +and say the same one every time, if that would do. You write me out one, +can’t you? ’Course I’ll do it to please you, you’ve been so good to me, +and I’m awfully obliged for this pin. It’s a beauty, and won’t I have +fun to-morrow at the store with it? Say, I don’t mind telling you why I +want all this fixin’ up to be pretty, you know. You won’t tell Carrie, +will you? I wouldn’t have her know, for the first you’d see her settin’ +up to the same thing. Why, you see it’s this way. There’s a new boss to +our store. The head of the firm’s going out to Chicago, and he’s put +this feller, Mr. Adams, Harold Adams his name is, in at the head. He’s +only just nineteen or twenty, though he made them think he was +twenty-one, but he’s dreadful smart. His father’s been at the head of a +three-cent store in Baltimore for a long time, and he kind of growed up +in the business. He’s handsome, too, and everybody likes him, and the +girls will just stand on their heads to please him, and you see he’s +been payin’ me attention for four weeks now, takin’ me to theatres, and +gettin’ me flowers and candy, and all the other girls was hoppin’ mad. +They’ve just done everything they could to get him to look at them, but +he never did till there come a new girl to the china teacup counter. She +has gold hair and I believe she paints her cheeks, and she’s awful +stylish, and has the littlest mite of a waist, and he’s just gone clean +crazy over her. He’s nice to me yet, but she gets half the flowers now, +and I want to get him back. You see, I don’t mind telling you I’m in +love with him myself, and of course I ain’t willin’ to just give him up +without tryin’, so I made up my mind if I could get to be good lookin’ +an’ stylish, maybe I could do something.” + +Before Celia had time to collect her thoughts, and say something in +response to this startling disclosure, there came a hurried knock at the +door, and Molly Poppleton’s strong voice demanded, “Is Miss Celia there? +Miss Hannah, she wants her right away bad. That old lady upstairs’s got +a fainting spell. She says to come right away.” + +Celia dropped everything and ran. She wondered afterward if the heavenly +Father arranged that call to her for just that moment on purpose to +prevent her saying anything to Mamie, for she felt sure if she had +spoken then she would have expressed her mind in what might have proved, +for the sake of her influence on the girl, the wrong words. + + “Blind unbelief is sure to err, + And scan his work in vain; + God is his own interpreter, + And he will make it plain.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIX. + + +Old Mrs. Belden was made comfortable at last. It appeared that she had +worked too hard for the last three weeks, sitting up far into the night +to finish an order. She was a knitter of fancy hoods, sacques, socks and +mittens. Miss Hannah, while she ministered to her, heard a feeble +account of the poor soul’s life. Her husband and her children were all +dead, except one boy who was a sailor, and who, perhaps, might be dead, +too, for she had not heard from him for over four years. She resorted to +the only thing she knew how to do to earn her living, and it had been +pretty hard work sometimes, though, perhaps, no harder than many another +woman had to do. She was very thankful for the good food which had come +in with the advent of Miss Grant. She murmured her gratitude in an +apologetic way for everything that was done for her, and said she did +not see why they made so much trouble, they might just as well have let +her slip quietly away, if it had been the Lord’s will. Her life wasn’t +worth much anyway, and she was only making a lot of trouble that would +all have to be done over again pretty soon, maybe. Miss Hannah and Celia +had looked about the room and resolved that there should be more +comforts there before another night, and when she was at last ready for +sleep, and they felt sure that all she needed to restore her to her +usual health was a good rest, they left her, with a promise from Molly +Poppleton, whose room was next to Mrs. Belden’s, that she would sleep +with one ear open and step in occasionally to see that she was all right +and give her anything she needed. + +Celia sat down on the bed and rested her forehead on the footboard, +after she and her aunt had gone to their room for the night. + +“Aunt Hannah,” she said, “I’m just discouraged. There are so many things +to worry about in the world I don’t see how I can keep from it.” + +“Celia! Celia!” said aunt Hannah, laying her hand on the brown head bent +on the footboard, “is my little girl questioning the wisdom of God? You +sound like a little child, to-night, who thinks his parents cruel that +they will not give him fire to play with. Remember that God knows all, +and that he does all for good. It may be that old lady needs just the +kind of thing she is going through now to fit her for heaven. I do not +know whether she is getting ready for heaven or not. Maybe God had to +call her to himself by taking all her dear ones first, or maybe she is +set to be a help to some one else,—perhaps you. Does my little girl +doubt him because she cannot see and understand? Oh, Celia! You will +grieve him.” + +“Well, auntie, I did not quite mean all that, of course, only I am so +tired and disheartened. I meant to try to plan a grill work for the +parlor to-night, and I couldn’t find Harry at all. I am afraid he has +gone out again with those dreadful fellows. What is the use in trying to +do anything with setbacks all the time?” + +“But your heavenly Father had another plan for you to-night, and the +parlor can wait, you know. As for Harry, I think he is safe in his room +by this time. He went out with the minister, and while you were up with +Mrs. Belden they came in with a lot of boards and screws and a saw and +hammer and a pot of varnish, and they went to work in good earnest. The +other young men went down and helped, and in the morning I think you +will find something new in the parlor. Didn’t you smell new varnish? +They asked for you before they began, but I told them how you were +occupied and said I was sure you would want them to go ahead and not +wait for you.” + +Celia sat up and smiled through her tears. + +“Did they really, auntie? How nice! What did they make? A bookcase? I am +sure it must have been that, for Mr. Stafford spoke of it, and asked me +if I did not like the low kind running around the room. I am so glad. +And Harry stayed in! I was afraid he was with those awful young men +again.” + +She brushed away the tears and began to take down her hair, when she +remembered another discouragement. + +“Oh, aunt Hannah,” she said, “but you don’t know what an utter failure +my three-cent enterprise was,” and she gave a detailed account of her +interview with Mamie Williams. + +Miss Grant listened intently, sometimes laughing with Celia, and +sometimes looking grave over possibilities of danger for the girl, which +perhaps the younger woman hardly understood. When she had finished, Miss +Grant’s face was very serious. + +“Celia, dear, you have made a good beginning. Your first trial was by no +means a failure, and I do not believe you half understand in what great +need of help that young girl stands. She has revealed volumes in her few +frank sentences. Be careful that you keep her confidence, and ask to be +guided in what you shall say, that you may be both wise as a serpent and +harmless as a dove. That is one of the greatest gifts God gives to his +workers, and it needs to be carefully watched and tended daily to keep +it fit for work,—that mixture of wisdom and gentleness.” + +“But, auntie,” said Celia, doubtfully, “do you believe I can ever +accomplish anything? What is the good of getting such a girl to read a +verse every day in the Bible? As likely as not, she will choose one +among the minor prophets, which won’t mean anything to her, and as for +praying, she said she did not know how. What good will it do her to +pray, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep’ for instance, every night, not +meaning a word of it, nor scarcely knowing what she is saying?” + +“Remember, Celia, it is his work. You have not to do with the end of it, +nor are any results in your hand. Don’t you know he says, ‘Ye have not +chosen me, but _I_ have chosen _you_, and ordained you, that ye should +go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should _remain_: that +whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it you.’ +After I read that verse I always feel comforted to do the work without +seeing the results, knowing that God has planned all that out from the +beginning, and all I have to do is to execute the little part of the +plan which he has entrusted to my hand. As for saying that such a girl +will not get any good out of the Bible, you talk as if you did not +believe in the Holy Spirit, Celia. Will he not guide her to the right +words that will help her? And do you not remember that the Bible says +about itself, that it is written so plainly that ‘he who runs may read’ +and that the way of life is made so plain that the ‘wayfaring man, +though a fool, need not err therein’? Then even if her heart and her +lips do not know how to pray, if she truly tries to kneel and present +herself every day before her Maker, don’t you believe he can find ways +and means to speak to her heart and teach her lips the right phrases? It +is a great thing to have a habit of prayer, even though your heart is +not always in it, for you at least bring your body to the trysting-place +with God, and give him a little chance to call to the inattentive heart. +Don’t you know how Daniel had a habit three times a day of praying with +his face toward Jerusalem?” + +“Oh yes, aunt Hannah, I see it all. You always have a Bible verse ready +for every one of my doubts and murmurs. I wish I had the Bible all +labeled and put away in the cabinets of my brain the way you have, ready +to put my hand on the verse I need at the right time,” interrupted +Celia, laughing, and putting her arms around aunt Hannah’s neck to kiss +her. “Come now, it’s late and you look tired. I’ll be good and go to bed +without fretting any more, and to-morrow I’ll try to think up more ways +of helping that feather-headed girl.” + +Meantime, up in the third story room of the “three-cent” girls, quiet +and darkness reigned. Miss Simmons had come in a few moments before, +tired and cross. Her mind was wrought up by a play she had just +witnessed, and she had been quarreling with her escort about something +which she did not deign to explain to her roommate, so they had gone to +bed at last without the usual giggling confidences, and Mamie lay there +in the darkness thinking over her evening and the advice given her, and +wondering what the adorable Mr. Harold Adams would think of the changes +in her when she had been fully made over to suit her new guide. Suddenly +she sat straight up in bed with a jerk, which threw the clothes off Miss +Simmons’ shoulders, and exclaimed: + +“My land alive! If I didn’t forget the very first night,” and with that +she flung herself out of bed, and striking a match, relit the gas. + +“What in the world is the matter with you, Mame?” said Miss Simmons, +pulling the bed clothes up angrily. “I was fast asleep and you woke me +up! Turn that gas out and come back to bed! Come! We won’t be fit to get +up in the morning, if you keep rampaging round all night.” + +But Mamie imperturbably proceeded with what she was doing. She tumbled +two great piles of paper-covered books over in the closet, searched +among a motley collection of boxes, old hats and odds and ends on the +closet shelf, and then began hunting in the bottom of her trunk. It was +some minutes before she succeeded in finding what she wanted, and by +that time Miss Simmons was asleep. Mamie drew forth from an entanglement +of soiled ribbons and worn-out garments a small, fine-print red Bible +with an old-fashioned gilt clasp. It was stained on one side and +blistered as if a tumbler of water had been left standing wet upon it. +Mamie remained seated on the floor beside her trunk while she turned +over the leaves rapidly, intent upon keeping the letter of her promise +in as short a time as possible, for the furnace fire was low for the +night and she was beginning to feel cold. She opened near the beginning +of the book and chanced upon a list of long, hard names which she could +not pronounce. Perhaps her conscience would have been eased as well by a +verse there as anywhere, but it was too much trouble for her +unaccustomed mind to pronounce the words to herself, so she opened again +at random toward the end, and letting her eye run down the page in +search of something attractive and brief, she was caught by this verse: + +“And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean +and white: for the fine linen is the righteousness of saints.” + +“Well now, ain’t that funny!” she said to herself, as she paused to read +it over before she turned out the gas again. “That seems kind of like +her talk. Dressed in fine linen! It would be kind of nice and pretty, +and real stylish, too, if it was tailor-made. I saw a girl on Chestnut +street last summer in a tailor-made white linen that was awful pretty. +It sort of rustled as if there was silk underneath, and her hair was all +gold and fluffy under a big white hat with chiffon on it. She looked +real elegant. It would take an awful lot of washing though, to keep her +in fine linen ‘clean and white.’” + +She glanced at the verse again with her hand outstretched to turn out +the gas, and read it over once more, and then got into bed. “For the +fine linen is the righteousness of the saints! Well, it does seem a sort +o’ saint-like dress, now that’s so, and come to think of it, Miss +Murray, she’s got a sort of a saint face. I knew it was something kind +o’ strikin’, and I couldn’t think what, ’cause you wouldn’t exactly call +her pretty, and yet she ain’t the other thing, and some folks—most +folks maybe—would like it better than to have her pretty. Maybe it’s +because she’s got the righteousness this talks about. She does look like +a saint, that’s certain. Anyway, she will when she’s as old as Miss +Grant. Miss Grant, now, she’s a saint sure! And she would look nice in a +fine linen dress all white, too. I wish she’d put one on some time, so I +could see. How funny it is to have the Bible talk about dress. I +supposed the Bible thought clo’es was wicked. I’m sure the Sunday-school +teachers always say you mustn’t think about ’em. Well, that’s a pretty +verse anyhow. I wonder who it was that had that fine linen dress granted +to her, and if she wore it all the time, that is, clean ones every day, +all fresh and crisp! My! I wish ’twas me! Wouldn’t I be happy though! I +guess this reading’s going to be real interesting, maybe. I never +thought there could be any verse in it like that. Most things I’ve read +before was about sinning and dying and heaven, and scarey things like +that. Anyhow, I’ve kept my promise. Why, no I haven’t, either!” she +exclaimed aloud, and suddenly bounced out of bed again, to the detriment +of her bed-fellow’s temper. + +She knelt down beside the bed, and her thoughts paused a brief moment, +while she tried to put her mind in praying frame. She tried to think how +to pray aright. She wanted to feel the satisfaction of having performed +this duty that she had felt in her Bible reading. She must ask for +something. She was conscious of a vague wish in her heart that she were +good enough and had friends great enough that this that she had read of +might be granted to her, to be arrayed in spotless, neat apparel, +beautiful, and given by the love of some one who cared for her above +others. How to put such a thought into fitting phrase, or even if this +were done, whether it would be a proper wish to express in prayer she +did not know. At last she whispered, “Oh God—” and paused, and waited +and tried to collect some better words, and then murmured again, “Oh +God—” and then—“Amen.” + +When she lay down to rest again, it was with a sense of awe upon her +which would not let her sleep for some time. She had been near to the +great God, and touched as it were the hem of his garment, with curious +perfunctory fingers, like a child who had been dared to do a certain +thing, and coming, curious, unthinking, heedless, had touched and +suddenly felt the power and greatness and beauty of that which he had +touched, and had stolen away ashamed. + +Altogether Mamie Williams was not as satisfied with her first effort at +prayer as she had been with her Bible reading. But yet in heaven it was +recorded, “Behold, she prayeth!” + + + + + CHAPTER XX. + + +The next day was Sunday. + +Celia had wakened early, in spite of the fact that she was up late the +night before. She lay thinking over the changes that had come into her +life, and wondering how things were going to work out. Somehow there +seemed a cloud over what she had been trying to do. She had not +accomplished much with Harry. She had kept him in the house a few +evenings, it is true, and interested him in a few good books, but +nothing really to much purpose after all. To be safe from all the +temptations that beset his path every day, he needed to be anchored on +the Rock of Christ. She did not feel that she knew how to help him in +that way, he was such a gay, bright fellow, so ready to laugh. She +thought of the minister and the influence he seemed to have over the +young man, and felt half indignant at him for not exercising it in a +religious way, instead of merely a personal one, and then she realized +that she knew nothing at all about what influences he was using, and +ought not to judge him. For aught she knew, he had spoken to him many +times. How unjust she had been! Then she remembered what her aunt had +told her about the improvements made last evening in the parlor, and +jumped up to dress and run down to see them. Aunt Hannah had already +completed her toilet and gone down to the kitchen to help Molly +Poppleton, and to direct the new waitress who had been in the house but +three days. + +Celia was delighted with the bookcase. Somebody had an artistic eye and +constructive ability. The bookcase was exactly the right height, and +filled the long bare wall on one side of the room beautifully. It was +finished with a neat molding of natural wood, and the whole nicely +oiled. There were a few books piled on the floor beside it, waiting till +the shelves should be perfectly dry to receive them, evidently +contributions to the new case. She stooped to read their titles, and was +astonished and pleased to find among them several new books by best +authors, which she had been longing to read, but had as yet not seen. +They were nearly all in new bindings as if fresh from the bookstore, +though one or two had the name written inside in fine, strong +handwriting “Horace L. Stafford.” + +Celia drew back, a slight flush creeping over her face. She was grateful +for the books thus loaned or donated. The newcomer was evidently bound +to be helpful, and seemed to know how to do it. Now if they could have a +few games under the lighted lamp on the table, perhaps some of the young +people might be kept in evenings. Would such things reach Mamie Williams +and her friend, she wondered? And she sighed and feared that Mamie was +too much interested in other things to be reached so simply. She +remembered that Mamie had been reading the other night. Perhaps some of +these delightful stories would reach her. There were one or two +religious books, small and daintily bound, which looked attractive. +Celia picked them up and turned the pages, her expressive face kindling +with a thought she read here and there. Then she went to the small cozy +corner by the organ and sat down. She looked about her at the few +changes they had made, and remembered the night when she had looked +around on that parlor waiting for the postman. How much difference a few +little things had made! She could see other changes that might be made +to improve matters, and she resolved to try them as soon as possible. +Then she sat down at the organ. She had never tried that whining +instrument, since she had been in the house. It had pained her some +times to hear it groaning and wheezing under the bold touch of the tenor +brakeman as he ground out an accompaniment to some of his solos. Celia +did not like a cabinet organ. She longed for a piano, but there was no +piano, and here was this organ. What could be made of it? Perhaps it +might be tuned and answer for singing occasionally. Certainly, if it was +to stay there and be used, it would conduce to her own comfort to have +it put in order. She touched the keys softly to see how bad it was, and +went on playing chords gently. She was not a finished musician, but she +had learned to play a little for the home pleasure, and now +instinctively her fingers sought out some of the old favorite tunes. + + “Safely through another week, + God has brought us on our way, + Let us now a blessing seek, + Waiting in his courts to-day.” + +Her conscience pricked her, as the words rang themselves over in her +mind. She had not been going to church very regularly since she came to +the city. She had wandered around from one church to another, feeling +forlorn and lonely at all, not going often enough to one place to become +noticed as a stranger and welcomed, even if the people had had the +disposition to welcome her. Since aunt Hannah had been there, she had +made an excuse to stay at home with her if she was not able to go out, +and at such times when her aunt could go, she had taken her to the +different churches near by in rotation, that she might choose where they +should go. The elder lady had not as yet made any choice, nor, indeed, +had she expressed her mind concerning the places of worship they had +visited. Celia thought of it now, and wished their dear old church from +Cloverdale could be transplanted bodily. It was so desolate to go among +strangers and not have any place or work in the church home. She sighed +and made up her mind that she must go more regularly and perhaps offer +to take a class in Sunday-school or something of the sort. Of course it +was not right to live this way; but her heart was not in her resolve. +She played on, not realizing what tune she had started till she began to +hum the words in a low sweet voice: + + “The day of rest once more comes round, + A day to all believers dear; + The silver trumpets seem to sound, + That call the tribes of Israel near; + Ye people all, + Obey the call, + And in Jehovah’s courts appear——” + +She broke off suddenly and played a few stray chords. She knew that the +next verse began: + + “Obedient to thy summons, Lord, + We to thy sanctuary come;” + +It was strange that all the words were on that subject. She would choose +something else. She thought a moment, her fingers lingering on the keys. +Then she began to sing: + + “Father in thy mysterious presence kneeling, + Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love; + For we are weak, and need some deep revealing + Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.” + +She felt the beauty of the words and the depth of meaning, and sang with +her heart, each word as a prayer. Her voice grew fuller and sweeter as +she went on. + + “Lord! we have wandered forth through doubt and sorrow, + And thou hast made each step an onward one; + And we will ever trust each unknown morrow; + Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.” + +She had not heard the step upon the stairs and did not know that some +one entered the parlor and sat down on the divan near by, until, as she +commenced the third verse, a rich, sweet tenor, full of cultivation and +feeling, joined with her in the words: + + “Now, Father! now in thy dear presence kneeling, + Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love; + Now make us strong; we need thy deep revealing + Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.” + +Celia’s voice trembled at first, but the stronger one sustained the tune +and she kept on, the pink color stealing up her cheeks and to the tips +of her ears. If the other singer saw her embarrassment, he did not +notice it. When the last note died slowly away and Celia was wondering +what she should do and how she should get away from the room, he said +quite in a matter-of-fact voice, as if he and she were accustomed to +singing together early on Sabbath mornings: “Will you play ‘Lead Kindly +Light,’ please?” And she had played on, glad that she knew it well +enough to do so, and they sang together. + +“Thank you!” he said simply, when the last verse was finished. “That has +helped me for the work that I have to do to-day. In fact that song +always helps me. Do you, sometimes, come to a place where you want to +look ahead and see whether things are coming out as you wish? Isn’t it +blessed to think he leads the way, and makes the gloom for our sakes +that we shall not fear for what is to come, while perhaps if we could +look and see the blessings—in disguise—sometimes we might turn and +flee. You belong to him, do you not, Miss Murray? I thought I could not +be mistaken. I want to thank you for this pleasant bit of morning +praise. It has been like home.” + +Celia had raised her eyes in one swift glad glance of recognition of +their kindred discipleship, when he asked her if she was a Christian, +and had answered, low and earnestly, “Yes, I do,” feeling in her heart +how very wrong she had been in calling this man unspiritual. Her heart +longed to reach that high plane of trustful living where he seemed to +move. She lifted her eyes again and timidly asked: + +“Do you think it is possible for every one to feel that perfect +assurance where they cannot see the way? I wish I knew how to trust that +way and not worry over things.” + +“It is hard sometimes, isn’t it, to just lay down the burdens at the +Father’s feet and realize that we need not carry them? But isn’t it +strange that it is hard?” And he looked at her with that peculiarly +bright smile which she had noticed the first night he came to the house. +“One would think that we would be only too glad to get rid of the burden +and the worry, when he, so strong and willing offers to take it. Perhaps +that is one reason why I like that hymn. It seems to help me to remember +whose I am and who is my Saviour. I am prone to forget when I think, for +instance, of some dear one whom I see fading day by day and know cannot +be long upon this earth, that the night ever will be gone + + “‘And with the morn, those angel faces smile + Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!’” + +A deep sadness had settled over his face, as he looked up to her and +repeated the lines of the hymn they had just sung, and her heart was +filled with pity for some sorrow she felt he was bearing. Instinctively +she remembered the sweet beautiful face in the velvet case, and while he +seemed set apart and sacred in her thought of his sorrow, she let a +shade of her old dignity creep back into her voice, which had fallen +from it for a few moments. The breakfast bell had sounded, and the +boarders were coming downstairs. With one accord the two rose and went +toward the dining-room, feeling that they did not care to have the quiet +confidences of the few moments they had spent together intruded upon or +misunderstood. Celia thanked Mr. Stafford for his words a little +stiffly, as one, as a matter of form, might thank any strange minister +for a good sermon, and perhaps the young man wondered a little at her +seemingly variable moods. + +It was after breakfast, and the church bells were sending their various +calls to worship through the clear cold air of the city. Celia stood +ready dressed for church, waiting for her aunt in the front hall. Miss +Grant had been called back by Molly Poppleton, just as they were +starting out of the door, and Celia tapped her foot impatiently on the +hall oilcloth and wished aunt Hannah would hurry. Not that she was +anxious to go to church, but she wanted to get the duty done with and +come back, for Mr. Stafford had slipped a most inviting little book into +her hand, as he passed her in the upper hall after breakfast, saying +“Have you read Daniel Quorm? If not, it will interest you, perhaps. It +is along the line of our talk this morning, and it has helped me to +trust him where I couldn’t trace him.” + +She had read a few pages while aunt Hannah tied her bonnet and put on +her gloves, and had already grown deeply interested in the quaint +phrases of Daniel in his story of his little maid. She wanted to get +back to it. She stilled her conscience when it pricked her for not +caring to go to church, by telling it that the book would probably do +her more good than a sermon in a strange church, but her conscience was +too well trained to let her forget that God had promised to meet her in +the church. + +Some one was standing in the shadow of the parlor curtains, Celia did +not know who. She thought that perhaps it was the brakeman. He had +returned the night before, and was off duty for the day. She unfastened +the door and breathed in the clear sunny air with delight, then glanced +up the stairs to see if aunt Hannah was coming. But just then came Miss +Grant’s voice, as she leaned over the stair railing, and Celia saw that +her gloves were off and her bonnet untied again. + +“Celia, don’t wait for me. I am not going this morning. I have made up +my mind my duty is with Mrs. Belden. She is feeling very despondent. Go +on without me. Isn’t there some one else you can go with?” she asked, as +she saw the look of dismay on Celia’s face and heard her exclaim, “Oh +auntie!” + +Then the figure that had been standing in the shadow of the window +curtain in the parlor moved forward and Harry Knowles stepped out. + +“Miss Murray, would _I_ do?” he asked humbly, “or—would you rather not +go with me?” There was a hesitancy and shamefacedness about him which +was not like his usual manner, and he seemed anxious to have her accept. +While Celia hesitated, Miss Grant said:—“Why, yes, Celia, that is very +nice. You and Mr. Knowles go together. I am so glad he is going,” and +then slipped away from the stairs pleased in her heart, both for Celia’s +sake that she would not be alone, and for the young man that he was +willing to go to the house of the Lord. + +As Celia turned to go with him, she reflected that she had been wishing +he would go to church, or wishing she might say some word to help him, +and now he had himself opened the way by inviting her to go. She felt +reproached, that she had never invited him before. But Harry seemed +uncomfortable, and when he had closed the door, he stopped on the upper +step and asked again, “You are sure you are willing to go with me? You +aren’t afraid or anything?” and Celia looked up in surprise, and saw the +earnest, eager, shamed face and said, “Why surely, Harry, I am willing. +Why should I be afraid?” + +“Well, I thought,—I was afraid you—after that night—you know—” he +said, growing red and grinding his heel into the stone on which he +stood, “I can’t forgive myself, Miss Murray, that’s all, and I thought +you didn’t like me asking you.” He looked up bravely through his +embarrassment with his sorry, boyish eyes asking forgiveness. + +“Harry,” said Celia turning her clear, honest gaze full upon him, “I was +truly glad, and was only being ashamed myself because _I_ had not asked +_you_ before, for I have been wishing you would go to church, and—I +have been praying for you.” + +She spoke the words low and embarrassedly, for she was not used to +talking much about such things to strangers, but the young man’s eyes +filled with moisture, and he said, “Thank you,” in such hearty tones +that she knew he meant it. Then he added, “So is the minister, and maybe +I’ll amount to something, after all.” + +Celia was surprised to find that she suddenly felt a sense of +satisfaction in what he had told her about the minister. She did not +understand all her feelings to-day. She must sit down and analyze them +when she reached home. + +“But where are we to go, Harry?” she asked, pausing on the sidewalk a +moment. “Have you any choice? I have not put my letter into any church +yet, though I ought to have done so before this.” + +She tried to remember in her mind which of the churches she had attended +would be the most likely to help the young man, but could not remember +any of them definitely, and concluded that since she had been in the +city she had taken her body to the church and left her soul at home, or +wandering in fields of other thoughts than those presented for her +deliberation at the sanctuary. + +Harry’s face grew eager again. + +“Well, then, that’s nice. Maybe you wouldn’t mind going to hear Mr. +Stafford, because I’ve half promised him that I would come there this +morning, you see.” + +“Oh, of course we will,” said Celia, wondering why it was she had never +thought to go and hear him before, and why it was that the thought of +hearing him preach had suddenly become so pleasant. + +She wondered again as she listened to his opening prayer. Every word +seemed to be prayed for her, and to fit her needs exactly, and she +pulled herself up sharply when she found that she was actually imagining +that he remembered their talk before breakfast, and was praying thus for +her. The hymn just before the sermon was wonderful, and again she +reprimanded herself severely, for thinking he looked at her while he +read that last verse, so perfectly did it appeal to her need. He read it +exquisitely and tenderly, and as he reached the last line he looked at +her again, and it gave her a strange pleasure to feel those words spoken +so to her, even as if the Father himself had sent her an especial +message that morning, and by a noble messenger. + + “Take, my soul, thy full salvation! + Rise from sin, and fear, and care. + Joy to find in every station + Something still to do or dare. + Think what Spirit dwells within thee. + Think what Father’s smiles are thine! + Think what Saviour died to win thee! + Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?” + + + + + CHAPTER XXI. + + +That Sabbath afternoon was one of deep thought and soul searching to +Celia. The sermon she had heard, the hymns she had sung, the prayer she +had listened to, the book she had partly read, all seemed to bring her +the one thought, that of the possibility of a life beyond anything she +had known heretofore, a life whose every breath was trust, and whose joy +was unalloyed because there was no care in it to break the deep, sweet +peace. The longing for some change of this sort in her own heart did not +take her interest from the work she had just begun around her. Instead +it seemed to deepen her interest in all in the house, and to make her +heart throb anew with love to her Saviour. + +With the little book in her hand which Mr. Stafford had loaned her she +passed through the hall that afternoon on some errand for her aunt, and +returning saw Harry Knowles hovering restlessly about the parlor. It +came to her that perhaps she might say something to help him, but what +could it be? She felt hardly ready yet without more thought and +preparation. She might do more harm than good. Following an impulse she +offered him the book to read awhile, and then went back to her room, +half sorry that she had deprived herself of the pleasure of finishing +it. However, she had read enough to remember, and there lay her Bible. +She took it up and read. Somehow the words seemed to fit all the other +circumstances of the day, and to help her on to the one great desire +that was growing deeper in her heart, that she might forget to fret and +worry and learn to trust Jesus entirely for all that was to come. She +read a chapter and part of another. The words seemed especially fresh +and new to her. She began to wonder if she had been giving her whole +mind to her Bible reading of late. Then suddenly from out the printed +page there came a command. It was not so very marked, not more than +other verses she had read, and yet it seemed to her to have a special +significance for her, and to remind her that there was a young girl of +nearly her own age upstairs, over whom she had been shown her own +influence, who was perhaps needing help from her at this very moment. +She felt that she must go, though she could scarcely tell why, and she +laid aside her Bible and knelt to ask God’s help before she went. + +As she knocked at Mamie Williams’ door she wondered at herself for +coming, and how she was to explain her visit. She decided that if any +one answered she would say she had come to ask them to go out to church +with her that evening, though she had hardly made up her mind before +that to go herself. She felt much embarrassed at herself in that one +minute after she had knocked, and heartily wished herself back in her +own room. But she had not long to wait. The door was thrown open after a +moment of what sounded like scuffling inside, by Mamie herself, this +time without gum in her mouth, but with rather red cheeks and her hair +floating in wet strings down her back over a towel. Her face and hands +were a brilliant, tender pink, giving strong evidence of the severe +scrubbing Celia had recommended the night before. She instantly +recognized what it meant, and her heart sank that at her advice this +girl was spending her Sunday afternoon in such a way. Perhaps the angels +knew that by making herself sweet and clean, she was coming nearer to +the kingdom of God than she had ever yet been. + +The other roommate occupied a comfortable lounging spot on the bed. Her +hair was tumbled and her dress loosened, and in her hand was a paper +covered book. Celia had opportunity afterward to observe that it was the +same one that Miss Williams had been reading the day before. + +Miss Simmons did not rise from the bed, but she greeted the intruder +with a languid surprise, and withal a show of pleasure that made Celia +feel she was not unwelcome, and told her to sit down. She was munching +cheap candy from a box which lay beside her on the bed, and she held it +out at once to the guest saying: + +“Sit down. Have some candy, do. I had it give to me last night.” This +with a significant giggle interpolated into her natural drawl. Then +looking at her roommate, she said, apologetically, + +“You must excuse Mamie. She’s took an awful fit of cleanin’ up. I don’t +know what she’s getting ready for, but she’s made herself a sight. Her +nose’s as red’s a beet. Did you want something or did you just come in +to kill time?” + +Celia accepted the chair, declining the candy as graciously as possible, +saying she seldom ate it, and made known her request that they would go +with her that evening to meeting. She bethought herself of the service +she had attended that morning, and that possibly it might interest these +two to go and hear the minister who lived under the same roof with them, +and urged that as an incentive, describing the pleasant room, the good +singing, and perfect friendliness she had met, with an enthusiasm that +surprised herself. + +“I can’t go,” said Miss Simmons, promptly, “I’m expecting company.” +There was the same conscious drawing in of the breath when she said +this, evidently meant to express a certain and especial kind of company, +that Celia had noticed in Mamie’s talk the night before. It made her +heart sink with the utter uselessness of trying to work against such +odds, till she remembered her new half-formed resolves, not to look +ahead for results, but to do the work trusting the rest to God. + +Mamie’s cheeks had grown redder, if that was possible. She was sitting +on the edge of a chair with the hair brush in her hand. She seemed a +trifle shy. + +“It’s awful nice of you to ask us,” she said, “but I don’t know but +perhaps I’m going to have company, too. It wouldn’t do to be away, +though I ain’t just positive, you know.” + +“Couldn’t you bring them along?” said Celia, promptly, as if it would be +the most natural thing in the world to do, though her heart misgave her +at the idea of taking the oily youth she had seen in the parlor waiting +for Miss Simmons not long before. + +“Oh, no indeed!” snickered Miss Simmons, “he wouldn’t go a step. He +ain’t that kind. And besides he’d be mad, for he said he might be going +to bring another fellow along he wants me specially to meet. He wants to +see me very perticular to-night anyway, so I couldn’t think of going +out,” and Miss Simmons retired behind her book. + +Mamie had meantime been puzzling over the problem of how to please +herself and her new object of adoration at the same time, and seemed to +have arrived at a solution. + +“I don’t know but I _might_ go after all,” she said, slowly, looking +down at the toe of her shoe. “Say, Carrie, if he should come would you +be sure and tell him I had gone out with somebody _else_?—you could +tell him it was a _very special_ friend who had invited me, you know, +and he would think it was another fellah. That might have a good effect +on him, you know. I believe I’ll try it this time anyway. I’ll go, Miss +Murray, if you want it so much. It’s a good thing to get people jealous +once in a while, don’t you think? Say, was that you down in the parlor +singing this morning early? It was awful sweet! Who else was there? It +didn’t sound quite like Mr. Yates, but I didn’t know any of the others +sang. It wasn’t Harry Knowles, was it? He’s too young for you any way. +You don’t say it was the minister! My! He’s awful talented, ain’t he? +Wouldn’t it be romantic if it should turn out you was to marry him some +time? Did you ever know him before? I’ve heard of stories like that lots +of times.” + +Celia’s cheeks rivaled Mamie’s in hue, and her anger had risen rapidly. +She did not dare trust herself to rebuke this girl, for her desire to do +her good was still strong. She quickly looked about for a turn to the +conversation. + +“Are you fond of singing? Then come downstairs and let us sing now. I +think some of the others are down there. We can have a very pleasant +time, I’m sure. I have some Gospel song books. Put up your hair and +come.” She walked to the door trying to steady her fluttered nerves, and +still that queer beating of her heart, half indignation, half something +else which she did not understand, and which she did not wish to +countenance. + +“My land!” said Mamie, beaming, “I’d come in a minute, only what’ll I do +with my hair? It’s about dry, but it’ll take me an hour to do it all up +after washing, it’s so tangled and slippery. Perhaps you will fix it for +me. Do, that’ll be nice. Then you can show me how to do it like yours.” + +Celia was dismayed. She would scarcely have chosen Sunday afternoon for +a lesson in hair-dressing, but how could she refuse on that score, as +the request had been put in answer to one of her own? To handle another +person’s hair at any time was to her a sore trial. She shrank from +contact with any one except her nearest and dearest. But how was she to +refuse? How was she to get an influence over Mamie if she let her see +she was unwilling to do what she asked of her? For a minute her +repugnance of the coarse girl, with her coarse hair, red face and loud, +grating words was so intense that she almost yielded to her desire to +turn and flee from the room and shake the dust from her feet, and tell +her aunt Hannah to take her away from the horrible boarders and never +let her see any of them again. Then she gained control of herself, and +though her cheeks were still red at memory of the careless words of the +girl, she consented to undertake the hair; and even the deeply absorbed +Carrie on the bed, who had been furtively watching the stranger during +all, never suspected what a trial she had quietly taken upon herself. + +Having undertaken the task, she did it well. She had a naturally +artistic eye and hand and there was some pleasure, after the dislike had +been overcome, in making Mamie’s hair look as she had often thought it +ought to look. Quickly and deftly she twisted it, smoothed it here and +there, and fastened it firmly, and after it was accomplished Mamie stood +and surveyed herself. + +“It looks awful plain,” she said, hesitatingly, “and it makes me seem +queer, ’cause I ain’t used to it, but I guess I like it. Don’t you, +Carrie?” + +“It looks real stylish,” answered that young woman, enviously, mentally +resolving to try her own that way as soon as the others had left the +room. + +Celia went to wash her hands, with a heavy heart. She must certainly +have mistaken that voice which she thought called her to go to that +room. What had she accomplished but teaching the fashions this +afternoon? How was she ever to know whether a thing was a duty or not? +She went down to the parlor with her singing books, and found Mamie +there before her looking pretty and a trifle shy in consciousness of her +new coiffure. She was talking to the tenor brakeman who was evidently +lost in admiration of her charms. She went at once to the organ and +started the singing, but she found that the brakeman’s tenor was not +quite so pleasant as that which had blended with her own voice earlier +in the day. The other boarders heard the music, and one by one dropped +in, all joining in the words when they were familiar until even Miss +Burns was there. Mr. Stafford had come in also. The minister joined in +the singing, though he sat in a shaded corner of the room for the most +part and sang softly, as if he were weary. Celia found that her thoughts +kept wandering to him and wondering what was the matter, and she grew +exceedingly annoyed over this fact, as she remembered Mamie Williams’ +careless words a little while before. She was glad when the tea bell +rang and called them from the organ. + +The church party was larger than she had expected. Mamie had wheedled +Mr. Yates into being one of the number. She was the kind of girl who +always wants a young man along when she goes anywhere. The other three +young men joined the group also, perhaps at Harry’s solicitation, or it +might be out of interest in the minister who had been singing with them. + +They were starting out of the door. Aunt Hannah was behind with Harry +Knowles. Miss Burns had volunteered to stay with Mrs. Belden during the +evening. Celia stepped down to the pavement beside Mamie and walked on. + +“Say, he’s awful nice. I like him. I wish he _would_ marry you, ’cause I +like you both,” said romantic Mamie, in a confidential whisper. + +“What do you mean? Who?” said Celia, startled, and having a vague idea +of the tenor brakeman. + +“Why, Mr. Stafford, the minister!” said the other girl. + +“You must never say anything like that again,” she said, in a suddenly +chilling tone which almost froze Mamie’s eager enthusiasm for a minute. +“It is utterly absurd and ridiculous.” + +She wished afterward that she could have turned it off with a laugh, and +let the girl see that she had no notion of any such thing, without +making such a tragic thing of it, but indeed she had felt so annoyed at +the second bold intimacy of the girl, which seemed to her like the +handling and mixing up of sacred things by clumsy hands untaught and +unknowing what they did, that she had almost stopped in her walk and +gone back to the house. However, she managed to steady her voice and her +steps and keep on. + +“Why?” asked Mamie, half timidly, “don’t you like him?” + +“Certainly, I don’t dislike him. But neither of us have any idea of any +such thing. It is very annoying to have it suggested. He is simply a +boarder.” She said it freezingly. + +“Oh,” said Mamie, in a frightened tone, “I didn’t mean any harm. I just +thought it would be nice, that was all.” After that she dropped behind +with Bob Yates who had come up, and Celia walked with aunt Hannah and +Harry Knowles. + +“She’s an awful queer girl in some ways,” confided Mamie to her escort a +few minutes later. “I just said she and the minister would make a nice +match, and she got just as mad as a hornet. My! She scared me so I +didn’t know but I’d cry!” and then she giggled in a way Bob Yates much +admired. + +Celia sat in the meeting too much annoyed to rally her spirits and enjoy +what was going on. She scarcely heard the hymns or realized the sermon. +The voice of the minister, cultured, earnest, tender, loving toward his +people, awakened in her the knowledge that she was more interested in +this man than she wanted to be. She did not wish to hear his voice and +like it, and his sermon she knew she would enjoy and therefore tormented +herself with her annoyance, so that she did not hear it, and saw between +the lines in her hymn book, ever and anon, a sweet pictured face in a +velvet frame. She called herself a fool, and wondered that there was +anything about a man whom she had so short a time ago not even heard of, +to make her feel so uncomfortable. Then she turned to watch Mamie’s +face, and her heart sank again as she reflected how useless it had been +to try to do anything for her. True, her hair was becoming and neatly +arranged, and the black eyes of the young man beside her were admiringly +turned toward her occasionally, but perhaps that was only another source +of harm to the poor girl. After all Celia’s resolves, her day seemed to +be ending most miserably. + +How could she know that at that very moment the young girl beside her +was listening to the minister with undisguised amaze, as he read the +words of his text, “And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in +fine linen, clean and white: for the fine linen is the righteousness of +saints.” She did not know about the hurried getting out of bed to read +the promised verse the night before, nor how the verse itself had +impressed itself upon the young girl’s mind, perhaps the more because it +was about dress, the one great theme of all themes of interest to her +mind,—unless perhaps one might except those of love, courtship and +marriage. If Celia had been told all this, it might only have +discouraged her the more that the Bible itself meant no more to Mamie +than a fashion book might have done, and so it was a wise thing that +Celia could not see and know until all God’s plan was worked out to the +finish, and she was given eyes perfected through his teaching to +understand the whys and wherefores. + +The sermon which followed was simplicity itself. If Celia had not been +so taken up with her own uneasy heart, she would have recognized the +skill of the preacher, as he plainly and simply drew the meaning from +what might have otherwise been to many minds before him an empty and +meaningless passage. Even the feather-brained Mamie was able to +understand and to carry away with her the few facts she had wished to +know when she first read the words, together with their deep spiritual +meaning. She had felt a pang of disappointment when she heard that this +incomparable person, this child of luxury here spoken of, was the +church, Christ’s bride, and she told herself, half enviously that she +had nothing to do with the verse at all, of course. But, immediately, +the preacher made it plain to every one in the house that he and she +individually did belong, ought to belong, by right were, members of that +church for whom Christ died, and that it was only through their own +wills that they deliberately put themselves outside its pale, that +really, to every one present, it had been granted as a privilege, and it +was their own fault that they did not accept and wear it. He spoke at +length of the difficulty of keeping such garments white and pure in the +midst of a world of work and constant contact with that which would +soil, how only the children of the rich could afford to dress in a color +which would so easily soil, and how only those who could go and have +such garments washed in the blood of the Lamb could keep them pure and +white. Then he talked about that righteousness of the saints until even +Bob Yates dropped his eyes from the earnest, eloquent face of the +speaker, and began to look into his own heart and wish that he might +some way be different, and Mamie’s cheeks glowed and her heart beat +fast. She had forgotten, for the time, Mr. Harold Adams, and even the +admiring glances of her escort to church that night. She even forgot the +new arrangement of her hair, and ceased to feel the back of her head, to +discover how perchance it might be affecting those who looked upon her +from the rear. She resolved, in some way, to discover for herself how +she might wear this fine linen, and when the closing hymn was announced, +she stood up with the others, and sang in a loud voice the words, +meaning them in her heart more than any words she had ever sung before. +She felt a strange, sweet thrill of longing, new and faint, but real, as +the hymn went on. + + “O Jesus Christ the righteous! live in me, + That, when in glory I thy face shall see, + Within the Father’s house, my glorious dress + May be the garment of thy righteousness.” + +Mamie felt for the first time in her life that night, that she had +really a strong determination to go to heaven when she died. The white +linen could be worn then, if not before. The minister had said it might +be worn now also. Well, perhaps—— + +Her heart was softened, and on the way home she confided the coincidence +of her verse the night before and the minister’s text to Mr. Yates, who +was deeply interested and impressed. Celia would have been surprised, +perhaps, if she could have heard the brakeman telling Mamie at the door +that she had helped him, that he wanted to be better than he had been +and he was glad she was that kind of a girl. + +As for Celia, the minister himself had walked home with her. She hoped +that Mamie had not seen, and her cheeks burned red and her embarrassment +did not lessen during the entire walk. He asked her to help him in his +Sunday-school work, and she accepted the class he offered her, after +much hesitation, but she was stiff and unlike herself, and aunt Hannah +wondered greatly why Celia seemed so cold and uninterested in things. +She sighed as she went about preparing for the night, and wished that +Celia’s mother had lived; nobody could understand a girl like her own +mother, she thought. Then she knelt as she always did, and laid her care +at her Master’s feet, and rested with an unburdened heart for the next +day’s work. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII. + + +One morning, about eleven o’clock, Molly Poppleton was up in the +third-story hall attending to the rooms on that floor. The chambermaid +was not well, and Molly had been put back in her work a good deal, so +that it was late and she was in a hurry. She thumped the water pitchers +down hard, slammed the doors, and punched the pillows into shape with +extra vigor on this account, but, suddenly, in the midst of making up +the University student’s bed, she came to a sharp halt and straightened +up to listen. She was not mistaken. She certainly had heard sounds of +distress. They grew clearer now as she went to the hall door, and she +quickly located them. They were low, half-suppressed sobs, following +quickly upon one another, as though the weeper were in deep distress. +After listening, she marched down the hall, and without more ceremony +threw open the door of a room. There lay Mamie Williams across the foot +of her unmade bed crying bitterly and shaking with sobs. Molly Poppleton +was at all times a straightforward maiden, and she believed in coming to +the point at once; it was the way she had been brought up. So, without +apology for intruding into the young girl’s trouble, she demanded what +was the matter. + +Mamie raised her head long enough to show a red nose and blurred eyes, +and to see who had come in without knocking. Then she went on crying +harder than ever. + +Molly shut the door with a slam and said: + +“For mercy’s sake, do tell me what’s the matter? Are you hurt? Do you +want a doctor? Or are some of your friends dead?” + +Mamie shook her head and finally controlled herself sufficiently to sob +out: + +“No, M-m-molly. It’s my heart! It’s broke!” + +“Oh, well, if that’s all, you’ll get over it! They always do! I’ve been +there myself, and I know that state don’t last long. You better get up +and wash your face while I make the bed.” And Molly proceeded +energetically to throw open the windows and shake up the pillows. + +“Oh Molly! You don’t know. You never was crossed in love!” wailed the +miserable girl, without stirring, and then she sobbed the harder. + +Molly turned irately from the bureau where she had begun to dust. + +“Crossed in fiddlesticks!” she said, sharply. “You’ll find you ain’t +near so hard hurt as you think for. And as for me, I’ve had my chances +in my time like other girls, and plenty of ’em at that, an’ I perferred +to live single. It’s much more independent. It’s my opinion you ain’t +old enough to be away from home anyway. You better go back to your ma if +you’ve got one.” + +But as this only set Miss Mamie to crying the harder, the perplexed +Molly marched down to find Miss Grant and report the case. + +“Miss Grant, you’re needed up there in that three-center room. That +silly thing is actin’ like a fool over some poor sickly fellow, that +couldn’t support her ef she got him, I s’pose. She says she’s been +crossed in love an’ her heart’s broke, an’ she’s cryin’ fer dear life. +It’s my opinion she better be crossed with a good spankin’, an’ I +wouldn’t feel sorry to be the one to give it to her neither.” + +But the latter part of this sentiment was lost upon her hearer who had +already started with swift steps for the third story. + +A moment later Mamie felt a cool hand on her hot forehead, and Miss +Grant stooped down and took her in her arms and kissed her. She was so +surprised to be kissed, that she stopped crying for a minute. Then the +sympathy of the eyes that met hers started her tears afresh, and she +buried her head in the motherly arms held out to her and cried like a +hurt child who had found a comforter. After she had cried a few minutes +and been soothed by the woman who seemed to have the gift of soothing +from above, as others have a gift for music or painting, she was able to +tell her poor little sad, commonplace story. + +“It was Mr. Harold Adams at the store. And he was awful handsome. The +girls all thought so. I fell in love with him the first time I saw him. +Yes ma’am, he was the head clerk there, all this winter he had charge. +The owner went to Hew York and left him here to run the business. He was +awful smart, they said. He used to pay me lots of attention at first, +and he’s told me many a time he loved me better than any one else”—here +she broke into fresh sobs—“and it was only when that ugly girl with +bleached hair and a pretty face came, he got to going with her, and now +I’d planned a way to look nicer than her and get him back, and he’s been +real nice to me for a whole week—she was away—they all said she was +sick, but now it turns out she was getting ready to be married, and he’s +to be sent to have full charge of a three-cent store up in Ohio, and +they say she’s going along. The girls had it all ready to tell me this +morning when I went in to the store, and they just couldn’t laugh enough +at me, till I nearly sank through the floor. They was always jealous of +me. First one twitted me an’ then another, till I got so mad and felt so +bad I just come home. He’s a goin’ to marry her, they say, an’ it’s all +been no use after all, an’ oh, my heart’s just broke!” + +It is commonly supposed that women who do not marry and have no children +cannot enter into the feelings of young people, and are not able to +sympathize with them. But God had somehow given this woman a sweet +insight into natures in distress, which helped her to be able to give +comfort wherever she went, to say the right word and do the right +action. She bent down now and kissed the tear-wet face. + +“You’re awful kind,” moaned poor Mamie. “But you don’t know how it is +yourself. You ain’t never been crossed in love.” + +A shadow of the passing of a great dark cloud, tipped with brilliant +light, went across Miss Grant’s face, leaving the reflection of the +light there, ere she spoke again. + +“Listen! Mamie,” she said, and her voice was very sweet and tender, and +her eyes looked soft and dewy, as though she saw things beyond the range +of human vision, “I want to tell you a story all about myself.” + +Yes, she actually went back to those dear, bright days so long ago, when +she had found a kindred spirit and had lived in a sweet elysium of hope, +and dreamed those rose-colored visions of youth. Some women would have +counted it a desecration to the memory of her dead hopes and sacred love +before the eyes of a vulgar girl who wept over a man a hundredfold more +vulgar; would have thought it an evidence of lack of good taste and +delicacy to do so. Not so this woman. Had she not sent swift petitions +to the throne as she came up the stairs asking for guidance? She felt in +her heart that this story of hers, which had never before passed her +lips to mortal ear, told here, might help this poor, friendless, +untaught girl: might, perhaps, lead her to see life in a different way, +and to begin to try to live it for the God above, instead of for her own +selfish pleasure. And she knew the man she had loved, who had been in +heaven these years, well enough to be certain he would be glad also to +have her tell the story, if it could in any wise help a soul to find +comfort. And so she told it, simply and eloquently. She even let herself +dwell on the tender passages, the little things that make such a story +beautiful in the eyes of a girl. She spoke about the flowers he had sent +her, the pretty, simple gowns she had worn that he admired, and the +ribbon he stooped and kissed, as it floated from her throat, that last +time he parted from her, saying she would soon be with him now to stay; +and how she treasured it yet. + +Before she was half-way through the story, Mamie had dried her eyes and +sat up on the bed, her face expressing intense interest. She had +forgotten her own troubles in the trouble of another. Her tears, which +were dried on her own sorrows soon flowed silently for Miss Grant. She +wondered at that peaceful face, which shone bright even through the mist +that would gather in her eyes, as she told of the dark days when her +hopes were taken from her, and of the time when she wandered about +forlorn, until the Lord spoke to her and comforted her. When the story +was finished, Mamie found she could look up and talk. She seemed to have +risen above her recent grief. There was a longing for something in her +heart, she scarcely knew what. + +“I always thought it would be an awful thing to be an old maid,” she +said, bluntly, “but if I could look like you, and be like you, I +wouldn’t mind it—not much!” There was a look of admiration on her face. +It was not much encouragement, but Miss Grant was not one who let her +work depend upon results. She went steadily on talking, cheering, +advising, drawing out the girl, until she had a pretty thorough +understanding of what her life had been hitherto. She did not wonder +that the heart seemed broken, nor that what seemed to the poor girl to +be the life love had been freely given to an unworthy object. What +better had been set before the girl? She had been untaught and unguided. +Before she left her, Mamie had confided to her the story of her Bible +reading and of all her thoughts about the garments of fine linen, and +this missionary of the Most High had sifted out from the chaff of +foolish talk and worldly longings the grain of earnest desire after +better things and found joy, the joy of encouragement in it. She even +knelt beside the girl with her arm about her waist, and prayed for her +as Mamie had never heard herself prayed for before, and then, instead of +sending her back to the atmosphere of selfish strivings and silly +thoughts of what should be noble things, she advised her to stay away +from the three-cent store, at least for that day, and come down in the +kitchen, as she had some work for her there which might take her mind +off her trouble for a little while. + +It is true that Molly sniffed when she saw her come into the kitchen +with her red eyes washed and a white apron on, but Miss Grant wisely +sent Molly to work in another part of the house, and herself carefully +inducted the awkward novice into the mysteries of making some most +delectable cake, to be used in the celebration of Miss Burns’ birthday +that evening. It spoke well for Miss Grant’s ability to read human +nature, that she chose cake to teach Mamie. If it had been a lesson in +bread-making or how to cook potatoes, it is doubtful if the girl would +have been interested. Cake, now, somehow, seemed “sort of stylish,” and +belonged to the festive side of eating; therefore she enjoyed learning +how to make it nicely, and she came to the dinner-table that evening +beaming with satisfaction over the cake which she had iced and decorated +with smilax and candles herself. She told them all that she made the +cake, and it received much praise, especially from Bob Yates, who asked +for a second piece and said some low words of commendation that brought +a smile and a bright flush into the girl’s face, just as Molly passed +the ice cream which was also a part of the evening’s celebration. + +“H’m!” said that worthy woman coming out into the kitchen the better to +converse with herself, “I thought so! She’s got over it sooner than most +of ’em. It generally takes over night at least just to let the glue dry, +but she must have used some lightnin’ stuff. Her heart ain’t more’n skin +deep anyway.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII. + + +The days that followed were filled with new things for Mamie Williams. +However shallow her hurt had been it was deep enough to make her shrink +decidedly from returning to the store. The young man whose charms had +fascinated her was not yet gone, and Miss Simmons brought word from day +to day that there had been delay in sending him away. The yellow haired +girl seemed to have returned to her place behind the candy counter. +After this report had gone on for about a week, Mamie suddenly +manifested a desire to return to her position, with the expressed hope +that she might still win her lover back, but Miss Hannah, feeling that +this might be the turning point in her life, had a long talk with her, +the result of which was that she appeared in the kitchen an hour after, +with red eyes, a meek air and a clean gingham apron and made herself +generally useful. Molly, who had kept herself informed of the state of +the case nodded approval and announced to Miss Grant at the first +opportunity that she didn’t know but that girl had some chance of +growing a little sense after all. + +It is doubtful whether Mamie’s resolution would have outlasted the next +day, however, had not several things occurred to strengthen what Miss +Grant had said to her during that long earnest talk. The first was the +announcement that the charming Mr. Harold Adams had departed from the +city to parts unknown, taking with him a goodly portion of the profits +of the three-cent business, which he had, by a careful system of +bookkeeping, been laying up for himself against this day. Neither had +the yellow-haired girl shared in his booty. She seemed to be as happy as +ever, and as the days went by was reported to be “making up” to the new +head of the business, who had come to straighten out affairs. + +Mamie, on the announcement of this news, betook herself to her room for +a whole morning, where she cried and was angry alternately, and from +whence she came out a wiser and a meeker maiden, quite ready to do what +Miss Grant should ask of her, and to look for another position. But that +lady was in no haste to urge the girl to apply for another position. +Life in such a store, as Mamie would be likely in her present stage of +development, to get into, was too dangerous and risky a thing for the +unformed girl, who seemed to be hesitating on the brink of better +things. After careful thought, and much discussion with Celia, Miss +Grant told Mamie that she would like it very much, if she would be +willing to help her for two or three weeks, with upstairs work, sweeping +and table setting, until she could find another second girl who suited +her. She told her she would give her what she had been paying to the +second girl who had just left, and that she would of course have her +board, so that she might be able to look about her leisurely for the +right place, and still lose nothing by being out of work. Mamie, after a +struggle with her pride, and reiterating many times to her roommate that +she only did this for a few days as a favor to Miss Grant, finally +accepted, and was somewhat surprised that she was not scoffed at by Miss +Simmons for “doing housework,” which to the minds of both girls had +always been menial service quite beneath them. + +But it turned out that Miss Simmons had other things to think of than +Mamie Williams’ affairs. It was scarcely three weeks after Mamie had +left the three-cent store, when it was discovered that the said Miss +Simmons had “eloped” with the friend of the oily youth who had been +visiting her. Just what she had eloped from, as she had no friends or +kindred in the city who seemed in the least interested in her welfare, +it was perhaps hard to make out, but she left a note in Mamie’s Sunday +dress pocket stating that she had eloped, and bidding an affectionate +farewell. It was no more than was to have been expected, Miss Grant +thought afterward, as she turned over pile after pile of romantic, +third-class, sensational novels in the closet, after the departure of +the young girl, but she sighed and brushed away a tear, that she had not +been permitted to help this girl also. She had by this time some hopes +of Mamie. The affair of Miss Simmons, she feared, might perhaps upset +her, and excite her desire for some romance herself, but happily it +worked the other way, rather frightening her, and making her cling close +to Miss Grant, asking her advice daily and almost hourly. This effect +became still more salutary when it was learned some days after that the +young man with whom Miss Simmons had eloped had already a wife in +another state. During the passage of these events Mamie cried a good +deal, but there was growing in her face the shadow of a sweet +womanliness which gave promise of what might be in the future if all +things went well. She had not even the brakeman to brighten this hard +time for her, for he had been sent out West on some special work by one +of the heads of the road, and would not return for a month. Mamie +learned to efface herself somewhat, and gradually seemed to be +cultivating some of Celia’s quietness and repose of manner. Celia, on +her part, was much interested in the girl. She kept her in mind daily, +and was always trying to help her, and praying for her. + +“I’m not sure, auntie, after all, but she may develop enough to become a +ribbon girl some time,” she said one night, when Mamie had left them. + +Aunt Hannah smiled dreamily. She was beginning to have much hope of her +young protégée herself. + +“Yes,” she said, with her far-away look in her eyes, “she may be fit for +the white linen dress some day. Who knows?” + +“You mean the tailor-made one?” asked Cecil, mischievously. + +“The heavenly-made one, anyway, dear. She told me to-night that she was +beginning to feel as if she really prayed like other people now.” + +There were other influences at work also. Mr. Stafford was holding +meetings every night in the new chapel, and the boarders had as a family +adopted that church as their own. It was becoming a regular thing now +for every one who was able, to attend service morning and evening on +Sunday, and several of them had dropped in to the special meetings. Miss +Hannah, Celia, and Mamie Williams had been there every night. Harry +Knowles had joined the choir, and his friends rejoiced that at last all +his evenings were securely filled for him. His face was bright and +interested. He was enthusiastic in sounding the praises of Mr. Stafford, +and ready to do anything to help in the church work, though as yet he +did not seem to have made any move to number himself among the +Christians. Celia was deeply interested in a class of big boys who were +most of them beginning to attend the services. She kept herself in the +background with them as much as possible. No one could say of her that +she was trying to get the attention of the minister. She tried with all +her might to keep away from him, insomuch, sometimes, that he noticed it +and was puzzled and troubled. He sometimes sat with his eyes shaded by +his hand up in his room when he was weary with his work, and thought +about it. Did she dislike him? Or was there some one else who so filled +her life that she had no desire to have other friends? More and more her +sweet, womanly face, and her pleasant ways were making their impression +upon his mind. He began to confess it to himself by and by, and he +thought of what his friend Roger Houston had said about finding a wife +that night he had met him in search of a boarding-place. His heart told +him that there was more possibility of such a thing happening than he +would care to confess to his friend just yet. In fact, Mr. Houston had +visited Mr. Stafford several times, and once had remained to dinner with +him, since which time he had unreservedly gone over in favor of the new +boarding-house, declaring that the cooking was as good as they had at +his own home, though perhaps not quite so stylishly served. He had +laughed, it is true, at Bob Yates, who that evening favored the house +with one of his high-keyed solos, while Roger and Mr. Stafford tried to +talk in the latter’s room directly over the organ; and he had mimicked +Miss Burns’ laugh—for he was a born mimic—and had denominated Mamie +Williams and Carrie Simmons as “giggling kids,” but he admired Miss +Grant, and declared Celia to be artistic in the extreme. He kept talking +about her after they came upstairs. He was an artist by profession, and +he begged his friend to ask her to sit as a model for him, and was +surprised at the prompt way the suggestion was squelched. He asked if +Celia’s character was as fine as her face, and pondered much afterward +over the slow thoughtful answer of his host, “Yes, I think it is.” He +was so possessed of the idea of catching Celia’s expression on canvas +for a picture he had it in mind to paint, that he asked again as he was +leaving, “And you don’t think you can ask that girl to sit for me, +Horace? I like that style of face awfully, and I don’t know just where +else to turn for it.” + +“I don’t think there _is_ another face anywhere just like hers,” +answered the minister slowly again. + +“Now look here, Horace, you talk as if you were personally interested in +her. Don’t go so far as that, I beg of you. You ought to marry a rich +girl, for you never will allow yourself to get money any other way, +unless you fall dead in love with it. Well, I suppose I may ask her +myself. It won’t hurt my feelings, if she does refuse, you know. Where +can I find her?” + +A firm line came around the minister’s mouth, as he said, decidedly, + +“I would rather you would not do that, Roger. She is not that kind of a +girl.” + +Afterward, the young artist remembered his friend’s face, and whistled +on his way home as he thought it over. + +But though Mr. Stafford had watched Celia for several months now, had +seen her under varying and trying circumstances sometimes; had shown her +little attentions, which were the outcome of a frank talk he had within +himself, wherein he confessed a deep interest in her, she still held +aloof from him. Miss Grant had given up trying to make it out. Celia was +too deep for her. + +Meantime Bob Yates came home from the West. He had been working hard and +was glad to get back again. He had been promoted to an engineer’s +position, and was off duty every evening now. He seemed much struck with +the change in Mamie Williams. Miss Grant noticed it the first evening at +dinner. There was a deference about his manner when he addressed her +that was new. She noticed also its reflex influence on Mamie. Had she +taken a lesson from Celia’s reserve, or were the influences of prayer +and daily life about her, and her new hopes and resolves making the +change? Miss Grant wondered. Mamie flushed a little, but she drooped her +eyes modestly, and was quite unobtrusive during the entire meal, a thing +so unlike the old Mamie Williams that the contrast was marked. Bob Yates +admired it evidently, for he cast many glances across the table at her, +and his own loud, jolly voice seemed somewhat toned down, in harmony. + +Celia passed through the hall behind them after dinner and heard Mamie +shyly declining an invitation to the theatre. “I’d like awful well to +go, but we all go to meetin’ every night now,” she was saying. “I +promised in the meeting last night I’d bring somebody along to-night and +I don’t just like to break my promise. Mebbe you’d just as soon go to +meetin’ as the theatre to-night, then I’d have somebody to take to keep +my promise with. The minister’s awful good, and the singin’ is fine. +They’d like your voice in the choir, I know.” + +And so Bob Yates willingly gave up the theatre to go to meeting. He was +not greatly concerned where he took his amusement. The theatre had no +especial attraction for him, but he had thought of it because Mamie had +once told him she would rather go to the theatre than anywhere else in +the world. In fact, the prospect of a “good sing” was rather more +enticing in itself than sitting still and listening to the singing of +other people. + +That night the minister was very much in earnest. He preached a soul +searching sermon. Some of Celia’s boys arose, when at the close of the +sermon the invitation was given for all who would like to belong to +Christ to stand with those who were Christians during the singing of a +hymn. Mamie sat quite still, her cheeks pink and her eyes downcast +during the singing of the first verse and part of the second. She held +one side of the hymn book with Bob Yates and her hand trembled a little. +He was singing with his usual fervor the deep, heart-stirring words, but +Mamie did not sing. Just as the second verse was nearly finished, she +suddenly rose with a jerk and an embarrassed countenance, leaving the +singing book in the hands of the man by her side. He looked up +astonished, and went on singing, but not quite so loud as before, and +his words seemed to be getting mixed up. He fidgeted on his chair, and +when they began to sing the next verse, he arose also and stood beside +Mamie, offering her again the book. She took it, looking down, her heart +fluttering gladly that he had arisen too, and kept her company, and so +they stood until the benediction was pronounced. + +“Say,” said Mamie, softly, when they had walked half of the way home in +an embarrassed silence, “what did you mean by that? Did you mean what +the minister said? What made you do it?” + +“Mean it? ’Course I did!” answered Bob, heartily. “My mother used to be +a good woman, an’ I’ve always meant to turn that way some time myself. +The first time I ever heard Mr. Stafford, I made out he was more’n +half-way right, an’ to-night I thought so again. I don’t know as I +should ’a’ said so out’n out fer folks to see, ef you hadn’t, but I +calculated I wanted to be on that side ef you was, so I stood up. Why?” + +“Well, I didn’t know,” said Mamie, embarrassedly, “I was afraid mebbe +you just did it out o’ politeness. But I’m real glad you meant it.” + +“Are you? Sure?” He looked at her searchingly by the light of the next +street lamp, and then added, “Well, I don’t mind tellin’ you ’twas you +that did it. That what you said about wearin’ a white dress got me to +thinkin’. You seem most’s if you was wearin’ it yourself since I come +home. I didn’t know but ’twas my ’magination, but when I see you get up +in meetin’, I knew it was that there white dress in the Bible you was +wearin’. I mostly made up my mind while I was out to Ohio, I wanted to +be fit to walk along side o’ you.” + +Mamie’s heart fairly stood still with a joy she had not known before and +only half understood. It was the joy of having helped another immortal +soul to find the Light. + +“I’m only just startin’ myself,” she murmured low. “I ain’t half fit for +that white dress yet, but I’m goin’ to try, an’ I’m awful glad you think +I helped you.” + +“Well, then, let’s start out together, and mebbe we can help each +other,” he said, and she murmured with downcast eyes, “All right,” as he +grasped her hand in a hearty clasp, and then helped her up the steps +into the house. + +Other young men had, on occasion, clasped Mamie’s hand in more or less +hearty grasp on the way home from places of amusement, but no hand ever +touched in her the chord of such true, healthful, honest friendship, and +purpose to do right. She felt as though she had been uplifted in some +way and yet she knew not how nor why. + +A little later Harry Knowles sat in Miss Grant’s little private +sitting-room, his head leaning on his hand, his whole attitude +indicative of deep thought. + +“I tell you, Miss Grant,” he had been saying, “it was that three-cent +girl. When I saw her stand up there all by herself, right in the middle +of a hymn, too, when no one else was rising, it made me ashamed. Here +was I who had been brought up to pray and read the Bible and know how to +be good, and had a good mother, sitting still; and that girl, who never +had any bringing up to amount to much I guess, _coming_, right away as +soon as she was asked. I can’t stand it any longer, and I wanted to talk +to somebody about it, so I came to you. I knew you would help me, and it +would seem some like having mother to tell it to. I’ve made up my mind +to be a Christian. Yes, I’ll tell the minister by and by, but I wanted +to talk to you first, and he was busy anyway. But I don’t know as I’d +ever have done it, if it hadn’t been for Mamie Williams to-night.” + +Verily the mysteries of influence in this world are great, and past +understanding, and we cannot tell if our actions may not affect the +eternal welfare of some one whom we have never seen. + +Certainly, Mamie Williams, as she sat reading her Bible that night, did +not dream that she had helped to bring Harry Knowles to Christ. + + “Hast thou not garnered many fruits + Of other’s sowing, whom thou knowest not? + Canst tell how many struggles, sufferings, tears, + All unrecorded, unremembered all, + Have gone to build up what thou hast of good?” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV. + + +Celia Murray had gone to her room and locked the door. It was just after +church, and aunt Hannah was busy in the kitchen. It was the only time +during the day when she might hope to have entire possession +undisturbed, of the room which she shared with her aunt. She could not +remember a time in her life before, when she would have cared whether +her aunt came in upon her, or came to the door and found it locked, or +not, but this time she did. She wanted to be entirely alone and face her +own heart. + +The winter had passed by on rapid feet, and they were well on into the +spring. The meetings which had been held in the little chapel had +continued for several weeks, and during that time Harry Knowles and +Mamie Williams and Bob Yates had professed publicly their faith in Jesus +Christ. The University student had taken his church letter out of its +hiding-place in his trunk and put it into Mr. Stafford’s church, and the +school-teacher had sent to his far-away home for his and both were +working hard for the salvation of others. Family worship had been +established daily in the boarding-house, not in the morning, because the +coming and going of the boarders was at such different hours that it +would scarcely have been possible to get them all together, but in the +early evening, just after the six o’clock dinner, while they still sat +about the table. No one was obliged to stay, but all chose to, unless +called away by something urgent. Mr. Stafford conducted it, and read a +very few verses and prayed. Once or twice, when he had been absent for a +day, Miss Grant had read part of a chapter, and asked Harry Knowles +once, and once the brakeman to pray, and they had each done so; +stumblingly and with few words, it is true, but Miss Hannah had been +glad and gone about her daily work feeling joy at the place in which the +Lord had set her. + +They had grown to be a very pleasant family, in spite of the various +elements of character and up-bringing which they represented. They +talked about their abiding-place as HOME, and each one felt it to be +that in the true sense of the word. Miss Grant had taken care to observe +each birthday with some little unusual festivity in the way of eatables, +and at Christmas and other holidays they made merry enough to forget, +most of them, that they were away from their own kindred. + +Mr. Stafford had grown to be a part of the household so fully that it +would have brought dismay to each one if there had been a thought of his +leaving. Even Celia had unbent, and he and she had become good comrades +in a way, though there was always a dignified barrier which Celia kept +up, which prevented his showing her any of the ordinary attentions which +young men like to show to the young women whom they admire. Having +quieted her conscience by keeping up this wall of conventionality and +excusing herself from anything of a social nature which he offered her, +she shut her eyes to consequences and enjoyed his presence in the house. +How could she do otherwise? She read the books he loaned her, and +conversed about them with him afterward, and she visited the poor and +sick for him sometimes and took them little delicacies. There had been +times, it is true, when it troubled her that she let herself enjoy his +society as much as she did, but she had been learning during the winter +months to put this aside and think no more about it. Occasionally she +prayed to be delivered from a trouble which she sometimes saw hovering +like a shadowy cloud over her own life, and looking at aunt Hannah +resolved to trust the Lord to make her what he would have her to be, +even if it must be in spite of sorrow, as he had done with her aunt. But +now a time had come when Celia must face her heart and understand +herself. If it was to be that she must come out of the ordeal bowed in +spirit, then she must face it and accept it, but she must understand +herself now. + +It had come to a sudden crisis in this way. + +Mr. Stafford had been away for nearly two weeks. A telegram had come to +him, when Miss Grant was out. Molly had taken it up to him and a little +while afterward had been surprised to see him standing in the kitchen +door, his grip and umbrella in hand, and a drawn, anxious look upon his +face. He told Molly to tell Miss Grant he had been called away by +tidings of sudden illness and did not know how long he would be gone. +They had heard nothing from him until Saturday evening of that week, +when his friend Roger Houston had called to get some church notices from +Mr. Stafford’s room to hand to the minister who was to supply the pulpit +the next day. + +It was Celia who opened the door for him and showed him to the second +story front room. With a possible view to prosecuting his petition that +she would give him a sitting some time, he lingered a moment. + +“It is very sad indeed,” he remarked to Celia, as though she knew all +about the matter. “You knew there was no hope of her life? Oh, haven’t +you heard? Well, I suppose Stafford has had his hands too full of other +things to think of writing. He gave me no particulars, only said all +hope was gone and she could linger but a few days longer at most. He +asked me to get this man to preach, and arrange everything for him. It +will be very hard for him, he depended upon her so much. There was a +peculiarly close relationship between them. He never missed writing to +her regularly and some of her letters were wonderful. He read bits of +them to me once or twice. She was a wonderful character. He will miss +her immeasurably.” + +Then Mr. Houston looked up from the papers he had selected from the +minister’s table, to the face of the girl who stood silent in the +doorway. He was wondering whether he dared venture to ask her to let him +sketch her face some time, but when he looked at her he remembered his +friend’s words, “She is not that kind of a girl,” and concluded that his +friend had been right, and it would be better not to ask her this time. +He wondered what it was about her that made it seem impossible for him +to speak to her about it, as he would to many another pretty girl just +as nice and refined as she was. He fancied as he looked again that she +was white about the mouth, but, of course, that must have been all his +fancy. + +It was not until late the next Saturday night, after all the house had +retired, that Horace Stafford returned to Philadelphia, and letting +himself quietly in with his latchkey, went to his room. They did not +know he had returned the next morning at breakfast time, for one and +another were wondering who would preach, and saying they wished their +own minister was back, that they did not know whether they cared to go +to church or not, and all those other things people will say when they +love a minister, just as if he was their God, that they went to church +to worship him, and when he was absent they had no object for worship. +He had called to Molly, as she passed through the hall early in the +morning, and asked her for a cup of coffee, and told her not to mind if +he did not come to breakfast, as he needed all his time for preparation, +having been away so long. He had gone to church early, while those who +were going out were dressing, so that it was not until she was seated in +church and saw the little study door open, and the minister walk out and +into the pulpit, that Celia knew that Horace Stafford was back with them +again. + +She had gone through many changes of feeling since the night when Roger +Houston had spoken those few commonplace words to her. She had not asked +him then what he meant, nor who it was who was lying so low, who was so +dear to Mr. Stafford. Instinctively she knew. It was the young woman of +the pictured face, so sweet and lovely, within that velvet frame. +Something had arisen in her throat while she listened, that froze the +words she would have spoken, an expression of sympathy for him, and her +heart was filled with conflicting emotions. She had dreaded Mr. +Stafford’s return. It was as if she had had her convictions verified +now, and knowing his heart was engaged she wished to put him entirely +from her thoughts. It seemed impossible though, for constantly the +surmises would come up among the boarders, why Mr. Stafford was away, +when he would return, etc. She obliged herself to repeat a few of Mr. +Houston’s sentences, a very few it is true, so few that the boarders +were left in doubt as to whether the one who was lying so low and +keeping the minister away was man, woman or child, and when Miss Burns +asked if she knew whether it was one of the family, his mother, perhaps, +Celia answered briefly, “He did not say,” and then wondered if she had +done wrong in not telling what she was so certain of, though she +silenced her conscience by saying that Mr. Stafford might not care to +have them know he was engaged at all. Then Celia had tried to fill the +week with earnest hard work. She had succeeded in persuading Dobson & +Co. to let her induct Mamie Williams into the ribbon business, with a +view to possibly succeeding her sometime in the future, and she found +that she was able to keep busy. Mamie was a tractable enough pupil, and +growing quick to appreciate the fine distinctions in manner and actions +which Celia strove to inculcate. But there was still room for +improvement, and Celia worked early and late at her chosen task, +moulding the young woman’s character as carefully and eagerly as though +she had been an artist making a model for some marvelous statue. + +“When you get her done, Celia dear, I’m afraid she will be too good for +the engineer, and I can see he wants her,” said Miss Hannah, with a +quiet smile. + +“Well, that’s all right, auntie dear,” said Celia, with a thoughtful +sigh. “He’ll make her a good husband, and I don’t believe she’ll be too +good for him. It seems to me her influence on him has been wonderful. He +seems to change as fast as she does. I never would have dreamed it last +fall.” + +“I thought so, dear. Do you remember the talk we had about him some time +ago? There is more good in most people than we suspect. You have to live +with them awhile to find it out,” said Miss Grant. + +“You mean _you_ have to live with them, auntie, and _I_ have to live +with _you_ to find out about them. I never would have found all these +boarders out in the world, if you hadn’t been here with your ‘saint’s +eyes’ to read them.” + +Miss Hannah smiled, but she watched Celia furtively and wished that she +could read _her_, and understand what made the little cloud which seemed +to settle down upon her usually bright girl and make her heavy hearted +these days. + +But to go back to church. Celia’s heart throbbed painfully when she saw +the minister walk into the pulpit. She knew by his face that his dear +one was dead. It was not that his face wore a look of bitter grief, it +was rather one of chastened exaltation. He preached a sermon about +heaven that morning that seemed as though it had been written by one who +had recently been very near to the portals, seen them open and caught +glimpses of friends, and of Jesus within. Celia forgot her heart throbs +and listened, forgetting, too, for the time who was preaching, in the +absorption of the words he spoke. She had had a struggle to keep back +the tears during the closing hymn, when they sang; + + “And with the morn those angels’ faces smile, + Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.” + +She knew why Mr. Stafford had selected it. He sat during the singing +with shaded brow and bowed head. Celia could not sing. She felt as if +she were choking. She turned as soon as the benediction was pronounced +and the solemn hush following it broken, to hide her tears by searching +for her umbrella which had rolled beneath the seat. When she rose again +and turned around, the minister was standing in the aisle beside her. He +put out his hand and clasped hers, and a light of joy lit up his face +which looked pale and worn, as he said, “I am so glad to see you again.” + +They were commonplace words. He might have used them to any member of +his congregation; yes, and with the same tone and look too, perhaps, she +told herself as she hurried excitedly homeward, but they sent a thrill +of mingled joy and sorrow through the young girl which she did not +understand and could not control. One minute she was fiercely glad, and +the next minute she was plunged in a whirl of shame and despair that it +had affected her so. And now she was locked into her room. She took off +her hat and coat and sat down, but she could not think. She could only +feel the joy, and the certainty that it was not hers. She tried to face +herself and shame herself with saying plainly to her heart, “Celia +Murray, you have fallen in love with Mr. Stafford. Yes, and you did it +when you knew he belonged to another woman. Yes, you knew it well +enough, though you wanted to pretend that maybe it was not so, because +no one had told you so. But now you love him and he _does not love you_! +He has just buried his heart, and you know you would not consider him +the noble gentleman you think he is, if he should forget that love that +was ‘so peculiarly close in its relationship.’ And you love him in the +face of that! Aren’t you ashamed! He does not love you, and he never +will, and you must not _let_ him, and oh—_what_ shall I do?”—— + +The poor girl threw herself upon her knees and begged for forgiveness +and help. She felt she had done wrong to let her heart grow interested +so easily. She tried to remember some of God’s gracious promises for +help, and to remember that he would bear her trouble for her, but her +head seemed in a whirl of excitement and she could not think +connectedly. She heard the dinner bell ring, and she rose and bathed her +face, but decided she would not go down. She wanted to be by herself. +Molly came up pretty soon and asked what was the matter. She told Molly +to tell aunt Hannah she had a headache, and would not come down now, and +then she bathed her throbbing temples and lay down to try and grow calm +before aunt Hannah should come as she felt sure she would. + +Wise aunt Hannah! She knew something was amiss! She had not watched her +girl in vain. She had seen the start and the change of color when the +minister came into the pulpit and again when he took her hand; she had +seen other things during the months which had passed. Just what the +trouble was she did not understand, and she would not ask Celia yet. If +Celia needed counsel, she felt certain she would confide in her sooner +or later. In the meantime she could pray. + +Miss Hannah did not go up to her room for some time. Instead, she +arranged a dainty tray with a tempting little lunch and a fragrant cup +of tea. Under the corner of the napkin she had slipped a little note +which was merely a scrap of poetry with the penciled words above it, +“Dear child;” written hastily. It read: + + “Dear child: + + “‘God’s plans for thee are graciously unfolding, + And leaf by leaf they blossom perfectly, + As yon fair rose from its soft enfolding, + In marvelous beauty opens fragrantly. + Oh, wait in patience for thy dear Lord’s coming, + For sure deliverance he’ll bring to thee; + Then, how thou shalt rejoice at the fair dawning + Of that sweet morn which ends thy long captivity.’” + +Then she laid beside it a lovely rosebud which Harry Knowles had brought +her the night before, and sent the tray up by Molly. She herself went to +the third story, and read to Mrs. Belden nearly all the afternoon. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV. + + +Celia aroused herself from her unhappiness in time to hurry to her +Sunday-school class. She purposely went late that she might not be +obliged to walk with any one, and she intended to hurry home before any +of the others from their house had left the chapel, but it so happened +that one of her scholars had a sad tale to tell her of trouble and need, +and she was obliged to linger and get the particulars. There was an +address to be taken down and several items of information she would need +in helping him to find work. When this was done and she glanced +hurriedly round to see if the others were gone, she saw that one of her +boys was lingering with an embarrassed expression, half smiling, half +doubtful, as though he might wish to speak a word with her. Something +told her that this heart was ready for a quiet personal word and here +was the time. The other boarders were gone, the minister with hat in +hand was standing by the front door talking with a man. He was evidently +about to go also. There were one or two groups in earnest conversation, +a teacher with two of her class, three women in a corner, and a young +man and a young girl talking. “Ben,” she said, “can you sit down and +talk with me a few minutes?” + +The hunger for souls was awakened within the young teacher. Her own +heart’s unrest and sadness made her long to plunge into some other +interest. She put her whole soul into the words she spoke, and the young +man listened intently. There was no doubt but that she had reached his +heart and that he was on the point of yielding to the Holy Spirit. Celia +prayed as she talked and forgot herself, forgot everything but her +desire for this soul’s salvation. She listened to his hesitating, low +words in answer to her earnestly put questions with bated breath. She +could almost hear her own heart beat while she waited for his final +decision, as he sat minute after minute thoughtfully looking down at the +toe of his rough, unblackened shoe and trying to fit it between two +nails in the floor, where the boards were somewhat worn away by the many +feet that tramped over them. + +The decision was made at last, and the boy, with a furtive glance around +him, drew his coat sleeve hurriedly across his eyes as he strode out of +the room after having murmured an incoherent good-bye. + +Celia stooped to pick up her rubbers which lay under the seat, and then +looked about the deserted room. The sexton was doing something to a +refractory window, which refused to go up and down right. He was used to +busying himself while lingerers kept the church open. Celia thought +everybody else was gone, till, as she neared the door, the minister +arose from one of the back seats and came toward her. + +“Would you mind sitting down a few minutes longer?” he said. “I want to +tell you something, and it seems to me that I can tell it better here +than anywhere else.” + +Celia felt her heart throbbing and her knees suddenly grew weak, so that +she sat down more because she felt she could not stand without tottering +than because Mr. Stafford had asked her to do so. The day had been an +exciting one for her, and her emotions had been stirred to their depths +by the wonderful talk she had just had with the boy Ben. What could be +coming now? She could not understand, and yet she felt in some way that +it would have to do with the things which had been hurting her so all +day, and would probably hurt her more. She passed her hand across her +forehead wearily, and tried to brace herself to bear whatever might be +said. Perhaps he would ask for sympathy in his sorrow, and how could she +give it? She sent up a swift prayer for help. + +Mr. Stafford must have seen the weary expression and the piteous baffled +look in her face, for a troubled one came over his own, as he took his +seat in a chair near her, and asked, anxiously, + +“Are you too tired just now? Perhaps I ought to wait. I know you have +been working hard, and your work is telling, too, I could see by that +boy’s face as he went out, that he will be a different fellow from this +time forth. Now, if you would rather go right home, please say so.” + +But there was a note in his voice of longing to be heard now, that made +Celia push aside her desire to slip out of it on the plea of weariness +and assert, a little coolly perhaps, that she could hear him now just as +well as to wait. + +Her manner made his heart sink, but he began what he had to say with a +frank, “Well, then I’ll try not to keep you long. + +“Miss Celia,” it was the first time he had ever called her that, though +several of the other boarders had adopted it from hearing Molly +Poppleton address her in that way, “I do not know whether or not you +know that I have been passing through deep waters during the past week; +I have been by the deathbed and then by the grave of one who was very +dear to me. I felt as though I wanted to tell you about her, not only +because I need the sympathy which I know you can give, but because she +knew all about you and your work, and was deeply interested in you.” + +If Mr. Stafford had not been looking down and struggling to control his +voice, so that it would be steady and without the deep emotion he felt, +he would have noticed that Celia’s face grew swiftly white. It was worse +then than she had feared. Not only was she asked to give sympathy, but +this other woman had known all about her. They had talked her over +together. Why this should seem so dreadful to the girl she could not +quite understand, but at the time it seemed more than she could bear. It +was well Mr. Stafford did not pause for a reply, for Celia would have +been incapable of giving any just then. + +“She had been ill for a long time,” he went on, his voice breaking a +little, “we knew she could not stay with us much longer, and yet, you +will understand that it was hard to part with her.” + +He told in a few words of her beautiful life of sweet patience and +cheerfulness in the face of pain that had endured for years, till Celia +felt ashamed of her selfish jealousy, and longed to shut herself away +from sight that she might cry in quiet. The great tears filled her eyes +and fell unheeded on her hands. She felt herself the meanest and +smallest of mortals, and this other one beautiful and good and bright +enough to be, as she was, with the angels. And yet her heart was very +miserable. She longed to speak a word of sympathy, but knew that she +could not, and blamed herself for it. + +“I want to show you her face,” he said, putting his hand in his breast +pocket and bringing out a little velvet case, which Celia knew even +through her blinding tears. He opened and placed it in her hands, the +lovely face with its velvet-blue eyes looking into hers, as he said, +“She was my only sister, you know, and she was _so good_ to me.” Then +the strong man bowed his head on his hand and covered his eyes. + +He did not see Celia start, as he said this, but he heard the difference +in her startled exclamation, + +“Your sister? Why! I thought!”—and then she stopped, and when he looked +up, as he did at once, her face had changed from white to rosy red. + +He looked at her face, lovely behind its tears and blushes, and read the +dawning sympathy, and was glad, even in his sorrow. + +“You thought what,—may I know?” + +“Why, I—” said Celia, embarrassed and hesitating, blushing deeply, +“I—I did not know you had only one sister!” she finished, desperately. + +“But what was it you thought? May I not know?” he asked again, with a +searching look at her face. + +“No,” said Celia, dropping her eyes to the picture, and trying to hide +her embarrassment by wiping away the tears with her handkerchief. + +“Then may I tell you and you will say whether I am right?” asked the +minister, a daring light coming into his eyes. “You thought that she was +some one even nearer, and dearer than a sister?” + +He looked at her long and earnestly and seemed to be satisfied with the +answer of her mute, drooped face. + +“Oh, Celia, did you not know that you were the only one who ever had or +would occupy that place in my heart? Have you not seen that I love you? +Don’t you know it? and don’t you care, just a little, Celia?” + +The front chapel door stood open, and the afternoon spring sunshine was +flickering fitfully across the floor. They could see the people on the +street passing, loitering and talking, some looking curiously in as they +passed, but none seeming to notice them. Celia felt it all as she sat +dumb in the midst of a whirl of joy and sorrow and shame, and she knew +not what else. She could not answer. She could not look up. The +minister’s eyes were upon her, and she felt what the look in them would +be, and knew she could not bear the joy of seeing it. The silence was +long and could fairly be heard. The sexton who was growing hungry, came +back from the little alcove where the primary class was held and where +he had been straightening the chairs for the evening service and +distributing hymn books. He drew quite near to them now, and slammed +books and put down windows significantly. Celia, feeling that she must +say something, murmured low, still with downcast eyes, “How should I +know it?” + +The minister laughed and then grew grave. “That is true,” he said, “I +never could tell you, because you would not let me. But _she_ knew it, +and she was glad of it, and loved you, and left her blessing for you.” +Then he turned suddenly to the sexton, a new tone in his voice. There +was something about Celia that no longer discouraged him. + +“Thomas,” he said, “I am going now. Will you kindly see if I left my +Bible in the primary room?” + +Thomas went with alacrity to search the primary room. + +The minister watched the sexton until he had disappeared, and then he +stooped swiftly and picked up Celia’s gloves which had fallen unheeded +to the floor. As he handed them to her he reverently touched his lips to +one of her little, cold, ungloved hands. She lifted her face for a +moment, and in that moment he got his answer from her eyes. + +The sexton was coming back without the Bible, which the minister +suddenly discovered to have been lying on the floor under his chair all +the time, and the two stood decorously apart, Celia trying to keep her +cheeks from growing redder, as she walked to the open door and looked +out into the glad spring sunshine, gladder than any sunshine her eyes +had ever looked upon before. + +Some little child, perhaps, had dropped a flower upon the steps, and as +she stood waiting for the minister, she saw it. It was then she +remembered the rose on her lunch tray and its sweet message of hope + + “God’s plans for thee are graciously unfolding, + And leaf by leaf they blossom perfectly.” + +Her heart thrilled over the joy that this had come true, while she +realized that her happiness was yet only in the bud, and she could see +the promise of the day-by-day opening of it for her. Oh, why had she +been doubting? Why could she not trust him perfectly? She lifted her +heart in one swift breath of penitence and thanksgiving. She felt in +that first gush of joy that she would never doubt her Lord again. + +Then she turned to walk down the glorified street and gaze on the +familiar surroundings under a halo of joy. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI. + + +It was noon and it was June, and there was to be a wedding in Mrs. +Morris’ boarding-house that was. It was not _the_ wedding, that is the +wedding nearest and dearest to aunt Hannah’s heart; _that_ was to be +later, and in the new chapel, and about it most of the boarders had not +even heard, as yet. Later, when they knew, the bridegroom of the first +wedding said it was a pity they had not fixed things up sooner, so they +could have had a double wedding; that would have been “real nice,” and +Celia and Horace Stafford had looked meaningly at one another, and never +hinted that such an arrangement would have been other than entirely +satisfactory to them, provided “things had been fixed up” in time. They +had their little quiet laugh over it, of course, and kept their secret. + +Meantime, the present wedding was a source of deep interest to every +member of the household. Each one contributed something to the general +plans. The parlor, that used to be so dismal was itself in bridal array. +The organ at the further end was literally smothered in palms. The palms +and flowers were Mr. Roger Houston’s contribution. He was not a boarder, +but he had become a frequent visitor at the house, and seemed to be as +much interested as any one in the event. But the arrangement of the +palms was Celia’s, and Celia was to sit behind them and play the wedding +march in the softest, sweetest tones she could coax from the old organ. +They made a lovely background for the bride and groom, and they +completely hid the organ and the player. Under the mantelpiece and above +it, where used to hang the crayoned visage of the deceased Mr. Morris, +were more palms; and the imitation-marble mantelpiece, which Celia +always said looked as mottled as though it were made of slices of +Bologna sausage, was covered with a bank of lovely roses, white and pink +and yellow and crimson. If the wedding had been Celia’s, she would have +preferred to have the roses all white, but the bride in this case was +extravagantly fond of color, and had declared herself in favor of “lots +of roses all colors” so longingly, that Roger Houston said “Let’s please +her for once if she wants _green_ roses, even if the white would be +better taste, Miss Murray. It’s her first wedding, you know, and after +all a rose is a rose.” + +But the colors were arranged with Celia’s own skill, and no two colors +dared but harmonize. + +Out in the dining-room the long white table was dressed in trailing +vines of smilax, and roses; and the largest and most orthodox wedding +cake that could be procured occupied the place of honor. All about it +were evidences of Molly Poppleton’s art, and everything spoke of +readiness for the ceremony to begin. + +Up in her room the bride was being arrayed. The dress was a simple white +muslin plainly made, but she was to wear a veil. It would perhaps have +been more sensible to have worn a traveling dress, as she was to go away +at once, but Mamie (for of course you know the bride was Mamie Williams, +and the groom Bob Yates) had always cried and said she shouldn’t feel +that she was really married if she didn’t wear white, when Miss Grant +counseled economy and good sense. Seeing her heart so set they did not +try to persuade her, but managed to change her purpose of purchasing a +flimsy white silk which would never be of any use to her afterward, and +persuaded her to take instead this simple white lawn. She had demurred, +but finally consented. She was never wholly reconciled to the change, +however, but was somewhat consoled by the fact that it was white and she +was to have a veil. + +Celia herself dressed her hair and arranged the soft folds of the veil, +and kissed her, and told aunt Hannah afterward that Mamie Williams was +really lovely in her pretty array. Miss Hannah thought so too as she +came up to give the girl a few last words, as her mother might have +done, perhaps, had she been there. She found Mamie standing by her +bureau with her open Bible before her. Miss Grant did not know that the +white vision of herself in the glass had prompted her to turn to that +first Bible verse of hers and read it over again, “And to her was +granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean and white; for +the fine linen is the righteousness of the saints.” Nor could she know +that the softened, glorified look on her face came from the thought in +her heart that now, perhaps, even she might one day wear that pure +heavenly dress of clean white linen, the garment of Christ’s own +righteousness. + +Bob Yates had saved up a nice little sum, and now there was waiting for +them, not many blocks away, a new, neat house of four or five rooms, as +daintily furnished as a bird’s nest. There Mamie was to put in practice +the culinary arts she had learned from Miss Grant and Molly Poppleton, +and to entertain her friends, and some of the young girls with whom she +had grown intimate during her time of selling ribbons with Dobson and +Co., for she had attained to that and taken Celia’s place, and now in +turn was to give it up to a young girl from the minister’s Sunday-school +class. + +And they were to take a real wedding trip, too, like all the girls in +the stories Mamie had read, in the days when she used to fancy Mr. +Harold Adams held the key for her of all such delights. They were going +to Atlantic City to a hotel for a whole delightful week, and then they +were going to see Mamie’s mother, and all her little brothers and +sisters, and her gruff, hard-working father. After that Bob Yates would +take his bride to visit his married brother and sister out in +Indiana—the far West, Mamie called it—and then they would come back to +their little house and their new furniture, and their dear church and +their respective Sunday-school classes. It was all very beautiful, and +Mamie felt very happy and all the boarders felt happy for her. She went +back in memory to the time when Mrs. Morris was there, and felt, rather +than thought, how different her life was now, and in fact how different +everything was, and thanked God for the change. She thought of Carrie +Simmons with a pang, and wished that she could have done something for +her. Perhaps, if Miss Grant had come sooner Carrie might have been +saved. Mamie had so far forgotten her old pride that she actually felt a +little glad that Carrie could not look in from all her own sorrow and +misfortune and shame and misery, in which she had heard she dwelt, and +see her own joy and happy surroundings. + +Miss Grant had gone down to the kitchen to watch things while Molly +Poppleton got on her best gown for the ceremony, and everything was +progressing toward the last exciting minute, when the doorbell rang. The +second girl who was setting chairs in the dining-room in the best +possible way to economize room, went quietly to the door, her neat blue +and white striped gingham and white waitress-apron and cap making a +decided contrast to the slatternly Maggie who used to answer the door in +Mrs. Morris’ time. + +The large oldish-looking woman, and the tall, grizzled man, unmistakably +a farmer, who stood together on the step stared at the girl when the +door was opened, in undisguised amazement. + +“Why!” said the woman at last, looking up at the number over the door as +if mistaken in her whereabouts, “isn’t this,—at least—isn’t this a +boarding-house?” + +“Yes, it is,” responded the maid, “won’t you walk in? Miss Grant is busy +just now, that is she will be in a minute, but I guess she can see you +first. Did you want to get board?” + +She had ushered them into the bedecked parlor, which happened at the +moment to be entirely uninhabited, as the boarders were all in their +rooms donning their gala attire. + +But she saw that they had evidently not heard her question, so telling +them to be seated, she went for Miss Grant. + +The strangers, however, did not sit down. Instead, they stood staring +around. + +“For the land sake!” ejaculated the woman at last, looking around her +more and more bewildered. + +“Wal, it’s pretty nice, ’pon honor, M’ria, I wonder now you ever give it +up fer an ole fellow like me,” and he looked at her quizzically. + +But the look was lost this time. She was taking in the familiar pattern +of the carpet, which somehow looked strangely bright, and noting all +things new and old about the room. + +Then came Miss Grant with her soft grey cashmere, made more lovely by +the cloud of white tulle she wore about her neck, which seemed to blend +so tenderly with the creamy white of her hair. + +She stood a moment looking doubtfully at the visitors, seeing something +familiar about the woman’s face, but for an instant not recognizing her. + +“Miss Grant, don’t you know me? I’m Mrs. Morris—leastways that used to +be me name. I’m Mrs. Sparks now. I married out there in Ohio, and I’m +real comfortably fixed. He”—nodding her head toward the man—“has a +farm and a nice house, and owns several houses in the town besides. But +I couldn’t rest comfortably noways, a-thinkin’ of you an’ the hole I +left you in, an’ at last me husband found out what was the matter, an’ +he just brought me on to see how you was gettin’ along, and to say he’d +help you out of it, if you got badly stuck and pay some of the bills I +left behind me, but when we got here everything looked so kind of +different, somehow I couldn’t think ’twas me own house. You don’t look +as if you was hard up. What’s the meanin’ of it all ennyway, an’ what’s +goin’ on? Are you expectin’ company?” + +Miss Grant’s face shone with welcome and her greeting was cordial, even +in the midst of this busy time. + +“We’re going to have a wedding in half an hour,” she said, “and you’re +just in time. They will both be delighted to have you here for they are +two of your old boarders. And you can relieve your mind about me, for +I’m not in any hole at all, and coming here was the best thing that ever +happened to me in some ways. I’m grateful to you for giving me a full +fledged boarding-house. I find every month that I am getting on a little +more financially. It isn’t great riches, but it is sure.” + +“A wedding! For the land sake!” said Mrs. Morris-Sparks, sententiously. + +After Miss Grant had excused herself in haste, to answer a call from +Molly, the guest called after her. + +“It must be that nice niece of yours, Miss Murray, but I didn’t never +think she’d take Bob Yates, she used to be so awful stiff with him, but +land alive, you never can tell!” + +Miss Grant smiled to herself as she hurried down the hall. She would not +explain now, as the visitor would soon see for herself. + +That evening, after all the guests were gone, and the bridal pair had +departed, Miss Grant took Mrs. Morris-Sparks, and slipping out the front +door, let her in by a latchkey to the adjoining house which had for +months been closed, with a “For Rent” sign in the window. This however +had disappeared. She carefully locked the door behind her, and turning +up the gas, pointed out the place where wide double doors had been +roughly drafted on the wall between the two houses. She also enlarged +upon some other improvements, among them a wide bay window to be added +in both first and second stories of the front of the house. Then she +took her upstairs, and showed a suite of rooms beautifully furnished, +and told the story of how the minister had bought this house and +furnished these rooms for himself and Celia, and that the houses were to +be connected, and the remainder of the room used to enlarge the +boarding-house, in which scheme their hearts were deeply interested. She +told her, too, how with careful looking to the little details she had +been enabled not only to make both ends meet, but to have a trifle over, +and how she hoped in the coming year with the enlargements and her +present experience actually to make it a paying business. + +And Mrs. Morris-Sparks looked and listened, and shook her head, but all +she could say was, “For the land sake! Who would ’a’ thought it!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII. + + +Hiram and Nettie Bartlett had been talking a good deal lately about +running down to Philadelphia to see aunt Hannah and Celia. Hiram was +feeling that a little ready money in his business would enable him to +get through a hard time which he saw ahead. Nettie was missing aunt +Hannah dreadfully, as the hot days grew longer. They had decided that it +would be a good thing to forget and forgive, and open their home and as +much of their hearts as was necessary to their relatives. Aunt Hannah +would manage the kitchen, and Celia would manage the children, and Hiram +would manage Celia’s money. Having decided matters thus, and made some +changes in the arrangements of the rooms, to suit the new order of +things, they began to feel very sure that it was to be. Of course aunt +Hannah and Celia were thoroughly tired of living in a boarding-house by +this time, and would welcome the change, and they had but to speak the +word and they would fly back to Cloverdale. But before they came, it +would be a pleasant change to take the children to Philadelphia for a +visit. + +No sooner had they decided this than Nettie wrote to aunt Hannah. + +The letter reached Philadelphia in the midst of plans for Celia’s +wedding. They read it together, Celia and aunt Hannah, and looked at one +another in dismay. Somehow, in the joy of the life they were living, +they had forgotten to write Nettie anything about Celia’s proposed +marriage. Perhaps it was but natural, as Nettie very seldom answered +aunt Hannah’s long letters, which had been written at regular intervals +at first, until she began to feel that they were not desired. But now +they both felt that Nettie must be invited. + +Celia summoned all the cousinly feeling she had ever possessed for +Nettie, and wrote her a nice letter, putting into it a little touch of +her sweet girlish joy over the happiness that had come to her. She +finished with a cordial invitation to them all to come on, though the +addition to the family at this time would be extremely inconvenient. + +Celia did fret a little over their coming. Hiram would be disagreeable +and Nettie would want to manage everything, and the children would be +always about when they were not wanted. + +She was sitting one evening thinking about it, with brow knit in +troubled thought, when Mr. Stafford came in. He watched her a moment, +and then taking both his hands he placed them over her ruffled brow and +smoothed the wrinkles out. Then he bent and kissed her forehead fondly. + +“What is the matter, dearest?” he said. “I mean to make it my business +always to keep that troubled look away from your dear face.” + +“Oh, Horace! How can I help it? I have tried and tried, but I do not +seem to be able to conquer the habit. Indeed, I am ashamed of it. Can +you not tell me how I can conquer it?” + +“Only by casting all your care upon him, who careth for you. Listen, +Celia, have you ever heard this? + + “‘Wherefore should we do ourselves this wrong, + Or others, that we are not always strong; + That we are ever overborne with care, + That we should ever weak or heartless be, + Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer, + And joy and strength and courage are with thee?’” + +Then Celia opened her heart to him and told him the story of her winter, +beginning with her birthday and the little bookmark aunt Hannah had +sent. + +“And I thought then, Horace,” she went on, “after that money came to me, +my ‘daily rate’ for ‘all the days of my life,’ that I would never doubt +any more because I had money, and with that I would be able to relieve +most of the other anxieties. But I found it wasn’t so. I began to fret +about other things, and then after I got money, I wanted love, and now I +have that, I find I’m still fretting.” + +“It’s because you don’t remember that it’s ‘for every day,’ dear, and +that means for every need of every day. You trust for one set of things, +but you think you have to worry along and look out for another set. Here +is a quaint old poem I came across the other day that I cut out and put +in my pocketbook to read to you some time. It fits in right here, let me +read it, + + “‘I have a never-failing bank, + My more than golden store; + No earthly bank is half so rich, + How, then, can I be poor? + + “‘’Tis when my stock is spent and gone, + And I not worth a groat; + I’m glad to hasten to my bank, + And beg a little note. + + “‘Sometimes my banker smiling says, + Why don’t you oftener come? + And when you draw a little note, + Why not a larger sum? + + “‘Why live so niggardly and poor, + My bank contains a plenty; + Why come and take a one-pound note, + When you can have a twenty? + + “‘Nay, twenty thousand ten times told + Is but a trifling sum, + To what my Father has laid up + For me in God the Son. + + “‘Since, then, my banker is so rich, + I have no need to borrow, + But live upon my notes to-day, + And draw again to-morrow.’” + +Nettie Bartlett settled herself for the homeward trip from Philadelphia +with a discontented look. She slapped Johnnie when he went to get a +drink—which he did the first fifteen minutes of the journey—because he +stepped on her toes. She jerked the baby up who was endeavoring to pick +a piece of orange peel out of a pool of tobacco juice on the floor, and +then settled into her discontented silence again. She was thinking about +the fall sewing and house cleaning, and the endless darning and baking +and cleaning, with no aunt Hannah to fall back upon. Occasionally, she +reflected upon the bride’s pretty dress, or had visions of Celia in her +cloud-like veil looking up with happy eyes into her husband’s face, and +a half jealous feeling shot through her heart. She knew how Celia felt, +or thought she did. She had felt so herself, but of course all such +nonsense was passed. She looked gloomily across at Hiram, who was +staring stolidly out of the window, with his inevitable newspaper lying +across his knees. Then she curled her lip and told herself that Celia +would soon have the sentiment taken out of her by the prose of everyday +life. + +“You made a great mistake by not cultivating that +minister-cousin-in-law, Nettie,” remarked Hiram, snappily. “I talked to +him every chance I got, but it takes women and compliments and that sort +of thing to work on men, and especially ministers, I guess. You ought to +have invited them to our house for part of their wedding trip. I’m dead +certain he’s rich. Did you see all that furniture he’s fixed out for +Celia? He’ll spoil her the first thing off.” + +“You made a great mistake yourself, when you let aunt Hannah, and Celia, +too, go away from our house, and you can’t ever undo it. Yes, I saw the +furniture, but his mother sent it, for Celia said so. We might have had +a few blessings, and our children would have been brought up right, if +aunt Hannah had been with us. She always brings a blessing wherever she +goes, and we’ve had nothing but ill-luck since she left us,” and Nettie +put her handkerchief to her eyes and wept while the train sped rapidly +through the darkness. + + * * * * * + +Some weeks later, Celia seated in the pleasant study of the suite of +rooms which were her new home, and yet her old home, engaged in the +delightful task of classifying and placing in a cabinet the various +clippings which her minister husband had gathered about him during his +bachelor years, came upon this poem. She paused to read it and smiled +with a little echo of the peace it spoke in her heart, and bent her head +to thank her Father it was true. + + “The child leans on its parent’s breast, + Leaves there its cares and is at rest; + The bird sits singing by his nest, + And tells aloud + His trust in God, and so is blest + ’Neath every cloud. + He has no store, he sows no seed; + Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed; + By flowing stream or grassy mead, + He sings to shame + Men, who forget, in fear of need, + A Father’s name. + The heart that trusts forever sings, + And feels as light as it had wings; + A well of peace within it springs; + Come good or ill, + Whate’er to-day, to-morrow brings, + It is his will.” + + + + + TRANSCRIBER NOTES + +Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple +spellings occur, majority use has been employed. + +Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors +occur. + + [The end of _A Daily Rate_ by Grace Livingston Hill] + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78992 *** |