 17. The next day she went down to the news office to see Edward Norman and arrange the details of her part in the establishment of the paper on its new foundation. Mr. Maxwell was present at this conference, and the three agreed that whatever Jesus would do in detail as editor of a daily paper, he would be guided by the same spiritual principles that directed his conduct as the savior of the world. I have tried to put down here in concrete form some of the things that it has seemed to me Jesus would do," said Edward Norman. He read from a paper line on its desk, and Maxwell was reminded again of his own effort to put into written form his own conception of Jesus' probable action, and also of Milton Wright's same attempt in his business. I have headed this, what would Jesus do as Edward Norman, editor of a daily newspaper, in Raymond? 1. He would never allow a sentence or a picture in his paper that could be called bad or coarse or impure in any way. 2. He would probably conduct the political part of the paper from the standpoint of nonpartisan patriotism, always looking upon all political questions in the light of their relation to the kingdom of God, and advocating measures from the standpoint of their relation to the welfare of the people, always on the basis of what is right, never on the basis of what is for the best interests of this or that party. In other words, he would treat all political questions as he would treat every other subject from the standpoint of the advancement of the kingdom of God on earth. Edward Norman looked up from the reading a moment. You understand, that is my opinion of Jesus' probable action on political matters in a daily paper. I am not passing judgment on other newspaper men who may have a different conception of Jesus' probable action from mine. I am simply trying to answer honestly what would Jesus do as Edward Norman, and the answer I find is what I have put down. 3. The end name of a daily paper conducted by Jesus would be to do the will of God. That is, his main purpose in carrying on a newspaper would not be to make money or gain political influence. But his first and ruling purpose would be to so conduct his paper that it would be evident to all his subscribers that he was trying to seek first the kingdom of God by means of his paper. This purpose would be as distinct and unquestioned as the purpose of a minister or a missionary or any unselfish martyr in Christian work anywhere. 4. All questionable advertisements would be impossible. 5. The relations of Jesus to the employees on the paper would be of the most loving character. So far, as I have gone, said Norman again looking up, I am of opinion that Jesus would employ practically some form of cooperation that would represent the idea of a mutual interest in a business where all were to move together for the same great end. I am working out such a plan, and I am confident it will be successful. At any rate, once introduced the element of personal love into a business like this, take out the selfish principle of doing it for personal profits to a man or company, and I do not see any way except the most loving personal interest between editors, reporters, pressmen, and all who contribute anything to the life of the paper. And that interest would be expressed not only in the personal love and sympathy, but in a sharing with the profits of the business. 6. As editor of a daily paper today, Jesus would give large space to the work of the Christian world. He would devote a page, possibly, to the facts of reform, of sociological problems, of institutional church work, and similar movements. 7. He would do all in his power in his paper to fight the saloon as an enemy of the human race, and an unnecessary part of our civilization. He would do this regardless of public sentiment in the matter, and of course always regardless of its effect upon his subscription list. Again, Edward Norman looked up. I state my honest conviction on this point. Of course I do not pass judgment on the Christian men who are editing other kinds of papers today, but as I interpret Jesus, I believe he would use the influence of his paper to remove the saloon entirely from the political and social life of the nation. 8. Jesus would not issue a Sunday edition. 9. He would print the news of the world that people ought to know. Among the things they do not need to know, and which would not be published, would be accounts of brutal prize fights, long accounts of crimes, scandals, and private families, or any other human events which in any way would conflict with the first point mentioned in this outline. 10. If Jesus had the amount of money to use on a paper which we have, he would probably secure the best and strongest Christian men and women to cooperate with him in the matter of contributions. That will be my purpose, as I shall be able to show you in a few days. 11. Whatever the details of the paper might demand, as the paper developed along its definite plan, the main principle that guided it would always be the establishment of the Kingdom of God in the world. This large general principle would necessarily shape all the detail. Edward Norman finished reading the plan. He was very thoughtful. 12. I have merely sketched a faint outline. I have a hundred ideas for making the paper powerful that I have not thought out fully as yet. This is simply suggestive. I have talked it over with other newspaper men. Some of them say I will have a weak, namby-pamby Sunday school sheet. If I get out something as good as a Sunday school, it will be pretty good. Why do men, when they want to characterize something as particularly feeble, always use a Sunday school as a comparison when they ought to know that the Sunday school is one of the strongest, most powerful influences in our civilization in this country today? But the paper will not necessarily be weak because it is good. Good things are more powerful than bad. The question with me is largely one of support from the Christian people of Raymond. There are over twenty thousand church members here in this city. If half of them will stand by the news, its life is assured. What do you think, Maxwell, of the probability of such support? I don't know enough about it to give an intelligent answer. I believe in the paper with all my heart. If it lives a year, as Miss Virginia said, there is no telling what it can do. The great thing will be to issue such a paper, as near as we can judge, as Jesus probably would, and put into it all the elements of Christian brains, strength, intelligence, and sense, and command respect for freedom from bigotry, fanaticism, narrowness, and anything else that is contrary to the spirit of Jesus. Such a paper will call for the best that human thought and action is capable of giving. The greatest minds in the world would have their powers taxed to the utmost to issue a Christian daily. Yes, Edward Norman spoke humbly. I shall make a great many mistakes, no doubt. I need a great deal of wisdom. But I want to do as Jesus would. What would he do? I have asked it, and shall continue to do so, and abide by the results. I think we are beginning to understand, said Virginia. The meaning of that command grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I am sure I do not know all that he would do in detail until I know him better. That is very true, said Henry Maxwell. I am beginning to understand that I cannot interpret the probable action of Jesus until I know better what his spirit is. The greatest question in all of human life is summed up when we ask, what would Jesus do? If, as we ask it, we also try to answer it from a growth and knowledge of Jesus himself, we must know Jesus before we can imitate him. When the arrangement had been made between Virginia and Edward Norman, he found himself in possession of the sum of $500,000 to use for the establishment of a Christian daily paper. When Virginia and Maxwell had gone, Norman closed his door, and, along with the Divine Presence, asked like a child for help from his all-powerful Father. All through his prayer as he kneeled before his desk ran the promise, if any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God who giveth to all men liberally an uprighteth not, and it shall be given him. Surely his prayer would be answered, and the kingdom advanced through this instrument of God's power, this mighty press, which had become so largely degraded to the base uses of man's avarice and ambition. Two months went by, they were full of action and of results in the city of Raymond and especially in the First Church. In spite of the approaching heat of the summer season, the after-meeting of the disciples who had made the pledge to do as Jesus would do, continued with enthusiasm and power. Gray had finished his work at the rectangle, and an outward observer going through the place could not have seen any difference in the old conditions, although there was an actual change in hundreds of lives. But the saloons, dens, hobbles, gambling-houses still ran, overflowing their vileness into the lives of fresh victims to take the place of those rescued by the evangelist, and the devil recruited his ranks very fast. Henry Maxwell did not go abroad. Instead of that, he took the money he had been saving for the trip, and quietly arranged for a summer vacation for a whole family living down in the rectangle who had never gone outside of the foul district of the tenements. The pastor of the First Church will never forget the week he spent with this family making the arrangements. He went down into the rectangle one hot day when something of the terrible heat in the horrible tenements was beginning to be felt, and helped the family to the station, and then went with them to a beautiful spot on the coast where, in the home of a Christian woman, the bewildered city tenants breathed for the first time in years the cool salt air, and felt blow about them the pine-scented fragrance of a new lease of life. There was a sickly babe with the mother, and three other children, one a cripple. The father, who had been out of work until he had been, as he afterwards confessed to Maxwell several times on the edge of suicide, sat with the baby in his arms during the journey, and when Maxwell started back to Raymond, after seeing the family settled, the man held his hand at parting, and choked with his utterance and finally broke down to Maxwell's great confusion. The mother, a wearied, worn-out woman who had lost three children the year before from a fever scourge in the rectangle, sat by the car window all the way and drank in the delights of sea and sky and field. It all seemed a miracle to her. And Maxwell, coming back into Raymond at the end of that week, feeling the scorching, sickening heat all the more because of his little taste of the ocean breezes, thanked God for the joy he had witnessed, and entered upon his discipleship with a humble heart. Knowing, for almost the first time in his life, this special kind of sacrifice. For never before had he denied himself his regular summer trip away from the heat of Raymond, whether he felt in any great need of rest or not. It is a fact, he said, and replied to several inquiries on the part of his church, I do not feel in need of a vacation this year. I am very well, and prefer to stay here. It was with a feeling of relief that he succeeded in concealing from everyone but his wife what he had done with this other family. He felt the need of doing anything of that sort without display or approval from others. So the summer came on and Maxwell grew into a large knowledge of his Lord. The first church was still swayed by the power of the Spirit. Maxwell marveled at the continuance of his stay. He knew very well that from the beginning nothing but the Spirit's presence had kept the church from being torn asunder by the remarkable testing it had received of its discipleship. Even now there were many of the members among those who had not taken the pledge, who regarded the whole movement as Mrs. Winslow did, in the nature of a fanatical interpretation of Christian duty, and looked for the return of the old normal condition. Meanwhile the whole body of disciples was under the influence of the Spirit, and the pastor went his way that summer, doing his parish work in great joy, keeping up his meetings with the railroadmen as he had promised Alexander powers, and daily growing into a better knowledge of the Master. Early one afternoon in August after a day of refreshing coolness following a long period of heat, Jasper Chase walked to his window in the apartment house on the avenue, and looked out. On his desk lay a pile of manuscript. Since that evening when he had spoken to Rachel Winslow he had not met her. His singularly sensitive nature, sensitive to the point of extreme irritability when he was thwarted, served to thrust him into an isolation that was intensified by his habits as an author. All through the heat of summer he had been writing. His book was nearly done now. He had thrown himself into its construction with a feverish strength that threatened at any moment to desert him and leave him helpless. He had not forgotten his pledge made with the other Church members at the First Church. It had forced itself upon his notice all through his writing, and ever since Rachel had said no to him he had asked a thousand times, Would Jesus do this? Would he write this story? It was a social novel written in a style that had proved popular. It had no purpose except to amuse. Its moral teaching was not bad, but neither was it Christian in any positive way. Jasper Chase knew that such a story would probably sell. He was conscious of powers in this way that the social world petted and admired. What would Jesus do? He felt that Jesus would never write such a book. The question up-trooted on him at the most inopportune times. He became irascible over it. The standard of Jesus for an author was too ideal. Of course Jesus would use his powers to produce something useful or helpful, or with a purpose. What was he Jasper Chase writing this novel for? Why? What nearly every writer wrote for money, money, and fame as a writer? There was no secret with him that he was writing this new story with that object. He was not poor, and so had no great temptation to write for money, but he was urged on by his desire for fame as much as anything. He must write this kind of matter. But what would Jesus do? The question plagued him even more than Rachel's refusal. Was he going to break his promise? Did the promise mean much after all, he asked? As he stood at the window, Roland Page came out of the clubhouse just opposite. Jasper noted his handsome face and noble figure as he started down the street. He went back to his desk and turned over some papers there. Then he came back to the window. Roland was walking down past the block, and Rachel Winslow was walking beside him. Roland must have overtaken her as she was coming from Virginia that afternoon. Jasper watched the two figures until they disappeared in the crowd on the walk. Then he turned to his desk and began to write. When he had finished the last page of the last chapter of his book it was nearly dark. What would Jesus do? He had finally answered the question by denying his Lord. It grew darker in his room. He had deliberately chosen his course, urged on by his disappointment and loss. CHAPTER XVIII. OF IN HIS STEPPS. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John L. In His Steps by Charles Monroe Sheldon. CHAPTER XVIII. When Roland started down the street the afternoon that Jasper stood looking out of his window he was not thinking of Rachel Winslow and did not expect to see her anywhere. He had come suddenly upon her as he turned into the avenue and his heart had leaped up at the sight of her. He walked along by her now rejoicing after all in a little moment of this earthly love he could not drive out of his life. I have just been over to see Virginia, said Rachel. She tells me the arrangements are nearly completed for the transfer of the rectangle property. Yes, it has been a tedious case in the courts. Did Virginia show you all the plans and specifications for building? We looked over a good many. It is astonishing to me where Virginia has managed to get all her ideas about this work. Virginia knows more now about Arnold Toynbee and East Anne London and institutional church work in America than a good many professional slum workers. She has been spending nearly all summer in getting information. Roland was beginning to feel more at ease as they talked over this coming work of humanity. It was safe common ground. What have you been doing all summer? I have not seen much of you. Rachel suddenly asked and then her face warmed with this quick flush of tropical color as if she might have implied too much interest in Roland or too much regret at not seeing him oftener. I have been busy, replied Roland briefly. Tell me something about it, persisted Rachel. You say so little. Have I a right to ask? She put the question very frankly turning toward Roland in real earnest. Yes, certainly, he replied with a graceful smile. I am not so certain that I can tell you much. I have been trying to find some way to reach the men I once knew and wind them into more useful lives. He stopped suddenly as if he were almost afraid to go on. Rachel did not venture to suggest anything. I have been a member of the same company to which you and Virginia belong, continued Roland, beginning again. I have made the pledge to do as I believe Jesus would do, and it is in trying to answer this question that I have been doing my work. That is what I do not understand. Virginia told me about the other. It seems wonderful to think that you are trying to keep that pledge with us. But what can you do with the club men? You have asked me a direct question and I shall have to answer it now, replied Roland, smiling again. You see I asked myself after that night at the tent, you remember. He spoke hurriedly and his voice trembled a little. What purpose I could now have in my life to redeem it to satisfy my thought of Christian discipleship? And the more I thought of it, the more I was driven to a place where I knew I must take up the cross. Did you ever think that of all the neglected beings in our social system none are quite so completely left alone as the fast young men who filled the clubs and waste their time and money as I used to? The churches look after the poor miserable creatures like those in the rectangle. They make some effort to reach the working man. They have a large constituency among the average salary-earning people. They send money and missionaries to the foreign heathen, but the fashionable, dissipated young men around town, the club men, are left out of all plans for reaching and Christianizing. And yet no class of people need it more. I said to myself, I know these men, they are good and they are bad qualities. I have been one of them. I am not fitted to reach the rectangle, people. I do not know how. But I think I could possibly reach some of the young men and boys who have money and time to spend. So that is what I have been trying to do. When I asked, as you did, what would Jesus do, that was my answer. It has also been my cross. Roland's voice was so low on this last sentence that Rachel had difficulty in hearing him above the noise around them, but she knew what he had said. She wanted to ask what his methods were, but she did not know how to ask him. Her interest in his plan was larger than mere curiosity. Roland Page was so different now from the fashionable young man who had asked her to be his wife that she could not help thinking of him and talking with him as if he were an entirely new acquaintance. They had turned off the avenue and were going up the street to Rachel's home. It was the same street where Roland had asked Rachel why she could not love him. They were both stricken with a sudden shyness as they went on. Rachel had not forgotten that day and Roland could not. She finally broke a long silence by asking what she had not found words for before. In your work with the club men with your old acquaintances, what sort of reception do they give you? How do you approach them? What do they say? Roland was relieved when Rachel spoke. He answered quickly. Oh, it depends on the man. A good many of them think I am a crank. I have kept my membership up and am in good standing in that way. I try to be wise and not provoke any unnecessary criticism. But you would be surprised to know how many of the men have responded to my appeal. I could hardly make you believe that only a few nights ago a dozen men became honestly and earnestly engaged in a conversation over religious matters. I have had the great joy of seeing some of the men give up bad habits and begin a new life. What would Jesus do? I keep asking it. The answer comes slowly, for I am feeling my way slowly. One thing I have found out. The men are not fighting shy of me. I think that is a good sign. Another thing I have actually interested some of them in the rectangle work, and when it is started up they will give something to help make it more powerful. And in addition to all the rest I have found a way to save several of the young fellows from going to the bad in gambling. Roland spoke with enthusiasm. His face was transformed by his interest in the subject which had now become a part of his real life. Regill again noted the strong manly tone of his speech. With it all she knew there was a deep underlying seriousness which felt the burden of the cross even while carrying it with joy. The next time she spoke it was with a swift feeling of justice due to Roland and his new life. Do you remember I reproached you once for not having any purpose worth living for, she asked, while her beautiful face seemed to Roland more beautiful than ever when he had one sufficient self-control to look up. I want to say, I feel the need of saying injustice to you now, that I honor you for your courage and your obedience to the promise you have made as you interpret the promise. The life you are living is a noble one. When trembled his agitation was greater than he could control. Regill could not help seeing it. They walked along in silence. At last Roland said, I thank you, it has been worth more to me than I can tell you to hear you say that. He looked into her face for one moment. She read his love for her in that look but he did not speak. When they separated Regill went into the house and sitting down in her room she put her face in her hands and said to herself, I am beginning to know what it means to be loved by a noble man. I shall love Roland Page after all. What am I saying? Rachel Winslow, have you forgotten? She rose and walked back and forth. She was deeply moved. Nevertheless it was evident to herself that her emotion was not that of regret or sorrow. Somehow a glad new joy had come to her. She had entered another circle of experience and later in the day she rejoiced with a very strong and sincere gladness that her Christian discipleship found room in this crisis in her feeling. It was indeed a part of it, for if she was beginning to love Roland Page it was the Christian man she had begun to love. The other never would have moved her to this great change. And Roland, as he went back, treasured a hope that had been a stranger to him since Regill had said no that day. In that hope he went on with his work as the days sped on and at no time was he more successful in reaching and saving his old acquaintances than in the time that followed that chance meeting with Rachel Winslow. The summer had gone and Raymond was once more facing the rigor of her winter season. Virginia had been able to accomplish a part of her plan for capturing the rectangle, as she called it. But the building of houses in the field, the transforming of its bleak, bare aspect into an attractive park, all of which was included in her plan, was a work too large to be completed that fall after she had secured the property. But a million dollars in the hands of a person who truly wants to do with it, as Jesus would, ought to accomplish wonders for humanity in a short time, and Henry Maxwell going over to the scene of the new work one day after a noon hour with the shopmen, was amazed to see how much had been done outwardly. Yet he walked home thoughtfully and on his way he could not avoid the question of the continual problem thrust upon his notice by the saloon. How much had been done for the rectangle after all? Even counting Virginia's and Rachel's work and Mr. Gray's, where had it actually counted in any visible quantity? Of course, he said to himself, the redemptive work begun and carried on by the Holy Spirit in his wonderful display of power in the First Church and in the tent meetings, had had its effect upon the life of Raymond. But as he walked past saloon after saloon and noted the crowds going in and coming out of them as he saw the wretched dens, as many as ever apparently, as he caught the brutality and squalor and open misery and degradation on countless faces of men, women, and children, he sickened at the sight. He found himself asking, how much cleansing could a million dollars poured into this cesspool accomplish? Was not the living source of nearly all the human misery they sought to relieve untouched as long as the saloons did their deadly but legitimate work? What could even such unselfish Christian discipleship as Virginia's and Rachel's do to lessen the stream of vice so long as the great spring of vice and crime flowed as deep and strong as ever? Was it not a practical waste of beautiful lives for these young women to throw themselves into this earthly hell, when for every soul rescued by their sacrifice the saloon made two more that needed rescue? He could not escape the question. It was the same that Virginia had put to Rachel in her statement that, in her opinion, nothing really permanent would ever be done until the saloon was taken out of the rectangle. Henry Maxwell went back to his parish work that afternoon with added convictions on the licensed business. But if the saloon was a factor in the problem of the life of Raymond, no less was the first church and its little company of disciples who had pledged to do as Jesus would do. Henry Maxwell, standing at the very center of the movement, was not in a position to judge of its power as someone from the outside might have done. But Raymond itself felt the touch in very many ways, not knowing all the reasons for the change. The winter was gone and the year was ended, the year which Henry Maxwell had fixed as the time during which the pledge should be kept to do as Jesus would do. Sunday, the anniversary of that one a year ago, was in many ways the most remarkable day that the first church ever knew. It was more important than the disciples in the first church realized. The year had made history so fast and so serious that the people were not yet able to grasp its significance, and the day itself which marked the completion of a whole year of such discipleship was characterized by such revelations and confessions that the immediate actors in the events themselves could not understand the value of what had been done or the relation of their trial to the rest of the churches and cities of the country. It happened that the week before that anniversary Sunday, the Reverend Calvin Bruce, D.D. of the Nazareth Avenue Church, Chicago, was in Raymond where he had come on a visit to some old friends and incidentally to see his old seminary classmate Henry Maxwell. He was present at the first church and was an exceedingly attentive and interested spectator. His account of the events in Raymond and especially of that Sunday may throw more light on the entire situation than any description or record from other sources. My dear Caxton, it is late Sunday night but I am so intensely awake and so overflowing with what I have seen and heard that I feel driven to write you now some account of the situation in Raymond as I have been studying it and as it has apparently come to a climax today. So this is my only excuse for writing so extended a letter at this time. You remember Henry Maxwell in the seminary. I think you said the last time I visited you in New York that you had not seen him since we graduated. He was a refined, scholarly fellow, you remember, and when he was called to the first church of Raymond within a year after leaving the seminary I said to my wife, Raymond has made a good choice. Maxwell will satisfy them as a sermonizer. He has been here 11 years and I understand that up to a year ago he had gone on in the regular course of the ministry giving good satisfaction and drawing good congregations. His church was counted the largest and wealthiest church in Raymond. All the best people attended it and most of them belonged. The quartet choir was famous for its music especially for its soprano Ms. Winslow of whom I shall have more to say and on the whole as I understand the facts Maxwell was in a comfortable birth with a very good salary pleasant surroundings a not very exacting parish of refined, rich, respectable people such a church and parish as nearly all the young men of the seminary in our time looked forward to as very desirable. But a year ago today Maxwell came into his church on Sunday morning and at the close of the service made the astounding proposition that the members of his church volunteer for a year not to do anything without first asking the question what would Jesus do and after answering it to do what in their honest judgment he would do regardless of what the result might be to them. The effect of this proposition as it has been met and obeyed by a number of members of the church has been so remarkable that as you know the attention of the whole country has been directed to the movement. I call it a movement because from the action taken today it seems probable that what has been tried here will reach out into the other churches and cause a revolution in methods but more especially in a new definition of Christian discipleship. In the first place Maxwell tells me he was astonished at the response to his proposition. Some of the most prominent members in the church made the promise to do as Jesus would. Among them were Edward Norman editor of the Daily News which has made such a sensation in the newspaper world Milton Wright one of the leading merchants in Raymond. Alexander Powers whose action in the matter of the railroads against the interstate commerce laws made such a stir about a year ago. Miss Page one of Raymond's leading society heiresses who has lately dedicated her entire fortune as I understand to the Christian daily paper and the work of reform in the slum district known as the rectangle. And Miss Winslow whose reputation as a singer is now national but who in obedience to what she has decided to be Jesus's probable action has devoted her talent to volunteer work among the girls and women who make up a large part of the city's worst and most abandoned population. In addition to these well-known people has been a gradually increasing number of Christians from the first church and lately from other churches of Raymond. A large proportion of these volunteers who pledge themselves to do as Jesus would do comes from the endeavor societies. The young people say that they have already embodied in their society pledge the same principle in the words I promise him that I will strive to do whatever he would have me do. This is not exactly what is included in Maxwell's proposition which is that the disciple shall try to do what Jesus would probably do in the disciples place but the result of an honest obedience to either pledge he claims will be practically the same and he is not surprised that the large numbers have joined the new discipleship from the endeavor society. I am sure the first question you will ask is what has been the result of this attempt? What has it accomplished or how has it changed in any way the regular life of the church or the community? You already know something from reports of Raymond that have gone over the country what the events have been but one needs to come here and learn something of the changes in individual lives and especially the change in the church life to realize all that is meant by this following of Jesus' steps so literally. To tell all that would be to write a long story or series of stories. I am not in a position to do that but I can give you some idea perhaps of what has been done as told me by friends here and by Maxwell himself. The result of the pledge upon the first church has been twofold. It has brought upon a spirit of Christian fellowship which Maxwell tells me never before existed and which now impresses him as being very nearly what the Christian fellowship of the apostolic churches must have been and it has divided the church into two distinct groups of members. Those who have not taken the pledge regard the others as foolishly literal in their attempt to imitate the example of Jesus. Some of them have drawn out of the church and no longer attend or they have removed their membership entirely to other churches. Some are an element of internal strife and I heard rumors of an attempt on their part to force Maxwell's resignation. I do not know that this element is very strong in the church. It has been held in check by a wonderful continuance of spiritual power which dates from the first Sunday the pledge was taken a year ago and also by the fact that many of the most prominent members have been identified with the movement. The effect on Maxwell is very marked. I heard him preach in our state association four years ago. He impressed me at the time as having considerable power in dramatic delivery of which he himself was somewhat conscious. His sermon was well written and abounded in what seminary students used to call fine passages. The effect of it was what an average congregation would call pleasing. This morning I heard Maxwell preach again for the first time since then. I shall speak of that farther on. He is not the same man. He gives me the impression of one who has passed through a crisis of revolution. He tells me this revolution is simply a new definition of Christian discipleship. He certainly has changed many of his old habits and many of his old views. His attitude on the saloon question is radically opposite to the one he entertained a year ago and in his entire thought of the ministry, his pulpit and parish work, I find he has made a complete change. So far as I can understand, the idea that is moving him on now is the idea that the Christianity of our times must represent a more literal imitation of Jesus and especially in the element of suffering. He quoted to me in the course of our conversation several times the verses in Peter, for even here on two were you called because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example that ye would follow in his steps. And he seems filled with the conviction that what our churches need today more than anything else is this factor of joyful suffering for Jesus in some form. I do not know as I agree with him altogether, but my dear Caxton, it is certainly astonishing to note the results of this idea as they have impressed themselves upon this city and this church. You ask how about the results on individuals who have made this pledge and honestly tried to be true to it. Those results are, as I have said, a part of individual history and cannot be told in detail. Some of them I can give you so that you may see that this form of discipleship is not merely sentiment or fine posing for effect. For instance, take the case of Mr. Powers who was the superintendent of the machine shops of the L and T. R. R. here. When he acted upon the evidence which incriminated the road he lost his position. And more than that I learned from my friends here his family and social relations have become so changed that he and his family no longer appear in public. They have dropped out of the social circle where once they were so prominent. By the way, Caxton, I understand in this connection that the commission, for one reason or another, postponed action on this case and it is now rumored that the L and T. R. R. will pass into a receiver's hands very soon. The president of the road who, according to the evidence submitted by Powers, was the principal offender, has resigned and complications which have risen since point to the receivership. Meanwhile the superintendent has gone back to his old work as a telegraph operator. I met him at the church yesterday. He impressed me as a man who had, like Maxwell, gone through a crisis in character. I could not help thinking of him as being good material for the church of the first century when the disciples had all things in common. Or take the case of Mr. Norman, editor of the Daily News. He risked his entire fortune in obedience to what he believed was Jesus's action and revolutionized his entire conduct of the paper at the risk of a failure. I send you a copy of yesterday's paper. I want you to read it carefully. To my mind it is one of the most interesting and remarkable papers ever printed in the United States. It is open to criticism, but what could any mere man attempt in this line that would be free from criticism? Take it all and all. It is so far above the ordinary conception of a daily paper that I am amazed at the result. He tells me that the paper is beginning to be read more and more by the Christian people of the city. He was very confident of its final success. Read his editorial on the money questions, also the one on the coming election in Raymond, when the question of license will again be an issue. Both articles are of the best from his point of view. He says he never begins an editorial or, in fact, any part of his newspaper work without first asking what would Jesus do? The result is certainly apparent. Then there is Milton Wright, the merchant. He has, I am told, so revolutionized his business that no man is more beloved today in Raymond. His own clerks and employees have an affection for him that is very touching. During the winter, while he was lying dangerously ill at his home, scores of clerks volunteered to watch and help in any way possible, and his return to his store was greeted with marked demonstrations. All this has been brought about by the element of personal love introduced into the business. This love is not mere words, but the business itself is carried on under a system of cooperation that is not a patronizing recognition of inferiors, but a real sharing in the whole business. Other men on the street look upon Milton Wright as odd. It is a fact, however, that while he has lost heavily in some directions, he has increased his business, and is today respected and honored as one of the best and most successful merchants in Raymond. And there is Miss Winslow. She has chosen to give her great talent to the poor of the city. Her plans include a musical institute, where choruses and classes in vocal music shall be a feature. She is enthusiastic over her life work. In connection with her friend Miss Page, she has planned a course in music which, if carried out, will certainly do much to lift up the lives of the people down there. I am not too old, dear Caxton, to be interested in the romantic side of much that has also been tragic here in Raymond, and I must tell you that it is well understood here that Miss Winslow expects to be married this spring to a brother of Miss Page, who was once a society leader and club man, and who was converted in a tent where his wife, that is to be, took an active part in the service. I don't know all the details of this little romance, but I imagine there is a story wrapped up in it, and it would make interesting reading if we only knew it all. These are only a few illustrations of results in individual lives owing to obedience to the Pledge. I meant to have spoken of President Marsh of Lincoln College. He is a graduate of my alma mater, and I knew him slightly when I was in the senior year. He has taken an active part in the recent municipal campaign, and his influence in the city is regarded as a very large factor in the coming election. He impressed me, as did all the other disciples in this movement, as having fought out some hard questions, and as having taken up some real burdens that have caused and still do cause that suffering of which Henry Maxwell speaks, a suffering that does not eliminate, but does appear to intensify, a positive and practical joy. CHAPTER XXI But I am prolonging this letter, possibly to your weariness. I am unable to avoid the feeling of fascination, which my entire stay here has increased. I want to tell you something of the meeting in the First Church today. As I said, I heard Maxwell preach. At his earnest request I had preached for him the Sunday before, and this was the first time I had heard him since the Association meeting four years ago. His sermon this morning was as different from his sermon then, as if it had been thought out and preached by someone living on another planet. I was profoundly touched. I believe I actually shed tears once. Others in the congregation were moved like myself. His text was, What is that to thee? Follow thou me. It was a most unusually impressive appeal to the Christians of Raymond to obey Jesus' teachings and follow in his steps regardless of what others might do. I cannot give you even the plan of the sermon. It would take too long. At the close of the service there was the usual after-meeting that has become a regular feature of the first Church. Into this meeting have come all those who made the pledge to do as Jesus would do, and the time is spent in mutual fellowship, confession, question as to what Jesus would do in special cases, and prayer that the one great guide of every disciple's conduct might be the Holy Spirit. Maxwell asked me to come into this meeting. Nothing in all my ministerial life, Caxton, has so moved me as that meeting. I never felt the Spirit's presence so powerfully. It was a meeting of reminiscences and of the most loving fellowship. I was irresistibly driven in thought back to the first years of Christianity. There was something about all this that was apostolic in its simplicity and Christ imitation. I asked questions. One that seemed to arouse more interest than any other was in regard to the extent of the Christian disciples' sacrifice of personal property. Maxwell tells me that so far no one has interpreted the Spirit of Jesus in such a way as to abandon his earthly possessions, give away of his wealth, or in any literal way imitate the Christians of the Order, for example of St. Francis of Assisi. It was the unanimous consent, however, that if any disciple should feel that Jesus in his own particular case would do that, there could be only one answer to the question. Maxwell admitted that he was still, to a certain degree, uncertain as to Jesus's probable action when it came to the details of household living, the possession of wealth, the holding of certain luxuries. It is, however, very evident that many of these disciples have repeatedly carried their obedience to Jesus to the extreme limit, regardless of financial loss. There is no lack of courage or consistency at this point. It is also true that some of the businessmen who took the Pledge have lost great sums of money in this imitation of Jesus, and many have, like Alexander Powers, lost valuable positions owing to the impossibility of doing what they had been accustomed to do, and at the same time what they felt Jesus would do in the same place. In connection with these cases it is pleasant to record the fact that many who have suffered in this way have been at once helped financially by those who still have means. In this respect I think it is true that these disciples have all things in common. Certainly such scenes as I witnessed at the first church and that after service this morning I never saw in my church or in any other. I never dream that such Christian fellowship could exist in this age of the world. I was almost incredulous as to the witness of my own senses. I still seem to be asking myself if this is the close of the nineteenth century in America. But now, dear friend, I come to the real cause of this letter, the real heart of the whole question, as the first church of Raymond has forced it upon me. Before the meeting closed today, steps were taken to secure the cooperation of all other Christian disciples in this country. I think Maxwell took this step after long deliberation. He said as much to me one day when we were discussing the effect of this movement upon the church in general. Why? He said, suppose that the church membership generally in this country made this pledge and lived up to it. What a revolution it would cause in Christendom. But why not? Is it any more than the disciple ought to do? Has he followed Jesus unless he is willing to do this? Is the test of discipleship any less today than it was in Jesus's time? I do not know all that preceded or followed his thought of what ought to be done outside of Raymond, but the idea crystallized today in a plan to secure the fellowship of all the Christians in America. The churches, through their pastors, will be asked to form disciple gatherings like the one in the first church. Volunteers will be called for in the great body of church members in the United States who will promise to do as Jesus would do. Maxwell spoke particularly of the result of such general action on the saloon question. He is terribly in earnest over this. He told me that there was no question in his mind that the saloon would be beaten in Raymond at the election now near at hand. If so, they could go on with some courage to do the redemptive work begun by the evangelist and now taken up by the disciples in his own church. If the saloon triumphs again there will be a terrible and, as he thinks, unnecessary waste of Christian sacrifice. But however we differ on that point he convinced his church that the time has come for fellowship with other Christians. Surely if the first church could work such changes in society and its surroundings, the church in general, if combining such a fellowship, not of creed but of conduct, ought to stir the entire nation to a higher level and a new conception of Christian following. This is a grand idea, Caxton, but right here is where I find myself hesitating. I do not deny that the Christian disciple ought to follow Christ's steps as closely as these here in Raymond have tried to do, but I cannot avoid asking what the result would be if I ask my church in Chicago to do it. I am writing this after feeling the solemn, profound touch of the spirit's presence, and I confess to you, old friend, that I cannot call up in my church a dozen prominent business or professional men who would make this trial at the risk of all they hold dear. Can you do any better in your church? What are we to say? That the churches would not respond to the call, come and suffer? Is our standard of Christian discipleship a wrong one? Or are we possibly deceiving ourselves? And would we be agreeably disappointed if we once asked our people to take such a pledge faithfully? The actual results of the pledge, as obeyed here in Raymond, are enough to make any pastor tremble and at the same time long with yearning that they might occur in his own parish. Certainly never have I seen a church so singly blessed by the spirit as this one, but am I myself ready to take this pledge? I asked the question honestly, and I dread to face an honest answer. I know well enough that I should have to change very much in my life if I undertook to follow his step so closely. I have called myself a Christian for many years. For the past ten years I have enjoyed a life that has had comparatively little suffering in it. I am, honestly I say it, living at a long distance from municipal problems in the life of the poor, the degraded, and the abandoned. What would the obedience to this pledge demand of me? I hesitate to answer. My church is wealthy, full of well to do satisfied people. The standard of their discipleship is, I am aware, not of a nature to respond to the call of suffering or personal loss. I say, I am aware. I may be mistaken. I may have erred and not stirring their deeper life. Caxed in my friend, I have spoken, my inmost thought to you. Shall I go back to my people next Sunday and stand up before them in my large city church and say, let us follow Jesus closer, let us walk in his steps, where it will cost us something more than it is costing us now. Let us pledge not to do anything without first asking, what would Jesus do? If I should go before them with that message, it would be a strange and startling one to them. But why? Are we not ready to follow him all the way? What is it to be a follower of Jesus? And what does it mean to imitate him? What does it mean to walk in his steps? The Reverend Calvin Bruce, D.D., of the Nazareth Avenue Church, Chicago, let his pen fall on the table. He had come to the parting of the ways, and his question, he felt sure, was the question of many and many a man in the ministry and in the church. He went to his window and opened it. He was oppressed with the weight of his convictions, and he felt almost suffocated with the air in the room. He wanted to see the stars and feel the breath of the world. The night was very still. The clock in the first church was just striking midnight, as it finished a clear, strong voice down in the direction of the rectangle came floating up to him as if born on radiant pinions. It was a voice of one of Gray's old converts, a night watchman at the packing houses, who sometimes solaced his lonesome hours by verse or two of some familiar hymn. The Reverend Calvin Bruce turned away from the window, and after a little hesitation, he kneeled. What would Jesus do? That was the burden of his prayer. Never had he yielded himself so completely to the spirit searching, revealing of Jesus. He was on his knees a long time. He retired and slept fitfully, with many awakenings. He rose before it was clear dawn, and threw open his window again. As the light in the east grew stronger, he repeated to himself, what would Jesus do? Shall I follow his steps? The sun rose and flooded the city with its power. When shall the dawn of a new discipleship usher in the conquering truth of a closer walk with Jesus? When shall Christendom tread more closely the path he made? It is the way the master trod shall not the servant tread it still. End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of In His Steps This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording by Amy Benton. Chapter 21 of In His Steps by Charles Monroe Sheldon Master, I will follow thee, with or so ever thou goest. The Saturday afternoon matinee at the auditorium in Chicago was just over, and the usual crowd was struggling to get to its carriage before anyone else. The auditorium attendant was shouting out the numbers of different carriages, and the carriage doors were slamming as the horses were driven rapidly up to the curb, held there impatiently by the drivers who had shivered long in the raw east wind, and then let go to plunge for a few minutes into the river of vehicles that tossed under the elevated railway, and finally went whirling off up the avenue. Now then, 624 shouted the auditorium attendant. 624, he repeated, and there dashed up to the curb a splendid span of black horses attached to a carriage having the monogram C.R.S. in guilt letters on the panel of the door. Two girls stepped out of the crowd towards the carriage. The older one had entered and taken her seat, and the attendant was still holding the door open for the younger, who stood hesitating on the curb. Come, Felicia! What are you waiting for? I shall freeze to death," called the voice from the carriage. The girl outside the carriage hastily unpinned a bunch of English violets from her dress, and handed them to a small boy, who was standing shivering on the edge of the sidewalk almost under the horse's feet. He took them with a look of astonishment, and a thanky lady, and instantly buried a very grimy face in the bunch of perfume. The girl stepped into the carriage. The door shut with the incisive bang peculiar to well-made carriages of this sort, and a few moments later the coachman was speeding the horses rapidly up one of the boulevards. He was always doing some queer thing or other, Felicia, said the older girl as the carriage whirled on past the great residences already brilliantly lighted. Am I? What have I done that is queer now, Rose?" asked the other, looking up suddenly and turning her head towards her sister. Oh, giving those violets to that boy! He looked as if he needed a good hot supper more than a bunch of violets. It's a wonder you didn't invite him home with us. I shouldn't have been surprised if you had. You're always doing such queer things. What would be queer to invite a boy like that to come to the house and get a hot supper? Felicia asked the question softly, and almost as if she were alone. Queer isn't just the word, of course," replied Rose indifferently. It would be what Madame Blanc calls Utre, decidedly. Therefore you will please not invite him or others like him to hot suppers because I suggested it. Oh, dear! I'm awfully tired." She yawned, and Felicia silently looked out the window in the door. The concert was stupid, and the violinist was simply a bore. I don't see how you could sit so still through it all, Rose exclaimed, a little impatiently. I liked the music, answered Felicia quietly. You like anything. I never saw a girl with so little critical taste. Felicia colored slightly, but would not answer. Rose yawned again, and then hummed a fragment of a popular song. Then she exclaimed abruptly, I'm sick of most everything. I hope the Shadows of London will be exciting tonight. Shadows of Chicago, murmured Felicia, the Shadows of Chicago. The Shadows of London, the play, the great drama with its wonderful scenery and sensation of New York for two months. You know we have a box with the Delitos tonight. Felicia turned her face towards her sister. Her great brown eyes were very expressive and are altogether free from a sparkle of luminous heat. And yet we never weep over the real thing on the actual stage of life. What are the Shadows of London on the stage to the Shadows of London or Chicago as they really exist? Why don't we get excited over the facts as they are? Because the actual people are dirty and disagreeable and it's too much bother, I suppose, replied Rose carelessly. Felicia, you can never reform the world. What's the use? We're not a blame for the poverty and misery. They've always been rich and poor. There always will be. We ought to be thankful we're rich. And suppose Christ had gone on that principle? replied Felicia with unusual persistence. Do you remember Dr. Bruce's sermon on that verse a few Sundays ago? For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ that though he was rich yet for our sakes he became poor. The E through his poverty might become rich. Well, I remember it well enough, said Rose of some petulance. And didn't Dr. Bruce go on to say that there's no blame attached to people who have some wealth if they're kind and give to the needs of the poor? I'm sure that he himself is pretty comfortably settled. He never gives up his luxuries just because some people go hungry. What good would it do if he did? I tell you, Felicia, there will always be poor and rich in spite of all we can do. Ever since Rachel Winslow has written about those queer doings in Raymond, you've upset the whole family. People can't live at that concert pitch all the time. You see, if Rachel doesn't give it up soon, it's a great pity she doesn't come to Chicago and sing in the auditorium concerts. She has received an offer. I'm going to write and urge her to come. I'm just dying to hear her sing. Felicia looked out the window and was silent. The carriage rolled on past two blocks of magnificent private residences and turned into a wide driveway under a covered passage. The sisters hurried into the house. It was an elegant mansion of grey stone, furnished like a palace. Every corner of it warm with a luxury of painting, sculpture, art, and modern refinement. The owner of it all, Mr. Charles R. Sterling, stood before an open great fire smoking a cigar. He had made money in grain speculation and railroad ventures and was reputed to be worth something over two millions. His wife was the sister of Mrs. Winslow Raymond. She had been an invalid for several years. The two girls, Rose and Felicia, were the only children. Rose was twenty-one years old, fair, vivacious, educated in a fashionable college, just entering society and already somewhat cynical and indifferent. A very hard young lady to please, her father said, sometimes playfully, sometimes sternly. Felicia was nineteen, with a tropical beauty, somewhat like her cousin, Rachel Winslow, with warm, generous impulses just waking into Christian feeling, capable of all sorts of expression, a puzzle to her father, a source of irritation to her mother, and with a great, unsurveyed territory of thought and action in herself, of which she was more than dimly conscious. There was that in Felicia that would easily endure any condition in life, if only to liberty to act fully on her conscientious convictions were granted her. Here's a letter for you, Felicia, said Mr. Sterling, handing it to her. Felicia sat down and instantly opened the letter, saying as she did so, It's from Rachel. Well, what's the latest news from Raymond, as Mr. Sterling, taking a cigar out of his mouth and looking at Felicia with half-shut eyes, as if he were studying her. Rachel says, Dr. Bruce has been staying in Raymond for two Sundays, and has seemed very much interested in Mr. Maxwell's pledge in the First Church. What does Rachel say about herself, asked Rose, who was lying on a couch almost buried under elegant cushions. She is still singing in the rectangle. Since the tent meeting's closed, she sings in an old hall until the new building, which her friend Virginia Page is putting up, are completed. I must write to Rachel to come to Chicago and visit us. She ought not to throw away her voice in that railroad town upon all those people who don't appreciate her. Mr. Sterling lighted a new cigar, and Rose exclaimed, Rachel's so queer, she might set Chicago wild with her voice if she sang in the auditorium, and there she goes on throwing it away on people who don't know what they're hearing. Rachel won't come here unless she can do it and keep her pledge at the same time, said Felicia, after a pause. What pledge? Mr. Sterling asked the question and then added hastily. Oh, I know, yes. Very peculiar thing that Alexander Powers used to be a friend of mine. We learned telegraphy in the same office. Made a great sensation when he resigned and handed over that evidence to the Interstate Commerce Commission, and he's back at his telegraph again. There have been queer do-ings in Raymond during the past year. I wonder what Mr. Booth thinks of it, on the whole. I must have a talk with him about it. He is at home and will preach to-morrow, said Felicia. Perhaps he will tell us something about it. There was silence for a minute. Then Felicia said abruptly, as if she had gone on with a spoken thought with some invisible hearer. And what if he should propose the same pledge to the Nazareth Avenue Church? Oh, what are you talking about? asked her father, a little sharply. About Dr. Bruce. I say, what if he should propose to our Church what Mr. Maxwell proposed to his, and asked for volunteers who would pledge themselves to do everything after answering the question, what would Jesus do? There's no danger of it, said Rose, rising suddenly from the couch. As the tea bell rang. It's a very impracticable movement, to my mind, said Mr. Sterling shortly. I understand from Rachel's letter that the Raymond Church is going to make an attempt to extend the idea of the pledge to other Churches. If it succeeds, it will certainly make great changes in the Churches and in people's lives, said Felicia. Oh, well, let's have some tea first, said Rose, walking into the dining-room. Her father and Felicia followed, and the meal proceeded in silence. Mrs. Sterling had her meals served in her room. Mr. Sterling was preoccupied. He ate very little and excused himself early, and although it was Saturday night, he remarked as he went out that he should be downtown on some special business. Don't you think father looks very much disturbed lately? asked Felicia a little while after he'd gone out. Oh, I don't know. I hadn't noticed anything unusual, replied Rose. After a silence, she said, Are you going to the play tonight, Felicia? Mrs. Delana will be here at half-past seven. I think you ought to go. She will feel hurt if you refuse. I'll go. I don't care about it. I can see shadows enough without going to the play. That's a do-full remark for a girl nineteen years old to make, replied Rose. But then you're queer in your ideas anyhow, Felicia. If you're going up to see mother, tell her I'll run in after the play, if she's still awake. End of Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Of In His Steps This is a Libre Vox recording. All Libre Vox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibreVox.org. This recording by Amy Benton. Chapter Twenty-Two Of In His Steps By Charles Monroe Sheldon Felicia started off to the play not very happy, but she was familiar with that feeling. Only sometimes she was more unhappy than at others. Her feeling expressed itself tonight by a withdrawal into herself. When the company was seated in the box and the curtain had gone up, Felicia was back of the others and remained for the evening by herself. Mrs. Delano, a chaperone for half a dozen young ladies, understood Felicia well enough to know that she was queer, as Rose so often said, and she made no attempt to draw her out of her corner. And so the girl really experienced that night by herself, one of the feelings that added to the momentum that was increasing coming on of her great crisis. The play was an English melodrama, full of startling situations, realistic scenery, and unexpected climaxes. There was one scene in the third act that impressed even Rose Sterling. It was midnight on Blackfriars Bridge. The Thames flowed dark and forbidden below. St. Paul's rose through the dim light, imposing, its dome seeming to float above the building surrounding it. The figure of a child came upon the bridge and stood there for a moment, peering about as if looking for someone. Several persons were crossing the bridge, but one of the recesses about midway of the river, a woman stood, leaning out over the parapet, with a strained agony of a face and figure that told plainly of her intention. Just as she was stealthily mounting the parapet to throw herself into the river, the child caught sight of her, ran forward with a shrill cry more animal than human, and seizing the woman's dress, dragged back upon it with all her little strength. Then there came suddenly upon the scene two other characters who had already figured in the play, a tall, handsome athletic gentleman dressed in the fashion, attended by a slim-figured lad who was as refined in dress and appearance as the little girl clinging to her mother, who was mournfully hideous in her rags and repulsive poverty. These two, the gentleman and the lad, prevented the attempted suicide, and after a tap-blow on the bridge where the audience learned that the man and woman were brother and sister, the scene was transferred to the interior of one of the slum tenements in the east side of London. Here the scene painter and carpenter had done their utmost to produce an exact copy of a famous court in Alley, well known to the poor creatures who make up a part of the outcast London humanity. The rags, the crowding, the vileness, the broken furniture, the horrible animal existence forced upon creatures made in God's image, were so skillfully shown in this scene that more than one elegant woman in the theatre, seated like Rose Sterling in a sumptuous box surrounded by silk hangings and velvet-covered railing, caught herself shrinking back a little as if contamination were possible from the nearness of this piece of scenery. It was almost too realistic, and yet it had a horrible fascination for Felicia as she sat there alone, buried back in a cushioned seat, and absorbed in thoughts that went far beyond the dialogue on the stage. From the tenement scene, the play shifted to the interior of a nobleman's palace, and almost a sigh of relief went up over the house at the sight of the accustomed luxury of the upper classes. The contrast was startling. It was brought about by a clever piece of staging that allowed only a few moments to elapse between the slum and the palace scene. The dialogue went on. The actors came and went in their various roles, but upon Felicia the play made one distinct impression. In reality, the scenes on the bridge and in the slums were only incidents in the story of the play, but Felicia found herself living those scenes over and over. She had never philosophised about the causes of human misery. She was not old enough. She had not the temperament that philosophises. But she felt intensely, and this was not the first time she had felt the contrast thrust into her feeling between the upper and the lower conditions of human life. It had been growing upon her until it had made her what rose called queer, and other people in her circle of wealthy acquaintances called, very unusual. It was simply the human problem in its extreme of riches and poverty, its refinement, and its vileness. Was, in spite of her unconscious attempts to struggle against the facts, burning into her life the impression that would in the end either transform her into a woman of rare love and self-sacrifice for the world, or a miserable enigma to herself and all who knew her. Come, Felicia, aren't you going home?" said Rose. The play was over, at the curtain down, and people were going noisily out, laughing and gossiping, as if the shadows of London were simply good diversion, as they were, put upon the stage so effectively. Felicia rose and went out with the rest quietly, and with the absorbed feeling that it actually left her in her seat oblivious of the play's ending. She was never absent-minded, but often thought herself into a condition that left her alone in the midst of a crowd. "'Well, what did you think of it?' asked Rose when the sisters had reached home, and were in the drawing-room. Rose really had considerable respect for Felicia's judgment of a play. I thought it was a pretty fair picture of real life. "'I mean the acting,' said Rose, annoyed. The bridge scene was well acted, especially the woman's part. I thought the man overdid the sentiment a little. Did you? I enjoyed that. And wasn't the scene between the two cousins funny when they first learned they were related? But the slum scene was horrible. I think they ought not to show such things in a play. They're too painful." "'They must be painful in real life, too,' replied Felicia. "'Yes, but we don't have to look at the real thing. It's bad enough at the theatre where we pay for it.' Rose went into the dining-room and began to eat from a plate of fruit and cakes on the side-board. "'Are you going up to see Mother?' asked Felicia after a while. She had remained in front of the drawing-room fireplace. "'No,' replied Rose from the other room. I won't trouble her to-night. If you go in, tell her I'm too tired to be agreeable.' So Felicia turned into her mother's room, and she went up the great staircase and down the upper hall. The light was burning there, and the servant who always waited on Mrs. Stirling was beckoning Felicia to come in. "'Tell Clara to go out,' exclaimed Mrs. Stirling, as Felicia came up to the bed. Felicia was surprised, but did as her mother bait her, and then inquired how she was feeling. Felicia,' said her mother. "'Can you pray?' The question was so unlike any her mother had ever asked her before, that she was startled. But she answered, "'Why—yes, mother. Why do you ask such a question?' Felicia, I'm frightened. Your father—wife had such strange fears about him all day. Something is wrong with him. I want you to pray.' "'Now—here, mother?' "'Yes, pray, Felicia.' Felicia reached out a hand and took her mother's. It was trembling. Mrs. Stirling had never shown such tenderness for her younger daughter, and her strange demand now was the first real sign of any confidence in Felicia's character. The girl kneeled, still holding her mother's trembling hand, and prayed. It is doubtful if she had ever prayed aloud before. She must have said, in her prayer, the words that her mother needed, for when it was silent in the room, the invalid was weeping softly, and her nervous tension was over. Felicia stayed for some time. When she was assured that her mother would not need her any longer, she rose to go. "'Good night, mother. You must tell Clara, call me if you feel badly in the night.' "'I feel better now.' Then as Felicia was moving away, Mrs. Stirling said, "'Won't you kiss me, Felicia?' Felicia went back and bent over her mother. The kiss was almost as strange to her as the prayer had been. When Felicia went out of the room, her cheeks were wet with tears. She had not often cried, since she was a little child. Sunday morning at the Stirling mansion was generally very quiet. The girls usually went to church at eleven o'clock service. Mr. Stirling was not a member, but a heavy contributor, and he generally went to church in the morning. This time he didn't come down to breakfast, and finally sent word by a servant that he did not feel well enough to go out. So Rose and Felicia drove up to the door of the Nazareth Avenue church and entered the family pew, alone. When Dr. Bruce walked out of the room at the rear of the platform and went up to the pulpit to open the Bible as his custom was, those who knew him best did not detect anything unusual in his manner or his expression. He proceeded with the service as usual. He was calm and his voice was steady and firm. His prayer was the first intimation the people had of anything new or strange in the service. It is safe to say that the Nazareth Avenue church had not heard Dr. Bruce offer such a prayer before during the twelve years he'd been pastor there. How would a minister be likely to pray who had come out of a revolution of Christian feeling that had completely changed his definition of what it meant by following Jesus? No one in Nazareth Avenue church had any idea that the Reverend Calvin Bruce, Doctorate of Divinity, the dignified, cultured, refined Doctor of Divinity, had within a few days been crying like a little child on his knees, asking for strength and courage in Christ's likeness to speak his Sunday message. And yet the prayer was an unconscious, involuntary disclosure of his soul's experience, such as the Nazareth Avenue people had seldom heard, and never before from that pulpit. CHAPTER XXIII I am just back from a visit to Raymond, Dr. Bruce began, and I want to tell you something of my impressions of the movement there. He paused, in his look went out over his people, with yearning for them, and at the same time with a great uncertainty at his heart. How many of his rich, fashionable, refined, luxury-loving members would understand the nature of the appeal he was soon to make to them? He was altogether in the darkest of that. Nevertheless he had been through his desert, and had come out of it ready to suffer. He went on now after that brief pause and told them the story of his stay in Raymond. The people already knew something of that experiment in the first church. The whole country had watched the progress of the Pledge as it had become history in so many lives. Mr. Maxwell had at last decided that the time had come to seek the fellowship of other churches throughout the country. The new discipleship in Raymond had proved to be so valuable in its results that he wished the churches in general to share with the disciples in Raymond. Already there had begun a volunteer movement in many churches throughout the country, acting on their own desire to walk closer in the steps of Jesus. The Christian Endeavor Society had with enthusiasm in many churches taken the pledge to do as Jesus would do, and the result was already marked in a deeper spiritual life and a power in church influence that was like a new birth for the members. All this Dr. Bruce told his people simply and with a personal interest that evidently led the way to the announcement that now followed. Felicia had listened to every word with strained attention. She sat there by the side of Rose in contrast like fire beside snow, although even Rose was alert and as excited as she could be. Dear friends, he said, and for the first time since his prayer the emotion of the occasion was revealed in his voice and gesture. I'm going to ask that Nazareth Avenue Church take the same pledge that First Church has taken. I know what this will mean to you and me. It will mean the complete change of very many habits. It will mean possibly social loss. It will mean very probably, in many cases, loss of money. It will mean suffering. It will mean what following Jesus meant in the first century, and then it meant suffering, loss, hardship, separation from everything un-Christian. But what does following Jesus mean? The test of discipleship is the same now as then. Those of us who volunteer in this church to do as Jesus would do simply promise to walk in his steps as he gave us commandment. Again he paused, and now the result of his announcement was plainly visible in the stirrer that went up over the congregation. He added in a quiet voice that all who volunteer to make the pledge to do as Jesus would do were asked to remain after the morning service. Instantly he proceeded with his sermon. His text was, Master, I will follow thee wither so ever thou goest. It was a sermon that touched the deep springs of conduct. It was a revelation to the people of the definition their pastor had been learning. It took them back to the first century of Christianity. Above all it stirred them below the conventional thought of years as to the meaning and purpose of church membership. It was such a sermon as a man can preach once in a lifetime, and with enough in it for people to live on all through the rest of their lifetime. The service closed in a hush that was slowly broken. People rose here and there, a few at a time. There was a reluctance in the movements of some that was very striking. Rose, however, walked straight out of the pew, and as she reached the aisle she turned her head and beckoned to Felicia. By that time the congregation was rising all over the church. I am going to stay, she said, and Rose had heard her speak in the same manner on other occasions, and knew that her resolve could not be changed. Nevertheless she went back into the pew two or three steps and faced her. Felicia, she whispered, and there was a flush of anger on her cheeks. This is folly. What can you do? You will bring some disgrace on the family. What will fathers say? Come! Felicia looked at her, but did not answer at once. Her lips were moving with a petition that came from the depth of feeling that measured a new life for her. She shocked her head. No, I am going to stay. I shall take the pledge. I am ready to obey it. You do not know why I am doing this. Rose gave her one look and then turned and went out of the pew and down the aisle. She did not even stop to talk with her acquaintances. Mrs. Delano was going out of the church just as Rose stepped into the vestibule. So you are not going to join Dr. Bruce's volunteer company? Mrs. Delano asked in a queer tone that made Rose redden. No, are you? It is simply absurd. I have always regarded that Raymond movement as fanatical. You know, cousin Rachel keeps us posted about it. Yes, I understand it is resulting in a great deal of hardship in many cases. For my part, I believe Dr. Bruce has simply provoked disturbance here. It will result in splitting our church. You see if it isn't so. There are scores of people in the church who are so situated that they can't take such a pledge and keep it. I am one of them, added Mrs. Delano, as she went out with Rose. When Rose reached home, her father was standing in his usual attitude before the open fireplace, smoking a cigar. Where is Felicia? he asked as Rose came in. She stayed to an after-meeting, replied Rose shortly. She threw off her wraps and was going upstairs when Mr. Sterling called after her. An after-meeting? What do you mean? Dr. Bruce asked the church to take the Raymond pledge. Mr. Sterling took a cigar out of his mouth and twirled it nervously between his fingers. I didn't expect that of Dr. Bruce. Did many of the members stay? I don't know. I didn't, replied Rose, and she went upstairs, leaving her father standing in the drawing room. After a few moments he went to the window and stood there, looking out at the people driving on the boulevard. His cigar had gone out, but he still fingered it nervously. Then he turned from the window and walked up and down the room. A servant stepped across the hall and announced dinner, and he told her to wait for Felicia. Rose came downstairs and went into the library, and still Mr. Sterling paced the drawing room restlessly. He had finally wearied of the walk-in, apparently, and throwing himself into a chair was brooding over something deeply when Felicia came in. He rose and faced her. Felicia was evidently very much moved by the meeting from what she had just come. At the same time she did not wish to talk too much about it. Just as she entered the drawing room, Rose came in from the library. How many stayed, she asked. Rose was curious. At the same time she was skeptical of the whole movement in Raymond. About a hundred, replied Felicia gravely. Mr. Sterling looked surprised. Felicia was going out of the room, but he called to her. Do you really mean to keep the pledge? he asked. Felicia colored over her face and neck the warm blood flowed, and she answered. You would not ask such a question, Father, if you had been at the meeting. She lingered a moment in the room, then asked to be excused from dinner for a while and went up to see her mother. No one but they too ever knew what that interview between Felicia and her mother was. It is certain that she must have told her mother something of the spiritual power that had awed every person present in the company of disciples who faced Dr. Bruce in that meeting after the morning service. It is also certain that Felicia had never before known such an experience, and would never have thought of sharing it with her mother if it had not been for the prayer of the evening before. Another fact is also known, of Felicia's experience at this time. When she finally joined her father and Rose at the table, she seemed unable to tell them much about the meeting. There was a reluctance to speak of it, as one might hesitate to attempt a description of a wonderful sunset to a person who never talked about anything but the weather. When that Sunday in the Sterling mansion was drawing to a close, and the soft warm light strut the dwelling were glowing through the great windows, in a corner of her room where the light was obscure, Felicia kneeled. And when she raised her face and turned it towards the light, it was the face of a woman who had already defined for herself the greatest issues of earthly life. That same evening, after the Sunday evening service, Dr. Bruce was talking over the events of the day with his wife. They were of one heart and mind in the matter, and faced their new future with all the faith and courage of new disciples. Neither was deceived as to the probable results of the pledge to themselves or to the church. They had been talking, but a little while, when the bell rang and Dr. Bruce going to the door exclaimed as he opened it, It is you, Edward! Come in! There came into the hall a commanding figure. The bishop was of extraordinary height and breath of shoulder, but of such good proportions that there was no thought of ungainly or even of unusual size. The impression the bishop made on strangers was first that of great health, and then of great affection. He came into the parlor and greeted Mrs. Bruce, who, after a few moments, was called out of the room, leaving the two men together. The bishop sat in a deep, easy chair before the open fire. There was just enough dampness in the early spring of the year to make an open fire pleasant. Calvin, you have taken a very serious step today, he finally said, lifting his large dark eyes to his old college classmates' face. I heard of it this afternoon. I could not resist the desire to see you about it tonight. I'm glad you came. Dr. Bruce laid a hand on the bishop's shoulder. You understand what this means, Edward? I think I do. Yes, I am sure. The bishop spoke very slowly and thoughtfully. He sat with his hands clasped together, over his face marked with lines of concentration and service and the love of men, a shadow crept, a shadow not caused by the firelight. Once more he lifted his eyes toward his old friend. Calvin, we have always understood each other. Ever since our paths led us in different ways in church life, we have walked together in Christian fellowship. It is true, replied Dr. Bruce, with an emotion he made no attempt to conceal or subdue. Thank God for it! I prize your fellowship more than any other man's. I have always known what it meant, though it has always been more than I deserve. The bishop looked affectionately at his friend, but the shadow still rested on his face. After a pause he spoke again. The new discipleship means a crisis for you and your work. If you keep this pledge, to do all things as Jesus would do, as I know you will, it requires no profit to predict some remarkable changes in your parish. The bishop looked wistfully at his friend and then continued, In fact I do not see how a perfect upheaval of Christianity, as we now know it, can be prevented if the ministers and churches generally take the raiment pledge and live it out. He paused as if he were waiting for his friend to say something to ask some question, but Bruce did not know the fire that was burning the bishop's heart over the very question that Maxwell in himself had fought out. Now in my church, for instance, continued the bishop. It would be rather a difficult matter, I fear, to find very many people who would take a pledge like that and live up to it. Martyrdom is a lost art with us. Our Christianity loves its ease and comfort too well to take up anything so rough and heavy as a cross. And yet what does following Jesus mean? What is it to walk in his steps? The bishop was soliloquizing now and it is doubtful if he thought for the moment of his friend's presence. For the first time they are flashed into Dr. Bruce's mind a suspicion of the truth. What if the bishop would throw the weight of his great influence on the side of the raiment movement? He had the following of the most aristocratic, wealthy, fashionable people not only in Chicago but in several large cities. What if the bishop should join this new discipleship? The thought was about to be followed by the word. Dr. Bruce had reached out his hand and with the familiarity of lifelong friendship had placed it on the bishop's shoulder and was about to ask a very important question when they were both startled by the violent ringing of the bell. Mrs. Bruce had gone to the door and was talking with someone in the hall. There was a loud exclamation and then as the bishop rose and Bruce was stepping toward the curtain that hung before the entrance to the parlor, Mrs. Bruce pushed it aside. Her face was white and she was trembling. Oh, Calvin! Such terrible news! Mr. Sterling! Oh, I cannot tell it! What a blow to those girls! What is it? Mr. Bruce advanced with the bishop into the hall in front of the messenger, a servant from the Sterlings. The man was without his hat and had evidently run over with the news as Dr. Bruce lived nearest of any intimate friends of the family. Mr. Sterling shot himself, sir, a few minutes ago. He killed himself in his bedroom. Mrs. Sterling! I will go right over, Edward. Will you go with me? The Sterlings are old friends of yours. The bishop was very pale but calm, as always. He looked his friend in the face and answered, I, Calvin, I will go with you, not only to this house of death, but also the whole way of human sin and sorrow, please God. 14 When Dr. Bruce and the bishop entered the Sterling mansion, everything in the usually well-appointed household was in the greatest confusion and terror. The great rooms downstairs were empty, but overhead were hurried footsteps and confused noise. One of the servants ran down the grand staircase with a look of horror on her face, just as the bishop and Dr. Bruce were starting to go up. Ms. Felicia is with Mrs. Sterling, the servant stammered and answered to a question and then burst into a hysterical cry and ran through the drawing room and out of the doors. Felicia met the two men at the top of the staircase. She walked up to Dr. Bruce at once and put both hands in his. The bishop then laid his hand on her head, and the three stood there a moment in perfect silence. The bishop had known Felicia since she was a little child. He was the first to break the silence. The God of all mercy be with you, Felicia, in this dark hour. Your mother, the bishop hesitated, out of the buried past he had, during his hurried passage from his friends to this house of death, irresistibly drawn the one tender romance of his young manhood. Not even Bruce knew that. But there had been a time when the bishop had offered the incense of a singularly undivided affection upon the altar of his youth to the beautiful Camilla Rolf, and she had chosen between him and the millionaire. The bishop carried no bitterness with his memory, but it was still a memory. For answered to the bishop's unfinished query, Felicia turned and went back into her mother's room. She had not said a word yet, but both men were struck with her wonderful calm. She returned to the hall door and beckoned to them, and the two ministers were the feeling that they were about to behold something very unusual entered. Rose lay with her arms outstretched upon the bed. Clara, the nurse, sat with her head covered, sobbing in spasms of terror. And Mrs. Sterling, with, quote, the light that never was on sea or land, and, quote, luminous on her face, lay there so still that even the bishop was deceived at first. Then, as the great truth broke upon him and Dr. Bruce, he staggered, and the sharp agony of the old wound shot through him. It passed and left him standing there in that chamber of death with the eternal calmness and strength that the children of God have a right to possess. And right well he used that calmness and strength in the days that followed. The next moment the house below was in a tumult. Almost at the same time the doctor, who had been sent for it once, but lived some distance away, came in, together with police officers who had been summoned by frightened servants. With them were four or five newspaper correspondents and several neighbors. Dr. Bruce and the bishop met this miscellaneous crowd at the head of the stairs, and succeeded in excluding all except those whose presence was necessary. With these the two friends learned all the facts ever known about the, quote, Sterling tragedy, as the papers in their sensational accounts next day called it. Mr. Sterling had gone into his room that evening about nine o'clock, and that was the last scene of him until, in half an hour, a shot was heard in the room, and a servant who was in the hall ran into the room and found him dead on the floor, killed by his own hand. Felicia at the time was sitting by her mother. Rose was reading in the library. She ran upstairs, saw her father as he was being lifted upon the couch by the servants, and then ran screaming into her mother's room where she flung herself down at the foot of the bed in a swoon. Mrs. Sterling had at first fainted at the shock, then rallied with a wonderful swiftness and sent for Dr. Bruce. She had then insisted on seeing her husband. In spite of Felicia's efforts, she had compelled Clara to support her while she crossed the hall and entered the room where her husband lay. She had looked upon him with a tearless face, had gone back to her own room, was laid on her bed, and as Dr. Bruce and the Bishop entered the house, she, with a prayer of forgiveness for herself and for her husband on her quivering lips, had died, with Felicia bending over her and Rose still lying senseless at her feet. So great and swift had been the entrance of grim death into that palace of luxury that Sunday night. But the full cause of his coming was not learned until the facts in regard to Mr. Sterling's business affairs were finally disclosed. Then it was learned that for some time he had been facing financial ruin owing to certain speculations that had in a month's time swept his supposed wealth into complete destruction. With the cunning and desperation of a man who battles for his very life when he saw his money, which was all the life he ever valued, slipping from him, he had put off the evil day to the last moment. Sunday afternoon, however, he had received news that proved to him beyond a doubt the fact of his utter ruin, the very house that he called his, the chairs in which he sat, his carriage, the dishes from which he ate, had all been bought with money for which he himself had never really done an honest stroke of pure labor. It had all rested on a tissue of deceit and speculation that had no foundation in real values. He knew that fact better than anyone else, but he had hoped with the hope such men always have, that the same methods that brought him the money would also prevent the loss. He had been deceived in this as many others have been. As soon as the truth that he was practically a beggar had dawned upon him, he saw no escape from suicide. It was the irresistible result of such a life as he had lived. He had made money his God. As soon as that God was gone out of his little world there was nothing more to worship, and when a man's object of worship is gone he has no more to live for. Thus died the great millionaire Charles R. Sterling, and verily he died as the fool dyeth for what is the gain or the loss of money compared with the unsearchable riches of eternal life which are beyond the reach of speculation, loss, or change. Mrs. Sterling's death was the result of the shock. She had not been taken into her husband's confidence for years, but she knew that the source of his wealth was precarious. Her life for several years had been a death in life. The Rolffs always gave an impression that they could endure more disaster unmoved than anyone else. Mrs. Sterling illustrated the old family tradition when she was carried into the room where her husband lay, but the feeble tenement could not hold the spirit and it gave up the ghost, torn and weakened by long years of suffering and disappointment. The effect of this triple blow, the death of father and mother and the loss of property, was instantly apparent in the sisters. The horror of events stupefied Rose for weeks. She lay unmoved by sympathy or any effort to rally. She did not seem yet to realize that the money which had been so large a part of her very existence was gone. Even when she was told that she and Felicia must leave the house and be dependent on relatives and friends, she did not seem to understand what it meant. Felicia, however, was fully conscious of the facts. She knew just what had happened and why. She was talking over her future plans with her cousin Rachel a few days after the funerals. Mrs. Winslow and Rachel had left Raymond and come to Chicago at once as soon as the terrible news had reached them and with other friends of the family were planning for the future of Rose and Felicia. Felicia, you and Rose must come to Raymond with us. That is settled. Mother will not hear to any other plan at present. Rachel had said, while her beautiful face glowed with love for her cousin, a love that had deepened day by day and was intensified by the knowledge that they both belong to the new discipleship. Unless I can find something to do here, answered Felicia. She looked wistfully at Rachel and Rachel said gently, What could you do, dear? Nothing. I was never taught to do anything except a little music, and I do not know enough about it to teach it or earn my living at it. I have learned to cook a little, Felicia added, with a slight smile. Then you can cook for us. Mother is always having trouble with her kitchen, said Rachel, understanding well enough she was now dependent for her very food and shelter upon the kindness of family friends. It is true the girls received a little something out of the wreck of their father's fortune, but with the speculators mad folly he had managed to involve both his wife's and his children's portion in the common room. Can I, can I? Felicia responded to Rachel's proposition, as if it were to be considered seriously. I am ready to do anything honorable to make my living and that of Rose. Poor Rose. She will never be able to get over the shock of our trouble. We will arrange the details when we get to Raymond, Rachel said, smiling through her tears at Felicia's eager willingness to care for herself. So in a few weeks Rose and Felicia found themselves a part of the Winslow family in Raymond. It was a bitter experience for Rose, but there was nothing else for her to do and she accepted the inevitable, brooding over the great change in her life and in many ways adding to the burden of Felicia and her cousin Rachel. Felicia at once found herself in an atmosphere of discipleship that was like heaven to her in its revelation of companionship. It is true that Mrs. Winslow was not in sympathy with the course that Rachel was taking, but the remarkable events in Raymond since the pledge was taken were too powerful in their results not to impress even such a woman as Mrs. Winslow. With Rachel, Felicia found a perfect fellowship. She at once found a part to take in the new work at the rectangle. In the spirit of her new life she insisted upon helping in the housework at her aunts and in a short time demonstrated her ability as a cook so clearly that Virginia suggested that she take charge of the cooking at the rectangle. Felicia entered upon this work with a keenest pleasure. For the first time in her life she had the delight of doing something of value for the happiness of others. Her resolve to do everything after asking, what would Jesus do, touched her deepest nature. She began to develop and strengthen wonderfully. Even Mrs. Winslow was obliged to acknowledge the great usefulness and beauty of Felicia's character. The aunt looked with astonishment upon her niece. This city-bred girl, reared in the greatest luxury, the daughter of a millionaire, now walking around in her kitchen, her arms covered with flour, and occasionally a streak of it on her nose, for Felicia at first had a habit of rubbing her nose forgetfully when she was trying to remember some recipe, mixing various dishes with the greatest interest in their results, washing up pans and kettles, and doing the ordinary work of a servant in the Winslow kitchen and at the rooms at the rectangle settlement. At first Mrs. Winslow remonstrated. Felicia, it is not your place to be out here doing this common work. I cannot allow it. Why, aunt, don't you like the muffins I made this morning? Felicia would ask meekly. But with a hidden smile, knowing her aunt's weakness for that kind of muffin. They were beautiful, Felicia, but it does not seem right for you to be doing such work for us. Why not? What else can I do? Her aunt looked at her thoughtfully, noting her remarkable beauty of face and expression. You do not always intend to do this kind of work, Felicia. Maybe I shall. I have had a dream of opening an ideal cook shop in Chicago or some large city and going around to the poor families in some slum district like the rectangle, teaching the mothers how to prepare food properly. I remember hearing Dr. Rousse once that he believed one of the great miseries of comparative poverty consisted in poor food. He even went so far as to say that he thought some kinds of crime could be traced to soggy biscuit and tough beef steak. I am sure I would be able to make a living for Rousse and myself and, at the same time, help others. Three months had gone by since the Sunday morning when Dr. Rousse came into his pulpit with the message of the new discipleship. They were three months of great excitement in Nazareth Avenue Church. Never before had Reverend Calvin Rousse realized how deep the feeling of his members flowed. He humbly confessed that the appeal he had made met with an unexpected response from men and women who, like Felicia, were hungry for something in their lives that the conventional type of church membership and fellowship had failed to give them. But Dr. Rousse was not yet satisfied for himself. He cannot tell what his feeling was or what led to the movement he finally made to the great astonishment of all who knew him better than by relating a conversation between him and the Bishop at this time in the history of the pledge in Nazareth Avenue Church. The two friends were as before in Dr. Rousse's house, seated in a study. You know what I have come in this evening for. The Bishop was saying after the friends had been talking some time about the results of the pledge with the Nazareth Avenue people. Dr. Rousse looked over at the Bishop and shook his head. I have come to confess that I have not yet kept my promise to walk in his steps in the way that I believe I shall be obliged to if I satisfy my thought of what it means to walk in his steps. Dr. Rousse had risen and was pacing his study. The Bishop remained in the deep easy chair with his hands clasped, but his eye burned with the blow that belonged to him before he made some great resolve. Edward, Dr. Rousse spoke abruptly. I have not yet been able to satisfy myself either in obeying my promise. But I have at last decided on my course. In order to follow it I shall be obliged to resign from Nazareth Avenue Church. I knew you would, replied the Bishop quietly, and I came in this evening to say that I shall be obliged to do the same thing with my charge. Dr. Rousse turned and walked up to his friend. They were both laboring under a repressed excitement. Is it necessary in your case? asked Dr. Rousse. Yes, let me state my reasons. Probably they are the same as yours. In fact, I am sure they are. The Bishop paused a moment, then went on with his increasing feeling. Calvin, you know how many years I have been doing the work of my position, and you know something of the responsibility and care of it. I do not mean to say that my life has been free from burden-bearing, or sorrow, but I have certainly led what the poor and desperate of the sinful city would call a very comfortable, yes, a very luxurious life. I have had a beautiful house to live in, the most expensive food, clothing, and physical pleasures. I have been able to go abroad at least a dozen times, and have enjoyed, for years, the beautiful companionship of art and letters and music and all the rest of the very best. I have never known what it meant to be without money or its equivalent, and I have been unable to silence the question of late, What have I suffered for the sake of Christ? Paul was told what great things he must suffer for the sake of his Lord. Maxwell's position at Raymond is well taken when he insists that to walk in the steps of Christ means to suffer. Where has my suffering come in? The petty trials and annoyances of my clerical life are not worth mentioning as sorrows or sufferings. Compared with Paul or any of the Christian martyrs or early disciples, I have lived a luxurious, sinful life, full of ease and pleasure. I cannot endure this any longer. I have that within me, which of late rises an overwhelming condemnation of such a following of Jesus. I have not been walking in his steps. Under the present system of church and social life, I see no escape from this condemnation except to give the most of my life personally to the actual physical and soul needs of the wretched people in the worst part of this city. The bishop had risen now and walked over to the window. The street in front of the house was as light as day, and he looked out at the crowd's passing, then turned in with a passionate utterance that showed how deep the volcanic fire in him burned, he exclaimed, Calvin, this is a terrible city in which we live. It's misery, it's sin, it's selfishness, I'll Paul my heart. And I have struggled for years with the sickening dread of the time when I should be forced to leave the pleasant luxury of my official position to put my life into contact with the modern paganism of this century. The awful condition of the girls in some great business places. The brutal selfishness of the insolent society fashion and wealth that ignores all the sorrow of the city. The fearful curse of the drink and gambling hell. The wail of the unemployed. The hatred of the church by countless men who see it only great piles of costly stone and a postured furniture, and the minister as a luxurious idler, all the vast tumult of this vast torrent of humanity with its faults and its true ideas, its exaggeration of evils in the church, and its bitterness and shame that are the result of many complex causes. All this as a total fact in its contrast with the easy, comfortable life I have lived fills me more and more with the sense of mingle terror and self-accusation. I have heard the words of Jesus many times lately. In as much as he did it not unto one of these least my brethren ye did it not unto me. And when have I personally visited the prisoner, or the desperate, or the sinful in any way that has actually caused me suffering? Rather I have followed the conventional, soft habits of my position, and have lived in the society of the rich, refined, aristocratic members of my congregations. Where has suffering come in? What have I suffered for Jesus' sake? Do you know, Calvin? He turned abruptly toward his friend. I have been tempted of late to lash myself with a scourge. If I had lived in Martin Luther's time I should have bared my back to a self-inflicted torture. Dr. Bruce was very pale. Never had he seen the bishop or heard him when under the influence of such a passion. There was a sudden silence in the room. The bishop sat down again and bowed his head. Dr. Bruce spoke at last. Edward, I do not need to say that you have expressed my feelings also. I have been in a similar position for years. My life has been one of comparative luxury. I do not, of course, mean to say that I have not had trials and discouragements and burdens in my church ministry, but I cannot say that I have suffered any for Jesus. That verse in Peter constantly haunts me. Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example that ye should follow his steps. I have lived in luxury. I do not know what it means to want. I also have had my leisure for travel and beautiful companionship. I have been surrounded by the soft, easy comforts of civilization. The sin and misery of this great city have beaten like waves against the stone walls of my church and of this house in which I live, and I have hardly heated them. The walls have been so thick. I have reached a point where I cannot endure this any longer. I am not condemning the church. I love her. I am not forsaking the church. I believe in her mission and have no desire to destroy. Least of all, in the step I am about to take, do I desire to be charged with abandoning the Christian fellowship, but I feel that I must resign my place as pastor of Nazareth Church in order to satisfy myself that I am walking as I ought to walk in his steps. In this action I judge no other minister and pass no criticism on others' discipleship, but I feel as you do. Into a close contact with the sin and shame and degradation of this great city I must come personally, and I know that to do that I must sever my immediate connection with Nazareth Avenue Church. I do not see any other way for myself to suffer for his sake as I feel that I ought to suffer. Again that sudden silence fell over those two men. It was no ordinary action they were deciding. They had both reached the same conclusion by the same reasoning, and they were too thoughtful, too well accustomed to the measuring of conduct to underestimate the seriousness of their position. What is your plan? The bishop at last spoke gently, looking with the smile that always beautified his face. The bishop's face grew in glory now, every day. My plan, replied Dr. Bruce slowly, is, in brief, the putting of myself into the center of the greatest human need I can find in this city and living there. My wife is fully in accord with me. We have already decided to find a residence in that part of the city where we can make our personal lives count for the most. Let me suggest a place. The bishop was on fire now. His fine face actually glowed with the enthusiasm of the movement in which he and his friend were inevitably embarked. He went on and unfolded a plan of such far-reaching power and possibility that Dr. Bruce, capable and experienced as he was, felt amazed at the vision of a greater soul than his own. They sat up late and were as eager and even glad as if they were planning for a trip together to some rare land of unexplored travel. Indeed the bishop said many times afterward that the moment his decision was reached to live the life of personal sacrifice he had chosen he suddenly felt an uplifting as of a great burden were taken from him. He was exultant. So was Dr. Bruce from the same cause. Their plan, as it finally grew into a workable fact, was in reality nothing more than the renting of a large building formerly used as a warehouse for a brewery, reconstructing it and living it themselves in the very heart of a territory where the saloon ruled with power, where the tenement was its filthiest, where vice and ignorance and shame and poverty were congested into hideous forms. It was not a new idea. It was an idea started by Jesus Christ when he left his father's house and forsook the riches that were his in order to get nearer humanity and by becoming a part of its sin helping to draw humanity apart from its sin. The university settlement idea is not modern. It is as old as Bethlehem and Nazareth, and in this particular case it was the nearest approach to anything that would satisfy the hunger of these two men to suffer for Christ. There had sprung up in them, at the same time, a longing that amounted to a passion, to get nearer the great physical poverty and spiritual destitution of the mighty city that throbbed around them. How could they do this except as they became a part of it as nearly as one man can become a part of another's misery? Where was the suffering to come in unless there was an actual self-denial of some sort, and what was to make that self-denial apparent to themselves or any one else unless it took this concrete actual personal form of trying to share the deepest suffering and sin of the city? So they reasoned for themselves, not judging others. They were simply keeping their own pledge to do as Jesus would do as they honestly judged he would do. That was what they had promised. How could they quarrel with a result if they were irresistibly compelled to do what they were planning to do?