 16 Logic It would be difficult for me to describe what a strange effect all this had on Robert Parks. Directly Dr. Everett had left the room, he sat erect and looked about him like one dazed. He insulted a friend of Dr. Everett. If there was one person on the earth to whom this lofty young man felt grateful, it was the doctor. What would he not have borne rather than have said a word to hurt his feelings? Were they hurt? What a strange idea! Did people really feel that way about the Lord? Wait! What was it that Dr. Everett said? Had he actually insulted the Lord? His cheek paled at the thought. He had not meant that. He had always prided himself on the respect which he felt for religion. He really did not know what he had meant by his tirade, save that he was angry with Mr. Cady, and wanted to express his feelings in some severe way. He had fallen into the habit, common to many young men, of speaking about God in a free and careless manner, as though he were but another human being. His mother would have been shocked by this habit, as she would by many another. Robert in thinking the matter over was rather ashamed of himself, but the thought that Lingard was this strange one, of having offended Dr. Everett by insulting his friend. The doctor had said that this friend was dearer to him than his mother, and what would not Robert Parks have endured rather than be guilty of speaking a disrespectful word of Dr. Everett's mother. Another thought clung, that word which he at first had not noticed, as many as I love. He felt sick and sad and desolate. Just at that moment, a reaction having taken place in his feelings, he felt very worthless. It seemed marvelously improbable that the Lord loved him. Yet his long years of early training by a Christian mother had taught him intellectually that such was the case. Really when he came to think of it, the fact that one so neglected and insulted should continue to love him, was enough to fill his heart with amazement. Another thing, they believed these Christians that God looked down on all the minute affairs of men and so directed and guided matters that in the end the right thing was worked out. He had laughed at this belief during these later years, but he had not quite sneered at it, because he knew that his mother leaned on it for support in all her trials, and he had to admit to himself that somehow she was wonderfully supported in heavy trials. Yet, what an absurd belief! Suppose for instance, that God knew all about what had transpired at the store that day, interested himself in it. Would he, if the trial had come to one of his servants, arrange so that it should eventually be an aid to him, preposterous? Yet now that he was calmer and was ashamed of his former passion, he forced himself to look the matter steadily in the face and ask, why? Was it because God was not capable of attending to the multitudeness affairs of all created beings? But what sort of a God would that be to create worlds which he was powerless to manage? And after all, somebody certainly managed greater issues than these. Roberts hoped for college course had been a false hope, yet he was sufficiently educated to be aware of the fact that there went on every day all about him in earth and air and sea and sky, wonders and mysteries that called for infinitely greater wisdom than it would take to manage the details of any man's business, however complicated those details might be. It was folly to say that God was not equal to the exercise of a very minute providence if he chose. When did the difficulty lie in the fact that these matters were of such small consequence as to be beneath him? But it was one evidence of a great mind to be able to stoop from great and important matters and interest itself in trivialities. Had he not once seen President Lincoln stop in his walk along the street and help to hunt for a penny that had rolled away from a little girl, had he not heard the Secretary of the Treasury say to the Secretary of War that there shone out the great mind, which could not only grapple with and conquer grave state problems, but in the very act of discussing these problems could stop and find a penny for a crying child? Robert Parks remembered just how much he had admired the act. Was his brain really so obtuse that he could not see in it an illustration of what God's providential care of the world might be? Was it common sense to speak of this little act as a mark of Mr. Lincoln's superior mind, and then when the act was multiplied by millions and repeated each moment of time, sneer at it as a thing belittling to one's idea of God? Robert Slip curled a little over the remembrance that he had himself presented this illogical argument at one time in debating the question with what he now called a wooden-headed young man who could not see the folly of it. But directly his face darkened in a frown. There was one of the verses learned in his boyhood which he did not like. All things work together for good to them that love God. If I were God, and he said the words almost angrily, I wouldn't be vindictive toward those who didn't love me. I would use my infinite power to make things work for their good also. He was somewhat shocked at himself for this mental outburst, and besides, recognized almost immediately the folly of it. How could the commander of an army so manage matters that a soldier in rebellion would believe that his highest good was being sought? Only then did their dawn on Robert Parks's mind a suggestion that possibly God was at this moment at work for the highest good of all his subjects, and it was only because those in rebellion thwarted his will that they did not reap the benefit of the promise. There seemed just then to rush over this poor, Satan-tempted young man, such a sense of the rest that there might be in just lying passive in the heart of an infinitely wise friend, letting him plan the way and pointed out step by step, thus forever removing one from the labyrinth of doubt and nerve-trying decisions, that the thought almost brought the tears. It cannot be true. He did not realize that he had spoken the words aloud until they were answered. I dare say it is, though. For so many things are true which seem as though they could not be. It was Joy Saunders, another friend of this one of whom Dr. Everett always spoke, as though he were a man living just within hearing all the time. Would she have felt personally hurt had she heard the words he spoke but a little while ago? Robert Parks was very fond of talking with joy. He was in the habit of seizing every opportunity, though to be sure there were few. Mrs. Saunders had relaxed none of her vigilance since he became a member of the family, and while the touch of Joy's fingers was felt all about the house, glimpses of her were rare. Suppose he should speak aloud again and hear her view of what was passing in his mind. She had a way of talking about unreal things as though she saw with keener eyes than others. I'm moralizing, he said, trying to speak lightly. Speaking up an abstruse religious point. You never gave me credit for being so worthily employed, did you? Miss Joy, are you one of those who think that the Lord keeps guard over people, looks after their affairs, you know, small as well as great, plans for them, and brings them out all right? I don't believe it. Don't you? Said Joy quietly. She had an advantage over this young man in that he couldn't shock her. It rather liked to shock people occasionally, but Joy seemed quietly indifferent to his views. Possibly he only does it for some people, she said. There was once a man in trouble who had brought the trouble on himself by living a very foolish life, but the Lord looked after him and brought him safely through and gave him prosperity. That is certainly true, and, of course, what he has done he may choose to do again. In fact he has promised, you know, only there are conditions. The man of whom I spoke met the conditions. Some people will not. What are the conditions? They are hard, harder than anything else he has given people to do. I mean they are hard for some persons, for you, Mr. Parks, so hard that I am often afraid you will keep on refusing them until you have lost all your opportunities. But the returns are very sure. She says that this man humbled himself greatly and besought the Lord. I don't think any other way than that has ever been found. And then Joy, having delivered her message, slipped quietly away, leaving the haughty spirit to fight out his battle, alone if he would, with an infinite helper, if he would meet the conditions. CHAPTER 17 GLIMPSES OF PROVIDENCE It need not be supposed that, although Dr. Everett felt his blood boil with indignation over the follies and blasphemies of this foolish young man, he therefore deserted his cause. On the contrary, he spent two sleepless hours that night in trying to devise ways of helping him out of his present embarrassments. At the end of the two hours vigil, he gave himself this bit of information. I am a remarkably consistent individual. It must be confessed, angry with that poor young scamp, because he won't believe truths of which he has no experimental knowledge whatever, and acting meantime like the various unbeliever, as though I had to take the world on my shoulders and carry it. Whereupon he went to his knees, carrying Robert's case to his king in a simple fashion. He had barely settled himself again ready now for sleep, when his night-bell gave a loud clang right at his bedside. "'Serves you right,' he said, addressing himself, and not the bell. If you had gone directly to sleep instead of trying to manage things about which you know nothing, you would have had so much preparation for night work. However, he applied his mouth and then his ear to the speaking tube and distinctly heard this message. You are wanted immediately at Mr. W. B. Cady's, a very sick child." "'Cady's,' repeated the doctor with a start. Could the wait to helping Robert be opening? Then floated through his mind this promise, before they call I will answer, and while they are yet speaking I will hear. But he only said to the tube, I will be down in a very few moments.' Then made swift preparations. Not much chance for Robert Parks, nor indeed thought of him during the next two hours. The sick child claimed all the doctor's thought and all his skill. His loud breathing, and his horse, and at the same time shrill cough, telling the skilled ear, even at the foot of the stairs, how far the disease had progressed and how rapidly he must work if anything was to be accomplished. Nearly three hours after his horses had cranced around the carriage drive, they stood together in the library, father in position. Upstairs in the nursery the mother was still bending over her child. But he was sleeping peacefully enough, his soft, even breathing, and the moisture which made his yellow hair into little rings all about his forehead, testifying that the disease was conquered. The father wrung his physician's hand. I don't know how to thank you, he said, his voice still shaken with strong emotion. The Lord has been very good to us tonight. You don't deserve it. Such was Dr. Everett's outspoken rejoinder, whereat Mr. Cady arched his eyebrows and recovered steadiness to his boys. That is undoubtedly true, but is there any reason why it becomes especially true on this occasion? In my opinion, yes, the Lord gave you opportunity to witness for him this very day in showing a young man who has no experimental knowledge of Christ that a disciple of his can be patient and poor-bearing and have a bounding charity, and you didn't do it. On the contrary, you made him believe that there is no difference between a Christian and a man of the world. That is plain speaking, isn't it? Not at all. On the contrary, I haven't the least idea what you are talking about. The doctor smiled. Well, he said in a lighter tone, the fact is I am meddling with what is none of my business, but I am more deeply interested in a young employee of yours than I can perhaps make plain to you. Robert Parks has been through some trying experiences lately. I coaxed him back to health with a great deal of difficulty. In fact, he hasn't much health to boast of yet, and things went hard with him at the store yesterday. Upon my word, said the astonished Mr. Katie, why, my dear doctor, what would you have had me do? He made an error in his accounts growing out of disobedience to rules and I told him of it and he was exceedingly impudent. Then I dismissed him with the promise that the matter should be investigated. What more could I do? Nothing perhaps. I have not the least right to dictate in the matter, and it is by a sort of accident that I know anything about it. I'll tell you the impression the whole left on me, that you had not been Christ-like in your treatment of the case. Now were you? Well, as to that, said Mr. Katie, hesitating, his pale face flushing slightly, I was business-like. I began by merely stating the case to him, calling his attention to the rules of the store. If he hadn't been so impudent, I—and then he stopped. That is, if he hadn't shown himself to be a sinner, you might possibly have shown a more Christ-like spirit towards him, is that it? It was sinners that Christ came to save my friend, and this young man is unsaved, and you and I are bound to do what we can for him. Are we doing it? But doctor, you surely cannot suppose that a business man can ignore blunders and disobedience in his employees. How long should I be able to continue a business conducted on such principles? Oh, I'm not arguing the question. As I told you, it is none of my business, and I suppose I know very little about it. I'll tell you the impression that I received from parks. But first let me ask you a question. How long has he been with you? Between two and three years. And during that time have you found him fairly reliable, one whose word you could trust? Entirely so, I believe. At least I have never heard any complaints in that direction. He has been heedless at times, most young fellows are, and occasionally he has annoyed us by touchiness. But we consider him trustworthy. What is all this catechism about, doctor? Why I understood from him, or inferred from what he said, that yesterday you doubted his statements, which it did not seem to me a just man would have done, if here too for the person had been found worthy of confidence. But then Robert was excited, and may have misconstrued your words. I really know nothing about the matter, and I beg your pardon for seeming to interfere. I spoke abruptly the thoughts which were on my mind, as I am too apt to do. The simple fact is, Satan is having a hard fight for this particular young man, and it becomes the king's servants to be on the alert that he gains no advantage through words of theirs. Well, I am glad this night has turned out as it has for you. When I came into the hall and heard that breathing, I trembled. The Lord is good, as you say. How wonderfully he bears with our mistakes and on faithfulness, doesn't he? I'll just run up and see how the child is now, and then I'll be off. Good night. The library door closed after him, and left the rich merchant alone with some plain truths. Very few people spoke plainly to him. He was used to being admired and deferred to. How wonderfully he bears with our mistakes and on faithfulness. This was the thought which repeated itself directly he was left alone. He had many mistakes to regret, and in the solemn light, following that almost parting with his youngest child, he saw nothing in his life but unfaithfulness. There was work done in the rich man's library that night. If Robert Parks could have been cognizant of and followed the making of the links in the chain by which God was drawing him, his faith in a special providence would have been greater. What had a ten-minute stay in Thomas Riley's home with his aristocratic nose turned up in disgust over all its surroundings to do with helping him today? Why young Thomas Riley, aged nine, was one of the cashboys in Mr. Katie's store. It was Dr. Everett who secured him the position and dressed him up neatly with Mrs. Saunders's help that he might be a credit to it. It was Dr. Everett who cured his father, and Dr. Everett's name was a household word with all the Rylies. Now it happened that something of this homage left over and rested on the head of Robert Parks. Was he not Dr. Everett's friend, and did he not come with him to visit father, and did he not hold the cup of water from which that grateful father drank his first cooling draft? They knew nothing about the aristocratic nose, and the little Rylies who sat at Robert's feet in the carriage were too young to understand the contemptuous words or shrink from the young man's evident disgust. All through the morning rumors floated through the store about a counterfeit note and came down to the ears of the cashboys in such exaggerated forms that they filled the heart of young Thomas Riley with dismay. What was done with people who had anything to do with counterfeit money? He wished that he knew. Were they sent to prison, he wondered, and did they have to stay there always? He knew something about counterfeit money, but he would never tell it, never in the world. He wished that he did not know, that he was as ignorant and as light-hearted about it as he was only the day before yesterday morning. But the rumors increased in multitude and flew thickly about the little cashboys' ears. They say there was a precious row in the office when the old fellow himself found it out, reported Fred Briggs. I don't suppose he meant anything but a little fun, replied one of the younger clerks. Well, I don't know about that. He's been pretty hard up lately, what with being sick, and having to pay for that smashed-up carriage and all. A fellow in his senses would hardly undertake to joke with old Katie. This from a third clerk. Then Fred Briggs again. It is a pretty mean business, and I'm afraid it will go hard with him. I'm as sorry for the fellow as I can be, and I'd tell him so if I dared, but you can't come near enough to speak to him today. Did you ever see anybody look so like a thunder-cloud? He's none too pleasant at any time, with folks whom he doesn't think it worthwhile to please, said the chief of the hosiery department. I'm surprised to hear you stand up for him, Briggs. Seems to me he has sneered at you, often or that at any of the others. Oh, well, said Briggs, good-naturedly. I don't bear malice, especially when a fellow is in trouble. I've tormented him a good deal, too. I can't help it very well when folks are so dreadfully easy to put out. That is one of Parks's weak points. He loses his temper. They say he even roared at old Katie like a cataract. Sims says he could hear his voice away in the outer office. He even caught some of his words, and they were not too carefully chosen. I am afraid he is in an awful mess. Just at the commencement of this sentence, young Thomas Riley reported at the desk next to where Fred Briggs was standing, with a basket of goods, and a handful of checks to be made up. This required waiting, and while he waited, he listened. Suddenly his red and somewhat freckled face grew pale. He touched Fred Briggs's arm, and there was a tremor in his voice. Did you say it was Mr. Parks, sir, the Mr. Parks over by the round counter? Is he the one that's got into trouble? He's the very one my fine young man, the Mr. Parks who is the very apple of your eye. You had better scurry around if you know any way of getting him out of this scrape, or before you know it he'll be off to prison or some other place, and you'll never set eyes on him again in this world. For a moment young Thomas stood as if transfixed. Then while the watching clerks burst into laughter at his expense, he sped away. For shame, Briggs, laughed one of the trio. What do you want to frighten the youngster for? Couldn't help it he is such a literal genius. He believes now with all his heart that the prison doors are soon to close forever on his friend. There is something queer about his fondness for Parks. He added when the laughter had subsided, I've watched him hover around trying to do something for the lofty young man, pick up his notions, you know, when some careless fellow has tumbled them on the floor and opened doors for him or fly to do his bidding like a little slave. Parks doesn't notice him any more than he would a little dog. Still he's pretty good natured to him. Meantime Thomas Riley, as he sped away, carried in his heart and glowing on his face a great resolve. He would do it. From what might he would certainly do it. Dr. Everett's friend and his friend should never come to harm if he could help it. CHAPTER 18 FATHER'S FRIEND Mr. Cady was in his private office and his cashier was with him. Both gentlemen looked perplexed. It is a very extraordinary circumstance to occur in our business. Mr. Cady was saying, as he passed his hand across his forehead in a weary way, and looked as though he did not approve of extraordinary circumstances. The cashier's pale face flushed. He knew perfectly well that this was a polite way of saying, Mr. Wilson, I am perfectly astonished at you for allowing such a thing to occur. I cannot account for it, sir, he said. Of course my attention was called at once to the counterfeit note, and I made immediate note of the fact that it came up in Parks's basket and so reported it. It did not at once occur to me that perhaps accounts would balance without the bad note. Why should it? True enough, but it is always well to get at one's balance sheet as soon as possible after an error has been discovered. And in point of fact, no statement should have been made to the young man until this was done. As it is, the clerks are all aware of a disturbance, I suppose. Yes, sir, he was, unfortunately, so much excited when he came to you that he talked very loud. And besides, such things leak out, one hardly knows how. This statement made Mr. Cady twist uneasily in his chair. He had been very much annoyed with his young clerk's manner. He remembered now that he had been a good deal annoyed by some other matters and he wondered whether his voice had been loud. It was altogether a new phase of business to the successful merchant. I regretted exceedingly, he said to the cashier, the more so because the young man has been sick and is easily excited. It is quite as great a mystery as before, but it looks as though he might not be to blame. In fact, I may say I have no doubt that he speaks the exact truth. But I want this thing searched out. If we have anyone in our employ who is slipping counterfeit notes into our hands for the purpose of learning whether we are sharp enough to detect them, it is desirable that we should know who he is. Mr. Wilson hesitated, feeling in doubt as to whether his thought might not be better left unspoken. You have no fears of his being tempted in that way, he said inquiringly. You see, sir, the note came up with his basket. I am certain of that and I don't know how to account for it. Well, what now? It was Mr. Cady's voice and was a somewhat ungracious response to a knock at the door. He was in no mood for interruptions. The knocking, which was of a timid character, continued and must receive attention. Just see who that is, if you please, and say that I am engaged. Thus ordered Mr. Wilson attended to the door, while his chief sat back in his chair and gave himself up to troubled thought. He was roused by the earnestness of a young voice. Oh, if you please, couldn't you let me just speak three words to him? I'll talk awful fast, and there isn't much to say. Only he is father's friend he is, and held the cup of water that helped him so, and I can't have him go to jail, not if I went myself, and I didn't mean no harm. What are you talking about, Mr. Wilson said impatiently? Don't I tell you he is very busy and cannot be interrupted? I'm talking about Mr. Robert Parks, if you please, father's friend and the doctor's friend. He didn't do nothing wrong, and I'm going to tell all about it, whatever happens to me. So much Mr. Katie heard before he arose and went to the door. Come in, he said, and close the door. Now who are you, and what is this all about? I'm Thomas Riley, the might said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. I'm a cash boy, Dr. Everett got me the place. You said I was too little, but you would try me. I'll tell you all about the note, sir. It was my father give it to me, because I never had no paper money in my life before. And I knew this wasn't money, only just to make believe. You see the way it was, three men paid father for a lot of work on the very same day. He waited weeks and weeks, and then they all took it in their heads to pay him at once. And there were two notes, and they both of them looked nice and right. But one of them wasn't good for nothing. Every one of the men said that they did not give it, but father knew they did. And he said he would make them sweat for it if he knew which one it was. But he had to lose it, and he give it to me to play I had money, and I brought it to the store. Bad luck to me for doing that. But I didn't mean no harm. I had it out looking at it, but I dare not show it to the fellows. Father said I must not, because they would think I wanted to pass bad money. I was looking at it when Mr. Parks, my father's friend, he called my number sharp like, and sent me up to the desk and told me to step spry. And somebody else called me right afterwards, and business was awful brisk for a few minutes. And when I had a chance to look for my money, I had tucked it up my sleeve to keep it safe, it was gone. I took off my jacket and turned it inside out, but I couldn't find the thing nowhere. When I heard the fuss about the note, I said to myself, it went and dropped into one of them baskets that I took up. That's what it did. And I was scared. But I didn't mean no harm, and I made up my mind to just keep still. But when I found out that it was Mr. Robert, who is my father's friend, that had got into trouble by it, I couldn't do that know-how. And I made up my mind to speak out if I did have to go to jail. I didn't mean no harm. It would be impossible to give you an idea of how pitiful and at the same time how comical poor Thomas looked as he stood with red face and eager trembling voice before the great man and told his tale. Little they understood those two men the tremendous force of courage which it took. Had they seen the rage into which the elder Thomas Riley had worked himself when he first discovered that his hard-earned money was worthless, had they heard his oft-repeated assurance that he would find out yet who gave the worthless rag to him and the wretch should spend his life in jail, had they been aware of the careful teaching that, in calmer moments, he gave his boy, lest someone should catch him with bad money, they might have understood something of the terror and resolution of the brave little heart. As it was, Mr. Katie, who you will remember had been up all night and had had his heart torn with fearful forevotings, had much adieu not to laugh outright and was yet not a little astonished to discover that his eyes were suddenly dim with tears. He turned abruptly away from Thomas. It would hardly do to let his small cash-boy see such an unwanted sight. I think I understand the matter fully, he said, speaking not unkindly. You may go to your work. You shall hear from me later in the day. Thus dismissed, the little cash-boy vanished, his heart almost too heavy to carry baskets of goods and monies. Had his employer in the least understood the turmoil in the little fellow's heart, he would have said a word to set it to rest, or had the boy been older, he would not have been frightened anew by the tremor in the great man's voice. As it was, he went about fully expecting to spend the night in the lock-up, longing eagerly to ask somebody what would finally be done with him and whether he might possibly be allowed to run home and see mother and kiss the baby before he went to jail. Robert Parks, much wondering why he was not summoned to the office for dismissal, tried to interest himself in his work, and at the same time determined what his chances for obtaining employment might be provided he was dismissed without a character. He could hardly expect one when he was suspected of dishonesty in word and deed. What if they should demand immediate payment of the note? Dr. Everett would lend him the money, but would he like to ask for it after last night? In all these ways he contrived to weary his brain. It was a wonder that he noticed Thomas Riley, but during the morning that young man managed to find time to shed a few tears, thus making his eyes red as well as his cheeks and hair. You in trouble too? Robert asked, looking at him closely, as he lingered a moment near the desk, a wistful look in his eyes that Robert did not in the least understand. Here, and he fumbled in his pocket and produced a red cheeked apple left from yesterday's lunch. Take this and run away and munch it and be happy. Very much astonished was he when Thomas, instead of reaching forth his hand for the apple, he stowed a mingled look of love and sorrow on the giver, burst into tears, and ran away. Something the matter there that an apple won't cure. Robert said to himself with a sigh and felt him moralizing a little about the amount of sorrow there was in the world. He knew nothing of Thomas, had not the least idea that he had the honor of being considered father's friend, and was utterly unprepared for the heights of self-sacrifice which the boy had that morning climbed. Meantime, Mr. Wilson was dismissed from the chief's presence, with only a little more ceremony than had been bestowed on Thomas. I will not detain you longer at present, Mr. Wilson. I shall want to consult you later about several items of business. Meantime, with regard to this affair, you need give yourself no farther anxiety. I will see that it is settled. It is awkward, but nobody perhaps can really be said to be to blame. A careful attendance to our balance sheets will save any such awkwardness in the future, whereupon Mr. Wilson bowed himself out and tried to shut the door softly. He had an uncomfortable suspicion that he had been told that the blame of the whole matter attached to him. His zeal for his master's interest had suggested undue haste. This was hard since his hair was gray, and he had been trying for twenty-five years to be faithful. But forgive Mr. Cady. He had a hard task before him. The young man to whom he had spoken so sharply but the evening before must receive an apology. Mr. Cady was not used to making apologies. Still, he was a gentleman. He did not so much dislike the idea of setting this young man right. The main difficulty lay in the fact that some public statement ought to be made. Here was the store so full of wild rumors over the trouble that the cash boys were talking about jails. Moreover, how was the man to forget certain plain words which were spoken to him in the gray dawn of morning by the man who had been the human means of saving the life of his child? Something must be done. Yet the morning wore away every added hour of it but increasing the nervousness of both Robert and poor little Thomas, and nothing was done. At last, just as the early winter day was closing in around them, the great store had a sensation. Message after message of an unusual import was delivered at the different counters until by that mysterious witchcraft which seems to obtain in all stores, it became noise to broad that every clerk in the variety department had been summoned to the private office, Robert Parks among the number, and the call made the blood rush angrily over his face. He told himself that this was a little too much to be publicly insulted. If Mr. Katie wanted to make an example of him, he should find that he had chosen the wrong person. He, Robert, would give all the rest of his life and every penny he could earn in proving to the world that he had been cruelly wronged by a man who called himself a Christian. But among all the cash boys who seemed on this particular afternoon to be swarming over the store, only one received a call to the office. Imagine the redness of Thomas Riley's cheeks and eyes by this time. I do not suppose that his hair really reddened any, and yet it seemed to. When the hushed company was seated, Mr. Katie opened the door of his inner office and entered. He looked around upon his guests with a curious air. They had never been summoned in this manner before. He could not help wondering what they thought, what they would think by the time he was through. Robert Parks's eyes were flashing. He was growing more angry every moment. Young men, began Mr. Katie, his voice quiet and firm. I shall not detain you long. I am aware that after a busy day at your posts you are not in the mood for long speeches. But I have a word to say that, in justice to one of your number, should be said in this public manner. I do not know how many of you have heard of the recent discrepancy, which occurred in our cash account yesterday. But judging from reports which have come to me, I should say that the affair must have been very thoroughly discussed. I want now to say that while it was at no time supposed that your fellow clerk, Robert Parks, had been to blame, except for a departure from the strict rules of the store, it has transpired that he is absolutely without blame. I therefore take pleasure in publicly apologizing to him for any discomfort which may have arisen through this misunderstanding and expressing my interest in his welfare and earnest desire and belief that his character in the future may be as honorable as it has been thus far in our employ. That you may all have opportunity to shake hands with and congratulate him on this happy termination of what was an annoyance and what I am told some of you feared was a serious matter, I propose to excuse you from further duties today and wish you all a pleasant evening. I will just say, however, before I forget it, that Thomas Riley may remain a moment after the rest. I have a word in private for him. Thus concluding what Mr. Cady was fond of remembering long afterward as the great speech of his life, he advanced to Robert Parks and set the fashion of the hour by cordially shaking hands with him. Poor Thomas Riley, his terrors were added to a hundred fold. Robert Parks was free, was being shaken hands with, no more fears for him. But what was to be done with his miserable self? As he stood there quivering in every nerve, the room seemed to be whirling around. His eyes dimmed so that the astonished young men passing out looked like black specks dancing before his eyes. And but for the heavy table, with its rows and rows of drawers with great brass handles, to one of which he clung, I think Thomas Riley would have fallen. My boy, do you know what a hero is? It was Mr. Cady's voice that roused him from the dizzy darkness in which his frightened senses were whirling. It would never do to give away to dizziness and not answer Mr. Cady. He struggled with his voice. Y-yes sir, father told me once, it is a brave man who fights. And sometimes it is a brave boy. I want you to run home and tell your father that he has a boy named Thomas who is a hero. And Thomas, it isn't a safe business to carry around counterfeit notes. They are apt to make trouble for us when we don't intend it. But I don't want you to lose your pleasure in your make-believe money. So I have decided to give you a good, clean, fresh note. It is yours to do what you like with. It will pass at any store or bank. But don't put it up your sleeve for safe keeping. And now, my boy, good night. You will not be needed this evening. You may go home and tell your mother I am pleased with you. End of Chapter 18, Recording by Tricia G. Chapter 19 of Workers Together The sliverbox recording is in the public domain. Workers Together or An Endless Chain by Pansy Chapter 19 Problems The human heart is a very curious instrument. Over this thought, Dr. Everett lingered much in the days which immediately followed the episode at the store. He exalted in the outcome of it all. Mr. Katie had exceeded his hopes. He knew the whole story, having received it from valuable and excited Thomas Riley, helped frequently by his no less excited father. And he heard it again in detail from Robert Parks. That young man had been more deeply and tenderly moved than perhaps ever in his life before. He had come home with eyes that bore traces of tears, had sought for Dr. Everett, and frankly assured him that he believed himself to be a fool and a villain. He had taken back with lavish tongue all the severe words spoken but the night before. He had declared that Mr. Katie was a Christian if there was one on earth. He told how Mr. Katie, when he sought him in the inner office as soon as he could, to express his gratitude, had grasped his hand and said, Young man, I don't want you to judge of religion by my life. I am very far from being Christ-like. Look to him. And when he repeated the words in his wonderfully subdued voice, Dr. Everett could not help thinking concerning him. This young man is not far from the kingdom. Yet strange to say, as the days passed, the entire incident seemed to be having a hardening influence. True, Robert Parks did not grow sullen again. On the contrary, as his strength increased and his health became firm, he grew gay and flippant to a degree that often sorely tried Mrs. Saunders' patience. I don't know what you two see in that fellow to give you any patience with him, she would occasionally remark in a half vexed tone. It seems to me that he grows worthless every hour. You too always meant to Mrs. Saunders, Joy and Dr. Everett, not that she intended to couple their names, but that it seemed so natural to speak of their work in this way, for it was very evident that these two were interested in the same people and were earnestly trying to do the same things. Neither was Mrs. Saunders by any means ready to desert the young man, Robert, and leave a fair field to the enemy. She faithfully did her share and seconded every effort that was made to win him. At the same time, it was a relief to speak her mind occasionally when he was especially exasperating. And even the doctor was obliged to own, as the days went by, that provocation in this direction was increasing. One thing concerning him added greatly to the doctor's sorrow and Joy's distress. It was the undeniable influence which the girl Hester Mason had over him. He had never dropped the acquaintance commenced in the sunset-room on that unfortunate afternoon. Neither had Joy apparently accomplished anything with the girl, beyond the fact that Hester Mason was proud of being recognized on the street by Joy and showed her gratitude by favoring Joy's purchases in the store to such a degree that she grew alarmed lest she was simply a temptation to the girl and did her shopping elsewhere. Hester came no more to the sunset-room. General invitations to call on her Joy freely gave, but after the disastrous result of her first attempt, she seemed not to have courage for a second special effort, and the doctor was silent on the subject. So it really seemed that the only outcome of that day had been a new worsted seafoam which Hester Mason wore and looked pretty in, and a friendship formed which was unfortunate for both parties. Over this one result the doctor mused a good deal. Why had the effort been allowed to produce positive harm? Had he not been single-hearted in his desire to help a soul? He was studying over these and kindred trying problems when he rang Miss Mason's doorbell one evening. The evening, by the way, was a summer one, several months having elapsed since the episode at the store. It was not Miss Hester Mason, you understand, but the Sabbath school teacher whom he had earnestly tried to rouse to a sense of her duties and responsibilities. His failure in that direction had, he believed, been almost as marked as in the other. At least Miss Mason's interest in her work, if real, was fitful to a degree that an earnest worker could not understand. She made many visits which kept her away from home over the Sabbath, and the idea that she should inform her superintendent of intended absence or secure a suitable substitute for her class seemed never to have dawned upon her. Then there were Sabbaths when her bodily presence was all that she seemed able to give her class. The eyes and attention of the very gaiest of her number were not more easily diverted than were hers. And Dr. Everett would observe her yawning wearily behind her fan during the closing exercises. These disappointing Sabbaths were occasionally relieved by an oasis when Miss Mason seemed roused in eager, earnest in her class, anxious for results. The superintendent studied her, trying to account for these changing moods, and having little difficulty in doing so as he came to know her better. She was preeminently a woman who was moved by impulse. The last person who had speech with her, given the fact that he was a person of any strength of mind, held her to his views until the next comer jostled against them. The fact was, she was struggling with that old problem which continually occupies so many minds, namely how to serve two masters. The gay world had her in possession more than half her time, during which she dressed and danced and frequented the theater and played her social game of cards, and was altogether of the earth earthy. Into the midst of this sort of life would come a jostle in the shape of a few minutes talk with Dr. Everett, during which he would contrive to ask her many questions of such a character that her conscience would awaken to the difference between his Christian life and hers, then would occur that oasis, or she would meet Joy Saunders, and not by question so much as by the very atmosphere, which at all times seemed to surround Joy, be impressed in a similar manner. If only some vigorous mind could have held steady control over Miss Mason and swayed her to his wishes, what a worker she might have made. Something of this also Dr. Everett was thinking while he waited in the parlor for her coming. It colored the very first words he uttered after greeting her. How much do you believe in personal magnetism, Miss Mason? Not much, I think, or yes, I do. Well, I don't know that I understand you, why? This answer was eminently characteristic of Miss Mason, at least when she tried to talk with Dr. Everett. She seemed never sure of her ground, always a trifle fearful, lest he should mean something which her mind did not reach. I wish you could magnetize your namesake, he said, coming abruptly to the subject of his thoughts. I met her just now in bad company for her and for him. Can't we do something towards saving that girl? Do you mean Hester Mason? I'm sure I don't know what to do. She isn't interested in anything but fun. I can't get hold of her doctor. I don't know how to do things of that sort. I don't believe I ought to be a Sabbath school teacher anyhow. I tried to help Hester Mason. That time in the winter, when you were so much interested in her, I went to her house to call. She lives in a very disagreeable neighborhood, but I braved it. I didn't do any good. She was at home, which her aunt said was a wonder, for she was generally out. I tried to talk with her about being careful of her voice and manner on the street and to give her a hint or two about dress, and she didn't take it kindly at all. She very nearly told me it was none of my business. And she did not come to Sunday school again for four weeks. I don't believe she would have come again at all if Joyce Sanders had not coaxed her back. I'm sure I almost hoped she wouldn't come back. I don't know what to do with her. What are you going to do with her tomorrow? This was one of Dr. Everett's peculiar questions, which greatly tried Miss Mason. He would not generalize. He would not talk about past failures. He took swift strides ahead, aiming at definite points, aiming at something which she had not thought of before. This is why she repeated. Tomorrow? Yes, in your class. What is there in the lesson for Hester Mason, for instance, provided she is present? I haven't the least idea. I am always hoping that she will not come, because I don't know what to do with her, nor with any of the rest of them for that matter. But she is the worst. The poor superintendent could not restrain a sigh. How was he to do the master's work with such helpers as this? However, he struggled with the problem, going over the lesson story, calling Miss Mason's attention to points which he deemed of the most importance, or best suited to her class. She interrupted him once to say if she knew how to manage the Bible as he did, she was sure she could get something out of it to help even those girls. But as it was, she believed he simply discouraged her. If you would but form the habit of attending the teacher's meeting, he told her, you would find regular help and stimulus. This was an old topic often discussed between them. Miss Mason felt her face flushing, admitted she always meant to attend, but the week was so full of engagements, she never seemed to get time. On the whole, the doctor went away feeling that his call had done no good, and that something ought to be done about that class. Since she could not teach it, why did she not resign and give him a chance to supply her place? End of chapter 19, recording by Tricia G. Chapter 20 of Workers Together This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Workers Together or an Endless Chain by Pansy Chapter 20, Sunday Lessons What a morning of beauty it was, the budding of summer. There were those in the Packard Place Sabbath School who remembered always afterwards the very color of the sunshine as it reached after the flowers on the desk, and seemed, as they thought it over, to smell again the fragrance of the blossoms. It was a beautiful Sabbath school room. I cannot remember whether I have told you about it. It was not that the furnishings were so much richer and grander than they are in many another church, though they were grand enough, but the most exquisite harmony in color and design prevailed. Certainly, if beautiful surroundings are helpful for the development of religious truth, the teachers in Packard Place Sabbath School should have done a good work. Miss Mason was in her accustomed seat, midway between the organ and the folding doors, on the right of the Grand Central Isle. Five of her girls were there in all the glory of their very best summer toilets, and really their best was not to be looked down on. In winter, when seal jackets and ostrich plumes and velvet dresses marked the distinctions in costumes, these girls looked on hopelessly, making no attempt to compete. But when the delightful season of gossamer robes and delicate lace bonnets came again, it was wonderful what a few dollars and a good deal of skill and taste could accomplish. The initiated saw, of course, at a glance when the lace was cotton and the flowers but an imitation of French workmanship. Yet what fine imitations some of them were, and how exceedingly pretty were the Valenciennes laces. Hester Mason had appeared on the scene again this morning for the first time in three weeks. She had sat up until long after midnight, making herself a bit of a lace bonnet, trimmed with a real French flower that had been damaged in the packing, and so had been sold to her for a trifle. The damaged portions had been skillfully covered with a knot of lace, and the bonnet was a beauty. The rest of her toilet, from the bright, large-colored muslin, a style which just then chanced to be in bog, to the pretty kids which encased a pair of plump well-shaped hands was in remarkably good taste. Hester had not studied joy saunders all the winter to no purpose. Intimate friends the five girls were, that is, they were on sufficiently intimate terms to exchange nods and smiles and meaning glances, to pass whispers down the seat for each to enjoy, and to join in the laugh that rippled out every now and then, despite the faint pretense of subduing it. When one stopped to think of it, what a bewildering mass of flesh and blood did that schoolroom present before troubled teachers. More than one looked at her class of beautiful creatures, arrived at that mysterious age when one does not know whether to address them as girls or young ladies, and wondered what to do with them. Next to Miss Mason sat joy saunders' girls, bright, gay, beautiful. Their very toilets were bewildering, summer silks or soft tinted suitings ruffled and tucked and flounced and plaited, fancy skirts and cutaway jackets, and jaunty hats trimmed with bright plumes and mosses and grasses and vines, delicate exquisitely fitted four and five and six buttoned kids, and yellow frizzed hair and brown curly hair, and sashes and bows, and dainty fans and perfumed handkerchiefs, and any and everything else which goes to make up the irresistible and irrepressible young person in the enchanting rose-colored age when they are neither children nor women, but rose buds waiting for their hour to bloom, and are more exquisite in the budded state than any full-blown rose in the garden. Joy found herself looking at them timidly, odd by the very abandon with which they dashed at this mysterious and solemn thing which we call life and played with it as a toy. The widow of Nain. That was the subject of the lesson. How was she to fit that strange story to suit their moods? The very name widow suggested something shadowy to them. The young wives, sitting in their class near at hand, read the words with a shiver, and glanced across the aisles at their husbands with little tender smiles and heart-mirmers of gratitude that the word did not apply to them. They fancied that they somewhat grasped its meaning. There were mothers in that classroom who thought of their only sons, their special objects of love and pride, and felt throbs of sympathy for that mother who lived in Nain and who followed the beer on that morning long ago. There was one black-robed woman who, as she read with the school the sentence, the only son of his mother and she was a widow, put her arm gently around her only son, and thought of that day when she was widowed, and comprehended that there were depths of sorrow which even she had not reached. Nay, there was one who could not read the words, but who, with bowed head and streaming eyes, thought of the graves side by side of husband and only son, and felt in all its bitterness the depths of that widowed mother's sorrow, and longed with all her soul for the time when that wonderful voice should speak to her dead with his penetrating tone, I say unto thee arise. Joy felt that she could talk with any of these about the lesson, but she could hardly help a sigh as she looked at her girls. What was to be said to them? But if Joy Saunders was at a loss, what can be said of Miss Mason? She had not studied and prayed over the lesson as Joy had. Neither was she in the indifferent stage when what was said to the girls seemed of little consequence. Her talk with Dr. Everett had had the usual effect. She was roused and unhappy, anxious to do some work, and conscious that she did not know how. The widow suggested to these girls of hers only a giggle. There were of necessity so many scenes to pass through preceding that name, so many romantic and interesting experiences, and they were so far removed from the reality of any of it that positively it was simply funny to them. They looked over at the boys in Mr. Ludlow's class and exchanged bows and smiles and whispered to one another. Suppose you could have heard one of the whispers. What do you think it would perhaps have been? Why this? Tell Nelly to remember that she may be Fred Peters' widow one of these days. He looks rather pale and solemn this morning. This remarkable sentence was passed down the class until it reached the said Nelly, and she blushed indeed. But her heart was not sufficiently touched to keep her from the giddy little laugh that followed. It was well for their teacher that she did not hear this. She heard and saw enough. And yet you are not to suppose that these five girls were heartless. They had a quick and ready sympathy for sorrow. Had they been of that procession, as it wound slowly and sadly out of the gates of Maine, without doubt their eyes would have been red with weeping. Indeed there were some who, if the story had been about a dead mother, would have looked grave for a minute and have thought of their mothers at home. But this sorrow came so long ago, and the city where it occurred was so dim and unreal a place to them that they fluttered their fans and their ribbons, and said their gay little undertone sentences to one another, and cared no more for the widow of Maine and her great sorrow and her great joy than did the bright-winged butterfly who hovered about the flowers on the desk. Miss Mason struggled hard. She had tried to shape in her own mind some of the hints which Dr. Everett had given her. She attempted to locate the place where the scene was laid, and so make it real to them. To this end she asked a question, and she asked it of Hester Mason. Where is the city of Maine, Hester? Now as you may readily suppose, Hester was not versed in Bible geography, and of course she had not studied this lesson. She flushed a little, and it is possible she might have been embarrassed, had not the mischievous eyes of two of the girls said plainly that they knew no more about Maine than she did. I don't know, she said at last, speaking lightly, and with that upward inflection which almost adds, and I don't care. Fanny Terrant was the pretty-faced, good-natured special dunce of the class. She did not know enough to know that she knew nothing. But because she was good-natured and pitted the evident distress of the teacher, she assayed to help. Miss Mason, isn't it somewhere in Europe? This gave the girls excessive amusement. Oh, Fanny, one said. Are you sure it isn't in America? Perhaps it is in Florida, suggested another. Or right here in this city, said Hester Mason with a burst of laughter. Most things are. Whereupon they all laughed good-naturedly, Fanny with the rest, none of them quite knowing at what. Miss Mason, having been posted the evening before as to the geographical position of Nain, hastened to explain that for which the girls cared nothing. Then she tried to draw their attention elsewhere. It was easily drawn elsewhere, but not by her. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not. Thus read one of the girls at her teacher's request, and then, with not even a comma between, girls only look at Fred Peters' mustache. I do believe he waxes it. He ought to braid it, said Hester Mason, and tie it with a blue ribbon to match his eyes. And then she read, and he came and touched the beer, and and Miss Mason had reached the utmost limit of her patience. Stop, she said. Wait, what are you thinking of? Is it possible that you have no sense of reverence? About whom are you reading? But Hester had not meant to be a reverent. She had not even noticed of whom she was reading. Something unusual in Miss Mason's voice held her quiet, and the teacher tried in all earnestness to impress the giddy group with the fact that they were reading about death. The one experience which was absolutely sure, sooner or later, to come to each one of them. For the space of five minutes they felt abashed, yet even then the strongest feeling that most of them had was that they had been rude to Miss Mason, not to the Lord Jesus. No more unreal presence than his did this world contain for them. Their hearts refused to take in his existence. One of the points in the lesson which Dr. Everett had made had been, Christ a present help in trouble. He thought of the Curtis girl and of the sad fact that her mother, who had never rallied from the loss of the beautiful baby, was making swift preparations to go to him. Trouble was hastening on for the Curtis girl. Could not Miss Mason help her with that lesson? But it transpired that she was not there to be helped, and Miss Mason, ignoring that fact, tried to impress the thought on these girls who had, most of them, very little comprehension of any trouble associated with death. You know, Fanny, she said, trying to be personal, that the time will surely come when either you will stand by Harry's coffin, or he by yours. It is not as though you could think that perhaps this would never happen. It is something that must come. Fanny looked serious for two minutes, and tried to realize the truth of this. Harry was her handsome young brother, of whom she was proud. And Miss Mason believed her to be more impressable than the rest of the girls. But on the other side of the room sat Harry, at this moment aglow with life and health, and keeping his teacher's wits on the alert to hold him in check. Fanny glanced over at him. How was it possible to associate death with him? She turned her gaze from him to herself, and the subject of her thoughts was presently made apparent by a half audible whisper. Don't these gloves match my dress nicely? I had a perfectly awful time matching them. And the half hour was gone. The warning bell sounded its note, five minutes for closing the lesson. What was Miss Mason to do with them? She realized that the lesson had hardly been begun. The air had been full of new gloves and fans and laces, and it had all been too much for her. Her honest desire to be helpful had come to naught. She looked from one to another of her girls as they fluttered and whispered, and passed a paper of caramels to the boys in the class across the aisle. She looked down at her lesson paper and longed for the next bell. The golden text stared at her. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her. Just then Hester Mason laughed louder than she had before, and Fanny Tarant joined. Then did Miss Mason speak aloud the thought that came to her. Oh, girls, when the Lord sees you, what will he say? Then she turned away, and the bell rang again, and the hour was over. Do you want to know what Miss Mason did? She went home and shut herself in her room and cried. Poor soul, she was utterly discouraged. She had never before felt so strong a desire to be a real teacher, and had never before so utterly failed. As for the girls, they fluttered out with the crowd. They were none of them from Christian homes. They all belonged to the stamp of family that left it entirely optional with themselves, whether they went to church, or whether they did anything else that might chance to please their fancy. Going to church, said one. Oh, dear, no, it's too pleasant weather for church. Besides, I'm tired of sermons. Let's go to the park. It'll be lovely there today. Come on, Hester, will you go? I don't know, said Hester, irresolutely. No, I don't believe I will. I don't feel like the park. I guess I'm going home. They explained and urged, but she broke away from them and went on alone. At the very next corner stood a trap which Satan had carefully prepared for her unwary feet. Robert Parks, who for the past few weeks had been taking rapid downward strides, had settled on this Sabbath morning as the time to break away from old superstitions and restraints and join an excursion party to a neighboring city. Moreover, he had alternately coaxed and laughed at Austin Barrows until he had prevailed on him to overcome what Robert called old-fashioned notions and keep him company. The determination to make Hester Mason one of the party was an afterthought that pleased Robert greatly, and he waited at the street corner to carry it out. It did not occur to poor Hester to take umbrage at being joined on the street by a young gentleman who had evidently been lying in wait for her. You are to remember that she had not been guarded all her life by a wise and loving mother. She had never so much as heard that the daughters from sheltered homes allowed none of these things, so she greeted Robert Parks with a smile. I wonder what you will say to keeping me company today, he asked her, with the gay air of one on very familiar terms. I have one of the nicest plans arranged that has come into my head in a long time. This is the day of days for a garden concert, isn't the air fine? Sorry, I couldn't have given you longer notice, little girl, but pleasures gotten up in a hurry always turn out the best. Did you see me? I was watching to see if you were going to join that set. I hadn't planned just how to get hold of you in that case, for there really isn't much time to spare. He was taking for granted her acceptance of his invitation, if invitation it could be called, but she interrupted him to ask, where do you want to go? Why, to the garden concert, you have heard of it surely a large party is going when I saw what a lovely morning it was, I knew that the garden was just the place for you and me to spend the day. On the excursion train, Robert Parks I wouldn't do it. Never was a person more astonished than was Robert Parks at this reply. He knew that remonstrances against such excursions were common enough, but he had not expected one from such a source. Why not, he said, trying to conceal his surprise. A sacred concert is a good enough place to go, I'm sure. Yes, but on a Sunday train. Father the Sunday train, he said impatiently. Scruples from Hester Mason were irritating. I don't ask it to run on Sunday and it will go anyhow, whether I ride on it or not. I might as well have the convenience of it. It is only an hour's ride, time enough to go to church all day after that if you want to. What's the matter, Hester? I didn't know you were squeamish. Hester laughed a little. I'm not squeamish, she said, at least not generally. I'll own that I feel queer today. We had the oddest kind of a time in Sunday school. I guess Miss Mason feels queer too. I can't get something that she said out of my mind. It didn't fit that Sunday train a bit and I do wish you wouldn't go. Miss Mason had better preach to herself, declared Robert in great disgust. She went down on the Sunday train the day Governor Burke was buried. End of Chapter 20, Recording by Tricia G. Chapter 21 of Workers Together This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Workers Together or an Endless Chain by Pansy Chapter 21 Unseen Forces There was a moment of disturbed silence. Robert had not before realized that it would make any special difference to him what Hester thought. If she was getting squeamish, he felt that it would be very inconvenient. At last she came to the rescue with a frank little laugh. I know I don't act like myself, Robert, not a bit. And I don't feel at all like myself. I don't know what is the matter with me. Miss Mason said the queerest thing this morning just before Sunday school was over. I never had anything make me feel so in my life, and I'm sure I don't know why it does. I'm not apt to pay much attention to what she says. Between you and me, I don't think there is enough of her to keep anybody's attention. She isn't a bit like Joy Saunders, nor like that awfully in earnest Dr. Everett that you admire so much. Oh my, I guess she isn't. But this morning she didn't feel like herself either, I guess. Anyhow, she said a queer thing. We girls hadn't been behaving very well. Oh, we hadn't done anything so very bad, you know, but we whispered some, and two or three funny things happened, and we laughed. We worried her, I guess. At last she said, and she looked right at me when she said it. Oh, girls, when the Lord sees you, what will he say? Wasn't that strange? I can't help thinking of it. All the time Dr. Everett was closing, I kept saying the words over. Of course, you know he will see us some time, though I don't believe I ever thought of it before. I'll tell you what it is, Rob. If I were you, I would rather meet him somewhere else than on the cars. Who, said Robert? As a rule he was more polite to ladies, but this feature of Hester's character annoyed him exceedingly, the more so because he had a certain startled feeling that what she said was true. For some reason unknown to himself, that old truth struck him strangely. They walked on, Hester talking eagerly, and growing more and more earnest in her determination to carry her point. I don't care, she said, in the free and decidedly unconventional way she had of talking with gentlemen. I believe it, and so do you, that one of these days I shall have to meet him and answer his questions. I don't see why I shouldn't be careful when I think of it. I never did before, and perhaps I never shall again. Oh, well, Robert said coldly. I suppose you will have to do as you will, but I must say I am sorry you chose this particular day on which to try your experiment. I had looked forward to giving you a day of pleasure. Then give it me, she answered eagerly. I don't want you to go on that train a bit. I can't, to save my life, tell why, and I dare say I am acting like a fool. But I think you ought to humor me once in a while, because you know I don't indulge in this line very often. What do you want me to do? Robert asked, and there was indecision in his tones. This curious Hester was growing interesting. He had never heard her coax before. She was generally entirely and gaily willing to carry out his plans. Still, half the anticipated pleasure of the day had been in thinking what Hester would say to the sights he meant to show her. Besides, what would young Barrow say to him for deserting him in this fashion, when he had exhausted half an hour but the evening before, in overcoming that young gentleman's scruples to the Sunday excursion? I promised Barrow's I would meet him at the train, he said, but Hester detected the tone of irresolution in his voice. Send him word that you can't come, she said, her eyes bright and expectant. I'm sure I am of more importance than Austin Barrow's, and I never asked you to do anything for me before. Whether Robert would have settled the matter as he did, could he have had a longer time for decision, will not be known. But at that moment there came, with long strides down the street, one who he knew was going on the excursion. Here was a chance to send a message if he had really given it up. Hello, Fred, he said, going to the train. I guess I want you to take a message to Barrow's for me. You'll find him there, I presume. Hurry up, then. Make your story short. It is ten minutes of starting time. I thought you were going to the train yourself. Changed my mind, said Robert shortly, tearing a leaf from his notebook and writing rapidly, while the young man in waiting stared curiously at Hester. There, said Robert Parks, when he had delivered the note and the messenger had departed. I've done a very strange thing for your benefit. I really hope you appreciate it. What are we supposed to do next? His tone tried to be gay, but in reality it was almost cross. He was unused to having his plans turned aside in this fashion. It was a surprise to him that he had submitted to it. Now, said Hester, with infinite satisfaction, I want you to take me to church. Upon my word, Robert said, almost pausing in the street to look at her, I shall have to get acquainted with you over again. You are blossoming out in a new character altogether. Is there any special church which we are supposed to honor with our presence this morning? Yes, Hester said with a satisfied giggle. There was a stranger to preach at the Olin Street Church. He had been in the store with Mr. Hudson the night before, and he was really handsome. She wanted to hear how he would preach. Besides, she was tired of Dr. Miller and all the folks at the Packard Place Church. She wanted some new ones to look at. It was actually just such reasons as these that took these two to the Olin Street Church that Sabbath morning. That is, these were the only moving forces visible to them. This night thy soul shall be required of thee. These were the words which the young minister announced as his text. Hester Mason hardly heard them. She admired the perfect fitting clerical dress and the fine height and well-developed form of the preacher, and whispered to Robert that he had a really splendid voice. But Robert scarcely heard her. The words of the text had thrilled through him like an electric shock. He had heard them before, was indeed tolerably familiar with the story from which they were taken. They had never made any marked impression on his mind before. Why should they now? There was certainly a startling connection between the thought which they suggested and the one which had roused Hester. He glanced at the girl to see if she noticed it, but Hester apparently had entirely satisfied her conscience by coming to church and prevailing on him to do the same. Once there she had no idea of listening. She was at that moment giving attention to a new style of collar worn by a fashionable lady just in front of her, trying to decide whether it would be possible to imitate it with the aid of some old lace in a certain box at the store that she could get for a trifle. Robert Parks, seeing the indifference on her face, was annoyed at the feeling which possessed him and tried hard to throw it off. He twirled his cane and gazed about him. He even rustled the leaves of the hymn-book, which on ordinary occasions he would have thought rude. It was all to no purpose. He could not get away from the solemn words which seemed staring at him and obliging him to listen. Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee. Young man, said the preacher, bending over the open Bible and speaking in a singularly low and impressive tone, what if this word from the Lord should apply to you? Robert gave a sudden nervous start, which seemed to him so marked that the blood rushed to his face, and he looked about him in dismay to see whether he had been noticed. To his excited imagination, it seemed as though the preacher was looking right at him, speaking to him directly. Well, how was he to answer the question? What if it should be his case? It was possible, certainly. Suppose it were certain, what then? It was of no use for the young man to change his position and declare that he would not listen to a word the speaker was saying, that he was nothing but a young fanatic. He could no more hush the questioning voice of the Holy Spirit striving with his heart, than he could will to have that heart suddenly cease its beating. You are to remember that he was a well-taught young man, that from his youth up, he had been familiar with the commonly accepted doctrines of Christianity. He knew perfectly well that he had been fighting against this whole question for weeks. He had heard the repeated calls to his conscience. He knew that not only his mother, but Dr. Everett and Joyce Saunders and perhaps others, were making him a special subject of prayer. Sometimes the thought of this had irritated him. He had never resented his mother's prayers. It had seemed eminently fitting that she should weep and pray for her son. But sometimes he felt as though he should like to ask the rest of them to be kind enough to let him alone. At the same time, he was aware that he ought to be ashamed of this feeling, and in a sense was ashamed of it. There had been times during the last few months when he had been on the very verge of settling this whole question when he had said to himself, I believe I will take a new start and live a Christian life. I really mean to do it sometime. Why not now as well as any? Yet perhaps in ten minutes his entire mood would change, and he would feel himself farther than ever from the decision. But this Sabbath morning he was passing through a new experience. There came to him a feeling, searching in solemn, that it must be now or never with him, that the time had come when the long-waiting, long-insulted spirit demanded a decision, and that if he made it a negative one, so far as he was concerned, his soul might as well go to the judgment that night as at any other time, for the question would be settled. He could not get away from the belief that he had trifled with this matter just as long as it was safe. In one respect Robert Parks had the advantage of some young men. He had toyed with skepticism it is true. He had told himself angrily, many a time, that he did not believe in this religion at all. But having been fairly well educated, and having a really clear logical mind, he had never even for an hour convinced himself that he believed such statements as these. In reality he knew, as well as he knew he was alive, that he for instance was a sinner, and that Christ was a savior. He knew that nothing but his own will lay between him and safety. Certainly it was a very unsafe thing for a man to dally with such light as this. He did not hear very much of the sermon, a stray sentence now and then delivered with all the earnestness of an earnest soul intent on his maker's business, God used to deepen this soul's sense of responsibility. But for most of the time the battle was fought between his will and God's. That old battle which must always, sooner or later, be fought before Satan loses his hold on the struggling soul. But he settled the question that day. It was done quietly enough to all outward seeming, though he sat in a conspicuous seat surrounded on all sides by worshipers. They saw nothing beyond the ordinary taking place. Yet there occurred at that time and place one of those miraculous experiences which have been going on for thousands of years, although we are wont to say that the age of miracles is past. During that brief hour in which the minister preached and the choir saying, and the worshipers listened or joined, the momentous question as to where Robert Parks meant to spend his eternity was settled. Yet there was no sound of trumpet or roll of drum or shout of triumph here on earth. There were those beside him who were complacent over their summer toilets and thought of nothing else during the ten minutes in which the decision was made. There were those in front of him who continued the mental operations of buying and selling and counting gains. There were those near him who were asleep, and there was joy in heaven among the angels. As for Hester Mason, she was gratified beyond measure with her success in getting young Parks to give up his Sunday excursion and go with her to church. She felt virtuous over it. She believed that she was keeping the Sabbath better than she had in a long time. By no means so well trained as Robert, she even fancied that she had made a slight advanced step towards being ready for that dread moment of which Miss Mason had spoken, though she hoped and believed it was far off. She made sundry resolutions as to her future living, and then resolved not to spoil the brightness of the day by thinking about such solemn things any longer, and gave her attention to Netty Goldwyn's new bonnet. That young lady sat just in front of her and afforded her active mind a fruitful theme. She decided that the bonnet was unbecoming, and that if she had as much money as the Goldwyn's she would see whether she would come to church in such a fright as that. So she who had been one of the instruments used in setting at work forces that would re-echo through all eternity, thought no more about her own soul than she would have done had she been one of the lovely colors in the rainbow-tinted window to which she next turned her attention. You will notice that it was not simply blind chance which was at work that day, else why did not chance do as much for her as it did for the young man at her side? Certainly if Dr. Everett could have had the ordering of events, the very last person whom he would have chosen as likely to have the smallest influence for good on the young man for whom he was praying would have been this girl whom God used. He still dreaded her influence more than that of any other person, so much for man's wisdom. Meantime Austin Barrows on the Sunday excursion train waited for his traveling companion and received instead a note which read, Thus, Barrows, my boy, I have been waylaid and captured. The little girl I decided to bring with me is determined to smuggle me off in another direction. She has a fit of the blues, has been to Sunday school, and the lesson was particularly legubrious or else the teacher was. Anyway, she has been thrown off the track and has pulled me with her. I am the more willing to change my plans because I know the change would please my mother. She is worth pleasing, and I don't do it very often nowadays. Sorry I coaxed you to go, old fellow. I felt more like it last night than I do this morning, but I presume that you will have a grand time, and I'll stay at home and be good for both of us. Parks. Austin Barrows read this hurriedly scribbled note twice through, then twisted it with restless thumb and finger into every shape which he could contrive, whistling, meanwhile, in that absent-minded way which would have told a close observer that he was not thinking of the tune he whistled nor of anything else connected with his present surroundings. In truth, he was thinking of that note. The first feeling was one of indignation. Sunday excursions were not in his line. He had never been to but one before, and Robert Parks had been the moving force at that time as well as now. He would not have thought of going but for the pressure which had been brought to bear upon him, and now to be deserted by the very one who had insisted on his going merely because the girl whom he had invited chose to show her influence over him was, he thought, a very strange way of being treated. Little he cared for any young ladies blues. It would have made no difference had he known it was Hester Mason. She was a gay, pleasant girl, and he liked well enough to chat with her, but he would not have given up an excursion on her account nor have been influenced in any way by her fancies. He felt himself ill-used, but this was not, after all, what left the shade on his face. There was one sentence in the scrawl which he was still twisting that clung to him. It would please my mother, and she is worth pleasing. It so happened that Austin Barrows had a mother whom this day's work would not please. None knew it better than himself. He knew it would hurt to her heart's core. So sensible had he been of this fact that it was what had made him hesitate longest under Parks's urging. He had said nothing about her, but he had sturdily borne up against the pressure as long as he felt able, and here was Parks flaunting the desire to please his mother in his face. He believed in his heart that his mother was better worth pleasing than twenty mothers such as Robert Parks boasted. He was at this moment on the way to the very town where she lived, and although he had not seen her for two months and really longed for a glimpse of her, he had resolved not to go around to the little house today for fear of giving her pain. He meant to return on the evening train, and he pleased himself with the thought that he could have a day of pleasure and rest and not burden her conscience with the sin of it. Mind you, Satan did not let him know that he was ashamed to meet his mother. He was merely tender-hearted and did not want to grieve her. He told himself also that he had not time to go around to mothers. It was a long walk, and he had promised Parks to go to the garden concert and then to drop in at the cathedral and hear the great organ, and then to call on a friend of his, a nice quiet Sabbath it was to be after all. Where was the harm? He whistled and thought about it. But Parks had deserted him. What was he to do with the day now after the famous garden concert? The ostensible reason for getting up the excursion was over. I'll get in an hour for mother after all, he muttered. She will be so glad to see me that she will forget how I got there, perhaps. Still he did not believe that and felt a wondering how he should answer her questions, how she would look, and if he would give her more pain than pleasure. In no pleasant mood, twisting restlessly in his seat, he said to himself, What's the reason that a fellow can never have any fun, I wonder, without something coming in to spoil it? I believe I am a fool. Why can't I just go on with my day as I had planned it? I'm not bound to be miserable just because Parks has made a fool of me. He needn't lug in his mother, that's just an excuse. Precious little he thinks of her, by the way he goes on. I'm sure I write to mother every two weeks, and I spare every copper that I can for her. He owned up to me once that he never sent any money home. He needn't talk. It isn't often I take any pleasure, I'm sure. I don't see any harm in taking a little holiday like this when a fellow has to work as hard as I do. People who have plenty of money, and all the time they want, can afford to be squeamish. Mother isn't a man, and she can't know how a fellow feels tied up all the time. She just sits there in that chair. What does she know about the world? I need the change in rest. One would have thought it would have puzzled the irate young man to know with whom he was arguing. There certainly seemed to be a conflicting party whose views irritated him. He took the morning paper from his pocket and tried to read it. That would seem more respectable than whistling. In the course of time he began to be aware that there was a good deal of running through the car by conductor and breakman, and presently by some of the passengers. Something somewhere must be wrong, yet the train was whizzing along at its usual rate of speed. He lowered his paper and took a view of his traveling companions. It was a curious thing that he had taken a seat in a car where every face was unknown to him. But Austin Barrow's was by no means well acquainted in the city where he was employed, and the young people in the next car, with whom he was on speaking terms, were each accompanied by ladies, so he had felt out of place. This was, by the way, another grievance. He had not known that Robert Parks meant to invite any lady to accompany him. Nothing had been said about such an intention the evening before when all the plans had been made. On the whole it cannot be said that our young man's arrangements for a day of pleasure were the most inviting in the world. And now, to add to his discomforture, was this vague sense of something being wrong. The passengers seemed to be, like himself, restless, excited about something. They kept turning their heads in the direction of the rear car, seemingly watching for some development. Is anything wrong? Austin asked of the young man who occupied the seat in front of him, but who was turned around gazing at the door with so expectant and so graven air that he felt justified in asking the question. There is a fellow in the next car that they think is dying, he said gravely. Dying, repeated Barrow's aghast. What a place to die in. What is the matter with him? I don't know, a fit or a faint or something of that kind. They say he won't get over it. He looks awful. The conductor telegraphed to Chester for a doctor to be at the station, but they say he won't live until the train gets in. They've been running through the train for a doctor, but there ain't none. Then they tried for a minister, but that sort ain't often found on the cars this day of the week. Nothing more full of distress than young Barrow's space can be imagined. Did the man want to see a minister? He asked in a low-ostrican tone. No, poor fellow, he wants his mother. That's all he thinks about. He keeps asking for her. He's young, not older than you or I, and she isn't far off, only down here in Chester, they say. But she might as well be a thousand miles off, for all he'll ever have of her, I guess. But it is kind of decent to have a minister around at such a time, you know. He ought to have something said to him, I suppose. You see, he comes too a little and then goes off again into another faint. They telegraphed the Reverend Dr. Holden to meet the train at Chester. Yes, he did ask for a minister the last time he roused. At least he wanted somebody to pray, but not one could be found. The fact is, the praying folks, I'll stay at home today. I wouldn't have thought of looking for one on the cars. I wouldn't want a body that rode on the cars on Sunday to pray for me if I was dying, would you? But young Barrowes was too much distressed for even such grave moralizing as this. His informant was grave enough, chewed the end of his cane thoughtfully, and seemed deeply impressed with the sadness of the whole thing. But the arrow in his words that pierced Barrowes' heart was found in the sentence, He wants his mother. I'll go straight down to mothers, he muttered, as soon as ever I get off the train. CHAPTER XXIII This resolve he carried into effect. He had that advantage over some. When he came to a downright decision, he was very apt to act on it. Sometimes the difficulty was to bring himself to a decision. He waited only to learn if he could who the poor young man was, and to find that he had drawn his last gasp before doctor or minister or mother could reach him. Then he turned his back on the gaily painted pleasure wagons drawn by four horses, waiting to take passengers to the summer gardens, and took long strides toward the lower end of the town, in search of a little white house set back from the road with a tree in front. As he walked and thought, he could not keep back an occasional shutter. What a place in which to die, a railroad train, and a Sabbath morning, and the mothers and the ministers, and all the praying folks at home. Ah, there was the little house. How came he to think he could go away from the city without a sight of it? He felt now that there was no sight anywhere in the world quite equal to it, for it sheltered his mother. He went softly around to the back door. He peeped in at the window. No fear of mother not being there to receive him, for she was lame, and never went away from home. There she sat in her little rocking chair, the one that he had bought for her. The little square stand, old-fashioned and worn, was drawn near the open window within reach of her hand, and on it lay that old, large-print, brown-covered Bible, out of which she had read when she rocked him to sleep on her bosom. It was open, and her spectacles lay on it. She was ready to read. The little room had a cleared-up, Sabbath air all about it, all traces of the weekday sewing and knitting had disappeared. The work-table was covered with a fresh white cloth, and on it stood a tumbler filled with sweet-smelling blossoms. How quiet it was and pleasant, and the look of peace on his mother's face was good to see. He would not have gone back again to his work without it for the world, and that poor fellow down at the station could not see his mother's face, though she was bending over him, raining the tears down on it. He turned the knob softly and went in. He knew well that the joy of seeing him would be mingled with pain, but he must go in. He must hear his mother's voice. Well, mother, he said. Then he saw her face gleam in eager, joyful greeting. Oh, my dear boy! she said, and he was beside her and felt her arms about his neck and her kiss upon his cheek, and that young man lying down in the station would never feel his mother's kiss again. The day was very different from anything that he had planned. It surprised him to think that it should be so, but at first he had no inclination to leave his mother's side. Her face had shadowed when she heard how he came and how he was going back, but she said nothing. She was a very wise mother, and had learned that there was a time to keep silence, that hardest lesson, perhaps, which anxious mothers have to learn. Still he felt the shadow, the more possibly, because it was wordless. It was after the little sister came home from Sabbath school that he told about the sick young man on the train. Somehow he had not felt like telling his mother in the hush and privacy of the morning, but with the twelve-year-old sister fluttering about, it had seemed to him that it would not be so awfully solemn, but as it happened the child deepened the impression. I wonder if his mother is a widow, she exclaimed. Why, darling, questioned the mother, do you think you know who it may be? No, mama, but it makes me think of the lesson for today. Don't you know, mama? He was the only son of his mother and she was a widow. I was thinking that when Jesus saw that mother, he had compassion on her. Oh, dear, if he could only have been on the cars this morning. Do you think he would have been this morning, daughter, if he had been on earth? Oh, no, mama, of course not! And the little sister gave a quick startled glance at the brother who had come to them on the Sunday train. He felt that glance, and was thinking at that moment that another must be added to the list of people who were not to be found on Sunday trains. Poor mother, his mother said tenderly. My heart bleeds for her, but there are many widows, daughter, who have only sons, and there are more sorrowful things than death in the world. Yes, but mama, Jesus said to this one, young man I say unto thee arise, he is stronger than death. Dear child, he says those words to many a young man who will not listen to them. Oh, that my son would hear his voice calling to him. The words were low-spoken and tremulous. They hardly reached the ears of the sister, standing a little way off, but the son heard distinctly. There was something about them that made him shiver. They seemed to pass through his outer consciousness, if I may use the term, and reach his soul. The young sister looked from one to the other of the two faces, and moved softly away, odd with a sense of a third presence, which she could feel but could not understand. Austin Barrows arose from his seat near his mother, shook himself impatiently as if he would shake off the clinging thoughts, and went out into the little porch where the roses waved and blossomed. He picked one and pulled its leaves off with a nervous hand, and scattered them for the wind to blow away. Meantime he gave himself an irritating lecture. I should really like to know what is the matter with me. I was never so upset in my life. I am sure I was always aware that there was such a thing as death in the world, and since a man has got to die when his time comes, I don't know why it is any worse to die on a railroad train than anywhere else. Yet as he spoke he shivered again, and he knew in his heart that it was not, after all, the railroad train, nor yet the dying, that made him shrink. It was the thought that he was not prepared to die. If the summons had been given to him instead of to that young man, he would have been utterly unprepared to meet it. Then came conscience up to have his word with this parlaying soul. You are a fool, said this plain spoken monitor, simply a fool. You say you always knew that a man must die when his time came, and certainly you knew that your time might be today. You have no assurance to the contrary. Why, then, did not common sense lead you to make the necessary preparations? If you were certain of going to Europe within a few years, and if it were possible that you might be called upon to start today, would you not consider yourself an idiot if you gave no attention to the preparations, especially if there was nothing in the world to hinder you getting already at once, so that it would not inconvenience you to start at a moment's notice? You mean to get ready some time to die, you have always said so. You know just what to do in order to be ready, yet you let the days go by, and keep yourself at the back of such fellows as that Robert Parks, and keep your mother in constant anxiety, so that she is paler and feebler today than you have ever seen her before. Now really, if you are not a fool, what do you call such conduct? The young man's face flushed a little. Nobody but himself would have been allowed to use such language to himself, but he could not help feeling that it was true. His mother had been faithful in her teachings. Miss Saunders had been a faithful Sabbath school teacher. Dr. Everett had been a faithful friend. Like Robert Parks, he knew the way perfectly. Neither had he gone so far out of the way in some respects as had Robert Parks. For instance, he had never neglected his mother. Yet this afforded him small relief just now. Glancing in at the little window, he could see her worn face. She was fading. It was very apparent. He would not have her long. Was it worthwhile to burden her heart with unnecessary fears for him? What did he want to do with his life that would be hindered if he should make the decision now and settle this question forever? Parks would sneer, of course, but was he really afraid of that fellow's sneers? Then he must be a coward, and he never supposed himself to be that. The boys in his set would cut him, but he was not so attached to them that this ought to make any great difference. His mother was praying for him. He could see her lips move behind the hand which was shielding her face. Her head lay back against the cushion, and he noticed that her hair was very gray, although she was young. Sorrowful days had his mother seen. He had it in his power to give her a great joy this day. Should he do it? These were some of his thoughts, and others ran counter to them. Sha, he said, kicking the fallen rose-leaves right and left. Fiddlesticks, what a gay time I was going to have today. Not a thing have I done that I planned to do. What will the fellows think? Some of them are looking for me, I dare say. What am I to tell them about how I spent the day? This won't do. I believe I will go down to the gardens as soon as I have had my dinner. Mother can't complain. I have given most of the day to her, and I must get back to night, of course. I don't know when I have had such a day. I hope it will be a long time before I have another like it. I wouldn't have supposed myself so easily upset. It is all owing to that parks. If he had kept his appointment this morning, as he ought to have done, we should have carried out our program and had a good time, and Mother wouldn't have had it to worry her. I must get away as soon as dinner is over. CHAPTER 24 Decisions and Perplexities But the dinner was late, unaccountably so. The little housekeeper who had it all to do tried her best, but the wind was contrary and the fire refused to burn as promptly as it should and puffed out clouds of smoke at her until her eyes were red. Then in her hurry she spilled the hot water, pouring some of it on her poor little hand. After that she tried hard to keep back the tears over the smarting, while she hurried the dinner lest Austin should be tired waiting. What trivial causes were detaining the brother? He thought the question of going was settled, but it unsettled itself the moment he took a seat beside his mother and began to talk of indifferent things. She was not in the mood to talk of indifferent things. The very sound of her voice seemed to press upon him the subject from which he was trying to get away. He went, at last, out into the tiny summer kitchen to help the little housekeeper. This was what he was in the habit of doing, and she had wondered over his not coming. But while he was giving his entire attention to the broiling of the bit of steak, she said, Austin, don't you hope that poor young man was a Christian? And yet I am afraid he wasn't. He wouldn't have been on the train on Sunday if he had been good, would he? Then, blushing scarlet over her blundering, the little woman said, Oh, Austin, I don't mean that, you know. I mean, well, oh, Austin, you know Christians don't travel on Sunday. He tried to laugh at her confusion, and told her that he guessed she didn't know what she meant, and that the steak was broiled, and so was he. Then he hurried away from the kitchen. There was no safe spot in that house. When the dinner was finally over, and he had helped Janey with the heavy things, it was too late to think of going to the gardens. He felt half glad about it. They had no attraction for him. A dozen topics of conversation he started, but his mother, gentle, patient, would not talk about them other than to give the simplest answers, which left no chance for continuing. At last the little sister finished her work in the summer kitchen, then stole away somewhere, seeming to realize that in that room there were forces at work, which she must not disturb by careless words. The young man had yielded again to the restlessness which possessed him, and was walking up and down the narrow space, trying not to think, yet he thought. There was a great battle being fought that day. Very few human beings knew or indeed ever heard of it. But the legions of darkness and the hosts of heaven, and one mother and one son knew all about it. By and by a whistle sounded in the distance, often looked at the little clock in the corner, at his watch, then at his mother. Never mind the train, my son, the mother said, let it go. I shall lose the return fair mother unless I go in this train or the next one. Never mind the fair, money is of the very smallest consequence just now. Subtle this question, dear boy, don't let anything come between. Subtle what question, mother? But he needed no answer. He knew what his mother considered the most important question in life. Also he knew that money was scarce in that cottage. I will go on the next train, I think, he said doubtfully. The excursion tickets are taken on that one, and it doesn't go for an hour yet. My dear son, do not wait another hour before you decide this matter. You do not know that you have an hour to spare. Then there was silence again and thinking and praying in that little room. The clock ticked, and the soft wind blew and scattered rose-leaves about the room, and the mother leaned back in her rocker and made no outward sign, but her bleeding heart said, O Christ of Galilee, thou who didst have compassion on that mother at the gates of Nain, he is the only son of his mother and she is a widow. Let it be now, Lord, now. Could we but have looked into heaven during that solemn hour? What would we have seen and heard there? The angels, you know, must have been watching. Probably they waited in suspense the result of the battle. But he who was to see the travail of his soul and be satisfied needed not to wait as the mother did. But long before, Austin Barrows went over to her side and said, Mother, will you pray for me? He knew that the conflict was over, that once again he had battled with Satan for a soul and had won. Less than an hour afterward the whistle of the second excursion train sounded, but Austin's mother with smiling eyes said, Let it go, my son, men who pray, you know, have no place on a Sunday train. So the excursion train swept out of the city with two passengers less than it carried in the morning. To both of them the Christ of Nain had spoken. To the one, this day thy soul shall be required of thee. To the other, young man I say unto thee arise. Meantime Dr. Everett, all unaware of what God was doing, passed these two young men on Monday, met them indeed several times, and as soon as he did so he let his mind wander sadly over the hopes he had had for them, and the efforts he had made to reach them. He believed that all had thus far been in vain, and while he was not exactly discouraged, he was certainly sad and disappointed. He thought himself thoroughly posted as to the events of the Sabbath just past. He knew that Robert Parks had wandered away from the church, which of late he had been in the habit of attending, and had gone in disreputable company. It was very apparent that Hester Mason was the one who had influence with him, if something could only be done for her. But Joy Saunders had failed, so what was there to hope for? The doctor would have been ashamed of himself had he put that thought into words. The fact is, we have many thoughts that will not bear voicing. As for Austin Barrows, the doctor knew that he had joined the Sunday excursionists without apparently having the excuse of being led in that direction by Robert Parks. From his standpoint, this seemed a rapid downward stride, and so perhaps it was not to be wondered at that he felt more than usually disheartened, and passed and repast the young men several times without attempting to speak with them. His professional duties were crowding him during these days, so that he rarely met Robert at the table. I would not have you understand that the young gentlemen in question were together. The truth is that during the earlier days of that eventful week, they carefully avoided each other's society. Perhaps Austin Barrows had good reason for this course. He realized that he had been led astray by young Parks, and he did not yet feel strong enough to meet the ridicule to which he believed he would be subject. Why Robert Parks should avoid him would perhaps be more difficult to explain, save that Robert had an idea that a radical change of associates was necessary for him. It was Monday evening and Dr. Everett, who had been planning all day with a view to a leisure hour, having succeeded, spent it in Miss Mason's parlor. Sorely perplexed was Dr. Everett. Was he, as a superintendent, doing all that he could for a girl like Hester Mason if he left her under the influence of such a teacher? Yet how could he make any changes? Miss Mason had her story to tell. It was not encouraging. The girls had never seemed so listless and uninterested as on the previous Sabbath. I tried really hard, said the poor teacher, and I couldn't do a thing with them. They would talk about their gloves and their bonnets, and Dr. Everett, that Hester Mason does try me beyond anything. It is clear that a girl like her should have such an influence in the class. You would think they would feel superior to her, but it almost seems as though they copied her. Anyhow, when she chatters, the rest of them do. She seems to have a great deal of influence over her associates, admitted the doctor, and for that reason, among others, I wish we could reach her. She has a very decided character and might be a power for good. Perhaps we ought to feel less discouraged about her when we remember the teaching she has had. I mean that less ought to be expected of her. Well, Ms. Mason said, so far as that was concerned, she was sure she expected very little of her. If the girl would only stay away from the class altogether, she would feel that she had done the best thing she could for all concerned. As for influencing her to behave herself, she had not the least hope of it. She didn't believe she knew how or wanted to know. And then the doctor began to feel sure that he was not doing his duty by Hester Mason. Think of leaving her with a teacher whose strongest wish concerning her was that she might stay away. Suppose he should remove her to another class. The probabilities were very strong that she would take offense and remove herself from the Sabbath school. Slight as was her attachment to the school, it was associated, of course, with that particular corner of the room and that set of girls, and she was just the one to resent interference. Besides poor man, he cast about hurriedly to see where he would place her, supposing he saw his way clear to making a change, but not a class presented itself as the wise place for this stray sheep. There could be no possible assimilation between the girls of Joyce Saunders's class and this one. Mrs. Saunders was teaching boys and besides did not like Hester, and in short, there was some excellent reason why she should not have a place in any class of which he could think. The fact was, Miss Mason ought to be removed and a suitable teacher set in her place, but how to accomplish the removal and where to find the suitable teacher to take her place. There was at that moment something like a groan in the superintendent's heart, and if he had given it voice it would have said, Oh, Miss Mason, Miss Mason, if you could only be made over, if your love for poor Hester's periled soul was so great that you would cling to her despite all obstacles and cry to God continually for her rescue, you would be the teacher for her above all others. Then immediately there came to his own heart the question, Have you prayed in this way for Hester Mason? Have you prayed in this way for Hester Mason's teacher? Do you believe that God is able to change the heart of the one and renew the zeal of the other? And if you do, why don't you cry to him to do it? He sat silent for so long a time that Miss Mason wondered what was in his mind. At last he told her.