 7 Working in a strange place. I owe you an apology, Mr. Hammond said, as he stepped forward, for bringing your music to a sudden rest. But the fact is, it is growing late on Saturday evening, and I am in some haste. I have been detained from your gathering until this late hour, and I am only here now to wish you good evening, and extend to you an invitation. I have a friend who is very much interested in Sabbath schools, and he is particularly interested, Miss Parkhurst, in our two classes. He has given me leave to invite you all to an entertainment, which he feels very certain that you will enjoy, and I take great pleasure in repeating his message. Not only the dancing, but the croquet game had ceased with the music, and the entire party were evidently interested in this new development. Miss Evans spoke first, as she was apt to do. What sort of an entertainment is it to be, musical or what? That question is rather broad, Mr. Hammond said, smiling. I know there is to be some very fine music, and exceedingly rare treat in that line is expected, but I don't think the program is to be confined to music. In fact, my friend's preparations are on such an unusually grand scale that it is rather difficult to give you a program. Is there to be a large party? Lester St. John asked, with an unusual appearance of interest, he was exceedingly fond of good music. A very large company, and some very distinguished guests, some that you will especially enjoy meeting will. Scientific people, will Gordon said, with a lighting up of his handsome eyes. Scientists of the very grandest attainments, some of them are special friends of his, and there is one exceedingly eminent historian. Arthur Sanford shrugged his shoulders a little. I am afraid it is a literary entertainment, he said, laughingly, and I would be ridiculously out of place in such a gathering. I go in for fun. It is the best place I have ever heard of in which to enjoy oneself. Mr. Hammond said, heartily, Sanford, I'll ensure you a good time if you go. Oh, I'll go, I presume. I always try every sort of amusement I can find. There is none too much to be had in this world. Mr. Hammond, will your friend allow dancing? Sarah Blake said, mischief sparkling in her eyes. From your tone and manner, Miss Sarah, I infer that you consider it very doubtful. May I ask you why? Oh, scientific gentlemen are not given to that sort of thing, are they? Scientific people and scholarly people and musical people and dancing people do not match. Is that the idea? Well, something like that, I suppose, I mean, Sarah said, slightly abashed. It has never occurred to me to class dancing among the entertainments of that occasion, but we might make inquiries in regard to the probabilities if it is likely to be an important omission. I presume we could all survive without that employment, Lester St. John said a little heartily. The half-mocking tone in which Mr. Hammond spoke did not suit his sense of importance. He continued his sentence with dignity. For, one, I am a good deal interested in the project. I like to meet people with brains if I can boast of but few myself. Do you know, Mr. Hammond, whether any of the gentlemen of the scientific association are to be there? Several of them have accepted invitations. I had a letter this evening from Professor John Whitney. He tells me that he has a hope of meeting me there. I have not seen him for five years and have had no certain prospect of ever meeting him again. It is a special delight to me to know that he is coming. Will Gordon's eyes danced with delight? Professor John Whitney, he is the great naturalist you know, St. John. He is an old friend of my father. Right Mr. Hammond, will father be invited? He has been and is looking forward to it with great interest. It is rather a mixed-up affair, I should think, old and young, big and little altogether. This was Larry Bates' comment. Larry wasn't certain whether he was in favor of it or not. That's the beauty of it, Lester St. John said eagerly. A fellow doesn't always like to be mewed up in a corner with people of his own age. I like to meet people of mark. I don't know whether I want to go or not, Larry Bates said, still good-naturedly. I like to be where I am sure of having a good time and the people are not too many miles above me. I don't believe they'll play croquet and I like that better than science. But the music, Lawrence, what about that? However, there is no compulsion about it. Of course you can go or not go just as you please. Miss Parkhurst came suddenly to the rescue. Why, of course you will go, Lawrence. I'm sure none of us will think of missing such an entertainment. For my part I feel greatly honored by the invitation. Don't you think so, Mr. Hammond? I certainly do. I know I never felt more honored in my life than when I received mine. I hope you will all avail yourselves of a very wonderful opportunity. He must be a wealthy man to be able to give parties on so large a scale, Fanny Horton said inquiringly. He is immensely wealthy and has resources at his command beyond any other person that I know. Well, what say you? Will you all accept the invitation? Next we answer tonight. Was Sarah Blake's inquiry? Well, perhaps not necessarily. Still, of course it would be courteous to give a prompt answer. However, I'll not press you as to that. You can each return an answer for yourself. Because, continued Sarah, the awful question of wherewithal shall I be clothed might come in to bewilder some of us, it is a question that is forever haunting me and I'm sure it will present its most formidable side for such a grand occasion as this. This sentence, spoken in a kind of stage undertone, was sufficiently loud for Mr. Hammond to hear, and he answered it immediately. Ah, that brings me to a very important part of the subject which I had nearly forgotten. My friend has not only provided entertainment for his guests, but the wherewithal shall I be clothed question is safely put to rest. He furnishes the wardrobe also. Such astonished exclamations as sounded among the eager group. I never heard of such a thing, said Fanny Horton. Why, Mr. Hammond, how can such a thing be managed? May Horton exclaimed at the same moment. What on earth can be the object? Celia Evans said, somewhat hodlily, I'm sure when I go to a party I prefer to select my own wardrobe. During this entire conversation Peter Armstrong had been gradually moving toward the circle, until he stood beside Mr. Hammond. Now he stood looking at him with wide open, eager eyes. He had not spoken a word, but at this moment he answered the hoddy Celia in sudden, solemn tones. You mustn't do that, you will be like the man who got in without having on the wedding garment, and they took him and bound him and cast him into outer darkness. A sudden hush fell over the eager group, and Mr. Hammond repeated slowly, he that overcomeeth the same shall be clothed in white raiment, and I will not blot out his name out of the Book of Life, and white robes were given to every one of them. Larry Bates broke in upon the hush with a little laugh and a quick sentence. Seems to me that's a kind of a sell, isn't it? Larry was never afraid to speak. In what respect, Mr. Hammond asked, turning toward him quickly, why I thought we were to go to some grand place and have a splendid time. I didn't promise that, I simply said you were invited. I cannot, of course, accept your invitation for you. Each of you will have to do it, each for himself, in this as in many things. Lester St. John was on the alert and spoke eagerly. But Mr. Hammond, didn't you say a friend of yours was going to give an entertainment? I did. How many times do you suppose the Bible illustrates the thought of heaven by telling of a feast or a wedding or an entertainment of some kind? I'm sure I don't know, sir. Just look that subject up, won't you, and report to me some time? But Mr. Hammond, said Will Gordon, didn't you intend us to think that you referred to some gathering not quite so far away nor so bewildering in its route? I intended to speak to you the exact truth about something that is certainly to come, and see to what extent I could enlist your sympathies and tastes. I thought you all seemed interested and animated. Does it lessen the interest because the gathering of which I speak, instead of being in some common home around you, is to take place in the eternal city at the palace of the great king? It is a different sort of thing from what any of us thought anyhow. This was Arthur Stanford's contribution to the conversation. Is this important, Arthur? His teacher asked quickly. Well, no, I suppose not, but not so easily managed. Some of us don't like the conditions, Larry Bates said, with a twinkle of mischief in his black eyes. There are conditions attached to this party, and generally speaking there aren't many connected with mundane ones. I shouldn't subscribe to that, Dr. and Larry. Something that is worth having in this world is based on conditions, but what is the fault in the ones of which you speak? St. John answered him quickly, and with a tinge of hot tour in his tones, the yielding up of one's will to the control of another, I object to that. He spoke with the air of one who thought he had set a bold, defiant, almost impious thing calculated to shock his listeners, and then waited to see how they would receive it. Miss Parkhurst exclaimed in dismay, and even Celia Evans said, Why, Lester St. John, that's wicked! But Mr. Hammond answered him with the utmost composure. I am surprised to hear you say so, St. John. I had given you the credit of being able to understand how superior intellects gloried in bowing themselves before powers infinitely superior to themselves. St. John turned on his heel and moved away with a very annoyed face. If there was one thing above others that he coveted, it was the being ranked among those who could appreciate superior intellects. Well, said Mr. Hammond, I'll think of it, please. Some of you accepted the invitation. It is an invitation, more earnestly given than common ones ever are. The entertainment is certain to take place. If you are sincere in your acceptance, you will be there. I hope to meet you all. Can't we sing a verse together, something very familiar? Miss Nettie, can you play the sweet by and by? It was a favorite hymn, and nearly all the voices united in singing it. There's a land that is fairer than day, And by faith we can see it afar, For the Father waits over the way To prepare us a dwelling place there. In the sweet by and by We shall meet on that beautiful shore. That depends, said Mr. Hammond, on whether we accept the invitation. Miss Parkhurst, can we have a word of prayer before I go? It is very pleasant to know that Christ is interested in even our amusements. What could Miss Parkhurst do but bow her head in response to the question, though certainly it was the strangest conclusion to a dancing party that she had ever known? The prayer was very simple and brief, the two main thoughts being that their meeting together on the eve of an approaching Sabbath might not unfit them for the rest and joy of that holy day, and that the great feast that was being prepared above might not be forgotten by any one of them, and that above all things they might be kept from the misery of putting off their personal preparations until it was too late. Immediately thereafter Mr. Hammond bade them all a cordial good evening and took his departure. A general lull seemed to be upon the company. Just what to do next apparently bewildered them. Nettie Parkhurst still kept her station at the piano with a grave face. Shall she finish the quadrill or play the long meter doxology? said Miss Celia Evans, inclining her head toward Nettie. The poor child is evidently confused as to what is next in order, and no wonder. We've had enough of quadrill, I think. Was St. John's verdict? It is getting rather late for dancing. Miss Parkhurst came to their relief by immediately announcing refreshments. Isn't he a queer man? Miss Evans said to Lester as they walked out to supper together. He is in earnest. Lester answered briefly. Oh yes, he is in earnest. No one can doubt that. But don't you think he sees things strangely sometimes? What things, for instance? Oh, well, like tonight. Wasn't it a strange sort of talk? Perhaps so. Lester said with a sarcastic laugh. Yes, as things go in this world, I think it was so. But the question is, which was the mixed thing for Saturday evening at ten o'clock, what he introduced or what we did? Why, Lester, I'm half inclined to think you are giving exclusive attention to this sort of thing yourself. I'm a fool, Lester said moodily, but I may like to meet people who are not for all that. Ha, ha, oh, that is really the richest thing I have heard this season. Mr. Lewis removed his boots from the stove to a chair in his glee, and then leaned back and looked his friend over carefully before he laughed again. Ha, ha, ha, so you really went to Miss Parkhurst's on Saturday evening, too, and to visit your own class? Why, man alive, don't you know that Miss Parkhurst never has anything but dancing parties and card parties? She is a member of our church and a teacher in our Sunday school, Mr. Hammond said significantly. Can't help that. She is an inveterate dancer, too, as people without brains generally are, and she doesn't exercise common sense in regard to time and people any more than she does in regard to anything else. I declare that's too funny, the idea of springing that trap on you, that comes of your being so incommunicative as to your movements. I could have given you a bit of information. What in creation did you do? What would you have done under the like circumstances? If you'll overlook the compliment, like circumstances wouldn't have found me under them. However, if I had been fairly caught, I presume I should have made the best of it, stood in a corner and chewed my whiskers during the performance, eaten my supper when the time came, and left at the earliest practicable hour a sadder and wiser man. Now what did you do? By dint of considerable cross-questioning Mr. Lewis drew out the story of Mr. Hammond's share in the Saturday evening party. His comment was, as he arose to go, Well, Hammond, there's no mistake about it. There are two kinds of people in this world and two ways of doing things. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Work that involves my neighbor Mr. Hammond drew the shade, arranged the drop-light to his satisfaction, and sat down at his green-covered round table to the uninterrupted enjoyment of his books. It was not often that he had an evening quite to himself. If there were not figures or bank-books, or some of the bewilderments of business, there was a meeting of some sort, scarcely ever the luxury of an evening to dispose of as he chose. He appreciated it. He was an intellectual man, with tastes cultivated, and education suited to the rare pleasures of a table on which lay several choice books, and a review or two of the highest order. This was the page of special interest that commanded his attention on this particular evening, where his finger rested, we quote, And Jesus answered him, The first of all the commandments is, Here O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord, and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength. This is the first commandment, and the second is like, namely this. Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these. It was with these last sentences that Mr. Hammond's reading suddenly stopped. The first part had served to solemnize his heart. He realized in a measure, at least, what an utter giving up of self, heart, soul, strength, mind, that word all involved. He realized how far short of the pattern his own copy of life measured. Yet he realized one other thing, and blessed is the man who, reading these words, can realize it, that he was trying to shape his life after that pattern. It was short, narrow, scrimped in every way, yet it was better than no garment at all, especially since, after all, it was only like the child's hemming that the loving mother endures because the child has done its best, and she can cover up the defects with some fine stitches of her own. No, not like that, either, because this earnest Christian man felt deeply that he had not even done as well as he could. There is, perhaps, no parallel to man's shortcomings and God's forgiving love. But it was over this sentence that Mr. Hammond halted, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. His conscience had been busy all day, and indeed, for several days, offering suggestions as to what he might do for a certain neighbor of his. It came to him now with quiet, questioning voice. Whose ease and comfort and help are you working for now? But it is right, said Mr. Hammond's inner consciousness, answering this accusing voice. It is right enough to take one's comfort occasionally. It is surely a proper thing to do to study my Sabbath school lesson. Of course it is. Thy neighbor as thyself, the command says, it doesn't require more. It is very rarely that I have a leisure evening. I know it. I don't know when you may have another opportunity to do that thing. Mr. Hammond at this point pushed back his chair, put up his book, and took a measured walk up and down his room. His next inward sentence seemed somewhat irrelevant. It is raining quite hard. So it is, and so it was on Tuesday evening when you went to Professor Bayer's chemical entertainment, thy neighbor as thyself, nobody pleads for more. After all I don't know that I can do any good. Know when you can't be sure until you try. But I might do harm. Was that remark yours or Satan's? Whereupon Mr. Hammond put an abrupt termination to this parley by coming over to the chair in which he had been sitting and kneeling down. It seemed quite time to consult higher wisdom than was to be found from any inward consciousness. Apparently he found it, for he made no further talk. But rising presently, put aside his books, got out rubbers and waterproof overcoat, turned down his gas to a very speck of brightness, and went out. His parkhurst was more nearly out of humor than circumstances often found her. The circumstances were sufficiently aggravating. In the first place it rained hard. In the second place she had a cold, had a strip of flannel about her throat, had an irritating cough that promised greater things in that line unless it had a fair amount of attention. In the third place there was an evening party just around the corner to which she had been invited. But how can one attend a party adorned with strips of flannel? Or how can one risk the exposure of its removal on a very rainy evening, especially with that cough thrown into the scales? Truth to tell, Ms. Parkhurst would have found a way of reconciling or surmounting each of these difficulties if she had not possessed behind the scenes a somewhat sensible mother, at least so far as the body was concerned, who protested so strongly that she had to be heard. Therefore Ms. Parkhurst rocked dolefully to and fro and ate bits of trochies, then which he could do nothing worse, and sighed wearily and wished that it was eight o'clock so that she might go to bed. You might go before eight, the mother said, trying to be sympathetic. It's stupid to go to bed, Ms. Parkhurst answered, yawning. But I don't know what else to do, and I really feel miserable. I don't believe I could hold my head up. There's the doorbell, Kate. As that official passed through the room to answer the summons. If that should be anyone to see me, and it isn't likely it is, everybody worth seeing is at the party. You may bring them right in here. I'm not going into the parlor tonight for anybody. The consequence of this direction was that Kate presently ushered Mr. Hammond into the cozy little sitting-room. Why, Mr. Hammond? Ms. Parkhurst said, and she held up her head without difficulty, surprise and unmistakable satisfaction in her voice. Then followed a very animated conversation in which Ms. Parkhurst's head and general health seemed to improve. The truth is Mr. Hammond had the name of being exclusive. Certainly his calls in their set were rare, and upon Ms. Parkhurst he had never called before. When you add to this the fact that most of the ladies had sense enough to both admire and respect him, it will in part account for her animation. It was not until Mrs. Parkhurst had been summoned to a kitchen council by Kate that Mr. Hammond mentioned Sabbath school, then he said, somewhat abruptly, I am interested in your class, Ms. Parkhurst, who of them are Christians? Ms. Parkhurst looked embarrassed. She did not know. She thought, or she imagined, yes indeed, she might say she was almost sure that Hattie Taylor was. For the rest she didn't believe any of them ever thought of such a thing. Do you not think, then, that there is any hopeful state of feeling, any special interest among them? No, so far as she knew anything about it there was not. Have you prepared your lesson for next Sabbath? I haven't looked at it, don't even know what it is, she said lightly. I have been sick all the week, you know. Besides, she added, as an afterthought, I hardly ever look at it until Sunday morning. At least she was not a hypocrite. Then perhaps you do not realize what a peculiarly important subject it is. I was struck with it this evening in reading. I felt the need of talking it over with some of my fellow teachers. Ms. Parkhurst felt honored. I am sure I should enjoy it of all things, she said heartily, though I don't know a bit about the lesson, and I am a perfect dunce anyhow. What is the lesson? Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with all thy mind and with all thy strength. Mr. Hammond repeated the words impressively. Isn't that tremendous, Ms. Parkhurst? I tremble before that lesson. My boys are sharp enough to say, or at least to think, physician, heal thyself. How can I presume to teach such a lesson as that, when I have hardly learned the alphabet of it myself? His counselor was utterly silent. He tried again. How are you going to teach it, Ms. Parkhurst? I don't know, I haven't the least idea. She did not say it carelessly or lightly, but as if she were in grave, thoughtful earnest. After a minute's silence, she said, I suppose I shall ask the questions on the question paper and have them read over the verses together and let it go at that. That is about all the teaching that I ever do. I don't know how to teach any way. Neither do I. He said simply, I feel my inability sometimes crushingly. Are you really well enough to talk about the lesson with me for a little while? Oh, yes, indeed. She should like nothing better. Perhaps she should contrive to get some ideas, she said, and they were at all times scarce with her. Then, said this strange man, shall we just have a word of prayer about it? You know what it says. If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God. I will pray, and then will you. Now, I appeal to you, good sensible reader, viewed in the light of common sense, could anything be more reasonable than that? Here were two people, members of the same church, teachers in the same Sabbath school, having mutually confessed ignorance and desire for enlightenment. What was more natural than that they should bow down together before the God who has said, if two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them, and ask him for the help that he has promised. Yet, viewed in the light of actual Christian experience, could anything have been more utterly, surprisingly strange? Miss Parkhurst felt it so. She answered him, with cheeks aflame, Why, Mr. Hammond, I never prayed before anybody in my life. No, he said gently, and you wouldn't like to make a first time of it tonight. Well then, shall we kneel together, and the Lord looketh on the heart, you know, I will offer the spoken words, but I trust we will be too agreed as touching the one thing. Do you imagine that Miss Parkhurst will ever forget that prayer? It startled. In some points actually frightened her. It petitioned for a consecration of which she had never dreamed. It put a meaning into that word all that she had never imagined before. Some of the time she followed the language with a sort of vague longing that such a state of life might be hers, that she might someway jump into the experience which he seemed to possess, without any of the work of climbing. But oftener she roved off into thoughts like these. How queer this is! Here I am at a prayer meeting. I wonder what Belle Lawrence would say if she could see me now. I suppose they are dancing like tops over at the party. I hope mother won't come in. What in the world would she think? He is a good man anyhow, the best man in the world, I believe. I shall be more afraid of him than ever after this. Miss Parkhurst, why don't you attend the teacher's meetings? This was Mr. Hammond's first sentence after prayer. Miss Parkhurst hesitated. She had been asked that question before and had pled previous engagements, want of time, distance, dislike of going alone, and various others supposed to be courteous excuses. But immediately after such a prayer simple truth seemed the only appropriate answer. So after a moment she said, Because I never have any time to study my lesson and I am afraid they will ask me questions and I am a dunce, you know. Do you really mean that you never have time to study? Again Miss Parkhurst hesitated. This time she laughed a little. Then she said, Well no, I really suppose I could find a little time if I remembered it. Won't you try it? He said simply, And if you will come to the teacher's meeting this week I think you will find help. Have you any special engagement for Friday evening? Not unless her cold should prove one, she said, smiling. It had been very constant in its attentions for some time. If I didn't have much persuasion and a promise to call for her she was prevailed upon to make an engagement for Friday evening. I don't know how they will handle it, Mr. Hammond said, referring to the lesson and the teacher's meeting. It seems to me an immense topic for Christians, almost overwhelming. Why? asked Miss Parkhurst curiously. The idea of any Bible verses being overwhelming was a new and singular one to her. Why the one verse is sufficient for a lifetime, with thy heart and soul and strength, did you ever think what that involved? She didn't know that she ever had and she didn't understand it anyway. How could anyone give all the love to God? God was certainly right to love people, and as for giving all one's strength that had always seemed to her nonsense so long as there were so many things that people had got to do. What does it mean anyhow? Mr. Hammond supposed it meant such a love for God as should make all other loves and interests subservient to this, and as to strength all work in a sense was God's work, if it were manifestly one's duty to do it, then one could do it for God, preparing to give an account, looking out for opportunities to serve him with it. Who works in that way? Miss Parkhurst asked with an incredulous smile. I don't know, but I think I know people who are trying to do it. Well, when they succeed I should like to make their acquaintance, if I'm not too old by that time, more incredulous still. Did she really believe that such living was impossible, Mr. Hammond asked? Why yes, she did, very nearly so at least. It was a practical sort of everyday world, and people had work to do that had nothing to do with serving God so far as she could see. For instance, there was Hattie Taylor, a good girl she believed if there ever was one, and poor as she could be. What use was it to preach to her about giving all her strength to God when she had to work in a factory from six o'clock in the morning until six in the evening? I certainly know of no more important field for giving one strength to God, Mr. Hammond said earnestly. Her opportunities to speak for him, to act for him, to be faithful and consistent and patient, for his sake, are constant and never failing. Well, I don't know how to teach it, she said lightly, then added earnestly. I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Hammond, I wish you had my class and I was one of the scholars. It is possible that even I might learn something by such an arrangement. On the whole the talk about the lesson did not amount to much. The lady was wandering in her attention and bewildering in her ability to slip away from the point under discussion, and yet she had gleams of earnestness. Mr. Hammond turned on the gas again in his own room at ten o'clock. The books looked inviting still, but he was a business man working for others. He must not rob his employers of the clear, cool brain that only a full night of quiet sleep would give him. There was no time for study. He did not sigh, however, as he resolutely piled up the books and stacked them away on the shelves to await another evening of leisure. He did not even wonder dismally whether, after all, he had not wasted the evening. There was at least that amount of comfort to be gotten out of a disagreeable duty faithfully and conscientiously performed. The performer, by the time the work is done, has generally reached a higher plane of life where he can say, I followed the path pointed out as nearly as I knew how. I did the work as well as I could. The results are not for me to arrange. The matter has been handed over to the master's hands. Some little review of the work is, of course, natural, and something of what Mr. Hammond thought of his must be gathered from his soul-comment made to the gas-light as he turned it out. At least she has promised to attend the teacher's meeting. Perhaps she may find enlightenment there. There was another occupant of the parlor at Mrs. Parkhurst's on Friday evening when Mr. Hammond was shown in, a gentleman lounging on the sofa with a very much-at-home air. Mr. Hammond restrained a look of surprise and bowed somewhat distantly. Good evening, the gentleman said, with an air of great composure. Pleasant evening! Have a seat here, Hammond. Thank you, said Mr. Hammond, taking a chair instead of the proffered sofa. You and I are intent upon the same air and I presume. Indeed, Mr. Hammond said, with uplifting eyebrows and an unmistakable accent of surprise, it was a most unusual thing for himself and that gentleman to be intent on the same object. You are waiting to see Cora I take it? Mrs. Parkhurst has an engagement with me for the evening. Mr. Hammond's tones were more dignified than seemed at all necessary. Is that so? his companion said in some surprise. That is certainly bad for my plans. Mr. Hammond took a book and absorbed himself in the title-page. Mr. Tracy seemed suddenly to have a new idea and scribbled on the back of a calling-card which he took from the card case. If Mr. Hammond had been looking over his shoulder, he would have read this. What in the world does person Hammond want of you? I want you to go with me to see the royal marionettes. They are unique. Don't disappoint me and hurry down if you have any compassion. Hammond and I don't assimilate. Then he strolled to the door and summoned little Mary, who was frolicking in the hall, and gave her a wee handful of raisins to pay for carrying his note up to Cora. How provoking! Miss Parkhurst said, pausing in the hurried making up of her toilet to read the card. George always does come for me when I can't possibly go. I wonder what possessed me to promise to go to teacher's meeting. I don't know how to tell George. He won't like it. And Mr. Hammond won't like it if I don't go. How provoking men are! And she dropped the note and rushed hurriedly through the process of donning skirt and overskirt and bask and necktie and pin and cuffs and sash. You ladies all know about how long that took her. I suppose it will occur to your critical minds just here that she could and ought to have been dressed before. Let me explain. Her afternoon dress was fashionably long, and she had dragged it through several streets making calls. Hence its unsuitable condition for the evening discovered at a late hour, and all the bewilderments of a second toilet had to be gone through with. The evening's complications were growing more bewildering. While she nervously drove a pin without any point into her finger instead of her ruffle, the doorbell rang again, and a third person, unknown to either of the others, awaited her coming in the parlor. All three of the gentlemen arose as she made her hurried entrance soon after. Mr. Hammond, she said, smiling brightly as she shook hands. I am real sorry to have kept you waiting, but I am tardy by nature, never in time anywhere. George, I have an engagement for this evening at teacher's meeting. Teacher's meeting? echoed the said George in wide-eyed wonder. Teachers of what in creation? Why, Sabbath school teachers, you ignorant fellow? Didn't you know they had meetings every week to study their lessons? I am sure I didn't. Can't they get along without you this evening? It is a special occasion, you know. The Royal Mary and Nets are not always in town, and teacher's meetings, it seems, are. Have you seen these performers, Mr. Tracy? Mr. Hammond asked this question, his great gray eyes fixed searchingly on Mr. Tracy's face. I have had that amusement. Have you? Rich, isn't it? Remarkably. Mr. Hammond said, dryly. Then the strange gentleman. Pardon the interruption, but my errand is pressing. Miss Parkhurst, I believe. I bring a message to you from one of your scholars. And he produced a crumpled bit of paper. The bewildered look on Miss Parkhurst's face deepened into dismay as she read. Sarah Blake is sick, and she wants me. She volunteered this information in a startled, exclamatory tone with a marked emphasis on the me. The gentleman received it variously. Of course, then I relinquish my claim on your time. Mr. Hammond said promptly. So do not I, Mr. Tracy said gaily. Who on earth is Sarah Blake, and what possible claim can she have on you? She is one of my Sunday school girls. Then Miss Parkhurst turned away from him and spoke, with dismay still in her voice. Mr. Hammond, how can I possibly go? I shouldn't know what to do or say. What is the matter with her? Interposed, Mr. Tracy. I'm sure I don't know. This note is from the mother, and so clearly spelled that there isn't much to be made out of it. Do you know anything about them, sir? The strange gentleman bowed. I am the attending physician. The daughter, Miss Sarah, is very ill indeed. Fever of a non-infectious type. It became my painful duty this evening to tell her that I feared she could not live, and she almost immediately begged that you might be sent for. She was so importunate that I feared to have her refused, and as I was coming in this direction I volunteered to bring the message. I trust you will pardon my saying that even this delay is dangerous to my patient. Under the circumstances, of course you will go at once. You cannot do less. I shall be glad to show the way there and render you any assistance in my power. Mr. Hammond's voice was prompt and earnest. I don't see the thing in that light at all, Mr. Tracy said hotly. Sunday school teachers don't engage to run into all sorts of dangerous places incurring the danger of contagion. I assure you there is nothing of that sort. Interposed the physician. And undergoing unnecessary fatigue and exposure, continued Mr. Tracy, paying no sort of attention to the doctor's remark. Miss Parkhurst, in her turn, utterly ignored his. He was eminently a man to be ignored when people were in earnest. But Mr. Hammond, she said, and the distress in her face and voice was genuine. What could I do? I don't know anything about sickness. I never had anything to do with it, and I'm afraid to go where anyone is dying. Is she really going to die? This lasts to the physician. I'm afraid there is very little hope, if any. Then I beg of you, do not lose any more precious time. You surely would not refuse a request from one dying? She may have a special petition to make of you, and you can surely point her to Jesus. Thus petitioned, Miss Parkhurst turned hurriedly to Mr. Tracy. George, I really think I will have to go. I'm sure I don't know a thing to say, but I suppose I ought to go and see her anyway. It won't make any difference with you, for I positively had an engagement with Mr. Hammond, so you must both excuse me. Meantime, Mr. Tracy had a new idea. He spoke in a low tone. Perhaps I might go down with you, and you speak to the girl, and then after that we might go look in on the marionettes. They are really comical, Cora. I want you to see them. Could we manage it in that way? I'm sure I don't know, she said nervously. I don't know what I'm going to do or say, only I suppose I ought to go and see her, and I know I don't want to. Well, I'll go right away and have it over with. Then the four went out into the street and their various ways. The strange doctor bowed and went on uptown to see a patient. Mr. Hammond said in low tones, I will call in the course of an hour, and went to the teacher's meeting. Does Parson Hammond expect to find you there in the course of an hour? Mr. Tracy said as he drew Miss Parkhurst's hand through his arm. A frightened, bewildered household they were at Mr. Blake's. They were a large family accustomed to high health and boisterous, rollicking ways. They were poor, not miserably so, but as poor as a good industrious foreman in a shoe factory, with house rent to pay and seven young mouths at home to feed, to say nothing of the seven pair of feet to be shod, is likely to be. Sarah was the oldest child. You remember her, the sharp, keen one in Miss Parkhurst's class, the one who always had a quick answer ready for any possible question? The fever had burnt out all her sharpness. She lay like a ghost among the pillows, one large-eyed and helpless, a mere shadow of life. Only this evening had the doctor, in answer to her searching questions, revealed the probable truth that she was dying. She was too weak to be frantic, almost too weak to be frightened. The house was full of people passing in and out, good, kindly, willing neighbors. But among them all Sarah could not recall one who would be likely to tell her how to die. She thought over her acquaintances, the girls at the mill. There was Hattie Taylor, but she had gone to the upper mills five miles away. Not another one would know anything about it. The scholars in her class, she almost curled her weak, parched lips at thought of them. They couldn't tell. The minister. Yes, but Sarah Blake, with all her sharpness, had always been unaccountably and painfully shy of the minister. She was afraid of him now. Miss Parkhurst. And here she hesitated, as no Sabbath scholar ought to be obliged to hesitate over her teacher. She had doubted all her life whether or not Miss Parkhurst knew anything about religion. But perhaps she does. She murmured wearily to herself, shutting her hot eyes for a moment, trying to close out the intolerable light. At any rate, she is the only one I know. She is a member of the church. That Mr. Hammond would come, I guess, but then I didn't accept the invitation. Besides, I don't want to see him. I'll send for Miss Parkhurst. I must have someone. I shall go wild if I don't. Into this house, with its frightened and noisily crying occupants, came Miss Parkhurst as frightened herself and as much disposed to cry as the various child among them. She went in alone to the sick room, Mr. Tracey reiterating, as he left her at the door, that he would call in twenty minutes and take her to see the royal marionettes. How do you do? She said, standing at the foot of the bed and speaking in a hollow, unnatural voice, I am sorry you are sick. She had never seen the ravages of fever before on a familiar face. It seemed to her that this must be Sarah's spirit. I have sent for you," said Sarah, speaking slowly and with great solemnity, because I want you to tell me how to die. You ought to know. You teach in Sunday school, and you ought to be able to teach that. So tell me what to do. Miss Parkhurst shivered visibly, but she tried to speak in a more natural tone. Oh, Sarah, don't talk so. You are going to get well, I hope, and have real good times. Sarah made a movement of impatience. Can't you tell me anything? She said almost sharply. What do you pretend to teach for if you can't? She don't rightly know what she is saying, Mrs. Blake said, taking her apron from her eyes and speaking apologetically. The poor thing she has been kind of flighty all day. Sarah turned her great hollow eyes on her mother and spoke deliberately. Mother, I know just exactly what I am saying. The doctor says I am going to die, and this lady professes to have learned how to die, and I want her to teach me. Now can you do it? Why, Sarah, Miss Parkhurst said, trying to speak soothingly. You must trust in Christ, you know. How shall I do it? Why, just trust to him to take care of you, and don't be afraid. Is that all there is to religion? And, even if it is, how am I going to help being afraid? Why, he'll help you, you know. I don't know anything about it. Why don't he, then? Why, he will, if you love him. But I don't love. I am afraid of him, and I am afraid to die. Aren't you? If you lay here in my place, wouldn't you be in the least afraid? Miss Parkhurst trembled so that she shook the foot of the bed on which she leaned, but she answered truthfully. Yes, I should be afraid, but it is because I haven't lived right. There is no need to be. All people are not. Grandfather wasn't. That doesn't comfort me much. I haven't lived right either, and now the living is all done, and here I lie. What next? She spoke more quietly, but with intense earnestness. Sarah, you must pray, her teacher said, with equal earnestness. I don't know how to pray. That is one of the things that I never learned. You pray for me. Kneel down here, now, and let me hear you. Perhaps it will give me courage. Over in a chair by the window sat Mr. Blake, the shoemaker, his head bowed in his hands, but every nerve keenly alive to what was going on. He didn't know how to pray. At the head of the bed stood the weeping, prayerless mother. Half a dozen children were gathered around her, all sobbing. The nearest neighbor, who acted as nurse, stood in the doorway leading into the sitting-room, indulging every now and then in that dreadful sick-room whisper with a neighbor who had come to inquire. Both of these eyed her curiously. She had come from a different world than theirs. She felt certain that neither of them knew how to pray. Yet this Christian lady of education, of culture, felt that she could no more kneel down in the presence of this company and pray for that passing soul, then she could lift the roof and escape through it from this dreadful place. I'll read to you, she said, with trembling haste, and looked about her eagerly. The Bible was a proper book to read on such occasions, and she nervously seized upon Sarah's own testament lying covered with dust among the few books on the shelf, opening it at random, and turning the leaves with great and increasing embarrassment, being not too familiar with the sacred pages even in her calmest moments, she presently began to read in the utmost doubt and confusion. This is what she read. And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him and the malefactors, one on the right hand and the other on the left. Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. And they parted his raiment and cast lots. And the people stood beholding, and the rulers also with them derided him, saying, he saved others, let him save himself, if he be Christ the chosen of God. And the soldiers also mocked him, coming to him and offering him vinegar and saying, if thou be the king of the Jews, save thyself. And a superscription also was written over him, in letters of Greek and Latin and Hebrew, this is the king of the Jews, and one of the malefactors which were hanged, railed on him saying, if thou be Christ, save thyself and us. At this point the reading was interrupted by a muttered sentence from Sarah. Miserable wretches, the whole of them, to ridicule a dying man. I wonder he didn't strike them dead. Miss Parker's read on rapidly. But the other answering rebuked him, saying, does not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds, but this man hath done nothing amiss. And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, verily I say unto thee, today shalt thou be with me in paradise. On and on she read, no sound breaking the story, until Mrs. Blake touched her arm and whispered, You needn't read any more, she has gone off into one of them heavy sleeps, she does so a good deal. And the nurse added more information in a sepulchral voice at the other elbow. The doctor thinks she'll go off in one of them sleeps, I shouldn't wonder if the time had come. Miss Parker's drew her breath in heavily. The strain upon her to read even those Bible verses had been tremendous. She had not taken in their meaning in the least. She had chosen them without knowledge or direction. Therefore they were not intended to help her, and they didn't. She didn't even know what she had been reading. Yet it is doubtful if the wisest could have made a better selection. Did you notice how into those few verses was crowded the very length and breadth of human cruelty, and the very height and depth of divine forgiveness? Miss Parker's looked about her doubtfully. I might go home now, I suppose, she said inquiringly. The mother looked dismayed. If she should wake and want you, she said pitifully, I don't know what we would do. It isn't the doing you know, Miss Parkerst. You could sit here in this rocking chair and not do a thing. There's people enough ready and willing to work, only there ain't one of them belongs to the religious kind. If you could stay a while, Miss Parkerst, I'd never forget it. There was a little bustle out in the sitting-room, and presently Miss Parkerst was summoned thither. Mr. Tracy was waiting to see her. He spoke eagerly. Come, Cora, hurry! It is late, but I have reserved seats and will get considerable of the fun. People are going in crowds. The marionettes take better here than I thought they would. You look wretchedly flushed. I suppose the air of that room is horrid. How is the girl? Be as expeditious as possible, because it really is quite late. End of chapter 9 CHAPTER 10 Nervous Work I am not going, George, she said, as soon as he gave her opportunity. Sarah is very sick, and they seem to want me. I can't do any earthly good, but I can really do no less than stay a while. Mr. Tracy made an impatient movement. I think that is nonsense, Cora. As you say, what good can you possibly do? Infinite injury to yourself as likely as not. I don't like it at all, and I'm sure your mother would disapprove. You really ought to excuse yourself and come with me. To her own surprise, Miss Parkhurst, who was usually ready to be led wherever the person in company with her chose to lead her, found herself feeling little or no inclination to go in search of the royal marionettes. She had lost the desire to hurry away from that sick room. A sort of fascination seemed to be about it. A little sense of disappointment lingered in her mind because of her engagement with Mr. Hammond. She had not known that she cared particularly for the teacher's meeting until then, but about those royal marionettes over whom Mr. Tracy was enthusiastic, she had come to care very little. She hated to be urged because it was so much her nature to do what she was coaxed to do, the quality of resistance having been so long unused that the power to use it was nearly lost. But I can't go, George, don't you see? She said, half impatiently. It seemed tiresome in him to urge her. It really wouldn't be decent. They expect me to stay awhile. They take it for granted that I am going to do so, and there is no chance of getting away. I wouldn't be imposed upon in that manner, Mr. Tracy said loftily. This sort of people generally have friends of their own class. It isn't likely they are so entirely dependent upon you. If you could do any earthly good, why, the case would be different. But by your own confession you are quite useless. You are too easily led-cora. Voices and steps in the hall and Mr. Hammond appeared in the little room. Miss Parkhurst turned toward him eagerly. I am real glad you have come. I wish you had been here half an hour ago. You might have been of some use. I'm sure I wasn't. She was awake and conscious, but I am afraid she won't be again. I excused myself at a very early hour from teacher's meeting in order to hear from her. Mr. Hammond said, by way of explaining his present appearance, how does she seem? She seems very sick, and she looks dreadfully. I should hardly have known her. Mr. Hammond, do you see any use of my staying? They want me to, but I can't do anything. Of course there is no use in it. Mr. Tracy broke in eagerly. It is folly for them to expect it merely because the girl happens to be in her sabbath school class. Miss Parkhurst isn't used to scenes of this kind. She ought to be away. The house of mourning is a very difficult place to go from, Mr. Tracy, provided people are really desirous of your presence. Mr. Hammond spoke in his coldest, most dignified manner, and Mr. Tracy answered irritably. Such people are always pushing themselves into notice. Miss Parkhurst was shocked. Why, George, she said earnestly, the poor girl is dying. Well, he said impatiently, even if that should prove to be the case, you can't keep her alive by your presence, I presume. Then there came a fourth person into the scene, the doctor, with that unceremoniousness which belongs to doctors in houses where they are looked for and expected, pushed open the door and entered without invitation. How do you find her, Mr. Hammond questioned? Very low, and yet the pulse is firmer than I had expected it would be by this time. You may give the preparation in the tumbler once in two hours, and moisten her lips quite frequently. That is about all that can be done for her. I think now that she will linger through the night, are you to have the care of her during the night? This last sentence was asked suddenly, as by one who had just thought of the possibility of something different. Now it would be difficult to imagine a human being dropped into this working world who had hitherto led a more butterfly existence than Miss Parkhurst. She absolutely did nothing, and did it industriously too, from Monday morning until Saturday night, the one oasis in this desert of idleness being her Sabbath school class, and you remember how she taught that. By this statement I do not mean that she sat down and folded her hands, on the contrary she was full of engagements and generally in a hurry. I simply mean that she did nothing. Imagine if you can how such an one would feel brought into the atmosphere of everyday work of the forlorn and unpoetical sort, and looked to for help and comfort. A night-watcher! She had never been that in her life, not even in the third-rate sense of the term, where all one has to do is look after a fire that needs very little looking after, and wait for reports from the next room where the real watchers were at work. Miss Parkhurst had been up until midnight, oh yes, and until two, and on rare occasions three o'clock, but nothing more heavily freighted with responsibility than a party or a sleigh ride had occupied her mind, and here she was in a two or at best a three-roomed house with a dying girl separated from her only by a bored partition, and an earnest-faced doctor looking down at her and saying, there seems to be no other responsible person. Was she actually a responsible person? The doctor waited courteously, Mr. Hammond looked on curiously, and Mr. Tracy walked the floor in a fume while Miss Parkhurst tried to settle the question with herself. It did not take her long. Two natures, perhaps I might say three, were struggling for the ascendancy. She shrank from it all, death was full of a nameless terror to her, she had never seen anyone die, and she did not want to see anyone, did not want to die herself, nor think about it. That dreadful time was to be put as far away as possible. The odor and the quiet and the sorrow of a sick and poverty-stricken room were all alike intolerable to her. This was the ascendant nature, but there came to her a sudden sense of importance and a session of dignity. She had never before stood face to face with a person who seemed to expect her to assume responsibility, as this doctor evidently did. He thought she could do what up to this moment she had not imagined possible. She glanced over at Mr. Hammond. He stood aside, as one who had no business to interfere in the matter, yet the wonderment as to how it would end was apparent in his face. He thinks I won't do it, said Ms. Parkhurst to herself. I suppose he thinks I can't, and the doctor thinks I can. Then there was the third nature, the element of pity. She was sorry for them all, those forlorn people out in the other room, and that sick girl. In much less time than it has taken me to write this, Ms. Parkhurst turned to Mr. Tracy. George, would you call and tell Mother what has become of me? She will be anxious if she has no message. Mr. Tracy was dignified. He replied hotly that he would do her bidding, of course. Then he went away without bestowing even a bow upon Mr. Hammond. At last they all went away, and the house settled down into a midnight quiet. Ms. Parkhurst, in a dress entirely unsuited to the place and the work, unfastened ribbons and chain and belt, and made herself as comfortable as she could under the circumstances, then sat herself down to await, with what patience she could, the coming of morning. I don't suppose that those who have never tried it have the least idea how long the morning can, Terry. Nothing to do, nothing to read, bound in honor not to go to sleep, not particularly given at any time to the enjoyment of solitary thought, what was there to occupy such a mind? Truth to tell, however, Ms. Parkhurst had not the least desire for sleep. On the contrary, her eyes seemed to herself to be fastened open with weights that would never again run down and give her a chance to rest. Probably Ms. Parkhurst will never, in all her afterlife, forget that night of watching. The clock struck three after the lapse of what seemed a century of waiting. She started and looked about her nervously. The lamp burned low, casting long shadows across the uncarpeted floor. The sick girl lay absolutely motionless upon the bed. The watcher bent over her. Was she sleeping or was she dead? What if she should die before morning and she be left alone with a corpse? She, who always avoided even looking at a corpse when she went to a funeral. What possessed me to stay? She said, in a tremor of fright, if Mr. Hammond were only here he might take care of his protégé himself. I will never be caught in this way again. I am sure of that. She grew calmer after having assured herself that her patient was still breathing, but it was a strange feeling to realize herself the only one awake at that weird hour. Then she remembered that other sleepless watcher, that all-seeing eye, looking ever down on her, and so far from quieting her it nearly threw her into another spasm of fear. She wasn't used to such companionship. Mr. Hammond, on his way downtown, met his friend Mr. Lewis, and to him he gave an account of the evening's experience. The man is utterly repulsive to me, he said in an annoyed tone. I hate to meet him in any place where I feel obliged to hold conversation with him because I feel that it is a waste of time and I don't want to have anything to do with him. What sent you in search of Miss Parkhurst in the first place? Not exactly companionship, I suppose? Oh, didn't I tell you how it was? Well, the starting point was rather peculiar perhaps. I settled myself one evening last week for a quiet time over the lesson. You know I seldom enjoy the luxury of sitting down alone to work on anything but day-book and ledger, and I was really rejoicing over the prospect. But the lesson proved to be that commandment, which reaches into one's very heart, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. It came home to me, very forcibly, what a striking illustration of its neglect I was. There I had made everything comfortable for myself without as much as remembering that I had a neighbor. I concluded it to be my duty to look up a neighbor and try to do something for him. Something that I overheard from Miss Parkhurst's class, you know her class is in close proximity to mine, decided me to see if I couldn't give her an impetus in the matter of preparing her lesson, so I called on her, and out of that grew the invitation to teacher's meeting. Mr. Lewis walked beside his friend for a few steps in silence, then he said suddenly, But see here, Hammond, Tracy lives two blocks nearer you than Miss Parkhurst does. Mr. Hammond looked at him with a puzzled air. What are you coming at? he said at last. I don't understand you. Oh, nothing! Only I am somewhat bewildered as to the geography of my neighbor, and I thought I would try to find enlightenment. I don't know, but I am extremely obtuse, but I really don't get your meaning. And Mr. Hammond looked more bewildered than before. Why, you seem to object to Tracy's company and haven't the least idea of trying to do anything for his advancement, and I naturally wondered at just what geographical distance the neighbor idea came in. Light began to dawn on Mr. Hammond's mind, rather it burst upon him suddenly. I see the point, he said, stopping in his walk and looking earnestly at his friend. You are right, Lewis, I have entirely ignored the idea of the great commandment except where it pleased my taste to obey it. I much obliged to you. Things never appeared to me in just this light before. You are in such horrid earnest about everything, Mr. Lewis said, with an amused laugh. I wonder what other individual of my acquaintance would give a second thought to a hint like that. But you will go and practice on it like a martyr. I know you will, and I shall be responsible for any amount of boredom that Tracy chooses to inflict on you. I wish I had kept still. Mr. Hammond answered only the first part of this sentence. You must be very unfortunate in your choice of friends, he said, smiling, if you honour me as the only one of the number who would conscientiously follow out a new thought after it had been presented to them. I only judged them by myself, Mr. Lewis said, with an expressive shrug of his shoulders. I can see things now and then as plain as any one, but to follow up my eyesight is quite another matter. At the corner the two men separated, and each went home with a new idea. In the grey light of the early morning Miss Parkhurst went homeward. A lonely walk it was, she had not realised that the streets were ever so deserted and silent. She had never been on Arch Street before when there was other than a whirl of people and wagons and business. Now she found herself starting nervously at the sound of a solitary footstep behind her and experiencing a feeling of unutterable relief at the discovery that it was only a milkman hurrying after his milk wagon. Plackards on every side of her announced in flaming letters the royal marionettes. How queer the letters looked to her and how absurd the dancing puppets seemed! She hadn't the least idea that she should ever want to see the creatures. They reminded her of Mr. Tracey, and she was surprised and a little shocked to discover that there was a sore feeling of disappointment in regard to his words and actions of the evening before. There were reasons why it wasn't pleasant to Miss Parkhurst to feel other than satisfied with Mr. Tracey's acts. At the door of her own home her mother met her with a troubled face and anxious words. My dear child, how could you think it to be your duty to do so wild a thing as to sit up all night? George was in such a state of mind over it. I never saw him so excited, and I don't wonder. I really think Mr. Hammond took a great deal on himself and might better have been attending to his own affairs. Either loss of sleep or her own thoughts had made Miss Parkhurst nervous. What in the world do you mean? She said testily. Why shouldn't I sit up as well as anyone else? And what do you suppose Mr. Hammond had to do with it? Somebody had to sit up, you know. But it was such a strange idea for you. Why, I don't think you ever did such a thing in your life before. They must be queer people to expect it. There has to be a first time you know, mother," Miss Parkhurst said, speaking more quietly than before. I am in perfect health and there is no sort of reason why I shouldn't do my share of the disagreeable things that there are to do in this world. I don't suppose anyone really enjoys sitting up. This was such an entirely new sentiment, coming from Miss Parkhurst's lips, that her mother was surprised into silence, and the daughter made her way upstairs. She looked about her room with a bewildered air. It was strewn with articles that she had displaced in her hurry of the evening before, and they called to mind her plans and feelings. Was it possible that she thought and felt and did thus and so only twelve hours before? It seemed at least a week ago. She felt older and graver. In fact, Miss Parkhurst felt womanly. She had been in a responsible place and borne her share of the burdens and the anxieties of life for the first time, and it had already done its work on her heart. Mrs. Parkhurst came up presently, bringing a cup of tea. You better drink this, she said, and then try to sleep. I am afraid you will be sick. How is the girl anyway? Is she living? George said you thought she might not live until morning, and I was dreadfully worried about your being in such a place. For some reason this sentence also graded on her daughter's nerves. She is living, she said gravely, but she is very low. I don't suppose she can live long. But mother, why shouldn't I have been there as well as anyone? We have all got to die, I suppose. This sentiment, so different from any that she had ever heard from her daughter, sent Mrs. Parkhurst downstairs, silent and wandering. Something had happened to her that her mother did not understand. Though it was three weeks after her first invitation to do so, there was a very uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment about going. It seemed so strange to have been a Sabbath school teacher for three years in a church where weekly teacher's meetings were held and never attend one, then suddenly present herself. Also, she had a wholesome horror of being asked questions. I find myself constantly meeting with sufferers afflicted with the same disease. I wonder if it is universal in its influence. Miss Kitty, I say to a bright little teacher in our school, won't you come to teacher's meeting this evening? We are very anxious to have a large attendance. Miss Kitty fixes a pair of bright blue eyes on my face and answers promptly enough. I'll come if Professor Wheeler will promise not to ask me any questions. Fancy a teacher's meeting in which no questions are asked. Now it so happens that Miss Kitty is a fine scholar, one of the best in our normal school, and Professor Wheeler is one of the favorite teachers in that same school. Kitty, I said, what if you should try to make an agreement tomorrow that Professor Wheeler should not ask you any questions in geometry? Oh, Kitty said, flushing and laughing. That is another matter. Of course I must answer questions in class. Now, why is that such an entirely different matter? To be sure, Miss Kitty spends a good deal of time in the preparation of her school lessons. But surely a Christian teacher in a Sabbath school would not go before her class without careful preparation of the Bible lesson that she is expected to teach them. I confess that the whole subject is full of mystery to me. I'm almost sorry I came. Miss Parkhurst said, with an embarrassed little laugh as they neared the parsonage, I'm two-thirds afraid of Mr. Gordon at any time, and if he looks at me tonight he will frighten me out of my wits. I didn't know that you were such an exceedingly timid lady. Mr. Hammond was unable to keep a little touch of annoyance from sounding in his voice, and deep in his heart he was thinking, how is it possible for a grown-up young lady to be so silly? Miss Parkhurst laughed again. Oh, well, I'm not particularly timid under ordinary circumstances, she said brightly, but a minister, you know, always frightens wicked people like me, especially at his own house, where he has one at a disadvantage. I don't know what to do with the lesson next Sunday anyway. I wish we could skip over it. I'm glad, though, that they're in the Old Testament once more. Do you think Old Testament lessons easier to teach than the new? Mr. Hammond said, surprised and a little pleased. His opinion was the same, but he had not looked for sympathy from her. Yes, I do ever so much, she said heartily. At least we find something fresh, something that we didn't know anything about. The very names are hard enough to puzzle us, but the lessons, this long time, have been about things that we have known all our lives. All the children learn verses in the Gospels, you know, and say them over and over. I did myself. I learned the first chapter of John, for instance, and said it as a new lesson to every teacher I had for several years, and I averaged a new teacher a month, I think. Your Sabbath school experience was unfortunate. Mr. Hammond said, dryly, he had retired to the depths of disgust and annoyance again. Miss Parkhurst's reasons for liking the Old Testament as a textbook better than the new were different from his. There is one consolation, he told himself, as they ascended the parsonage steps. She certainly needs the help of the teacher's meeting. I am glad I went for her. But what a burlesque hers is on Bible teaching! The parsonage study was full, comfortably so, and a very pleasant-looking group they were. They made room at once for Mr. Hammond, and if they were astonished at his companion they had the grace not to say so. Miss Parkhurst, on her part, was a little astonished. It didn't look like a meeting. They all look as though they had come out for a good time, she told herself. Just why a company of Sabbath school teachers, met to talk over the lesson, shouldn't have a good time doing it, Miss Parkhurst didn't stop to explain to herself. Hammond, you are losing your good name. You are late. Mr. Lewis said, as he made room for his friend beside him. This is the second time in a month, too. Never mind me, Mr. Hammond said, smiling. What about the lesson? We haven't made great progress, Mr. Gordon said. We are still lingering over the first verse. There is a division of opinion as to the most striking thought. Mr. Lewis is our secretary, and he sits, pencil-poised in air, waiting to bring something tangible out of the confusion of ideas. Take up the verse, please. We want your opinion. There is so much, Mr. Hammond said promptly, with the air of a man who had been thinking about this very verse. I don't know what to choose from the many thoughts. Miss Parkhurst looked at him with a curious, half-incredulous air. To her, that first verse of the lesson was a bare statement, nothing more. Mr. Hammond read the verse. And Joshua said unto Achan, My son, give I pray thee, glory to the Lord God of Israel, and make confession unto him, and tell me now what thou hast done. Hide it not from me. The first thought that impresses me, he said, is the tenderness of Joshua's address, my son. I can seem to see the brave old man brought to grief by the ill-going of one of his followers, yet with his heart moved with a deep pity for him. Then they launched into full tide of talk over that first bare verse, and Mr. Lewis used his pencil industriously, and Miss Parkhurst grew more and more amazed. She had not known of that way of studying lessons. Now, Mr. Gordon said, at the close of a busy hour, we come to the important question, what are we each going to do with this lesson for our classes? Miss Parkhurst had not the least idea what he meant. My class are children, you know, Mrs. Ames said. I have thought to make my important point the progressive nature of sin, as explained by poor Achan himself. First you know he looked, then he wanted, then he took. I have very much the same idea, Mrs. Willard said. I have been making little paper ladders for my class. I have named the latter covetousness. The sides are composed of Achan's helpers, his eyes, heart, and hands. Then the different work that each of these helpers did for him composed the rounds. You might give him a guide-board made out of the golden text, beware of covetousness. This item Mr. Lewis added. Sure enough, so I might, she said, with enthusiasm. I mean to do it. Miss Willard was the infant class teacher, and had a large class. Fifty little ladders! Miss Parkhurst said to herself. Oh, dear! What an immense amount of work! And what a queer idea! I wonder how she happened to think of it. My point is, how near Achan was to the land of promise, and what a pitiful thing pulled him down into the depths. A piece of gold and a few pieces of silver. And the handsome garment. Miss Hall said. Don't forget that. I'm going to call the attention of my girls to the fact that the love of pretty clothes was a snare even in the days of Achan. One of the saddest features of the entire lesson is, I think, the suffering that Achan brought on his friends. They had to suffer with him, even as they do now, for the sins of others. This was Mr. Hammond's contribution to the general fund. What about the personality of the lesson? Mr. Gordon asked. Do we have any people led away nowadays by this same sin of covetousness? Plenty of them, Mr. Lewis said, scribbling away very fast. Can't we have some illustrations on that point from some of you? Several were ready with suggestions. My alley has been coveting your Robert's pony all day. Mrs. Ames said, in a half laughing undertone to Mr. Smith. There is a good deal of coveting of pretty jewels and pretty homes and pretty clothes in these days, said Miss Hall. Miss Hall can't forget the goodly Babylonish garment. Mr. Lewis said, laughing. Well, I can't. I think the sin is committed more often in that way than any other, at least among the young people. Miss Parkhurst listened in amazement. How freely they talked together about these things. They spoke of Achan as if he had been a man in their midst, instead of a faraway myth, as all those Bible characters had seemed to her. Mr. Gordon had hitherto refrained from asking her any direct question. He suddenly turned toward her. Miss Parkhurst, you have not given us the principal point, as it has struck your mind tonight. Have you a crumb for us? Mr. Hammond, having been previously warned, looked for nothing further than a refusal. He could only hope that it would not be a silly one. As she had gone to the meeting in his company, he felt in some degree connected with her, and he bent his head over the Bible with a somewhat heightened color. Miss Parkhurst's voice was low in grave. Yes, she said, I have made one point plain to myself tonight. That is, my utter unfitness for a Sabbath school teacher. There was a moment of awkward silence. Others, besides Mr. Hammond, were astonished at this answer. Mr. Gordon rallied first. Then you have made a very important point, he said earnestly. Without having such a realizing sense of this as will lead us to keep very near to the great teacher, there is no true teaching. Very soon after that the secretary was called on for his report. Mr. Lewis, his pastor said, have you succeeded in unraveling this tangle of ideas that we have given you and setting them down in logical array? Mr. Lewis laughed. I have done my best, he said cheerily, but you have been a hard set to keep track of tonight. Then he began to read slowly, and with frequent pauses, a synopsis of the different thoughts that had been called out during the evening. At the same time the teachers fell to work with pencils and notebooks, and Miss Parkhurst, looking over Miss Hall's shoulder, discovered that they were engaged in taking an abstract of what Mr. Lewis was reading. There, said Mr. Gordon, as he folded his paper, we have a commentary on the lesson that will suit us better than any of the printed ones because it is original. End of CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. WORK TO BE DREADED. I don't know how to teach in that way, Miss Parkhurst said, as she took Mr. Hammond's arm for their homeward walk. In what way, he asked? Not that he did not understand her, but he was undecided how to answer her remark, and it seemed as good a way as any in which to gain time. Why, the way that you all talked tonight? I don't know how to fit the lesson to present times and present people. The only thing I can do is just to ask questions about what happened in those times and let it go at that. I want to give up my class, anyway. I think that is the best thing to do. I have thought so ever since—and then she stopped. Ever since when? He asked her, speaking gently. He was very anxious to learn whether this feeling of fitness had any depth or was only a passing fancy. Ever since that night I sat up with Sarah, she said, speaking slowly and with evident effort, thought about a good many things that night. It was the longest night I ever had, and among other things was this, that I wasn't just the one to teach girls like Sarah. Such girls, you know, as have to depend on their teacher for all their religious knowledge. It frightened me, and I said then that I wouldn't do it any more, but I have had a habit of going to Sunday school for so long that I hardly knew how to give it up. But tonight I made up my mind that teaching isn't my forte. I don't know how to do it, you see. Has it never occurred to you that there was another way out of the difficulty that you might reform your manner of teaching if you are not satisfied with it? Mr. Hammond spoke very kindly and encouragingly. He was surprised that this companion had such a depth of feeling about this matter. He had not given her credit for it. No, she said, speaking in her old, light tone. I never thought that preaching was my vocation, and the sort of teaching that you and the rest of them recommend is no more nor less than preaching. I never could do it in the world. Preaching is simply teaching, of course. He said coldly. If our clergymen felt that they were doing no teaching of any sort, they might be justified in feeling discouraged. His manner had become dignified again. The truth is that this gentleman was very anxious that people should be perfect, and felt impatient with those who fell far below his ideal. His words had the effect of making Miss Parkhurst more indifferent than before. I can't help it, she said gaily. I am not fitted for a preaching teacher or a teaching preacher whichever you choose to put it. I know I am not, and the best thing I can do is to resign. If she had expected an answer to this, she was disappointed. Mr. Hammond had no answer ready. Truth to tell, his honest opinion was that unless she could do better work than by her own confession she had been doing, the resignation would be the best thing, but he was not quite prepared to tell her that, so he kept silence. In no very amiable mood Miss Parkhurst parted from him at her own gate, and went in to meet Mr. Tracy, who lounged on the sofa in his usual careless attitude and waited her coming. What an age you have been! was his greeting. I am inclined to think that I shall begin to complain of that person Hammond before a great while. The lady's amiability was not proof against this sentence. She answered it very coldly. I suppose you would hardly recommend his leaving me to come home alone would you? I have been to teacher's meeting. Mr. Tracy threw his head back among the sofa cushions and indulged in a low, not unmusical laugh. That is really the funniest part of the funny performance, he said when his laugh was over. It is impossible for me to conceive of you as a Sunday school teacher anyway, and the idea of you sitting up there in the person's study with those starched up fossils is too ludicrous. What was the matter with Miss Parkhurst? Every word that he spoke jarred on her nerves. She answered in the same cold tone. I don't know what you mean I am sure. Why shouldn't I teach in Sabbath school as well as any one of them? How astonished her conscience must have been to hear her rush over to that side of the question after laboring to convince Mr. Hammond that such was not her mission. Mr. Tracy laughed again. Why, my dear, he said indolently, you don't seem like them, that is all, and I am very thankful that you don't. Let us dismiss the subject. I have invitations for the hop tomorrow evening, and I want you to be ready by eight for our set are going to have a little private entertainment before the general fun begins. What hop? said Miss Parkhurst, and there was not only surprise but consternation in her voice. Why, don't you know about it? Oh no, I had forgotten that I didn't see you last evening. By the way, where were you? Did Hammond have you at a prayer meeting? Why, Dick, you know, has opened his new parlours, or rather he means to open after tomorrow, and before that time he gives a little entertainment to his friends, an oyster supper with a little dancing. But Mr. Tracy, you know I don't attend hops, least of all at hotels. Mr. Tracy laughed again. Did I call it a hop? he said good-humoredly. I was thinking of the grand opening which is to take place next week. This is a very informal affair as you may imagine by the informality of the invitation. In fact, it is nothing more than you have at your own house. Only our house is not a public hotel. She spoke as if she thought this ought to make a difference. Nonsense, he said gaily. Neither is this, is not to be until after tomorrow. Why, there are not more than forty invited, and those are our intimate friends. I do not think I shall go. Miss Parkhurst said this in a low, half-dejected voice. Mr. Tracy raised himself to an upright posture and looked at her steadily. Quora, he said, half-anxiously. What is the matter? Do you know that you don't appear in the least like yourself? You haven't appeared so for a long time, and I am really concerned about you. Can't you tell me what is the trouble? I am not prepared to say that Quora did the most sensible thing that could be done or gave a reasonable answer to the question. I am only stating facts. What she did was to sink down on the sofa on the opposite corner to that occupied by Mr. Tracy, put her head in one of the unoccupied cushions, and began to sob. It was not very loud, nor very wild crying, but a low, tremulous sobbing. Mr. Tracy was utterly horrified. During his long acquaintance with this lady he had never seen her other than bright and cheery, a cheeriness almost amounting to gittiness. He had never fancied that she could cry. He bent toward her with a confused idea of comforting her, and not an idea as to how to do it. She shrank away from him with a petulant gesture. She was not at all in the mood to receive comfort from him. Her movement vexed him, and he sat back in the corner and frowned. Then he went to casting about in his mind for a reason for this strange change. Ever since, he said to himself. Why, let me see. Yes, ever since that evening when I came for her to see the royal marionettes she has been unlike herself. That Hammond was waiting for her then, and I declare she has been under his influence more or less ever since. It is just his tombstone manner and conversation that has given her the blues. At this point he began to think aloud. That troublesome fellow, I wish he would keep away from you. It is just his influence that has changed you in this way. I could choke him and keep a serene countenance during the operation. Then it was that Miss Parkhurst rose into dignity. She was not a particularly dignified young lady. Indeed, I doubt if anyone had ever thought of applying that adjective to her. But there was that in her companion's words which aroused swift indignation in her, and she spoke accordingly. George, I can't imagine any excuse that you can have for such language as that. I infer that you are speaking of Mr. Hammond, as you have several times hinted something of the same sort. However unjust and foolish such insinuations may be to him, they are certainly most insulting to me, and I beg that you will do me the kindness to spare me the hearing of them in the future. Her cheeks were glowing and her eyes had an unusual flash in them. What her friend, who might be supposed to feel rebuked, thought at this juncture was that she really looked exceedingly pretty, prettier than usual, and a spice of indignation was not at all unbecoming. He laughed good-naturedly, congratulated himself inwardly, that at least he had succeeded in checking her tears, which was the important point, and said, Come, Quora, don't let us quarrel. We never do you know. We have always been models in that respect. It is growing late, or at least I have but little time to spare. You used up so much of it at that teacher's meeting. What do you find to talk about that takes a whole evening? I presume they have a royal gossip. Well, let us settle about tomorrow evening. You can be ready by eight, can you not? Miss Parkhurst was not ready with her reply. In her mind was this sentence. I will call for you tomorrow evening a few minutes before eight. You will be ready by that time, will you not? The remark had been made not to her, but she had overheard it. Two of the teachers were talking, and she knew the subject of their words was the teacher's prayer meeting held every Saturday evening. She had never been in her life. Don't you know that tomorrow will be Saturday? She said, turning suddenly toward Mr. Tracy, a curious wonder in her mind as to whether he would understand what she meant. Why, yes, he said, speaking slowly and looking as she imagined he would, rather puzzled. I know, of course, that it will be Saturday. What then? Oh, I suppose I see the point. You are afraid of trenching on Sunday. No, you need have no fear of that. In fact, that is the reason why we meet so early, to allow of a good social time before midnight. I'll engage to promise you that you shall be safe inside your own gate by that hour. In his heart he muttered, that is some of that pokey Hammond's work I'll venture. She wasn't so particular last winter. The teacher's prayer meeting is tomorrow evening at eight. She did not say these words to him, it was simply thinking aloud. In her mind was a feeling of the contrast between the ways that different teachers had of spending Saturday evening, but Mr. Tracy felt called upon to answer. Indeed. And there was more than slight annoyance in his tones. What an important affair this Sunday school teaching is. I don't think I ever before realized the magnitude of the business. Do they impress all the evenings of the week into their service? It is fortunate for me that they don't enforce their laws, isn't it? Is it possible that the clock is striking eleven? I promised to look in at the club room at ten. So you see the sin of that omission will have to be laid at your door. But, Cora, I really must go and give you a chance to rest. I want you to look your brightest tomorrow. Hereupon Miss Parkhurst found voice to say, George, I am sorry, but I don't think I can go tomorrow. Not go. Why, I am sadly disappointed. I counted on a pleasant evening with you. Aren't you feeling well? No, she said abruptly. Or yes, I suppose I am well enough to go, but I am not in the mood, and you know I never did do things unless I felt like doing them. I am not one of the sort who could go to a party or anything else from a sense of duty. I go or stay simply because I want or don't want to, and as it happens to be don't want this time, you will have to take the consequences. Mr. Tracey smiled incredulously. You are tired tonight, he said, good-naturedly, and I think you have very little idea of what you do or do not want. I will just look in in the morning on my way downtown and get a more favorable answer to my petition, and remember that I shall be very much disappointed if you do not accompany me. I have reason to think that you sometimes do things to please me. Then he bade her good night, and she went to her room in a very unenviable state of mind. I think one of the worst features of her trouble was that she hadn't the least idea what was the matter with her, nor where to seek for a remedy. She knew that the hitherto unbroken brightness and merriness of her butterfly life had been rudely broken in a pond, and that she was uncomfortable and unhappy. She vaguely traced the beginning of her unrest to that night spent in watching. She had been saying to herself for some weeks that her nerves had been shaken by the unusual scenes, together with the night watching, and that the disturbance of heart and life arose from this. But it did not seem in the least reasonable that a watch of one night should so disturb the current of her life, that after weeks of calm she should not get back her usual cheerfulness, and the shadow instead of lifting grew worse. It was not that she was never her old self, but these frequent and to her horrible seasons of gloom were growing upon her. She began to be seriously annoyed. She enjoyed being happy. She could not endure the thought of discomfort in any form, certainly not in that which touched herself. Yet here she was at times in the very depths of it. There were certain things that she knew about it. For instance, she knew that it had its outgrowth in fear. During that night of watching she had discovered that she was afraid of death, absolutely horribly afraid, that the very thought of such a messenger coming to her filled her with unutterable dread and terror, that the terror grew and deepened rather than vanished as she regained her strength of nerve and body. Just where all this commotion of thought would end, it was impossible to tell. Something more than thinking is required in order that persons may be really benefited. So far as any actual help was concerned, up to this date she might as well not have thought at all. Indeed thinking was a thing that she hated to do. If she could have glided back to the surface period of her life when her thoughts, if she had any, were not defined enough to be troublesome, she would have been content. But here was this vexatious question of the hop to be thought about. She sat herself down in great bitterness of spirit to discover, if possible, what she really did think, and just why she had been moved to decline Mr. Tracey's invitation.