 Chapter 1 OF WORKERS TOGETHER In the Packard Place Sabbath School there was a new superintendent. That doesn't sound like a remarkable statement, but certain results sprang therefrom which made a great difference in many lives. A new man at the helm was something that Packard Place had not known for a long time. The people had met and elected over again the same superintendent for so many years that most of the scholars had forgotten that anything else could be done, so they had ceased attending the election. What is the use, they said, in going down there to write his name once a year? Directly I write that sentence I am sorry for it, because while I wish you to have a very high idea of the Packard Place Sabbath School, I have admitted that they were no further advanced than to choose their superintendent by a vote of the scholars. Mr. Brown, who had served them for so many years, was a good man. All the scholars respected him. That is saying a great deal. To be sure, I think they would have respected him rather more if he had been a good reader. He made many mistakes in reading the Bible. When there occurred a proper name, if he could, by any twisting, give it a wrong pronunciation, he was sure to accomplish that feat. Moreover, he had one certain method for running his school. If you had been there on the first Sabbath of the year 1872 and had not gone again until the year 1882, you might tell almost to a second just what had been done each Sabbath during your absence. In fact, with a few mistakes, you might have mentioned the hymns sung. A chapter would be read in the Bible, a prayer would be offered, one of three favorite hymns would be sung, and then would sound the bell for lessons. At the close, a hymn and then the school rushed out and saw their superintendent no more, heard of him no more, and I am safe in saying, thought of him no more until the next Sabbath day. One Sunday, most of the scholars were amazed by a change of program. The election had occurred during the week, and Mr. Brown had resigned on account of failing health. The scholars were genuinely sorry that his health had failed, but it was almost like listening to music to hear the clear, even toned reading of Dr. Everett. He was the chosen superintendent. There was nothing specially new in his manner of conducting the school that morning. He was a man of better taste than to commence his work with any startling innovations. Yet the new way of doing very much, the old things, made it all seem new to the scholars. There were also in the air hints of new things to come, how given none of them could have told, but they began to feel as though the school meant something more than they had supposed, and as though they would be sure to be their next Sabbath to see what might happen. Still it is with Monday work that I have to do at this time. I don't think the idea had ever occurred to Mr. Brown that Monday had anything to do with Sunday, or at least with Sunday school. Dr. Everett, on the contrary, seemed to suppose that being superintendent of the school on Sunday made him superintendent all the week. The first intimation that he gave of this belief was when he met Miss Mason on the street corner. Good morning, he said, halting, holding out his hand, and taking hers in a cordial grasp. Miss Mason was surprised. She had known Dr. Everett for several weeks. He had not impressed her as being a very cordial man, yet certainly this greeting was friendly and genial in the extreme. His next remark was in the form of a question and bewildered her. I hope you had a good time yesterday. Yesterday, thought Miss Mason going rapidly over her immediate past. Where, when, what day was yesterday? Oh, why Sunday, a good time on Sunday, what a queer man Dr. Everett must be. In your class, I mean, he explained smiling a little. He did not understand her bewilderment. He had seen her among her girls but the morning before. He could not realize that they had utterly gone out of her mind. Why, I don't know, she said slowly. I am not sure that I did. Have you anything of special interest in your class? Special interest, she repeated, exactly as though she were an echo or a parrot. Yes, are there any of your scholars who need special attention, either among themselves or at their homes? In short, is there anything about them that I need to know? Need to know, repeated Miss Mason. She could not help it. She did not know that she was playing the part of an echo. She was dazed. You know I am their superintendent, Dr. Everett said, smiling broadly now. I want to learn in what ways I can best help you and them. The lessons are somewhat difficult just now. For drawing practical deductions, I mean, don't you think we should aim to help the everyday lives of our scholars? Sabbath school teaching, you know, amounts to very little unless it touches vital points, but I should not detain you now. I think I do not even know your young people by name. That is one of the disadvantages under which I labor in being a comparative stranger in the city, but I shall learn with your help. Will you be at leisure, say this evening? Suppose I call for a list of the names and residences of your scholars. And if you will add a memoranda of anything that you think will make me better acquainted with them, I shall be greatly obliged. Shall I call it eight? Receiving her confused answer, he went his way still smiling, albeit the smile ended in a sigh. He began to understand some of his teachers needed waking up as well as the scholars, while for him that he was a thoroughly awakened man himself, one who felt at all times that he must be about his father's business. As for Miss Mason, who shall describe the bewilderment of her mind as she moved slowly away in the opposite direction? She had received a decided jostle in the midst of the knack which she had been comfortably taking for many years. The names of her scholars she certainly knew except that girl with a queer bonnet who only came occasionally and the girl who came sometimes with the courteous girl, but their residences, to answer that question was beyond her. Dear me they all lived somewhere of course, but how was she to learn where? Not one of them but lived outside of the social line which divided the city to her, and she knew no better where to look for them than if their homes had been fifty miles away. But what an awkward thing it would be to have Dr. Everett call and she unable to give him a single address. Since he really wanted to know where they lived, she must try to find out in some way, though what difference it could make to him she did not as yet comprehend. He must be a queer man, she told herself as she moved slowly on. He can't be very busy in his profession if he finds time for all such fancies. To be sure he is a newcomer as he said, and I suppose it is one of the ways in which he means to build up a practice. But he need not waste his time on my class. There are not more than three of them whose people could afford to pay much of a doctor's bill. However they must be found and their streets and numbers set down. It made her nervous to think of Dr. Everett looking straight at her and questioning, and she unable to answer him any better than she did this morning. This led her to think of the question about a good time. She did not yet understand what he could have meant. Of course she tried to talk to the girls about the lesson, though it had been hard work, and they had seemed not to care for it in the least. As for making it fit their everyday lives, that was simply absurd. What connection could there be between the beheading of John the Baptist and her six or eight giggling girls? She felt a wondering what the lesson for next Sabbath was about, and whether Dr. Everett would expect her to make it practical, and whether it would be as impossible to do as it was last Sabbath. She wished she had asked Dr. Everett what he meant, but then he had flurried her so that she could not think connectedly of anything. She went around to the office on her way home and plied her father and brothers with questions as to where her girls were possibly to be found, and directly she reached home, she looked up the lesson for the coming Sabbath and read it over. Meantime Dr. Everett went on his way with swift feet. Whether or not he was working up a practice, he walked like a man who had much to accomplish and was eager to do it. He called himself fortunate that morning, for there at the Avenue Crossing he met another of his Sabbath school teachers, Mrs. Saunders by name. He stopped again and shook hands cordially. This time he had to introduce himself. Mrs. Saunders was one whom he had not met before, but he remembered her face. He had studied it yesterday and wondered whether she was the teacher for that class of boys. He repeated in substance the questions that he had asked Miss Mason. This teacher also was astonished. She had not been educated to expect questions of any sort from her superintendent, but she was of a different type from Miss Mason. Yes, she said at once, there is a boy in my class who needs help of some sort. He is almost discouraged. He has been working in a printing office. Not that he wanted that kind of employment, but he came to the city to seek his fortune, just as they are all doing, you know, foolish fellows, and a place in a printing office was the only chance that offered after a good deal of waiting and hunting and some starving, so he took it. Now he has been discharged. Some trouble arose. I can't find out whether he was much to blame or not, but anyway he is out of employment and Satan is looking after him with all his might. There are ways in which people might learn things of that person, Dr. Everett. The boy, or young man I suppose he thinks he is, has a chance to go into a drinking saloon as a clerk. And though he has been brought up in a very different manner, I am afraid he will do it. It is the only chance that has offered, and he only sees far enough ahead to want to pay his board bill. Mrs. Sanders talked fast, and I, Dr. Everett, closely the while. In reality, she was carrying on two trains of thought at the same time. While she shaped and reported the young man's story, she was saying to herself, I wonder if I'm not wasting my time. What sort of good will it do for me to stand here on the corner and tell this off to him? She had of her own accord stopped Mr. Brown one day last week with the same story. Mr. Brown, you will remember, was the former superintendent, but it was not in view of that fact that she had consulted him, but because he was in a position of power in a large factory, and she had hoped to hear of a vacancy for her boy. Mr. Brown, she remembered, had rubbed his chin and stroked his mustache thoughtfully, and said it was a sad case, that the floodgates of sin were open on every side, and that it was enough to make any person interested in the young tremble. And he did hope the young man would hold out firmly against such an offer as that. He was sorry, very sorry, that he knew of no opening at present, but he would try to bear it in mind. Times were very hard, and opportunities for earning one's living decidedly scarce just now, but still something might turn up. Then he had gone away, and whether he had ever thought of it again Mrs. Sanders much doubted. Certain it was, neither she nor the young man had heard further from him. Was Dr. Everett a man of that stamp? He, meantime, had drawn out a little red-covered book, opened it, produced a pencil, and was ready with questions. What is the young man's name? Barrows, Austin Barrows. Was he in your class yesterday? Oh yes, he is pretty regular in attendance. Where did he sit in the class? Quite near the organ, next to it I think, he is the tallest one in my class. The young man with grey eyes and a wide forehead, I remember him. What printing office has he been in? The evening leader, he was discharged three weeks ago. You don't know for what? Well, there was a disturbance among the employees. The foreman gave an order and was disobeyed. I haven't encouraged him to tell me very much about it, because I have only been able to see him on Sundays. Besides, he felt pretty vindictive, and I thought it might be better to wait until he had cooled down a little. Yes, I understand. What saloon is it that has offered him a position? The Arbor Saloon, sir, on Drew Street, about the worst in the city, I think, because it is kind of respectable, and young men don't feel so much ashamed to go in there. A young fellow who boards near Austin is acquainted with one of the owners of the saloon, and I guess the chance has come through him. Who is that? Is he in our Sabbath school? Oh, dear no, nor in any other. He grew too old for Sabbath school years ago. He is a fast young man. His name is Parks. Can't we get hold of him, Mrs. Saunders? If you could have seen the winning smile which accompanied this question, you would have felt its effect. Maybe we can, Mrs. Saunders said promptly. I never dreamed of such a thing as trying until just now, but it seems as though I should like to. Suppose we try for it. Where does this young barrow's board? Street and number were given. Dr. Everett scribbling rapidly, still questioning. Is it the place for him to board? I don't know, said Mrs. Saunders meekly. She was taking some lessons. I don't know a thing about it except that I don't like the street. We must see about it, the new superintendent said, as he returned the red book to his pocket. One of our young men must not be driven into a liquor saloon in order to earn his living. I am glad you informed me of this as soon as you could. In point of fact, she would not have thought of informing him had he not questioned it out of her. One more question. What degree of capacity has he? Would he do for salesmen in one of the large stores? I should think he might, his teacher said eagerly. He has a very fair education and I believe he would do his best if he only had a chance than someone to say an encouraging word. I will see him as soon as possible, Mrs. Saunders. Now about the other young men in your class. You have their names and residences, of course? Could you drop me a line through the post and give me whatever items you can in regard to them? Say tomorrow if it is convenient. I shall have to look to my teachers for a great deal of help in this matter of getting acquainted. I am so much a stranger. Thank you again and good morning. Mrs. Saunders was a busy woman and on this particular morning was in a hurry. Yet she took time to stand still and look after the rapidly receding form of Dr. Everett and give her head certain satisfactory little nods which referred to him. He actually knows more about my class now than I believe poor Mr. Brown did after ten years of experience, she said to the lamppost. I shouldn't wonder if he would help poor Austin. At the corner of Parsons Street, Dr. Everett halted and looked at his watch and calculated the probable distance between his office and the place that he would like to reach. He decided in favor of the errand and walked rapidly down Parsons Street to Drew and halted before the Arbor Saloon. Pushing open the door he stepped inside in apparition in that place. The loungers stared. Good morning, the newcomers said courteously to a showily dressed young man behind the bar. I wonder if you could give me the possible whereabouts of my friend Mr. Barrows this morning. I have a matter of business with him and I am trying to save time in finding him. Barrows, repeated the young man in astonishment. Why, you mean Dr. L. Barrows I suppose? He is at number 200 Clark Place. Oh no, I mean Mr. Austin Barrows. I had reason to think that he might have an appointment here or that you could direct me where to find him. Austin Barrows, the young fellow, do you mean? Well, I don't know exactly where he is this morning. We expect him here about eleven o'clock, but he hasn't got around yet. He may be at his boarding house. Do you know where that is? Oh yes, thank you. He is one of my young men, you know. My name is Everett. Good morning. And the collar dropped a card on the counter and hastened away. Two young men came and peered over the shoulder of the clerk as he read the address. Stuart Everett M.D., number sixteen Clark Place, office hours seven to nine a.m., five to seven p.m., over. Obeying the hint they turned the card and read, Stuart Everett M.D., superintendent of Packard Place Sunday School, services at Packard Place Church every Sabbath morning and evening. Sabbath school at two o'clock p.m., Sabbath school prayer meetings on Saturday evenings at eight o'clock. The dickens, said one of the young men. You don't say, added the other. New style, said the clerk at the bar. He's the new doctor who is making a sensation because he cured old Mr. Barnes after Dr. Barrows said he couldn't be cured. Well, he'll win. He has a kind of taking way. This is a neat card, but I wonder what the mischief he wants of Austin Barrows. Blessed if I knew before that he was anybody's young man. Though I guess he does go around to Packard Place Church pretty often, it pleases his mother, he says. This sentence ended in a slight sigh, a vague passing notion that it might not be an unpleasant thing to be one of Dr. Everett's young men if the term did not involve too much self-sacrifice lingered in his mind. He was showily dressed and wore much false jewelry, and yet there was that in him which was worth saving, and he turned with a slight disrelish to the counter to obey the call for a glass of beer. Dr. Everett's energies were next bent on finding young Austin Barrows and saving him before he fell into Satan's trap at ten o'clock. He went swiftly towards a car that would carry him soonest to the part of the town where the young man boarded, and in his haste came plump upon the very person moving along sullenly, his eyes on the ground, his hands in his pockets, and a look of general discouragement about him. Why, how do you do? was Dr. Everett's greeting. This is very fortunate. I was about to take a trip in search of you. I want to see you on particular business. You know me, of course. Dr. Everett, your superintendent." Whereupon Dr. Everett's hand was held out to grasp cordially the sullen young man's and shake into it a sense of the importance and brightness of the new relation established between them. Up to this point Austin Barrows had never entertained an idea that the fact of there being a new superintendent in the Packard Place Sunday School could have anything special to do with him. I hear that you are out of employment, continued the doctor. I have in mind a situation that might suit you. I shall have to see one or two gentlemen first, but I was anxious that you made no other engagement until you saw me. I think I can secure this for you. Mrs. Saunders gives you a good recommendation. Will you wait until five o'clock this evening before you decide anything? And will you call it my office at four?" Yes, sir, said Austin Barrows to both questions, speaking without a moment's hesitation and letting the sullen look on his face break into a smile. He didn't want to sell liquor in the Arbor Saloon if he could help it. Dr. Everett now made rapid strides towards his office. He was a few minutes late, but he told himself that he could well afford to be, for he believed he had set in motion a train of events that would help to teach next Sabbath's lesson to some of his young people. Before he started out on his round of professional calls, he wrote and dispatched the following note, Mr. Farnsworth, I think I have found a young man who you will be willing to try at the store. At least I want you to try him, and if I am not mistaken, so does the master. Please take no further steps towards supplying your vacancy until you hear from me again. Yours, Everett. Austin Barrows had also an errand. He put his head in at the door of the Arbor Saloon and made this unceremonious statement. I can't give you a positive answer until five o'clock. Then he shot the door again quickly and moved on. The proprietor looked his annoyance. It was part of Satan's plan to give this particular young man with his genial face and cheery ways into the Arbor Saloon. If somebody was at work outwitting them, there would be grumbling. Young Barrows must have had a streak of luck, remarked one employee to another. His face has lost its glumness. He looks as though he might have had a legacy left him. However, he hadn't, you know, he had only shaken hands with his new superintendent. By two o'clock on that same day, Miss Mason was in her room preparing for an afternoon excursion. She was in a somewhat nervous state of mind. Her eight o'clock engagement still caused her trouble. Figurous efforts on her part, so far as the male members of her family were concerned, had signally failed in securing a complete list of the residences of her pupils. Three of the girls she knew where to find at least pretty nearly. Her father had helped her to the probable address of another, and her brother Dick knew that Fanny Tarrant lived on Arsenal Street. But neither father nor brother knew anything about the girl with the queer bonnet or the one who sometimes came with the Curtis girl. Now this state of things was embarrassing. How was she to look up a scholar whose principal clue was a queer bonnet? She could see no way but to call on the Curtis girl and enlist her help. Will it be credited that this Sabbath school teacher was almost as nervous over a prospective call on one of her scholars as she would have been over an appointment to preach? What was she to say to the Curtis girl when she found her? To come in contact with a young person of her stamp, when it would not be the proper thing to ask, what is the subject of this lesson, how far is Bethany from Jerusalem? What event is mentioned that took place in Bethany, and so on down the lesson leaf list of questions, was to plunge oneself at once into an embarrassing position? Miss Mason, as she nervously twitched her hat into position and opened one drawer and then another in search of gloves, had an uncomfortable consciousness that she was guilty of wishing that Dr. Everett were superintendent of a school in Jericho instead of Packard Place. If he were going to continue in this manner tormenting them with all sorts of new notions about names and residences and practical deductions, what an uncomfortable person he would be. Away at the other end of the earth, she muttered, as having at last reached the front door, she looked again at the name of the street which her father had given her as the abiding place of the Curtis family. I never was on that street in my life. I don't believe I know how to get to it, and I don't see what I am going for anyway. I'm not obliged to be at the service of that doctor. I believe I will write him a note and resign my class. But even while she questioned, she signaled a passing car and went on her way. It required some changes of lines and a good deal of questioning interspersed with mental grumblings. Between times the perplexed teacher tried to decide what she should say, suppose she did happen to find the house. What excuse could she make for calling? Imagine the pity of it that there should be in existence a Sabbath school teacher who thought she needed an excuse for calling on one of her scholars. Miss Mason was sincere. It was all new ground, and she did not know how to proceed. She wondered whether it would do to ring at the door, provided there was a doorbell to ring, and plunge it once into the subject, ask for the name of the girl with the queer bonnet, and where she was to be found. Also, who was that girl who came once in a while from somewhere, and seemed to have no distinctive mark? What would the Curtis girl think of that? By the way, what was that Curtis girl's name? She did wish she could recall it. She had heard it once, she felt sure. Was it Sarah, or Hattie, or what? It would be very awkward to have to ask her point blank. Yet, on the other hand, it would certainly be awkward to have Dr. Everett ask her and feel herself unable to answer. He would ask, of course, that in every other question which occurred to him. Hadn't he asked her as many as a dozen that morning? Puzzling over questions like these, she changed cars once more, and, behold, directly opposite to her, sat the girl with the queer bonnet. Queer it certainly was, not merely the queerness of bad taste in selection, but that worst form of queerness, an attempt at being stylish, which, in this case, resulted only in a perfusion of bright, cheap flowers mingled with yards of bright ribbon of contrasting hue, so arranged that the whole effect was exasperating to refined taste. There were more serious defects about the girl than in ill-chosen bonnet. She was a loud-voiced girl who talked much and laughed much, and was altogether so very familiar with the young man in the gay necktie who stood before her, holding on by the strap, that Miss Mason shuddered as she listened. How could she address this ill-mannered creature and learn her name? By what process could she learn it if she made the attempt? Could she be expected to lean forward in the street car and say, What is your name? The girl had recognized her by a careless nod, but seemed by her manner to expect no other attention. Presently he of the gay necktie left the car, so indeed at the next crossing did several others, leaving Miss Mason and her scholar sole occupants. Clearly this was an opportunity, yet so unaccustomed was Miss Mason to making use of such opportunities that her face was flushed and her manner flurried. Do you live on this street? she asked, making a bold attempt at conversation. Oh, dear no, said the loud-voiced girl. I live at the other end of creation, more than a mile from here. You have a long distance, then, to come to Sabbath school. Is that the reason why you were not there last Sabbath? Noam, said the girl, laughing. It was because I got up too late. I was out most all night on Saturday and slept most all day on Sunday to make up for it. I don't get to Sunday school very often. There is always something to hinder. Miss Mason considered for a moment what she ought to say to that, and then concluded that it needed no reply. The momentous question was, how should she discover the girl's name? It did seem too bad to ask her outright. At last her face brightened. She had hit upon an expedient. I don't believe I have your name exactly correct in my roll book. Suppose you write it out for me on this card, together with your street and number. It was a miserable sort of subterfuge, such as no thoroughly conscientious heart would have been guilty of, this pretending that she had the name in some form, when in reality there had been no attempt to write it. Miss Mason blushed while she said the words, but comforted her conscience with the thought that it really was the truth after all, since, of course, if she hadn't the name at all, it could not be said to be correct. Still, for all that, she was ashamed of it. As a rule she was careful of the truth, so far at least as her conscience was enlightened. As for the girl, she took the card hesitatingly, with an embarrassed laugh and heightened color. I don't know about putting my name on a card. It most seems like signing a pledge. Nevertheless, she wrote her name in a firm, bold hand. Hester J. Mason, number 92, South Worth Street. Then as she returned the card, her cheeks still glowing, she could not help feeling that she belonged to the Packard Place Sabbath School. She had never realized it before. It gave Miss Mason a peculiar sensation to discover that the girl in the queer bonnet was her namesake. The only reply that she made was in reference to the words about signing a pledge. Let us call it a pledge, she said pleasantly, that you will not stay up too late on Saturday nights for the next day's school, but will be there as often as you possibly can. Just then the conductor called the name of the street where she was to stop, and she left the car in haste, a good deal confused over her first attempt at being personal. Was that what Dr. Everett meant by making the lessons practical? But then this wasn't a Sabbath school lesson. How came she to say such a thing? She remembered wondering where the girl spent her Saturday night and fearing that she did not choose a very wise place, and then had come a wish that she would come to Sabbath school regularly if she was coming at all. The next thing she knew, Dr. Everett would be asking whether they came regularly and why they didn't. She had walked some distance before she remembered that she might have asked Tester Mason what the Curtis girl's first name was, and who that girl was who sometimes came with her. She stopped and looked back, she grinned at her folly, but the streetcar was already lost to view. There was nothing for it but to make her proposed call. The next point of interest was to find which was the Curtis house. This too she might have learned from Tester Mason if she had not been so excited and embarrassed over she knew not what. How perfectly awkward to have to ring doorbells indefinitely and inquire for Jonas Curtis and learn whether when found he had a daughter in the Packard Place Sabbath school, for she was by no means certain that the Jonas Curtis of whom her father had knowledge was the father of her pupil. Of one duty, however, she was to be relieved. It soon transpired that she was in a region where there were no doorbells to ring. Force of Knuckle was the only power that could be exercised here. She timidly tried it at a door that might or might not be the one. Of course it seemed to her that she knocked very loud indeed, and of course she did not knock loud enough to be heard two feet away. After what seemed long waiting she tried again. This time there was a response. The narrow door swung open and, behold, the Curtis girl herself appeared to view. She gave Miss Mason no time for embarrassment or for questions. She had swollen eyes and quivering lips, and she said eagerly, Oh Miss Mason, and burst into tears. What could be the matter with the Curtis girl? She stepped into the little square box of a hall to avoid the curious gaze of the passersby and questioned, My dear girl, what is the matter? Don't you know, asked the Curtis girl, brushing away the great drops from her eyes. I thought maybe you had heard and that was why you came. Oh Miss Mason, the baby is dead. Then the tears burst forth afresh. How sorry was Miss Mason? She forgot to be embarrassed. It is true that she had not so much as known that there had been a baby in this household, but there was one at home, a laughing, cooing baby. Oh, what if he were dead? Her heart thrilled with pain over the bare possibility, but the thought put exceeding tenderness and sympathy into her voice. Poor dear child, she said. How sorry I am for you. The Curtis girl felt the sympathy. She had not been to Sabbath school a great deal. She had felt no special interest in it. Miss Mason had possessed no fascination for her. She had just happened to go. But Miss Mason, after this one tenderly spoken sentence, would be something to her. Would you like to see him? She asked. You can't think how sweet he looks. And not waiting for the answer, which was well, for assuredly it would have been a hurried negative. Miss Mason was wants to shrink away from every evidence of death. She led the way into a pitiful little front room with green paper curtains at the windows and wooden seated chairs standing in rows on the red carpeted floor. And in the center of the room, on a white-covered table, a beautiful baby lay sleeping. Oh, how beautiful! The exclamation was involuntary. The waxen-faced sleeper was so very lovely that Miss Mason said it without waiting to think what she would say. Isn't he? And the heart of the Curtis girl went out to her entirely. Oh, Miss Mason, I can't tell you what a sweet dear baby he was. Just beginning to talk. He called me Dady. He couldn't say Delia, you know. And some way his little tongue made that name out of it. And I loved to hear him say it so much. Oh, dear, just to think I will never hear it again. She was crying again. She could not keep back the tears. Miss Mason had literally nothing to say. A dim idea that something in the way of consolation or improvement ought to be said stole uncomfortably through her mind. But she didn't know how to do anything of this kind. It was such a new and strange experience to her. She was strangely moved. The beautiful baby asleep before her must have been just about the age of that little brother at home. She even fancied that she traced a resemblance between them, and some way she couldn't keep back her own tears. Delia saw them chase each other down her teacher's cheeks, and the reason for the old injunction, weep with them that weep, was made apparent in the quick throb of grateful affection which she felt in her heart for Miss Mason. Their tears had fallen together over the sleeping baby. Neither would ever forget it. I wanted some flowers to put in his hand, the sister said, speaking with quivering lips. He loved flowers, but I couldn't get any. There are no flowers around here. You shall have them, my dear, quantities of them, Miss Mason answered quickly. I will see to that. What a pitiful thing it seemed to her that there were actually those who could not get flowers to put about their dead. I didn't know that the baby was sick, she added. Has he been sick long? For three weeks, Delia explained, that was why she had not been to Sabbath school, whereupon Miss Mason, for the first time, recalled the fact that the Curtis girl had been absent for several weeks. A little more talk they had, which developed to the startled teacher several things. For instance, she asked who the pastor was, and Delia, with flushing cheeks, confessed that they had no pastor. Father and mother did not go to church, and they didn't know any church people. They had not lived in this city so very long, and she didn't know what they would do for a minister. I thought of the one who belongs to our Sunday school, she said doubtfully, looking into Miss Mason's face with a wistful air. But perhaps he couldn't come? He has such a large church, and so much to do, and we live a long way off. He will come, of course, Miss Mason said quickly. I will, and then she hesitated. She was about to say, I will speak to him, but it occurred to her to wonder what Dr. Miller would think of such a proceeding. He had been their pastor but a few months. She did not feel on sufficiently familiar terms with him to take such work upon herself. Truth to tell, Miss Mason was not accustomed to any work. But the sentence must be finished. A happy thought suggested itself, and she seized upon it. I will speak to Dr. Everett if you wish, and he will attend to it. Oh, thank you, the girl answered, gratitude in her voice. Father will be so much obliged to you. He said he did not know where to go nor what to do, and it is all so dreadful. There is no one to think for us. Miss Mason, will you not mind by not calling mother? She is so broken down, she feels as though she could not see anybody. Oh, no indeed. Miss Mason would not mind at all. Or rather it was a great relief to her. It startled her to think what she could possibly say to the mother of that beautiful dead child. And yet surely the poor mother ought to have some comforter. This thought recalled Dr. Everett again and made her resolve that he should know the circumstances at once. He impressed her as a man who might know what to say and how to say it. To this end, mindful of Dr. Everett's ability to ask questions, she bethought herself to ask about the other plans for the funeral and whether there was anything else that should be attended to. Altogether, when she went out from that house, it was with the sound of Delia's earnest thank-you in her heart and a new, strange feeling that she certainly, in making that call, had done a little good. It was not until she stood on the steps, ready to depart, that she remembered her original errand and asked and obtained the name of the girl who sometimes came to Sunday school with the Curtis girl. She made ready for Dr. Everett's call that evening with much less nervousness than in the morning she had imagined possible. Indeed, she was rather anxious to see him and make arrangements for that poor Curtis girl in her sorrow. I am glad that I discovered her name without asking for it, she told herself complacently as she wrote Delia Curtis in her delicate Italian hand. Dr. Everett was as interested as possible in all her details. He questioned and cross-questioned and led her to realize that there were, after all, many details into which she had not inquired. His little red book was produced and he wanted to know which Mr. Curtis it was and how long he had lived in the city and whether the family had ever attended church anywhere and a dozen other things of which Miss Mason knew nothing. Of course you notified Dr. Miller? This was the last embarrassing question. Dr. Miller, you will remember, was Miss Mason's pastor. Why, no, she explained. She had not had time. She had but just reached home and Dr. Miller he would remember lived in another direction. Ah, yes, but I mean that you notified him when this new name was added to your list. I understood you to say that she has been with you but a short time. No, said Miss Mason, with flushing cheeks but honest voice. I never thought of such a thing. Be sure she resolved that she would never again have to make so foolish an answer to a similar question. Immediately this new superintendent plunged her into the mazes of more work. By a question again, the sort of question which involves an affirmative answer has a matter of course. About this funeral you will attend, of course, and your class they will attend as a class, I presume? Such an idea had not once entered into Miss Mason's mind. Did Dr. Everett think that was necessary? Why, as to that, he thought it eminently the proper thing to do. Sympathy under such circumstances was the least that could be expected from classmates. Possibly the father and mother might be won by little thoughtfulnesses at this time. At least it was worth trying for. Would she attend to it then? Very well, that would give him opportunity to call on Dr. Miller in the morning. When he finally, with his list of names in hand and several items of importance in the red book, and several plans suggested for work that were new to her, bowed himself out, he left Miss Mason looking after him with a dazed air, wondering, meantime, if she were the same person who had remarked that morning that she was bored almost to death and she did wish she had something to do. Also, I admit that she wondered why they had never had a superintendent in their Sabbath school before. As for Dr. Everett, delayed by professional duties, he did not get around to the parsonage for a few minutes as he had planned. Instead he sent thither a note, brief and to the point. My dear pastor, Miss Mason informs me that a baby brother of one of her girls has just died. The name is Curtis. They live on Barclay Street, near Clay Alley. Father and mother, not churchgoers. Miss Mason thinks your services would be gratefully received. She called this afternoon and prepared the way. Her class will attend the funeral. She has the matter in charge. Will you see this afternoon as to details? Yours in haste, Everett. Two remarks the new pastor made in reply to this note, his face lighting up the while. Thank God for such a man as Dr. Everett at the head of our Sabbath school. Then, after a pause, Miss Mason called a, I have evidently done that girl in justice. I didn't think she was that sort of a teacher. Good, I take courage. End of Chapter 3. Recording by Tricia G. Chapter 4. A Part of Baby's Mission Miss Joy, said Dr. Everett, pausing before the door of the little sitting-room and holding it a jar while he talked, to indicate his haste. Are you posted as to whom we could ask to form a choir for duty at a funeral this afternoon? People connected with our Sabbath school if we can. To sing at the funeral of that little baby? Why, I could be one. Thank you, said the doctor, and there was satisfaction in his voice. The promptness with which this girl came forward always to do what she could was a source of constant comfort to him. So much is settled, then. I fancy Miss Mason will play for us, especially if you ask her. As to bass, I can manage that. And doesn't Austin Barrow sing? Quite well, answered Miss Joy promptly. Mother has spoken of his voice several times. She thinks it could be cultivated into a fine tenor, but I doubt whether he could get away from the store. He could manage that also, the doctor said, and then he proceeded to question as to whether she would see Miss Mason about the playing, and then both remembered at once that in the poor little home there was no instrument to play. It is a relief in one way, Miss Joy admitted frankly. I don't know Miss Mason, that is, I am just well enough acquainted to bow when I meet her, and she always bows as though that were as close in acquaintance as she desired. In which respect Miss Joy Saunders fully agrees with her, the doctor said, smiling gravely. Then he added, I wonder what you would think if I should tell you that I hope to see Miss Mason and yourself quite intimate friends before the season is over. I'm afraid I should think, if I did not say, that you were not very well acquainted with either of us. There was heightened color on Joy's cheek, but she said no more. Still I mean it, the doctor said, and his face was perfectly grave now. In proof thereof, I should be very glad if you would see her this afternoon and inquire into her plans for the class, whether she will have them meet at her home and take a carriage from thence, or whether she has some more convenient place of meeting. Dr. Everett, you understand a good many people, but you are evidently not acquainted with Miss Mason. So far from summoning her class to attend with her a little baby's funeral, I don't believe she will have the least idea of being there herself. In that you wrong her. I assure you she will be there and with her class. Did it ever occur to you, Miss Joy, that you might possibly wrong her in other judgments? In order to prove to yourself that you have misjudged her, it is your Christian duty to call there this afternoon and take my message for me. Tell her, please, that I will have the carriage sent to whatever point she names. Miss Joy, I have a comforting assurance that you will do your duty. Good afternoon. With that he went, closing the door after him, and the small young woman whom he called Miss Joy was left alone in a somewhat perturbed state of mind. That she did not relish the errand on which he had sent her was evident. The truth was that Joy Saunders, though of the same church with Miss Mason, had never assimilated with her, had told herself many a time, with a firm little set of her shapely head, that she had no desire to be on terms of intimacy with any such person. She is just the sort of person to look down on me because my mother keeps a boarding-house. She had told herself in some heat after being barely recognized one day by the lady in question. And I am just the sort of person to feel like looking down on her because I have a few grains of common sense and she hasn't. Joy Saunders was rarely so severe as this, but Miss Mason had heeded her. She sewed fast for a few minutes, not speaking even to her mother, who appeared just then with her arms full of towels to look over. This mother and daughter were very apt to have words to say to each other at every opportunity. The mother sorted her towels watching furtively meantime the pretty brown head bent over the sewing and waited for talk. Mother, this new friend of yours has a way of commanding people to go here and go there, just as though he expected to be obeyed. Well, said Mrs. Saunders, a commander isn't a bad sort of person if he only knows enough to command in the right direction. And most people who really are commanders by nature are apt to be obeyed. It is only your Nambi Pambi sort of folks who are forever complaining that people won't do as they want them to. Why? What have you been commanded to do? He is not Mambi Pambi at all, said Miss Joy, sewing faster. I should think not. What does he want of you? To call on Miss Mason this afternoon and make some arrangements about that little child's funeral. Well, that doesn't seem to me a very extraordinary thing to do in as much as you are a teacher in the same Sabbath school. It isn't very far to Miss Mason's and it is a nice clear afternoon. I should think you would like the walk. I suppose the doctor is very busy. He is most of the time. Mother, I am not one of Miss Mason's calling acquaintances. She has never called on me since I came home. And when she meets me on the street she treats me as though I were a little girl of ten. She doesn't think that I belong to the same social scale with herself. Nonsense, said Mrs. Saunders. That reminds me a little of the man who couldn't pull a drowning woman out of the water because he had never been introduced. Suppose Miss Mason isn't your intimate friend. Need that hinder your taking a message to her about a funeral? You belong to the same church, child. The sowing and the sorting went on in silence for a little after that. Neither person was, however, entirely absorbed in her work. Miss Saunders took care to put the blue-edged towels and the yellow-edged ones that were a little finer, insets by themselves. But she watched the glow on her daughter's face and speculated. He's touched the sore spot in her heart this afternoon. There's something more than a message to carry in this errand. He sees deeper than that. Joy has but one failing. I am not over and above anxious to have her intimate with Miss Mason everyone knows. But the glow on her cheeks when she meets her isn't a sign of grace. I wish she would rise above it. But I don't believe he can drive her. I never could, though a more obedient child than my Joy was never born. This minute I could say to her, Joy Saunders, I'm ashamed of you. I want you to put up your sowing and go right over to Miss Mason on that errand. And she'd go and do it gently and pleasantly, too. But what would be the gain? Taking folks' bodies to places doesn't amount to much. Then aloud. Well, I suppose the doctor thought you wouldn't mind doing a little errand for him on a pleasant afternoon after all he has done for us. He couldn't be expected to know how you feel about Miss Mason. What is the message, child? I'll take it. I'd as soon as not. It makes no kind of difference to me whether she bows to the right side or the left or doesn't bow at all when she meets me. My respectability is beyond being affected by a bow. Joy, were there six or seven of these pink bordered towels in the wash? There were seven, mother. I gathered them from the rooms myself. Joy had risen and was rolling up her sowing. When she had it carefully pinned and laid in the basket beside the small gold thimble and her own blue needle case, she came over to her mother and stooping kissed her cheek. Mothery, she said, using the quaint name that she kept for very special occasions. I don't believe I ever shall be as good and sensible as you are, but I'll try for it. I'm going now to do that errand. The dining-room of Miss Mason's home presented an unusual sight. Everywhere were flowers, bright glowing flowers, heaped in baskets, on the chairs, on the tables, on every available place. And Miss Mason herself was at work over them, fashioning reeds and crosses and stars. Who is it? she asked of the girl who answered the bell. Miss Saunders, that little Joy, I suppose. Kate, just let her come into the dining-room. Perhaps she will help me with the flowers. There are so many of them, I feel as though I should never get them in order. Oh, how beautiful was Joy's exclamation the moment her eyes caught sight of the flowers. Aren't they? said Miss Mason with animation. I haven't seen such a glow of color before this season. There are too many, I suppose, for this purpose, but the poor girl seemed so hungry for flowers, and the girls in the class, the moment they heard of it, were all eager to bring baskets. Miss Saunders, do you know how to shape a crown? I would like to make a crown of these lovely golden blossoms if I could. The baby is certainly the sweetest I have ever looked on. He ought to be crowned. Yes, said Joy, drying off her gloves. I know how. And before either realized it, they were at work over those flowers as though they had worked together for whole seasons. Certainly they had one idea in common, a passionate love for flowers. As she worked, Joy wondered whether she really could be growing intimate with Miss Mason. Meantime, Austin Barrows, for whom the proposed situation in one of the large stores had been secured, was not having a smooth time in his efforts to show his gratitude by doing just right. In fact, he was proving the truth of the time-honored statement that the way of transgressors is hard. A well-meaning boy himself, having a really honest desire to live at least in some degree according to the precepts of his mother, he had yet allowed himself to become interested in a class of young men who were constantly leading him in directions which his well-taught conscience told him were not the right ones, not such as his mother would approve. Prominent among these who had gotten a strong influence over him was young Robert Parks, a gay, handsome, good-hearted fellow with possibilities for true manhood of such a type as Austin Barrows could never reach, who, nevertheless, seemed to be doing what he could to waste his life and make his influence tell strongly for Satan. Over young Barrows he had for weeks held the sort of control which a strong nature can secure over a week or one, and now that the young man felt the importance of breaking with him and standing on safer ground, he found it hard to do. It was with a face full of irresolution that he went about the store that afternoon. Mechanically he attended to the calls at his counter for thread and tape and buttons, handing out often the wrong color or number or size it is true, and wishing between times that he were anywhere else than at that counter with its numberless articles to remember. The fault, however, lay not in the multitude of articles, but in the more important problem which he was trying to solve, namely whether he should join the gay company who were that evening to take a drive on the Bayville Road and stop at the Bayville House for supper and a dance and come home in the glorious moonlight. Nothing very objectionable in the program as Barrows had taught himself to look at these things, only he knew that it involved an expense that for him would be heavy, that the temptation, nay, almost the necessity, would be late hours, that there would be wine to drink and that he would in all probability take sips of it, although he prided himself on his caution in these directions. But he would be sure to be heavy-eyed and weary of head the next morning, with a strong distaste for all the needles and tape and buttons in the store, and with harassing doubts all day as to how he should pay the debt it would be necessary to contract in order to meet his share of the expenses. The poor fly did not want to be caught in the net. At least he thought he didn't. All day he debated the question. He told himself that he wished the Bayville House were a hundred miles away instead of ten, precisely as though the whole trouble lay with the Bayville House. And as often as he thought of his mother, sitting there in her high-backed, old-fashioned rocker, he was sure, for five minutes at a time, that he wouldn't go. Yet when the gay fellows who led the plan came in with their details, seeming to consider it as a matter of course that he would be glad to be one of their party, he had not the courage to say a word and do the right he knew so well. How could he, in fact? Hadn't they marked every step of the way for him, even to the selection of a companion for his carriage? You must take Delia Curtis-Barrows. You remember which one she is, the one with the curly hair. She is as pretty as a witch, not in our set exactly. In fact, she has never been on one of these rides with us. Couldn't get around to invite her, you see. There are so many of them. But she will go fast enough, and you will find her first-class company, all the fellows like her. Parks would be glad to take her himself, but we told him he had got to let you have her this time. She was just your style. This was intended as a compliment, and young Barrows tried to so consider it, albeit he winced a little, for he had not been very long away from his mother and the atmosphere of his early home, and had not yet grown accustomed to the careless handling of a young girl's name. So it was really somewhat against his will that he found himself at the door of the Curtis homestead that evening, preparing to invite Delia Curtis to join the party for Bayville. End of Chapter 4. Recording by Tricia G. Chapter 5. Escaping the Net. A fellow can't be always struggling with his fate. I didn't want to go, I am sure. Anybody who has watched me all day knows just how hard I tried to get out of it, and I couldn't do it, and that's the whole of it. If I hadn't gone to that supper the other night, and helped make the promises to carry this thing through, I wouldn't have got into the scrape. I half-asked the Curtis girl to go with me then. If it hadn't been for that, I'm almost sure I wouldn't have gone a step. But what would she have thought of me if some of the others had invited her after what I said? All this he told himself gloomily while he waited for his knock to be answered. You will perceive that he hadn't quite gotten the better of his conscience even yet. The truth is, he had taken a letter from the post office on his way thither. He had not read it yet. Instead he had thrusted into the depths of his inner pocket with a half-resolution to forget all about it until after he was home from the Bayville ride. But he knew the handwriting. Every curve of every letter in his name was as familiar to him as though he had watched his mother when she wrote it and heard her murmured prayer as she bowed her head over it for a moment. And the something which warned him the loudest against his present course was the knowledge of how surely his mother would disapprove. Still she would see for herself that I couldn't help it this time. It was the last self-excusing sentence that he had time to utter before his knock was answered by Delia herself. But her eyes were swollen with weeping. There were people standing in the little box of a hall. Among them Dr. Everett had in hand, as if about to depart. The door into the little parlor was ajar. And behold, the object that greeted his amazed eyes was a flower-strone coffin, wherein lay Delia's baby brother. What a strange way out of a snare was this. Dr. Everett held out his hand. Ah, Aston, this is kind. Come in. I was just going in search of you. We want your help. Step in here with me a moment, will you? And he led the way into the parlor with its one silent, beautiful occupant. Standing there, looking down into the little face, the doctor told how opportune was this call, that he especially desired to have singing at the funeral for the sake more particularly of the father and the mother. They are not church-going people, he explained, and they have few friends. Just at this time of sorrow they seem particularly desolate. Whatever we can do now for them in the most trivial way to show our sympathy the master may be able to use to his glory. I am so glad you came in. It was very thoughtful of you. Poor Delia is stricken. The child seems to have been the very joy of her heart. Her class in Sabbath school have been very kind and thoughtful, so has her teacher. These flowers are her work. Now Barrow's about to-morrow. I think I can arrange for your absence from the store if you are willing to help us here. Whereupon he launched into a detailed explanation of the things to be done and the ways of doing. Austin Barrow's listened and commented when necessary and assented to his share in the work as one in a dream. Standing beside that little coffin and looking into that beautiful sleeping face, Bayville House seemed more than a hundred miles away and all the details connected with the evening's entertainment faded like a hateful vision. Often afterwards Austin Barrow's looked back upon that scene when everything connected with it became of the past and remembered curiously how firm his voice was and how unhesitatingly he spoke the words, I can't go, Parks, I have another engagement of far more importance. And when Robert Parks annoyed as he always was when everything did not go precisely according to his planning, questioned hastily as to what he expected the Curtis girl would think of that, he remembered the little shade of almost triumph that his voice took on as he answered that he had no doubt she would excuse him since his other engagement was to officiate as singer and then as Barrow at the funeral of her little brother. He remembered too the little start of surprise and dismay with which the news was received and the grave responds, oh indeed I did not know I had not heard, well of course that alters the case such things must be attended to. There was one power then before which Robert Parks would bow in grave submission, death one respect even from him. Austin Barrow's remembered it and thought much about it. Dr. Everett stopped that evening in the little sitting-room to have a word with Joy and her mother. You are to understand that, although it was only since he became superintendent of the Packard Place Sabbath School that he had discovered Mrs. Saunders' boarding house and removed thither, he was already quite at home even in the little sitting-room which belonged to but few. Mrs. Saunders, he said, standing before her, were not you and I to spread a net somewhere, somehow, to catch that young man Parks? I remember you spoke of it, doctor, and I've thought about it several times since, but I don't see my way clear, do you? He shook his head. I doubt whether we should wait always for clear ways, perhaps we are expected to go creeping along in the dark. He needs catching, sadly, I fear. Satan has ways and doesn't scruble to use them. Do you happen to be acquainted with the locality of the Bayville House? Know every foot of the way to it in the dark. How would you like to have Miss Joy here invited to take an evening ride with some gentlemen and spend a few hours there in the company that she would meet? Dr. Everett, said Mrs. Saunders, and her brow darkened, and she half gathered herself up and looked toward Joy as if to shield her. Yes, said the doctor significantly, so I supposed, and yet, Mrs. Saunders, there are mothers whose daughters go there and whose sons go there. Some of them are at home, I dare say, weeping and praying. The question is, what are you and I going to do for these daughters and sons? Yet young Parks, I am told, has a mother and a very good one. On this particular evening, he is the leader of a wild party of young men and women who will spend half the night at the Bayville House. What can we do for him? I am thankful that young Austin Barrows escaped that snare, yet I almost wonder that he did, and I confess I don't in the least know how to reach the other one. Yet the same hand that arranged the links in the chain that should hold Austin Barrows away from that evening's danger knew how also to weave the chain for the other. In point of fact, it was being woven at that moment. It was the very next morning but one, somewhere between the hours of ten and twelve, that the young man, Robert Parks, attempted to turn himself on his bed and found that he could not. He tried to raise his right arm to his head and found that it wouldn't obey his direction. In great amazement over the state of things, he opened his eyes and encountered a pair of keen gray ones regarding him with attentive interest. Good morning, said he of the gray eyes, and was rewarded only by a bewildered stare from young Parks, presently a question. Who on earth are you? Dr. Everett at your service, how do you find yourself? Some of myself I don't find. What has become of my left foot? Safe, tucked under the bed clothes, it hasn't much feeling in it, I dare say, but it will come around all right, for a time I was doubtful, but I hope now that you will pull through. Pull through what? What is supposed to be the matter? Why am I here? And for the matter of that, where is here? I never was in this room before. What has happened? Have you no recollection of anything happening? Why, yes, of course, a great many things have happened to me, but just now I mean, how did I happen here? It is a long story, young man, if you don't recall any of it, perhaps it is just as well not to trouble your brain about it yet. Excuse me, doctor, my brain is my master. It will be troubled in spite of me. Tell me everything about it. Oh, well, I can give you a brief summary. The fact is, you have been in the hands of Shishak. Shishak, don't know him, who is the fellow? He has treated me abominably, I should say. So he has, but you are coming off better in the conflict than I expected. That is, if you see to it that he lets you alone after this. Of course, it remains to be seen whether or not you have sense enough for that. I'm a little afraid of you. His victims generally seem to have an insane desire to make another trial. What do you mean, doctor? Speak English, please. Isn't it English? Your name is Rehoboam, is it not? I hope not. I have never heard of even a relative by that name. Possible, said the doctor, lifting his eyebrows in seeming astonishment. I have been watching you for some weeks with the impression that I had found the individual so famous in history, singular that you and he should have so similar an experience. How do you account for it? But Robert Parks's bewildered brain just at that moment wandered in another direction. You have been watching me, doctor, where and for how long? I haven't lain here long, have I? Only about thirty-six hours or a trifle more. You were unconscious for a while, and after your injuries were dressed, you went into a tremendous sleep. There were a couple of hours when I greatly feared that you did not mean to waken, but you see you have. Injuries? Why, let me see. I was driving. I was on the Bayville Road. Ah, I remember now. My horse took fright at his own shadow. Whereupon you whipped him, said Dr. Everett, continuing the story, which, if you were well, I should want to tell you was a very senseless proceeding on your part under the circumstances. And he ran, as of course, given such an occasion any sensible horse would have done, and the consequence is, here you are. But what about that fellow you spoke of? What had he to do with it, and who is he anyhow? Oh, that, said the doctor, drawing on his gloves, was a slip of the tongue. You reminded me strikingly of the young man who fell into his hands. Not only this instance reminds me, but several others connected with you. As I said before, I have been taking observations for some weeks. However, you don't seem to be well posted in ancient history, and my advice to you is to give overthinking of Shishak until you get well. Then you can trace the resemblance if you choose. What you are to do at present is to obey my orders with what grace you are able. Don't try to lift yourself. Let your arm alone. Be as much of an oyster as possible. Take what is brought to you meekly, whether it is pill or gruel, and get well as fast as you can. If you are reasonably obedient, which you probably will not be, I look for rapid improvement. But doctor, said young Parks, trying to turn his head to look after the already retreating figure of the doctor. Just one moment, please. Where am I? Do my people know of this accident, and what has become of my situation? One moment. Why, my dear sir, that will take at least a dozen. Where are you? In my boarding house. It was my carriage which came along opportunity about the same time that you flung yourself from your own. I picked you up, and not knowing anything better to do, brought you here to the corner of Albany Street, where, with the help of a blundering boy and my landlady, Mrs. Saunders, as superintendent, and myself, too, for general-in-chief, we hoped to make you as good as new in a short time. I took the liberty of it once writing to your mother. The junior partner in your store gave me the address, and being in need of a patient just then, I offered my services, which were accepted. So you will have to obey me, you observe. Your mother made me say that she would come to you at once, only you would understand that she could not get away. I assured her that there was no need. Your situation is still waiting for you, and will wait, at least until I can talk with you at more length. You have talked more than is well for you already. I prescribe a nap, and bid you good morning. And that was all Robert Parks could glean of the new story which had suddenly begun in his life. Despite the orders to lie still, he turned himself restlessly on his pillow and indulged in a long-drawn sigh. There was a dark side to the sudden shutting down of his plans. He knew only too well how impossible it was for his mother to get away from his father's bedside even for an hour. That sick and suffering father upon whom disease had wrought such havoc that only one idea seemed left to feed upon, the determination not to lose sight for even a moment of his faithful wife. How much she needed rest and change, Robert knew. How sorrowful it was to add a weight of anxiety to her already burdened life, he felt. It was no wonder that he sighed. If he could have heard what that mother said after the doctor's long, kind, carefully worded letter was concluded, I wonder if it would have startled him. When the first burst of anxious fear was over, rereading the letter, the far-seeing mother had discovered something about the man who wrote it, and had given voice to a hundred nameless anxieties by saying with a sigh that had yet a note of relief in it. There is one comfort, Alice, as long as he is on his back and under that man's care, he will be out of the reach of some of those young men who seem to have been his constant companions of late. Yes, Alice had said, and then she had added, Mama, sometimes I am afraid that Robert is safer on his back than he is anywhere else. Alice was sixteen and his only sister. If he had heard her, what would he have thought? At that moment he was thinking of her. Confound it all, he said angrily, trying with his lame hand to brush away a tear. They have enough to bear without this. Then the door opened very softly and he turned to look at the intruder. Her fair hair flying about her neck in girlish curls. Robert turned his eyes as she came toward him and took in the picture. If he had been able to do so he would have bowed. He wished he could hold out his hand and give her a cordial welcome. She looked so fresh and bright. But all he could do was to stare. Good morning, she said in a quiet voice, whereupon he remembered that he might have said so much. I am Joy Saunders. I can well believe it, he said briskly. You look like it certainly. Do you mean that your name is really Joy? Really Joy, it is a singular name isn't it? You see it happened this way. Mother didn't name me at all until father came home from the war. Then she said that all she could think of was to call me Joy. I am glad of it. I like the name. So do I, it fits I am sure. Now will you be so kind as to tell me where I am? I dropped down here you see out of the clouds or might as well, for all the knowledge I have of my present surroundings. Now I think of it however, it was a mud hole that I dropped into, which had to do with my being stranded here. You are in a boarding house which my mother keeps. She is Mrs. Saunders and Dr. Everett boards with her and you are his patient. He is a very skillful doctor. Everybody likes him. You are fortunate in being his patient. No, do you think so? I would much rather be in the store selling tape and calico even than to be anybody's patient. Of course, but I mean since you have put yourself in a condition to be somebody's patient, you should be glad that Dr. Everett was chosen for you. He is very skillful and very good. The young man closed his eyes and wrinkled his forehead into an impatient frown. He was not in the mood to consider anything fortunate that had to do with his present affairs. Joy waited in silence a moment and then questioned, Can I do anything for you? Mother was on her way to you but was detained by important business. She sent me to see if you wanted anything and to say that she would be here very soon. Yes, said Robert, unclosing his eyes suddenly. I want to know who Shishak was and what he did and what became of him. Could you manage those little matters for me, do you think? Shishak? I don't remember that I ever heard of such a person, but I presume Dr. Everett could make inquiries for you. Dr. Everett is acquainted with him, but is not disposed to render any assistance. You and I must find out somehow without his aid. I am immensely interested in him. You must have mistaken Dr. Everett. He is always ready to help everybody, but perhaps he meant that you should not puzzle over matters while you are so weak. Still, I should think it would be better to help you out than to let you lie here and worry over it. Of course it would. How will you set about helping me out? Is he a Jew? Doesn't that sound like a Jewish name? I don't know. Perhaps it is merely a nickname. Is he an old man or a young one? Why don't you know what the full name is? Unfortunately, no. I don't know anything about him and have no clue, save that I have reason to think he was a scamp who got the upper hand of some poor fellow, but I want the whole story. Oh, it is a story. I beg your pardon. I thought you were speaking of some man who lives in the city. Well, I take it that his namesake must be living here, or at least someone who conducts himself in a similar manner from what the doctor said. But the real fellow is historic, I suppose. I'm not very well up in history and can't recall him. Can you help? I'm afraid not. Was he a Greek or a Roman or what? What, I guess. At least I don't know what he was. I can look for him in the encyclopedia. Dr. Everett keeps his books here, some of them, and those encyclopedias know everything. Would you have some beefroth first or...? Shishak first, if you please. I feel a burning desire to make his acquaintance. The beef-tea can come in as a dessert. Very well, she said, with the quietness of one who might have come in contact every day of her life, with men who asked such strange questions and had such strange wants. She vanished like a shadow but returned almost immediately with a volume of the encyclopedia, over which she bowed her head for a few minutes and then made this surprising announcement. Why, Shishak is a Bible character. Possible. That must be the reason why we didn't recognize him. Well, what about him, can you discover? Only that he fought a king named Rayoboam and conquered him. Rayoboam, repeated Robert, recalled to the fact that Dr. Everett had asked him if that were not his name. He's the fellow, after all, in whom I ought to be especially interested. Could you hunt him up and give me some ideas concerning him? I shall have to go for a Bible, explained Joy, with exceeding gravity, and immediately she went. On the landing she met her mother. Where now, asked that good lady? I'm going for my Bible, mother. Your Bible, said Mrs. Saunders aghast, not for him. He might much better be taking gruel. There's a time for all things, child, and what he ought to do now is to take a few spoonfuls of nourishment and go to sleep. Mother, he asked me to find him something that he keeps thinking about that troubles him. It will take but a moment. She sped on her way, and the mother went in to call on her patient. On the landing they met again, she enjoyed. He doesn't look like the sort of person who would fly to the Bible for comfort, not a might, commented the mother. But then you can't always tell. We must do the best we can for him, poor fellow. I'm going now to prepare his beef tea. The doctor said he was to have it as soon as possible, and I'll be along in a few minutes. You tell him so. And Joy, if he wants the Bible read to him, I'll do it after this. Don't you promise to? Mind I won't have it. Then Joy and her Bible went in. The young man was waiting for her with wide open, eager eyes. Dr. Everett's apparently random remark had taken singular hold of him. What do you find? He asked her. Well, how much do you know about the history of the Israelites? Nothing. Then I must tell you very briefly. Rehoboam was king, king of Judah. He managed some of his affairs splendidly so that things were shaping very much as he wanted them, and he grew proud over it, made up his mind that he was great and powerful and could take care of himself. But there came an enemy named Shishak, who stole away his shields and did him great harm. Now I will read. And it came to pass when Rehoboam had established the kingdom and had strengthened himself, he forsook the law of the Lord and all Israel with him. And it came to pass that in the fifth year of King Rehoboam, Shishak, king of Egypt, came up against Jerusalem because they had transgressed against the Lord. Then follows an account of the greatness of his army and the amount of harm that he did. Then a prophet came to Rehoboam with an explanation of the trouble. Thus sayeth the Lord, ye have forsaken me, and therefore I also left you in the hands of Shishak. Miss Joy, said Robert, interrupting her, can you see any possible connection between that fellow Rehoboam and my humble self? I don't know, said Joy, raising her head from the Bible and regarding him thoughtfully. There might be, I suppose, in a spiritual sense. Have you an enemy who might represent Shishak? Not unless I'm the fellow. I'm my own worst enemy, I suppose. It is plans of my own making that have been running away with me for some time. That's a fact. I suppose that's what he meant. Complimentary he was. I wonder how he knew anything about it. Whom do you mean, Rehoboam? Not exactly. Rehoboam knew a great deal I fancy more than he cared to own. What became of the old fellow finally? Why do you call him old? Seems to me that he was young. I don't know what became of him finally. I haven't read far enough to see. But I know he got the better of some of his trouble, for it says, the wrath of the Lord departed from him as soon as he was humble. The wrath of the Lord. I thought it was Shishak who brought all his trouble on him. Well, but of course the Lord sent it, or at least permitted it. If he had not, it could not have touched Rehoboam. Robert, with a good deal of effort, turned himself so that he could look full into the grave blue eyes beside him and asked, Do you fully believe that? Why, of course, do not you? What a fearful world it would be if things just happened with nobody to manage or control. But what kind of management was it to bring a fellow into a sea of troubles from which he could not escape? Ah, but how do you know what would have happened if Shishak had not come to bring him to his senses? Perhaps a much worse fate. I don't know the end of this story, and I don't know the end of any story that is being lived now. Yours are mine, for instance. But the Lord does, and I would much rather have him do all the planning. Then occurred a diversion in the shape of a handsome old china cup of beef tea. The new nurse was ready-handed and cheerfully authoritative. She tucked a fine damask napkin under her patient's chin, and skillfully fed him with spoonfuls of beef tea from a solid silver teaspoon. When she decided that she would not be able to eat the beef tea, the young nurse said, and skillfully fed him with spoonfuls of beef tea from a solid silver teaspoon. When she decided that he had taken nourishment enough, she whisked away spoon and cup without question, straightened the bed clothes, beat up another pillow, and arranged it dexterously under his head, telling him, meantime, that he looked better already, and that he must keep up good courage, always half the battle in everything. Then she drew down the shades and told him to mind the doctor and go to sleep, and assuring him that Tommy, the bell-boy, should sit just outside the door, and would hear if he but just touched the little silver bell by his side, she disappeared before Robert had had time to reflect on the questions that he wanted to ask her. But sleep did not come readily to the restless brain. Robert was very sorry for Joy's departure. He even reflected whether it would be likely to do any good to touch that little bell and tell Tommy that he wanted Miss Joy. Then, in case she came, what was he to say to her, that he wanted to know more about Rehoboam? But that would be absurd. What must she think of him already? I wish I had never heard of the old scamp, or young scamp, whichever he was. He said aloud and angrily, and had he not been too weak and sore to accomplish it, he would have kicked off the bed-clothes and flung himself to the other side of the bed. He was unaccountably vexed with Dr. Everett and his historic allusions. Although he had had only touches of the story from Joy's lips, his quick wits took in something of the doctor's meaning. So he was Rehoboam who had managed his affairs with skill until he had grown proud and careless. There was too much truth in the hint to be pleasant. A Christian home had been Robert's, and back there in his quiet country home his morals had been excellent. In fact, he had been in the habit, during all his boyhood, of being looked up to as a model boy. How long ago it seemed, since he was a fine-looking, well-dressed country youth, the delight of his mother and the admiration of his sister, and himself afraid of nothing? Barely three years, yet measured by his experience in city life, they might have been thirty years. Sometimes it almost seemed to him that his boyish home life was all a dream, and that he had always been a rather fast young man. In the brief half-sentence, afraid of nothing, had lain most of his temptations. When I am weak, then am I strong. He had never learned that verse, he would not have understood its meaning. His handsome lip would have curled contemptuously over every phase of weakness. No temptation could possibly assail him which he was not prepared to laugh at. He had only contempt for those fellows who could not take care of themselves. Is it any wonder that three years of city life, unrestrained by any home influences, had developed him into the sort of young man whom the people called gay, speaking the word with ominous uplifting of the eyebrows and grave shakes of the head, and sometimes with sighs? It did not, in his case, mean all that that little word is capable of conveying to the initiated. It meant simply that he was a good fellow. He smoked choice cigars and gave them away freely. He drove a fast horse when he could get one. He drank a glass of wine occasionally with the fellows and was never much the worse for it. In fact, a little more brilliant in conversation after indulging, with a headache next morning, to be sure, but what of that? Everybody had headaches in these fast times. His old habit of church going had been given up almost utterly. The real reason, if those who condemned him the sharpest had but known it, being because he was too sorely homesick in such places to bring himself to endure it. The Sabbath morning service in the old church at home had always brought his mother out. It was the only time she ever left his suffering father. As far back as in the days when he first became tall enough for his little mother to take his arm, and from that time on he had walked to church with her of a Sabbath morning and held open the door of the old-fashioned pew for her to pass and found the hymns for her and the text and rejoiced in being her protector and had been used to hearing himself spoken of by the neighbors as a fine manly boy, one who would be the support of his mother's old age. How could he go to church alone and sit in an obscure corner of the gallery in the great, dark, cold-looking city church? It was so easy to form the other habit slipping into it by degrees. Nobody took any notice of him in the formative period. It was not until the other habit was quite fixed that people began to say, I'm afraid that Young Parks is rather wild. It looks bad to see a young man like him driving fast horses and frequenting the summer gardens on Sundays instead of going to church. The young man in question had moved so steadily on his downward road that it was doubtful if he had ever more than half realized that he was on the downgrade. He still meant to be the support of his mother's declining years. He still meant to be a patterned son and brother. What had cigars to do with it? To be sure his mother did not like them. That was natural, mother's never did, he supposed. But of course, when one went to the city to live, a great many things were different from what they were in the country. Everybody smoked. And as for taking rides occasionally and going to the theater now and then, by if a fellow lived in this world he must act a little like the people in it. He managed to save more of his salary than any of the rest of the boys and he received less than some of them too. Being suddenly caught out of the busy world and laid aside in this strange place surrounded by strangers, unable to obey orders and go to sleep, unable even to toss about and so get rid of his restlessness, there seemed nothing for him but to think. It had been a long time since Robert Parks had done any good honest thinking. He found himself wondering just what they said at home when they heard of his trouble, whether his mother had a chance to go alone and cry a little because she could not come to him, whether Alice had felt very badly about it or whether in these three years she had almost forgotten him. Could it be nearly three years since he had seen them all at home? How had it happened that so much time had been allowed to pass when it had been his intention to spend at least the holiday week in the old homestead? For the first time he wondered whether it really had been the matter of expense alone that had kept him away. Lying there on his back, this excuse, which had seemed such a sensible and praiseworthy one to give his mother, stared him in the face as unreal, as, in part, false. Had there not been a shrinking from meeting his clear-eyed mother, from looking into her face and answering her searching questions, moreover, if he could frankly own it, did not the whole atmosphere of home with the sick and suffering father and the child sister seem dull and uninviting? Altogether Dr. Everett's patient did not have an enjoyable time with his thoughts. Self-examination was new and unpleasant work. He wondered irritably whether Shishak represented himself. Could he really be his own slave? Also, was little Joy's notion possible that the Lord had sent himself to bind himself in order that he might be held away from a worse something ahead? He laughed over the idea a little bitterly, yet hovered all day around thoughts born of it and was still so full of the subject that when Dr. Everett returned after professional questions were answered, his first sentence was, Well, sir, I have made the acquaintance of the historical Rehoboam today. Have you indeed, said the doctor, with lifted eyebrows and a peculiarly searching look, may I know what opinion you have of him? I think he received rather rough handling. Why shouldn't he have felt pretty well after accomplishing all that he did? Did you get at the starting point of his entire trouble? I'm not certain as to that. Your little Miss Joy gave me the details. She made them vivid but somewhat condensed, possibly owing to the conflicting claims of beef tea. It is not like Miss Joy to leave out the kernel of a story. However, I can give it to you. It is comprised in one sentence. When he had strengthened himself, he forsook the law of the Lord. Then began mischief. I perceive, said Robert. His voice did not invite further conversation. The doctor busied himself about the arrangement of certain small vials and Robert lay thinking of the law which his mother had kept so carefully before him, having made him familiar with it from his childhood. In what degree had he forsaken it since his city life commenced? This question was embarrassing. He felt his cheeks growing red over the memory of a record that would have been nothing but pain to his mother. He was glad when the vials were arranged and the doctor turned toward him again. Perhaps he would suggest another subject, but no. Robert had himself led the way and the doctor was not disposed to turn his thoughts aside. The next fact in that young man's story which impresses me just now is this. He forsook the law and all Israel followed his example. A poor record that in a man's life, a miserable example to be followed. Rather, said Robert, feeling the necessity for making some answer with those keen eyes looking steadily down on him, what was the use just then of thinking of Austin Barrows and of Fred Briggs? They were two fellows who had followed his example somewhat closely, but then there was no need for doing it unless they chose. He tried to comfort himself with this lame logic, but reflected irritably that Ray Abomum might have said the same about all Israel. On the whole he could not help realizing that whether the accident had been permitted for reasons or was purely the result of his own carelessness, it had already been productive of more thought than he had given to any experience for a long time. When he humbled himself, the wrath of the Lord turned from him. He seemed to hear Joy's quiet voice reading this verse. She had read it as though she thought it ought to quiet a listener. It seemed to him that the thought but added to his restlessness. No pleasant sensation could be connected with any sort of humbling in this young man's opinion. Dr. Everett, meantime, had settled into quiet, pen in hand, and was apparently engaged in writing prescriptions. In reality, not a change of expression on his patient's face but was carefully noted. When at last Robert's eyes closed in weariness and then in sleep, the doctor arose and came to his side. Poor fellow, he said within himself, poor fellow, how strange it is that people will not learn from the long line of Ray Abomums who have preceded them. Some miserable shishak gets them in tow, despite ten thousand warnings, and there are plenty to follow their example, some of them professedly belonging to the house of Israel too. Well, the Lord allowed shishak to gain a victory in order to help a self-righteous king to a sense of his folly, and this modern Ray Abomum is in the same safe hands. I wonder if he will let me be his prophet. Miss Joy and I must try to set the feet of this young heir on the right road for his father's house. A very unusual experience in that street was that funeral occasion. Death had come before to many of the homes, and the neighbors had been as sympathetic and as attentive as their hard, busy lives gave them time for being. But they watched curiously the comers and goers at Mr. Curtis's door, the minister and the doctor and the teacher, and the girls and the boys in Mrs. Saunders's class, and Joy. What did it all mean? They questioned one of another. Who was that minister? Why, he was pastor of the Packard Place Church, where Delia Curtis went to Sabbath school. And who was that doctor? He had not attended the Curtis baby, had he? Oh, no, but they wondered that he hadn't been called. They say he is a great doctor, and he is the new superintendent at Packard Place. And Miss Mason was Delia's teacher, and all those girls coming and going with flowers and things were in her class. And those boys belonged to another class and were to act as bearers. And Dr. Everett's carriage was to take Mr. and Mrs. Curtis and Delia to the grave. And the girls were all going in another carriage that they said the church provided. And there was to be singing at the funeral by the Sunday School Choir. And all together the dwellers in that region began to have a feeling, which they did not express in words, that there was a good deal of friendliness and sympathy and attention connected with the Packard Place Church. There wasn't six people beside our own when my baby died, and not a flower to be seen, though it was mid-summer nor a carriage, said one poor mother, half in sadness, half in bitterness, as she went back over her sorrowful past. But she added in grave truthfulness, to be sure my Melissa didn't belong to no Sunday School, and we never went to church. Maybe things would have been different if we had. Neither do the courtesies go to church, said a crisp neighbor. I don't believe they've darkened the doors of a church since they lived here. But Delia does, she went every now and then into Sunday School too. Them young folks is real attentive. I never see anything like it. I'm glad of it too," she declared, rising above her envious thoughts with an effort. If there's ever a time when folks need friends, it's when they are in trouble like this, and flowers and carriages and things may not be much, but they make the world seem a little less dreary after all. Sunday School's is good things if they make folks do this way, and I wish my Melissa belonged to one. Meantime the girls had been having their lesson. They had forgotten that they were kin to Delia Curtis until they saw her tear-swollen eyes and heard her murmured words of gratitude. Gay little Fanny Tarrant, who lived in a different sphere entirely and had not known the Curtis girl even by name, lent her a black sack that just fitted her and herself arranged the lace in the neck and took more serious thought and spoke more serious words than perhaps she had done in months before. They came and went frequently all of them during the hours that intervened between the death and the funeral and consulted together on the steps or in the little parlor about what we are to do or how we are to sit and felt a sense of importance as girls do over all things that bring them into life as actors responsible for ever so small a part of the duties of the hour and grew more intimate in a quiet way than they had ever thought of being, and they cried together every one of them with Delia around that little coffin and cemented their interest in her as nothing else could have done. A strange place perhaps you think for cultivating friendship this baby's funeral and yet the sense of sisterhood was awakened among those girls that afternoon. Dr. Everett leaned against the narrow door in the small square hall and studied them. They were his girls and as he looked at responsibilities he was bound in honor to do for them all that he could. What could he do? What would this afternoon's experience help him to do? The beautiful baby in the coffin was at rest. When his sweet life here ended his life in heaven began and yet perhaps baby though he was his work here was not ended. Could not those gathered about his coffin be reached and blessed through the influences of this day? Among the girls Hester Mason was the one who held the doctor's thoughts. She was of a different type from the others in one sense harder to reach. He tried to study her face softened now under the play of emotions new to her. Trouble had touched her in many forms most of them hardening forms but she had never before sat near to a little coffin and mingled her tears with mourners. She had a striking face beautiful it might have been called had there only been more refinement of expression. Certainly it was a face which showed strength or at least possibilities of strength. It remained to be seen whether the world would be better or worse because of her being one of its countless numbers. It was almost certain to be decidedly the one or the other. Hers was not a passive nature. Man though he was Doctor Everett studied her dress carefully and understood its attempts better than many women would have done. It was more subdued than usual. He did not know this. He had never noticed her carefully before. Had he known that she went back after she had reached the street and signaled her car and actually waited for another car while she unpinned and removed some of the red roses from her hat because of a certain vague unreasoning sense of incongruity between them and the house of mourning he would have felt encouraged. Not so much because she saw the incongruity as because her heart had responded to the suggestion that she should model her dress to suit sorrowful eyes. He plainly saw this cultured man that the colors of her dress did not harmonize but he also felt rather than saw what had not occurred to Miss Mason that it was not because she would not have preferred harmony in color and texture or because she did not know to a certain extent what harmony was but simply that she was poor and that the blue dress which she had persisted in having one winter would not turn green to fit the felt hat which fell to her from her aunt on another winter. So perforce they must be worn together and red roses being her delight red roses she would wear despite the shades of blue and green. Had she been cultured she would not have worn the contrasting colors would have had no delight in them. She was not cultured and yet Dr. Everett felt that it was a certain uneducated sense of the beautiful that made her so eager after all this brightness. Studying her he made a discovery. Miss Mason's faultless black silk suit harmonizing in every particular did not seem to move her namesake hester. She looked at her it is true and admired but it was with an intelligent sense of the fact that many pounds had been put together to make up the faultlessness. Hester Mason believed that given the money she could make herself look as elegant as her sabbath school teacher but as she never expected to have the money she was therefore in a sense indifferent but the watcher saw that she looked at Joy Saunders with new eyes almost as an artist might look at a picture. Joy was a revelation to her. A young girl nearly as young as Hester herself with beautiful hair arranged so simply that she could see all the processes and felt sure that she could arrange her own after the same fashion. A very simple very plain black dress much plainer and simpler than Hester's own. A little puff of soft lace about her neck and that was all. And about it all was an indescribable charm that Hester Mason felt to her finger ends. Dr. Everett could not see all the thoughts that ran eagerly through her mind as she gazed at Joy. He did not know that she knew to the fraction of a penny how much the material of Joy's dress had cost nor that she calculated to a nicety the probable quantity used and knew how to make a garment exactly like it. He did not know that she said to herself that lace is nothing but wash illusion and there isn't a bit more than a half yard in it and her gloves are only two button I've got three on mine. And then she looked down at her own long worn carelessly handled out at the fingers soiled at the wrists the only charm left to them being the three buttons. What a contrast they were to Joy's neat fitting black ones. Incongruous thoughts these you think for a funeral occasion yet I hope I shall not shock you when I call them elevating thoughts. Actually Hester Mason was taking a step forward in the story of her life. She was getting her first dim idea that to be a lady was not necessarily to have plenty of money and to spend it freely on one's adorning. Until this moment she had believed that if she had the leisure and the wealth of the fine ladies she could be as fine as they. Something in Joy Saunders gave her a feeling that this was false reasoning. Here was a refinement that in money was within her reach and yet was as far beyond and above her as the mountains. All this as I said the doctor did not understand yet he saw that Joy Saunders was at once a fascination and a puzzle to this keen-eyed girl. It will do her good to have Joy for a study, he said to himself. I wonder what sort of a home she has. Miss Mason knows possibly. I must try to discover. I wonder what effect an hour or two in Mrs. Saunders' sunset room would have on her. I would like to try it. How can I bring about an invitation and an acceptance room for an afternoon with tea in state? The invitation can be more easily managed than the acceptance probably. There are several things to learn before I attempt it. Busy with the train of thought which the circumstances of the hour had started he found himself presently standing near Miss Mason while they waited a summons to the carriage. True to his habit he made use of the opportunity. Who is the girl in blue, a decided blue? Miss Mason looked her annoyance. Her name is Mason, Hester Mason, not a relative of mine I beg you to believe. Had she been I should have tried to secure her a black dress for this occasion. I wish I had as it is. How that blue dress jars. What sort of a person is she? Oh, I don't know. The sort of person who will wear a bright blue dress to a funeral doctor when she forms part of the procession. Does that enlighten you any? All this in undertone with a suppressed nervous little laugh at its close. Hardly, said the doctor, that might be owing to the accident of her having but one dress to wear. Perhaps that does not enlighten you. You may not have realized the possibility of such a situation, but there are people thus circumstanced. Has she parents living? I'm sure I don't know. She is only nominally a member of my class. I don't think she has been present four times this season. I have never known anything about her. I learned by accident where she lived and it is so far out of the world that I don't know how to get to it. I don't like the girl's appearance. She is one of the loud-boist, gay sort. She converses on the streetcar in a tone loud enough to be heard by all the passengers. That may possibly be because she has never been taught the propriety of conversing in a low tone, the doctor said. And then he attended Miss Mason to the carriage and decided that she was not at present the one to help him materially in trying to help Hester Mason. An apparent accident threw him later in the day in the way of receiving a bit of information. He was passing out from Mr. Curtis's door just at dusk whether he had returned to call professionally on the worn-out mother when he heard the woman who stood on the doorstep of the next house in whom he recognized as a neighbor of the family, say to the woman in the door, that Hester Mason looked better today than I have ever seen her. She left off some of her finery, but she was dreadful out of place somehow. The doctor paused, Mrs. Simmons, I believe, I met you at Mrs. Curtis's this morning and he lifted his hat courteously. May I ask if you are acquainted with Hester Mason and if you can tell me anything of her family? She is one of the young ladies of my Sabbath school. Mrs. Simmons was valuable, she loved to talk, and besides, gentlemen rarely raised their hats to her. Oh, yes, I can tell you all about her. She ain't got no folks to speak of, only a drunken father and an aunt she lives with. She is a fast girl and no mistake, out of nights till twelve and one o'clock every blessed night of her life. Fact is, I've known of her being out till morning now and then. Goes to balls, you know, in such places along with any young fellow she can coax to spend money on her. She is a shop girl down there in one of them Vale Street stores and she gets acquainted with all sorts. Her aunt is a decent kind of body, tries to be, but what with a drunken brother and this girl who has got away beyond her, she has a hard life of it. You see, I know all about them. I lived right next door to them for a year or two. I'm glad if Hester Mason goes to your Sunday school. It is the first good that I've ever heard of her. Oh, I don't know anything so very dreadful bad, you know. She is decent enough as girls of that kind go, I guess. But my Melissa don't have nothing to do with her. Her father won't let her. Thank you," said the doctor in the first pause for breath. He had received all the information from that source that he desired. One more effort he made that evening. He met Joy on the stairs as she was going swiftly up and he was going swiftly down. Both were in haste. Miss Joy, he said, did you notice the young girl in a blue dress? Yes, I noticed her a good deal. What of her, Miss Joy? She is a girl to be helped," said Joy, speaking slowly, choosing her words with care, making pauses between them. Thank you," he said again, and the tones were different from those which had set it to Mrs. Simmons. As he went on down the stairs and down the street, he told himself that Joy and the sunset room would help, but there must be some connecting link to bring it about. In less than five minutes he saw a possible connecting link, but it filled him with dismay. End of Chapter 8, Recording by Tricia G.