 CHAPTER 1 SEED SOWING Her name was Mrs. Marx, and she sat at the time of which I write in her neat little sewing-room. Everything pertaining to Mrs. Marx was neat. She was sewing. This, too, was characteristic of her quiet moments. She could never be accused of eating the bread of idleness. She had company, an intimate friend, Mrs. Silas Eastman by name. This lady was a dear neighbor, and often ran in to have little social chats with her friend. You would like to form your opinion of their character by listening to their conversation? This in a degree you shall do. I will pass over the weather, suffice it to say that they discussed it in all its present dryness and prospective dampness, and disposed of it turning promptly to that other most fascinating topic among married women, that is, hired help. Have you a good girl now, Mrs. Marx? That lady paused long enough in her sewing to raise her eyes and her eyebrows slightly as she answered. What a question, Mrs. Eastman! Is there any such thing known in these degenerate days? Well they are scarce, I admit, but now and then you do find one who really seems to be a treasure. I just came from Mrs. Streeter's, and she tells me her girl is almost perfect. How long has she had her? The tone was exceedingly significant. Mrs. Eastman feels it. Well, only a few weeks to be sure, but then, if a girl can do well for two or three weeks, why can't she for a longer time? Ah, that is the question. Why can't she? I have often had occasion to ask that, and have never yet been able to answer. Mrs. Eastman gives a sympathetic little sigh. She is conscious of a desire to have the girl in question hold out well, though she admits a donning sense of the improbability of it. Well, I'm sure I hope this girl will prove one of the rare exceptions. Mrs. Streeter needs good help, if anyone does, with her family of little children. Who is the girl, Mrs. Eastman? She belongs to a family who have lately moved here, Americans. They live down on Water Street and are quite poor. Andrews the name is? Oh. Did you ever hear that sort of, oh, pronounced? If not, how is it possible to make you understand how it sounded in Mrs. Eastman's ears? A whole volume of unwritten history was wrapped up in it about the luckless family who were so unfortunate as to bear the name of Andrews. The history of the grandfather of the Andrews and the grandmother of the Andrews on the father's side, and a dim suspicion as to the probable history of the great grandfather of the Andrews, were all comprehended in that awful, oh. It induced from Mrs. Eastman the exclamation, Why, Mrs. Marx, you know the family, don't you? Aren't they respectable people? Oh, dear me, I hope so, I am sure. Did you ever hear a person say, I'm sure I hope it's all right? And then did you observe a peculiar shake of the head? If so, you know just the sort of intonation and manner that made Mrs. Marx's sentence so effective. Dear, dear, but if there is anything really wrong, you know, poor Mrs. Streeter ought to be told of it. She is so dependent, kept at home with those little children of hers, all she knows about people is what her friends tell her. My dear Mrs. Eastman, haven't you lived long enough in this world to realize that the most unthankful thing you can do for people is to interfere in any way with their help? I make it a point of honor never to do it. But then, if the girl is really bad, you know? I didn't say she is. I shouldn't want her in my family to be sure under the circumstances, but tastes differ. Oh, I have nothing to say against any of them, nor to do with them for that matter. Let well enough alone, I say. If the family are really suffering, the authorities ought to be informed, though why virtuous people should have any occasion to suffer through poverty in a world so full of work as ours is more than I can comprehend. What had Mrs. Marks said against the Andrews family? Nothing, absolutely nothing. Were they dishonest? Who knew? She had not breathed such a hint, and you heard her distinctly declare that she hoped they were respectable. Yet Mrs. Eastman, as she thoughtfully evolved the matter, wondered what it could be, and resolved to lose no time in warning her particular friend, Mrs. Streeter, against her new girl. At the same time it seemed useless to try to pursue the subject further. Mrs. Marks was so averse to anything that looked like gossip. She reluctantly dropped it and took up another. Did you know that Mrs. Decker's husband is very sick? I hadn't heard of it until I called there yesterday, and I found the bell muffled, and the girl came tiptoeing around the house to ask me to go out at the side gate, because the other made a noise. I was very much shocked. The last time I saw him he seemed to be in perfect health. I hadn't heard of it, said Mrs. Marks, sowing away calmly. But I am not in the least surprised. In fact, if I ever expected to hear of any one sickness, I may say I expected his. Why pray? Oh, dear me, don't ask me. I never like to dissent to particulars about people. It savers too much of gossip, especially when they are people who don't concern me. The man just astonished me, that is all. What doctor do they employ? Dr. Nellis, and I guess he must have spent the night there. Mr. Beastman walked up with him about eleven o'clock, and this morning, when he went down to the four o'clock train, he said he saw him coming out of there. Is it possible that they employ Dr. Nellis? Well, I am astonished. I should think they would be the last people who would want Dr. Nellis in their house under the circumstances. My dear Mrs. Marks, why not? Isn't he accounted one of the most skillful physicians in town? I dare say he is by those who happen to like him. For that matter there is nothing easier than to build up a name in the medical profession. A little judicious flattery, frequently bestowed, takes the place of wisdom wonderfully well in the minds of some people, and atones even for awful mistakes. Dr. Nellis is really an adept at flattery, I have heard. But I am not one of the sort to be influenced in that way. I employ a physician on account of his skill. I don't care whether he is handsome or homely, and he may be as rude as a bear if he will only attend to his business, always provided that he understands his business in the first place. Mrs. Marks, you surprise me beyond anything. I always suppose that Dr. Nellis stood at the head of his profession. So he may be, for all I know to the contrary. He is not my physician. I am not a believer in young doctors, anyway. They are much more likely to make mistakes than men who have had long experience, and an error in their profession is so often fatal. I am sure I don't see how Mr. Decker can endure the sight of that man. But the poor man may be so sick that he doesn't know who attends him. My dear Mrs. Marks, I wish you felt at liberty to tell me just what is the trouble about Dr. Nellis. I am so surprised. I should consider it confidential, of course. I don't say there is any trouble with the man. I wouldn't say it for the world. The Deckers have had an experience that would set some people against him for life. But if they can trust him again, I am sure anybody may. Oh, I have nothing against him, nothing at all. I hope Mr. Decker will recover. It would be a heavy blow to them if he followed his son so soon. Should they lose a son? Why, how long ago? It must have been before they moved here. It was when they lived in Portville. Portville? Isn't that the place where Dr. Nellis came from? The very place. And he was their doctor when they lived there? This time Mrs. Marks bowed her head, with her lips drawn in that peculiar pucker which indicates what volumes could be told if she should only happen to let them out of their pucker. But the determined eyes said she would never do it, never. Mrs. Eastman sighed again over her difficulties in acquiring knowledge. Well, she said, I really must go. I act as though I had nothing in the world to do this afternoon but talk with you, and I started out on a soliciting tour. I want to get half through my street if I can. Oh! said Mrs. Marks. That reminds me, I wanted to warn you not to go to the Petersons with your subscription paper. Why not pray? I was depending on them for a good lift. Why shouldn't I go there? Because they won't give, and it will only embarrass them to have to decline and add to the talk. But why in the world should they decline? You know they are abundantly able to give. I suppose they are really the wealthiest family there is in our church. That has nothing to do with it. You will find they won't help ascent toward any scheme which Mr. Belden favors so strongly. Why, Mrs. Marks, their own pastor! Are they offended with him? Mrs. Marks sewed away at her flannel for a moment, then raised her eyes with an impressive look and a sigh, and said, I suppose they are. But what is it all about? And when did it happen? I thought they were the most intimate friends. So they were. But it is something that he has said which has offended them. Of all inconsiderate people with their tongues I do think ministers are the worst. One would think they might have the wisdom to be quiet. And you don't know what it is that has offended them? Oh, I have my suspicions. But then I am not one, you know, to talk about such things. I must say I don't wonder at the way they feel. Businessmen, you know, have to be very careful of their reputation, else there is serious trouble. I don't suppose he meant to make any serious charge. But, to say the least, it was very thoughtless. There, don't ask me any more about it. I am sure I hate such things, and I don't want to have anything to do with them. Did I ever hear the like in all my life? exclaimed Mrs. Eastman, with uplifted hands. Why, I quite depended on the Petersons to give me a large donation. Do you think there is no use in my going there? Oh, none in the world. It might be very unpleasant to you, since you are not specially acquainted with them. And besides, the sooner such things are hushed up, the better. That is, if they can be hushed up. The Petersons are a very influential family, and they are proud people, especially in a question that concerns their good name. Besides, a church quarrel is really the most difficult thing to handle in the world, and when the minister gets mixed in with it, the case is almost hopeless. Yes, indeed, that is true! murmured Mrs. Eastman, and she honestly supposed herself to be pretty sure of just what there was to handle. Oh, one moment! she said, as she was about to pass down the walk leading to the gate. Will you be so kind as to give me the address of that young woman who used to sew for you? Phillips, I think the name is. Hattie Phillips. She lives on Third Street, corner of Broad. But don't employ her, if that is what you are after. Don't? Why, I thought she was quite superior. She is a good enough sower, but there are other things besides sewing, you know, to be desired in a dressmaker, especially if you have to trust her entirely. I don't want to injure the woman, of course, though as a friend I advise you not to employ her. No, I won't even say that. You can act your own judgment about it. She may do well for you. I will only say that I have had enough of her. Dear me, some of those poor sewing girls are tempted to be dishonest sometimes. I hope she is not one of them. Oh, well, we'll hope so, if that will do her any good, though as you say there are great temptations in her work. But I am not prepared to say anything about her in that way, or in any other, except that I shall look elsewhere for my help. And then Mrs. Eastman did finally bid this good woman farewell and went down the street, intent not so much on the errand which had called her out, as toiling under the weight of new and strange impressions that she had received. As for the good woman, she went back to her pretty sewing-room and sewed the warm flannel sleeve, firmly and neatly, into the nightgown of Mrs. O'Flanagan's sick child, for she was a woman who often spread out her hands to the poor. CHAPTER II SEED TAKING ROOT Now I want you to follow Mrs. Eastman and her impressions. She stopped with them at Mrs. Willards, and as, in her transit, she had passed the Peterson mansion, naturally she was thinking of them. As soon then, as she had dispatched her errand, she began. Why, Mrs. Willard, did you know the Petersons were offended with Mr. Belden? Offended? No indeed! I supposed they were very intimate friends. Well, it seems there is trouble. I didn't know of it until to-day, and Mrs. Marks was very guarded in what she said. You know she is dreadfully afraid of gossip. But she gave me to understand that it was something pretty serious. Mr. Belden, it seems, has been talking about Mr. Peterson. I should think, from what she hinted, that he had actually accused him of dishonest dealings in his business or something of that sort. She says they feel dreadfully won't have anything to do with the Belden's. She doesn't blame them either, for it has made serious times in his business. The charges have, you know, and, well, the fact is there is trouble. Oh, dear, to have one's minister gossiped about makes the wretchedest kind of work. It is sure to get into the church, and people take sides, and there is no end to the snarl. Really, I think a minister might as well give up, first as last, when it comes to such a state of things. His usefulness is pretty sure to be destroyed. That accounts for the strange way in which the Petersons have been acting. I wondered what took them to the city every day of our church sociable. And they were not at the personage the other evening when the society met there. And now you speak of it. They are not regular at church any more. I hadn't thought of it before. But don't you know, there have been several Sundays when nobody but Grace and her little brother were in their pew. Dear, dear, what wretched business! The worst of it is, explained Mrs. Eastman, that Mr. Belden has talked about it to others a good deal, and his wife too, I suppose. She is a good deal of a talker. And besides, she is a very excitable woman, you know. I shouldn't wonder if she had said the most. Women always are indiscreet. But shouldn't you have thought a man in Mr. Belden's position would have had sense enough to keep such a thing quiet? The Petersons are the most wealthy family in the church, you know, and by far the most influential. I dare say it was about his salary, some discrepancy, or something of that kind. But why in the world didn't the man let it go? What is the use of thinking so much about money anyway? It will make trouble, depend upon it, said Mrs. Willard very impressively. There is a way of speaking that word which will indicate that trouble of any sort is a very interesting and exciting thing. I may as well tell you at once that Mrs. Willard, without possessing a bad heart or having the least desire to do actual harm to any one, was of that class that are still in existence, who delight in knowing all about other people's affairs and in managing their very interesting troubles for them, or if they may not do that, who take revenge in talking about them and their troubles everywhere on all possible occasions. Such being the case, it is a pity that Mrs. Eastman had not taken her impressions elsewhere. Have you observed that while that lady supposed herself to be giving information which had emanated from Mrs. Marx, in reality she did not quote a single sentence of that lady's? She simply quoted her impression of what was said, which is nearly always a different thing from quoting what is said. I declare to you that there was not a better meaning woman in all the length and breadth of that town than Mrs. Silas Eastman. She had not the slightest intention of making trouble that bright afternoon, out on her charitable errand. She had not the remotest idea, when she reached home, weary with her commendable efforts, that she had made trouble. Bearing those thoughts in mind, follow her. She proved herself not to be a real newsmonger, for she said nothing about the dressmaker or Mrs. Streeter's hired girl or Mr. Decker's illness while at Mrs. Willards. None of these topics were suggested to her by circumstances, but an hour afterward she found herself at the Mrs. Walker's door. Miss Mary Walker had just returned from Mr. Decker's. He isn't any better, she said, in answer to inquiries, and I don't believe they have much hope of him. What is the cause of his sickness? asked Mrs. Eastman suddenly. Is he an intemperate man? Why, not that I ever heard. What makes you think so? Be it observed that Mrs. Eastman had not said she thought so. It must have been her tone that was answered, not her words. Why, Mrs. Marks hinted something of the sort. At least she said it was no wonder that he had brought himself down. She was not surprised. One who had been going on as he had must surely have expected it would end in some such way. I want to know. Why, it must be so, for Mrs. Marks is well acquainted with them. I wonder we have never heard a lisp of it before. But of course people keep such things quiet as long as they can. What a shame! He was always such a pleasant man. I'm afraid he is going to die, too. I almost know that Dr. Nellis has no hope of him, said Miss Mary. I met him coming out of there, and he looked very sad and discouraged. He is such a sympathetic man. And that reminds me of another thing, exclaimed Mrs. Eastman. Mrs. Marks says it is the strangest thing that they should employ Dr. Nellis. He made some horrid blunder in the family when the son died. Gave him an overdose, I suppose, or the wrong medicine. Something of the kind, anyway. I want to know. Wasn't that dreadful? Certainly you would think they had had enough of him. That is what Mrs. Marks says. She didn't tell me it was an overdose, you know. She just spoke of the dreadful accident of which he was the cause, but it must have been something of that kind. Did Mrs. Marks speak of a dreadful accident, or was it lifted eyebrows and exclamation points that spoke for her? The subject glanced off from sickness and physicians, and by a line of transition known to ladies, reached that of dress. I don't know who I am to depend on for my spring sowing, Mrs. Eastman said. I thought of having haddy Phillips, but Mrs. Marks warned me against her. I am really disappointed, too, for I took a fancy to the girl. I thought Mrs. Marks liked her very much. She used to, for she told me so herself, but this is something recent. To tell the truth, I think the girl has been stealing from Mrs. Marks. Indeed, from what she said I am almost sure of it. Only I wouldn't like to have it mentioned, you know. Poor thing, she may have been awfully tempted. They say she has a hard struggle to get along. Dear, dear, why she is a member of our church! Too bad, isn't it? I meant to give her all my work, and I recommended her to several other ladies who were going to have her. I suppose I shall have to take back my recommendation now. I declare I feel bad enough about it to cry. With this sympathetic sentence she disposed of the dressmaker and her affairs, then settled several other matters of life and death, and secured her subscription. Then the nice little lady took a kindly leave and proceeded on her charitable way. In the course of the next fifteen minutes Miss Mary Walker had occasion to go across the street to a neighbor's house on an errand. It being the season for much dressmaking and sewing of all sorts, that subject came up while she was there, and of course suggested the recent item of news in that line. The immediate result being that the mistress of that house informed her husband at the tea table that he need not look up that Philip's girl for her. She had heard good things about her that made her decide to find someone else. Many more calls did Mrs. Eastman make. Her subscription list swelled, so did her stories. Not that she had an idea she was telling any, but it was queer how in nearly every place that she called, some of the subjects about which she had that afternoon acquired knowledge came up for discussion. And yet I do not know that it was strange. She was out raising money for the minister. Of course it was natural to speak about him, and speaking of him suggested his trouble with the Peter sins. And then, of course, everyone was interested in poor Mr. Decker and his family. It was not until the next morning that the thoughtful little woman found time to run over and warn dear Mrs. Streeter about that Andrew's girl. But what is the matter with her? persisted Mrs. Streeter asking the question for the third time. A woman with three children to care for doesn't want to give up a perfect treasure of a girl on the, they say, of people in general, especially when they refuse to say anything definite. I will not say that Mrs. Streeter would not have been able to throw aside her pastor, her family physician, and her dressmaker. But a girl who cooked well and served tables well and was quiet and respectful, that required serious consideration. But she really isn't respectable. That is, well, I don't know. Mrs. Marks wouldn't speak plainly. You know she is a thoughtful woman and never wants to injure people. But if you could have seen the way she looked when I told her you had an Andrew's girl, dear Mrs. Streeter, do get rid of her. I'm sure I shall not sleep nights for thinking of her with your children. If I only knew what there was against her, Mrs. Streeter said, thoughtfully, the mother in her stirred. Suppose I ask Mrs. Marks just what she does know about her. Oh, don't! She will think I ran to you telling tales. She wanted me not to interfere. But I thought, since we were such old friends, it was nothing more than right. Does it need telling the fact that Mrs. Streeter dismissed her without any special recommendation, either? At least when the poor girl, a stranger in the town, referred those who questioned her to Mrs. Streeter as the woman with whom she had lived for three pleasant weeks, that woman, when inquired of, said she liked the girl very much indeed, never had anyone who worked better and had been so neat and so respectful. But the fact was she had heard some unfortunate things about her, nothing very definite to be sure, but enough to make her feel certain that she would better get rid of her as soon as possible. And Mrs. Streeter, by reason of the little that she had to tell, unconsciously pieced it out with wisely ominous looks and expressive silences. And it worked mischief for the girl. I am not disposed to speak slidingly of my sex. I am not disposed to admit that they are, as a class, hopelessly given over to gossip. I have all due respect to the remembrance that I am a woman. Yet perhaps no one who has studied human nature very much but is obliged to own that women interest themselves in the affairs of other women and of other women's children, yes, and of other women's husbands, as men do not. It is not necessarily a humiliating confession, either. It has its rise in an intense sympathy with humanity, the neighborly, gracious friendliness which men have not the time nor the thought to be stow. It sinks into the mire of common gossip among those women who, letting go the motive and ignoring other studies, cultivate that trait for the sake of the curiosity which it feeds. Half the difficulty with our women, especially our young women, is that they do not read. They are not posted as to what is going on today, either politically, morally or socially. I do not speak of the army of honorable exceptions who are as interested in all the great questions of life and are as earnest and sacrificing and as patient as any name honored among philanthropists. I do not even speak of that army of exceptions who, by reason of the necessity that is upon them, make life a daily round of incessant drudgery in order that they and theirs may be fed and clothed. It is rather of that class, not small, who, having leisure in a degree, and talents in a degree, and opportunities lying around them, yet belittle their lives and fritter away their brains over the dress question or the amusement question or the social idle gossip of the day, which gossip has for its motive, from beginning to end, merely the satisfaction of inordinate curiosity. Yet I have taken as the exponents of this way of living not even the extreme class, but a grade above them. The Mrs. Marx and the Mrs. Eastmans of the world, who are virtuous women, keepers at home, industrious, frugal, charitable, refined, intelligent. Those of Mrs. Marx's stamp have fallen into the habit, insensibly oftentimes, of speaking or exclaiming ill of everyone who chances to be brought up for conversation. Such do not so much err in telling more than they know, as they appear to keep back volumes which they could tell if they deemed it prudent, and generalize over what may be until they succeed in making you believe that it is. What are the motives of such women? What was Mrs. Marx's motive? She was not aware that she had any. It began in a disposition to look on the dark side of other people's doings, to see a great deal where little was meant. In short, it began with that disposition, which in its earlier, less offensive stages, we pronounce farsightedness. It developed through the desire, natural to the human heart, to be the bearer of news, of good news if possible, in the beginning of the attack. But, if persistently yielded to, then of news whether good or bad. Gradually there proves to be more excitement gotten out of the bad than the good. And gradually, shall I say it? We must have news anyway, even if we manufacture some. I do not mean that Mrs. Marx had consciously descended to that plane. She even had, in a vague way, a fear of saying too much, and so left her sentences half-complete, and retired into the exclamatory realm, or the realm of unutterable looks which meant volumes. This habit was growing on Mrs. Marx. And to Mrs. Eastman, she was her counterpart in every town in city. She meant nobody any harm. She listened to talk, and jumped at conclusions. She had a vivid imagination. She interpreted shoulder shrugs and lifted eyebrows, and oars, and, in deeds, in a royal way. They so promptly took shape and formed to her that it seemed simply impossible that they should mean anything else than they meant to her. And a week afterward she was sure that the very language had been used. Such people are numerous, are the best-natured, most sympathetic people in the world, and make worlds of trouble. CHAPTER III The Soil Well Watered I want you to attend the sewing society connected with the second church of this nameless town. All the people whom we have met were connected with that church. Not all of them were present. Mrs. Marx did not attend. She had sewing enough to do at home. She looked well to the ways of her own household. And besides, she thought sewing societies were centers of gossip, and she despised gossip. The ladies were gathered in little cliques and grades according to their tastes. There were those who were deeply interested in the lecture given on the previous evening, and whose criticisms would certainly have done credit to any of the other sacks. There were those who were deep in the discussion of domestic matters, the best jars for fruit canning, what proportion of sugar should be used, whether, after all, canned fruit was so much better than the old-fashioned pound-for-pound, whether oysters were better cooked with milk or without, whether jellies should be boiled long or short, and strained in a flannel or a linen bag, whether bread should be needed an hour by the clock or scarcely needed at all. These and a hundred other kindred mysteries pertaining to the department which requires brains and skill and patience and long continuance in well-doing to return fair results, and even then you cannot hope to succeed unless you have that indescribable untransmittable quality of brain or nerve which housekeepers characterized by the word knack. There were those who discussed with relish and talent the scientific news of the day, and who had real and strongly pronounced opinions of the Darwinian theory and the Huxleyian theory, and all the rest of the monkey theories. Nay, there were those who compared notes with relish and with skill over that modern giant among the intellects, Joseph Cook. There were those who kindly, sympathizingly, delicately, entirely within the realm of Christian courtesy, discussed the sayings and doings of their friends and neighbors. But there were undeniably those who bent their heads and sank their voices into whispers, and reveled in the slime of talk which most invariably begins with a sepulchral, oh, have you heard what horrid things they say about? Well, about anyone who may have chanced before the public in a sufficiently interesting form for that style of vultures to feed upon. As I desire you to join yourself to this latter class, please listen. Isn't that the greatest story about the Beldons and the Petersons? I declare I think Mr. Beldon has acted abominably. I don't want to hear him preach any more. I should think the Petersons would want him to move away. Well, now, what is the truth of that? I have heard so many stories I really don't know what to believe. Dear me, I hardly know. I guess nobody understands it very well. Only they know that Mr. Beldon accused Mr. Peterson of making false entries in the church account and pretending he had been paid his salary when he hadn't. And they had an awful quarrel about it. Some say that if it hadn't been for Mrs. Peterson they would have come to blows. Anyway, Mr. Beldon used horrid language. They say he was so angry that his face was as white as a corpse. Oh, my! What a way for a minister to act! I know it! Just think! And then they say he told Mr. Peterson that he wasn't the only one who had discovered his villainy, that everybody knew he had forged a name once, and was only let off by paying an immense sum of money. Why, the idea! I never heard that before. Do you suppose it is true? Oh, I daresay, rich men have often been caught in just such things. But I don't see what was the use in Mr. Beldon raking the whole matter up and making such a horrid fuss. It will just drive away the Petersons from the church, of course, and I think it is a real shame. They always give such lovely lawn parties and festivals for the church, and they entertain companies so delightfully anyway. It will just be horrid if they move away. I hope they will send off Mr. Beldon and get a new minister. One or the other of them will have to go. The same town won't hold both those families long. Why, they say Mrs. Beldon talked worse if anything than her husband. I heard that Grace Peterson was so frightened at the way that she went on that she almost had fits. Why, the idea! Did you ever hear of such a thing? I should think she was a lovely minister's wife. I don't believe a dozen words of the whole story. Thus spoke Miss Nettie Golden, the youngest and quietest of the group. People gossip so horribly nowadays that you can't believe anything. Oh, but this is true. Why, I know it to be a fact. I had it on authority that is not to be disputed. It is a horrid enough way for any decent people to act, but for a minister and his wife. I think it is a perfect disgrace to our church. This is only a taste of the remarkable dish of talk that was served up among those young ladies, members of Mr. Beldon's congregation, some of them members of his Bible class. The stories grew with each repeatal of them, as one and another, not so well posted as the leaders, asked for particulars. Mr. Beldon was horridly angry and used dreadful language, perfectly awful, and so did Mr. Peterson, but then he was not a minister. It was not so strange in him, and Mr. Beldon charged him with all sorts of wickedness and said that he had been cheated and slandered and insulted, and that he would have revenge if it sent Mr. Peterson to State's prison. And what would you give for the pastor's influence among those young ladies after an hour of talk like that? Every one of them were young ladies. They had not the cares and dignities of housekeeping and wifehood and motherhood to occupy them. Their education had run to dobs of paint on canvas, third-rate dobs, you understand, and everlasting third-rate thrumming on pianos with a smattering of French thrown in to make up the hash. They were not developed in any one direction. Consequently they had given themselves over to dress and parties and bows. In the intervals of rest from these absorptions, what is there but worsted work and gossip? They talked on. I do feel so sorry for the Deckers. They say his illness commenced with an attack of delirium tremens. Isn't that perfectly awful? And he was always thought to be such a nice man. And I heard that Dr. Nellis made the horridest mistakes in his treatment. It was almost like murder, and you know he did murder the son. Why Nelly Eastman? Well, it is just about the same thing. He gave him a dose of the wrong medicine that poisoned him and he died in two hours afterward. Never spoke again. Mrs. Marks told my mother all about it. Oh, that horrid man! I wouldn't have him to doctor a cat. Very few people do have him. They say he has lost practice fearfully. Papa says he shouldn't wonder if he would have to leave town. Good for him. I think he ought to go. Oh, girls, I heard such a horrid story yesterday about that Andrews girl. They say she poisoned herself because she couldn't get any work, and people thought she wasn't respectable. She almost died. They had two doctors there all night. Oh, horrors! But she isn't respectable, is she? Well, no, I suppose not. Everyone seems to think she isn't, though nobody understands just why. I guess she has behaved well enough since they lived here. I suppose it was before they moved here. Such things follow one, you know. Milly, do you think this shade is prettier than the purple for the cross? Rather, I think it is more appropriate for a cross. Is the girl going to die? Oh, dear, I don't know. I hope not. Such things make one feel so awfully gloomy. I can't get over them for days. Find me that pink silk, Kate. Girls, there's Dr. Nellis going by. How solemn he looks! I should think he would want to wait until after dark before he walked out. There was a sudden hushing of tongues and a moving to make room for a newcomer. Mrs. Frank Truman, rightly named if ever a woman was. Frank, sunny, keen, sharp as a needle, when occasion required, grew as steel always and everywhere. She was a power in the church and in the town, and wherever her influence touched. She sat down on a lohacic right in the center of the group of tongues. May I come, girls? I overheard some of your talk, and I want to ask you about it. I have been away, you know, and I don't understand about some of these things which seem to have developed since my absence. What makes you think that Dr. Nellis made a fatal mistake once in giving medicine? The girls gave little startled glances at each other and were silent. They were not accustomed to being asked straightforward questions. At last one ventured. Why, everyone says so, Mrs. Truman. What everyone says, my dear Millie, is too large to be investigated. What I want is a responsible name. Well, Nellie Eastman says her mother was told so. She was, Nellie said. Mrs. Marks told her all about it. She used to know them before they moved here. Mrs. Marks, very well, thank you, Nellie. That name should be responsible, certainly. Now, let me ask you why you think that Mr. Decker's illness commenced with delirium tremens. Why, it is the general talk, Mrs. Truman, all over town. So I perceive. The question is, how it came to be? Who started it? Who knows it to be so? These questions the girls could not answer. None of them knew who said it first, though somebody must have started it, of course. But question and cross question as she would, she could get no positive knowledge from any one of the group, nor were they able to direct her to any positive source for knowledge. She dropped those two stories and took up the one which concerned their pastor. Here it was even worse. They said it and everybody believed it. This was the utmost that these girls knew. Even the one who had so earnestly affirmed that she knew it to be a fact, having had it on authority that was not to be disputed, remained silent until directly interrogated, and then admitted that she did not mean she absolutely knew it, but only that the one who told her seemed to be so sure of its truth, and knew so much about it, that she felt as though it must be true. Here one of the group came to her rescue. Why, Mrs. Truman, everybody believes that. Look how the Petersons act. They stay in the city half the time, and they are not regular at church any more than they are at home, and they don't come to society at all. My dear, said Mrs. Truman, laying a cool, firm hand on the eager girl's arm, is all that proof of the solemn charges which you have been making against our pastor, or is it unjust and unjustifiable surmise? And then, to the silenced group, she added, I am convinced that there has been a chain of lies formed somewhere. Who started them, or what the object could have been, I am at a loss to know, but I mean to discover. I am going to depart from my usual custom and descend to be a bearer of news. I have known Dr. Nellis ever since he was a little boy. He has been intimate with the Deckers for fifteen years. He was indeed the family physician at the time they lost their little son, but he was not even in the same city during the sudden and violent illness. He was telegraphed for, but arrived too late. However, there was no sort of blame attached to the physician in attendance. He did everything that was possible for human skill to accomplish. So you see, there is not even that foundation for the story. And now think what injustice has been done a skillful physician, a comparatively young one, too, who has his reputation in part to make. To further prove to you how utterly absurd the story of his mistakes in Mr. Deckers' treatment is, and the falseness of the report that Mrs. Deckers will not speak to him now, I have only to tell you that he is very soon to be married to her youngest sister, and she is to receive them into her family. As to the reports concerning Mr. Deckers' habits and the cause of his illness, I haven't words to express my indignation. That decent people, who have lived in the same town with a good man for twenty years, watching his blameless life and his Christian liberality, should in such a cold-blooded way help to circulate a vile slander originating none of them know how or where, is a disgraceful comment on human nature. But you will remember that I am an intimate friend of Mrs. Deckers. I promise you I am not going to let her husband's name go down to the grave, thus insulted. As regards our pastor and his wife, I have nothing to say today, but you will hear more about that matter before long. If people will talk, they must take the consequences. I heard what some of you were saying, and thought perhaps you could help me in my efforts to reach the truth. But I see you cannot. You are swimming through that dreadful pool of slime, they say. Of all irresponsible persons, that everlastingly quoted they is the most so. Never trust your characters to her girls, or soil your tongues by repeating her gossip. I want you all to reflect a moment as to what possible proofs you could give concerning the statements that you have been making to each other. Suppose you were in a court of justice, testifying under oath, what could you say? It is unworthy of you girls. Saying such she moved away, and the silence that she had made fall on them was broken at last by Nellie Eastman, who said, Isn't she horrid? And then they fell to wondering who could have told such perfectly horrid stories about Dr. Nellis, and declared, each one of them, that they had never more than half believed it. And as for Mr. Decker, everybody knew that he was a good man. For their part they thought it was perfectly awful to talk so about people. And they actually did not realize, poor surface dolls that they were, that their silly tongues had eagerly helped in the circulation of the perfectly horrid stories. CHAPTER IV Frutage In order that you may understand the source of Mrs. Frank Truman's courage, and the extent of her indignation, I shall have to ask you to go back to a morning preceding the society and make three calls with her. They were to the houses of trouble. Yet trouble in more different forms could hardly be found. First she sought, on the decent street where she had left her, a favorite sewing-girl of hers, Hattie Phillips. She did not find her there, but patience and perseverance, and the mounting of two flights of rickety stairs, brought her at last to the dingy back room where Hattie sat and sewed on that which is known as slop work. But she hummed, and the words that she tenderly lingered over were these. When the woes of life overtake me, hopes deceive and fears annoy, never shall the cross forsake me. Low it glows with peace and joy. Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure, by the cross are sanctified. Peace is there, woes no measure, joy. What were addicts or rickety stairs or slop work to one who could sing that song with the spirit and with the understanding? Why Hattie, Mrs. Truman said, I had a great time finding you. What are you doing here? And making shop shirts I declare for a dime of peace, is it? What is the meaning of all this? Hattie's kind gray eyes looked from their clear depths into her questioner's face as she said. It means an honest living, Mrs. Truman. I am going to earn my bread to the best of my strength. There's many a poor soul who can't get this to do. But I want to understand what it is all about. Why, you see, and there was actually a gleam of mischief in the gray eyes, the shopmen know that I can't very well steal a sleeve out of a shirt, so they trust me. And by that means I earn my bread and milk, for I will have milk, you know, even if I have to get it in a rusty pail and bring it up these creaking stairs. Hattie, said Mrs. Truman, almost in indignation. How can you be so bright and funny over such an abominable state of things as this? Dear Mrs. Truman, why not as well laugh as cry, though I won't deny that I have had my turn at crying, but I knew it would come out all right. Not a sparrow falls, you know, without our father, and I knew that my good name was of more value to him than many sparrows. Besides, it really has its funny side. Think of my stealing breads of silk from Mrs. Marks and the others. What would I do with them? Why don't they think of that? And this strange girl actually laughed. Not but I am glad enough that you have come home, she said, when her laugh was over. And I haven't been as mild over it as I might some of the time, but it will end right somehow. I do wonder, really, what it is intended to do for me. Something, of course. What can it be? I suppose I have said a hundred times in the last two weeks all things work together for good. And I have wished that I could just have a minute's peat behind the scenes, and see this queer story in all its snarls and twists working together for my good. Wonderful that it is so, isn't it? Then she broke down again, and her grey eyes filled full of tears, and she dropped her head suddenly on the shoulder of the woman who had been a lifelong friend to her, and murmured, I felt sure you would come this morning, I begged of him to send you. From there Mrs. Truman went to her old friend Mrs. Decker. What a house that was to visit! Crape, streaming from the doorknob, hush in the hall, servants tiptoeing in that strange, quiet way in which they and others instinctively move in the presence of death, as if they could disturb the dead. The front parlor closed and darkened, mirrors shrouded, easy chairs wheeled back, order and solemnity and gloom pervading the very atmosphere, and one silent occupant, forever folded hands, forever pulseless breast. Reverently Mrs. Truman drew back the white covering and looked on that familiar face on which death had set its solemn seal. There was a step behind her, and the wife who had walked with him for twenty years, came and stood beside him, looking with dry eyes and drawn almost fierce face at her blessed dead. The worst is, she said, speaking in a dry hard tone, the very worst is that they lie about him. They dare to say that he died because he was, in secret, a drunkard, my husband. Mrs. Truman, think of that! Mrs. Truman drew back her head and with flashing indignant eyes asked, Who says it? Everyone, I hear the servants chatter, though they do not mean I shall. Isn't it too hard to bear Mrs. Truman? Oh, no! And Mrs. Truman's voice was sweet and tender now. Oh, no, dear Mrs. Decker, it isn't. If it were true, it would seem almost too hard to bear. But when you and he know what he was, and what he is to-day, and the dear Lord knows and has called him to come up higher, why it can be born, and in a sense it is as nothing. But I promise you this, Mrs. Decker, it will be taken back. It had its starting point in some silly misstatement or misunderstanding of some sort, and that starting point shall be found. Meantime it hasn't hurt him, you know, and all his friends know it to be as false as it is foolish. Passing out of that house she almost ran against Dr. Nellis. He held out his hand to his old friend with a wan smile. We are passing through deep waters, Alice, he said. She held his hand in a warm grasp of hearty sympathy. He was like your brother, she said tenderly. I know how it hurts. Oh yes, I have heard the absurd story. I hope you don't allow that to disturb you. I shall contradict it, of course, and yet it is hardly worthwhile. It is too silly to be believed. But I am going to find out where all these strange ideas started from, just as a matter of personal curiosity if for no other motive. She had another call to make. It was at the home of that Andrews girl. What a wan, worn, well-nigh lifeless face it was! And what a rush of strong, fresh air and life and hope came into the desolate little room with the entrance of Mrs. Frank Truman. I am ashamed of you, she said heartily. When you get well again and come to live with me I shall scold you hard. You may be sure of that. Then the girl cried. She had been proof against reproaches, proof even against her mother's frightened tendernesses during the horrors of the night. I was so very, very wretched, she murmured. You don't know. You can't think what it is to be so deserted and not know what about. I didn't know what to do. Nonsense! There were a dozen things to do. Why didn't you ask Mrs. Streeter, in plain English, what was the matter, and persist until you had reached a starting point? Then you could have discovered that it started in nothing. Why didn't you write to me and tell me you had been discharged? Why didn't you write to your old pastor and ask for a certificate of good character? Don't you see how many things there were to do, instead of which you did the only dreadful thing of your life? Try to take it into your own hands and go to meet God before he called you. The girl hid her face in her hands and cried harder. The sore which she had nursed all winter was being probed, roughly it would seem, but Mrs. Truman had the doctor's word for it that an outburst of natural feeling would be the best thing for her. I lost my senses for a little while. She said timidly, Indeed, Mrs. Truman, I would never have done that if I had known what I was about, but I was wild. I dare say, in fact, I know it, my child. I don't mean to scold you now. I shall save that, as I told you, until you get well. Then you are to come and live with me, and I wish you would hurry, for I am waiting for you. I must go now. And, Jenny, I want you to think of this. God has been very good to you in sparing your life and not letting you in your wildness rush into his presence uncalled. To show your gratitude you must do everything that you can to get well and strong and prove to the world by your future living that you are one of his own. And remember after this that one who belongs to the Lord Jesus Christ, and is actually looking forward to a home with him for all eternity, has no right to be utterly cast down or made desperate by anything. Then this woman bent and left on the pallid forehead a kiss as light and tender as the dropping of a rose-leaf, and strength came with it into the very lifeblood of the lonely, disheartened girl. Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, said the Lord, ye did it unto me. It was several days later when Mrs. Truman, who meantime had been very busy running to and fro, made her way into the sunny south parlor of the Parsonage. A welcome visitor was she at that home. Do you need to be told that such a woman had strong granite friendship for her pastor and his family? To the midst of the eager questionings and answerings that indicated vivid interest in whatever pertained to the lives of each, Mrs. Truman suddenly broke in with a question. By the way, what is the trouble with the Petersons? The clear light on her pastor's face gloomed, and instant sadness and anxiety overspread it. If you can answer that question for us, he said quickly, You will confer another lasting favour. We have no more idea than the wind, what is the trouble? That there is trouble we see plainly enough. They have ceased coming to the Parsonage. They declined our invitation only last week, and they have ceased inviting us to their home, which was always open to us, you know. If I should attempt to tell you what infinite pain this has caused us, I could hardly succeed. Sometimes I have even felt that it would necessitate our breaking loose from all these ties here, and going out to a new home. The friendship between us has been too strong, and the break is so mysterious that it cuts deeply. Mr. Belden spoke with strong feeling, with a visible tremble of lip and a perceptible quiver of voice. As for his wife, she silently wiped away large tears as they slowly dropped on her hand. Mrs. Truman looked from one to the other with a puzzled air, in which vexation and amusement blended curiously. Do you mean to tell me, she asked at last, that you have let this thing fester and wrinkle until it is a new sore, without ever going to the fountain-head and asking squarely what is the matter? The pastor wriggled in his chair and looked embarrassed. Well, yes, he said. That is about what we have done, perhaps. The fact is, I didn't see my way clear to speaking with Mr. Peterson. You see, there has been nothing pronounced, nothing open, I mean. The trouble is perceptible only to us. Mr. Peterson is too much a gentleman, and in fact the entire family is too well-bred to treat us other than courteously in the presence of others. And it, well, the truth is, it seemed to me rather a delicate business to go to a man and say, look here, why don't you invite us to your elegant home to enjoy your elegant hospitalities as here too for? A man has a right to choose his guests, and to weary of them for that matter, I suppose. What an idiotic world it is! burst forth, Mrs. Truman. And you actually believe that this matter is between yourselves. Pray, where do you suppose I heard of it? My dear pastor, it is all over town, and if you don't know Mr. Peterson's grievance, it is high time you did. I shall not spare your feelings in enlightening you. I have to inform you that you have had a horrid quarrel with Mr. Peterson, or a perfectly dreadful time, or a regular row, according to the degree of refinement possessed by the person who talks about it, that you were fearfully angry and called dreadful names and all that sort of thing, that you accused Mr. Peterson of cheating you out of salary, do you, and hinted broadly that he had, in his earlier days, been a forger, and oh, dear me, I don't know what horrid things you didn't say. There was a perfectly awful time. And you helped Mrs. Belden, you come in for your full share, I can tell you. And Grace Peterson fainted she was so frightened. Some have it that way, and some that she tore your hair and bit your arm, or something of that sort. It all seems to depend on the dramatic power of the person who is your informant for the time being. But I'm sure Mr. Belden, after all this, you cannot blame the Petersons for not inviting you to dinner. I will not attempt to describe to you the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Belden during this rapid recital that was purposely given a serial comic air by the reciter. In truth, she could hardly refrain from laughing, partly owing to excitement and partly to the ludicrous changes of expression on her pastor's face from bewilderment to dismay and indignation, and then back to fogginess. Did you ever hear the story that was told the little boy with a promise that it should not end until he was weary of it? She asked at last, after she had almost vainly tried to explain to them the growth of the marvellous gossip. It was about a snowball which a boy made once upon a time, and it runs in this way. Then he rolled it over and it grew bigger, and he rolled it over and it grew bigger, and he rolled it over and it grew bigger, and so on and on until tradition says the boy was actually tired, though that I don't believe. But that's the way with the story. It has been rolled over and over and over, and grown bigger with every roll until the original has disappeared in space and left this monster. However I have the satisfaction of being able to tell you just who rolled it next and next and next, and going backward it unwinds beautifully. But the original, said the minister impatiently, who could have started such a story and what could have possibly been the motive? Why I haven't an enemy in the world so far as I know. Ah, yes you have, and it is my duty to inform you that it is lurking in your home at this minute. Your own luckless tongue, Mr. Belden, gave the first start to this magnificent ball. CHAPTER V. THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER Mrs. Truman, do you mean to suppose? Mr. Belden, I mean I know that your own words are the starting point. Out of your own mouth will I condemn you. Listen, didn't you, once upon a time, in Mrs. Marx's parlor, say that Mr. Peterson had a remarkable way of managing matters as related to the salary, a way peculiar to himself so far as you knew? Why, I daresay I may have used just that language. But, my dear Madame, Mrs. Marx and every one of our congregation knows just what I meant. They have heard a dozen times over that when there has been an empty treasury on quarter day, Mr. Peterson writes out his check and sends it to me precisely as though the treasury was full, and that when there has been a deficit of the year's account, his hand has invariably gone into his pocket and made it straight. These things are no secrets. I can't help it. I am ready to prove to you in court, if you really want me to, that this is the original ball, and that the monster unravels down to it. That is, you have a piece of it. But didn't you further say, on that same unfortunate evening, that Mr. Peterson possessed a dangerous talent in his ability to imitate even the most peculiar handwriting, and that you had known men as high in position, and apparently as strong in character as he, ruined in the moment of temptation by such a talent? I, yes, I certainly did make that remark. I remember it. But then, what of that? How was it possible to make anything of such a common statement? Why, it rolled, I tell you, and rolled, and grew bigger and bigger, and was in a fair way never to end? What with your meekness and the world's impishness? But you have the facts, as sure as I am Mrs. Frank Truman, and I can give you the unwindings. At this point Mrs. Belden made her first remark. What could have made Mrs. Marks so cruel? We have never offended her or injured her, surely? Mrs. Truman turned to her quickly. My dear Mrs. Belden, there never was a more amazed woman than this same Mrs. Marks. She hadn't an idea that she started this ball. She repeated a word or two that your husband said, according to her abominable fashion. Then she retired behind mystery and hints. Mr. Belden had known some very strange things to occur in his day. Mr. Peterson was only human. There were temptations in his line of business that were peculiar. He had full control of the salary, and it was managed in an unusual manner Mr. Belden said so himself. Can't you hear the woman? Then the Peterson's got hold of the ball after it had rolled just a little further. It appeared to them in the form of a grave hint of possible errors in management, and a fear of temptations too strong to be resisted. Naturally they didn't like it, but for fear of making trouble in the church, injuring the cause and all that sort of stuff, they simply kept still and grew hurt and dignified over it, instead of coming directly to you as they ought. I hope I shall never be so overburdened with a fear of doing injury to the cause that I shall take leave of my common sense. But then, Mr. Belden, where are you going? I am not half through. I'm going to Mr. Peterson's office, said Mr. Belden, reaching for his hat and making long strides across the hall. Just where you ought to have gone two months ago, called out Mrs. Truman after him as the gate clicked in the lock. In fact, said that same brisk lady, not long afterward, as she laughingly closed the account of some household matters to a special friend of hers, who, with her husband, was taking tea with the Truman's. I have my family reconstructed on a basis that is very pleasant, what with haddy Phillips upstairs, ready to sew on buttons and strings, and darn and hem and tuck, and pull all sorts of wrong things right, and Jenny Andrews in the kitchen to look after matters generally in a way that she understands, I am a woman of comparative leisure and unbounded satisfaction. Was that Jenny Andrews who waited on table? Yes, isn't she neat and skillful and pretty? She is a grand girl. I feel sometimes as though I ought to send poor Mrs. Streeter a note of thanks for discharging her. Was there any foundation for that wretched story which they had about her? Why, yes, there was foundation, if you can make the story stand on it. The poor child was engaged to marry a man who proved worthless, deserting her on the very night when the marriage was to have taken place, and a great deal of cross questioning drew from Mrs. Marks, with whom the story started, the fact that she feared he would be hanging around and give Mrs. Streeter trouble. That's the foundation. Don't you wonder the building reached such large proportions? I tell you, I feel enraged when I think of the way that woman talks and looks and exclaims. Only think of the commotion she has raised in this town during the last few months. Why, the Peterson trouble would have ruined the church in a little while. If our minister hadn't had the sense to go directly to Mr. Peterson and demand an explanation of the whole thing, it would have gone on seething and boiling until we should have had an explosion. As it is, there are those who will always believe that something was wrong, somehow with somebody. Mrs. Marks didn't mean it. She never means anything, and that feature of her case provokes me as much as any. It makes her so invulnerable. She doesn't recognize her own stories. When they come to her afterward, she looks at them as a creation which she had nothing to do, but she gives them a lift just as she did this one. With a few such indefatigable helpers as Mrs. Eastman, such a woman can accomplish wonders and be composed and charitable all the time. Why, Dr. Nellis says, some people look at him yet as though he were a dangerous creature, and it was wonderful in Mrs. Decker to endure his presence. All because Mrs. Marks supposed him to be the attending physician when the Deckers lost their child, and thought the associations connected with him ought to have been too painful for them to have had anything more to do with him. That was all she meant. She told me so, and you know how it grew as it traveled. But I think the saddest thing is that story about Mr. Decker. I never understood how that could have been shadowed by a foundation. Is it possible that you have never heard? Why, that indefatigable Mrs. Marks exclaimed and owed over his sickness, didn't wonder at it, you know, and then strung half a dozen sentences about something else on to that, as though they belonged, and away it flew. What she meant was that she had taken dinner with him a few days before, and he had mixed acids and sweets in such an abominable manner that she had felt sure at the time that no human stomach could endure it. Wasn't that a remarkable beginning for such a terrible conclusion? Why, there was never anybody who believed the atrocious story less than the woman who started it. When I confronted her with it, she was utterly dumbfounded. What troubles me is, how is anybody to be safe from such tongues? Why, it wouldn't take more than a half hour to ruin the reputation of any one of us at that rate. I tell you, the truth is disagreeable sometimes. But hints and shrugs and exclamation points, and lifted eyebrows, and ominous silences, are infamous. I'd engage to make out a case of murder in the first degree with a few such aides. Mrs. Marx is a perfect adept in their use, and the woman talks in such a virtuous way about the sin of gossiping that it is enough to drive one distracted. Why, in that regular combat that I had with her, though I was as plain spoken as a mortal could be, I didn't succeed in making her more than half-believe that she herself was at fault. To be sure she had an idiotic world to back her, to repeat and increase all she said, and interpret her signs to suit their silly selves. But she always will have those aides, and she will go right on making mischief, and never discover that she is doing it, or recognize her own stories when they are brought to her. The woman needs a dose of reconstructed golden rule to digest, said Mr. Truman as he folded his napkin. His wife paused in her talk long enough to bestow a puzzled look on him, and at last asked, Frank, what do you mean? Why, if she had a taste of whatsoever I say about others, even so will they say about me, it might teach her a wholesome lesson or two. Oh, I comprehend! I wish with all my heart she could have such a lesson, if it were not too severe, for really the composed way in which she used up Hattie Phillips because she made her dress too short-waisted is simply dreadful, and then the most exasperating feature of it is that she actually takes credit to herself for not having told of it, when what she said, or rather what she didn't say, was infinitely worse. From this outburst started the talk that developed finally into a plan that was arranged with many bursts of laughter, and resulted in the two couples issuing from the Truman mansion in the course of the evening ready to make a social call on Mrs. Marks. As they were intimately acquainted with that lady, and occasionally spent an evening with her, their arrival awakened no surprise. The first lull that occurred after the general preliminaries to conversation had been attended to, Mr. Truman, with a peculiar little ahum that notified the rest of the company to watch for something special, asked if Mr. Marks was expected home soon, and added, that is a very disagreeable circumstance connected with his business, isn't it? I was very sorry for him when I heard of it. Instant alarm overspread Mrs. Marks' face as she eagerly questioned. What circumstance? Has anything happened? Oh, nothing new, nothing but what you are well acquainted with, of course. I was only thinking how hard it was for businessmen to weather such troubles, but I hope he will get through all right. Then Mrs. Watson. Mrs. Marks, your daughter Alice has her share of trouble, doesn't she? I really don't see how she bears up under it so well. It is ridiculous to make light of such peculiar troubles, but some people have no feeling. Then Mr. Watson. Yes indeed, I think she is to be pitied, and you too, Mrs. Marks, a mother suffers so much under such circumstances. It is a wonder that you endure it, and look as well as you do. Then Mrs. Truman. And, in view of the peculiar circumstances by which you are to be surrounded next week, that, of course, will add to your proplexities. I declare you have my sympathies. Each of these sentences had followed each other in such rapid succession that Mrs. Marks, whose face had been growing more and more disturbed, and finally frightened, now interrupted Mr. Truman, just as he was commencing with. For my part, I think Mr. Marks has, with the eager and anxious exclamation, what in the world do you all mean? For mercy's sake speak out plainly, and tell me what you are talking about. I haven't the least idea what has happened. I am not in any affliction, nor on my circumstances peculiar so far as I know. You must be insane. Or else you know something about my affairs that I do not. Now what do you mean? Her answer was peal on peal of laughter, so utterly uncontrollable, and so heartily joined in by each one, that it is hardly a wonder that Mrs. Marks's face darkened with perplexity not only, but with indignation. Really! she began. This is extraordinary! What am I— Mr. Truman interrupted her. My dear Madame, we ought to beg your pardon for frightening you. But if you will reflect a moment, what have we said, after all, that should cause you any disturbance? There really has not been a single statement made as yet, and our talk may mean anything or nothing, may it not, just as you pleased to interpret it? Is this a practical joke? asked Mrs. Marks, with an effort to be composed. Or did you come here to insult me? Then Mrs. Truman interposed. Dear Mrs. Marks, we have no intention of insulting you. We beg your pardon for laughing, but it was funnier than we thought it was going to be. Don't you remember, in the conversation that I had with you a few weeks ago, you declared that no statement which you had made, so far as you could see, was sufficient to have caused any one trouble, or even anxiety, that you were at perfect liberty to refer to a circumstance, and yet not explain what you were thinking of if you chose, and no harm could result, unless one were intentionally malicious? To prove to you how mistaken this idea is, we propose to refer to certain circumstances connected with you, not to a third party, you know, but directly to your face, and see what your impression would be. Now, in point of fact, Mr. Truman, in speaking of your husband, refers simply to the heavy loss sustained six months ago, through the failure of Barnes and Burton. It was certainly disagreeable, and businessmen often find it hard to weather such troubles. And that was all Mr. Truman said. And yet, my dear friend, did you get any sort of an idea what he meant? And I, said Mrs. Watson, meant nothing in the world, but the fact that you told me yourself about poor Alice having been kept awake with the toothache every night for a week. If that isn't trouble, I don't know what is. To be sure, I didn't say anything about toothache, but then I meant that. And I meant, said Mr. Watson, that I didn't see how you bore being broken of your rest so much, and it's a fact I don't. Mrs. Truman chimed in again. And Mrs. Marx, I referred, if you remember, to the peculiar circumstances by which you are to be surrounded next week. Aren't house painters and two dressmakers' trials enough for one week to merit the term peculiar? You told me yourself about them, and that is all I meant. But how were you to know it? You are to remember that Mrs. Marx was a sensible woman, a woman who meant right. To say that she was not indignant to the very verge of endurance with her collars would but too faintly express her state of mind. And yet she really had received a lesson such as a week of mere talking would not have shown her. It began to dawn upon her that the manner of conversation of this insane party was strikingly like her own when she felt a desire to give some item of news and yet decided that she would better not. And yet could not or did not resist the temptation to throw a tinge of mystery around her story. She sat looking thoughtfully from one to the other of her guests, reflecting whether she should, in a dignified manner, ask them to be kind enough to retire and leave her in quiet possession of her own house or own that she was severely and richly rebuked. They, on their part, were waiting for the result in no little anxiety. For now that the excitement of the thing was passing, they began to realize that it was a severe practical test of her pride, and they were not practical jokers by profession. Indeed, an eager desire to prevent mischief in the future had impelled them. Mrs. Truman had intentionally woven into the plan certain phrases, such as peculiar circumstances and the like, which Mrs. Marks had been in the habit of constantly using. They had been recognized, and almost against her will, that woman had been led to go over rapidly with certain conversation in which she had indulged. She realized, as she had never done before, how fraught with meaning her ambiguous phrases might have sounded. All this passed rapidly through her mind, and though her pride was stung to the quick and her indignation was great, she did what was, perhaps, the best thing to be done under the circumstances. She laughed. At the first outburst of this nature her collars joined, and the laugh became full and uncontrolled. Mrs. Marks's very first words, after the laugh had subsided, were words of wisdom. Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth, she said slowly and thoughtfully. The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity, quoted Mrs. Truman. How true this is! I tell you our tongues need closer looking after than any other part of us. I feel the force of my own temptations in this direction as I have never done before. She bore it splendidly, said the collars, as they trooped home an hour afterward, having eaten apples and nuts in Mrs. Marks's best parlor, and departed on better terms with her than they ever had been before, feeling a degree of respect for her that all her prudence and charity and foresight had never been able to evolve. For Mrs. Marks had by that first laugh routed Satan, and he slunk away, feeling himself vanquished. Since she would not be angry, even under those circumstances, that battle was lost. Splendidly, repeated Mr. Truman, she is a better woman than I ever thought her. I alone up now that I never believed her habit of using her tongue to be so free from malicious intent, as it evidently is. Nor I, said his wife, I had serious doubts, and they made me dislike her. I thought even her professions of charity, etc., were affectations. But I was evidently mistaken in her. On the whole I feel meeker tonight than I have in a good while. I guess I have been looking down from a serene height on Mrs. Marks and her clique. But there are more ways than one of entertaining Satan. Now I should have ordered this entire party out of my house, and invited them never to come again if they had talked to me as we did to her tonight. Barry won another's burdens, and so fulfilled the law of Christ, quoted Mr. Truman thoughtfully as he applied his night-key. A careless use of her tongue is evidently one of Mrs. Marks's burdens, and I guess we ought to have tried to help her instead of contenting ourselves with criticizing her. End of Section V. End of What She Said and What She Meant Section VI of What She Said and What She Meant and People Who Haven't Time and Can't Afford It by Pansy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. People Who Haven't Time and Can't Afford It Chapter I In The Nursery Mrs. Layman was in the nursery with her sewing. She was nearly always with her sewing. Her needle had almost grown to be a part of herself. She called this pretty, sunny room the nursery, because that was such a pleasant name to her. It suggested the children's rights as prominent here. And besides, if this were not the nursery, then the children had none, and she was bent on there having a spot of their own. To be sure, the family gathered here for morning prayers and for breakfast, and at dinnertime, carts and horses and whistles and slates and dollies had to be pushed out of the way to make room to set the table. For, in the absence of a dining-room, they had to use the nursery. And, by three o'clock in the afternoon, it was necessary for the little laymans to gather all the playthings from the four corners of the room and put them away carefully, and get the room in order for chants' collars. For the neat and cheery-looking parlor was not a parlor at all, but Grandma's room, and Grandma wasn't always in the mood to see company. So you perceive that the nursery was also the layman's parlor. It was a useful room, and it bore its part of educating the little laymans very well. For did they not early learn the necessity for neat and careful disposal of their playthings and their books? Besides, since mother nearly always sat in the nursery with sewing, there were many helpful little things that they could do for her, such as threading needles, finding lost scissors, or stray spools, or pins. In short, because the laymans were obliged to make a dining, sewing, sitting-room of the nursery, the little laymans were learning to be orderly, helpful, courteous people. Now you know the social status of the laymans, as well as though I had talked of them for hours. People who could not afford to banish the children and sit in elegant idleness in the elegant parlor waiting for calls. On the wintery afternoon which I write, the nursery was at its sunniest. It was a south room, and was prettily furnished. There was an easy chair for Freddie layman, and a dainty rocker for Millie layman, and a carved and cushioned high chair for Baby layman. It was a notion of this mother's to have everything pretty nice and pretty bright for her children, and then to help them take care of it. The mother sat among her children and sewed on a scarlet dress that was neither for Millie nor yet for Baby. In fact, the mother made many dresses and aprons, and sacks and wastes, and every other bewildering article of the child's toilet, which did not belong to the wardrobe of the little laymans. Very early in her life she had discovered that there were mothers who could not make these pretty garments for their own darlings, and who would pay a fair price to other mothers to make them. So the shining needle flew, and many were fashioned by her skillful fingers, and many a bright dollar was added to the family purse, for they had all things in common this couple. Mr. layman worked early and late at his machinery, and Mrs. layman worked early and late at her machinery, though I am willing to admit that she had to reset the gauges and change works oftener than he did. As she sewed, she thought. Baby layman slept the sleep of a healthy, cleanly, warmly dressed well-fed baby in her crib in the corner. Her eyes shaded from the sun by a screen that the careful papa had made and the careful mama had covered, slept, despite the noise of a train of cars that were just setting off guided by engineer Freddy, and a vigorous rub-a-dub-dub of the washboard as little Miss Millie put Sarah Fina's clothes through the ordinary processes of a wash. Baby had been taught to sleep on through these and kindred noises, and she did it. As for Mrs. layman, her face was grave and thoughtful, and as often as she looked at or answered the questions of either of her darlings, the shadow of thought on her face deepened. The fact is, but a very few days before she had unexpectedly come in contact with one of the social problems of our free and independent country, and it puzzled and troubled her. It had transpired that the little garments were so accumulating on her hands that she found it necessary to look up one of those objects with which her hitherto busy life had had little to do, that is, a washer woman. She found her, and she also found many other things. She went up and down certain streets where she had never walked before, and she found, dreadful to relate, miserable, half-naked, half-starved children, miserable, neglected, filthy homes, miserable, filthy, sickly, hopeless mothers. What a horrible sight it was! How shall I describe to you Mrs. layman's feelings as she thought of her home and her husband and her children, and looked in upon these terrible homes and saw these reeling husbands and these dreadful children? She had heard, indeed, of misery and poverty and hunger and cold and sickness in their low and repulsive and altogether horrible forms. But to hear a thing and see it, for the first time, with one's wide open, startled eyes, are two very different matters. She questioned some of these swarming homes. Did the children go to school? To school? They had not rags enough to wear at home, let alone school. Well then, surely they went to Sunday school? To Sunday school? And the answer was intensified with a sneer. Who would let the likes of them into Sunday school? Did they know about Jesus, who came down from heaven to save them? This last question asked in a hesitating, ah, stricken tone, as from one who was almost afraid to speak that dear name in such atmosphere lest she should indeed be casting pearls before absolute swine, and yet he died even for these. But her answer was a deeper sneer. Jesus, what was he to such as them, or what did he care what became of them? If he died for them, why did he not give them clothes enough to keep them from freezing, or bread enough to keep them from stealing? What could Mrs. Layman say? What could she do? The poor ye have always with you. She murmured it to her own soul. Then they were indeed a God-given trust. What had she ever done for the poor? A few cold pieces now and then, as one of the boulder of them begged at her door, a garment saved up for someone who she knew was struggling with poverty, a dime in the basket occasionally of a Sunday when a collection for the poor was called for. This was the extent of her work for them. As for sacrifice, she had heard of the word. In fact, she believed that several times in life it could have been applied to her. Didn't she go without a new dress all one winter when they were paying for their pretty little cottage? But that was for herself. Well, didn't she do without a girl all through the hot summer weather in order that Freddie and Millie and Baby could have two weeks at the seaside? But that was for her children, dearer than herself. Well, didn't she get along without a new cloak this very winter in order to help toward the refurnishing of the church? But that was for herself and her husband and her children, and was to be enjoyed by them for years to come. Was it sacrifice? If she chose a pretty church for herself instead of a pretty cloak for herself, had she a right to say that she had sacrificed for Christ? Very solemn questions did Mrs. Lehmann ask herself, as, warned by the gathering darkness, she suddenly left the miserable street and went home, sick at heart. Since which time she had done some earnest thinking, which, as she sewed the strawberry buttons onto the scarlet dress, was rapidly settling into fixed resolve. Even before the last one was sewed, she gathered up her work and went swiftly over to Grandma's door and tapped. It was a dainty courtesy that she was trying to teach the children. This remembrance always to tap at Grandma's door, and, of course, they could not be expected to do it unless she set the example. Would Grandma come and sit with the children while she went out for a couple of hours? Surely, said the cheery voice from within, and Grandma's black dress and white hair and white cap and smiling face, beamed lovingly on the little folks. I'll take the best care of them, and we'll have the nicest of times, and I do hope you are going out for a little enjoyment this afternoon and not always business. Mrs. Lehmann smiled. Yes, she said, I am going for enjoyment. If I can accomplish what I want, I am sure I shall enjoy it. Can you guess what she was after? Do you know that out of her inner consciousness during the week that she had sat and sewed, she had resolved a scheme so broad and deep and far-reaching that it thrilled her, and yet that seemed to her the most reasonable thing to do, and a thing that was only necessary to mention to the Christian world to meet with their eager approval and help. Her schemes, as I say, branched in various directions. One of them was a school for the children, in two branches, to teach them to sew and to teach them to cook and sweep and wash dishes and dust and set table, and oh, well, all sorts of work. Not all at once, you know, but gradually, little by little. The sewing school to be commenced right away, and the other blessings to follow in logical order. Not only the children, but the mothers. Provide them with garments for their own wear, and teach them how to make them. Teach them how to take care of their homes, make their beds properly. Furnish them with proper bed-clothing, and show them how to keep it in order. Show them how to care for the poor little neglected babies that it made her heart sick just to think of. Teach them how to fill, in short, the place that God designed a woman and a wife and a mother to fill. I hope you see how wide this beautiful scheme of hers was. And yet you have not glanced at the half of it. There was lying back of all this, of course, eager plans for the souls, the priceless, never-dying souls that were being dwarfed inside of these dreadful bodies and being dragged down by the very force of the physical into absolute shipwreck. Mrs. Lehman was full of enthusiasm. She was aglow with her subject. She was amazed that she had, metaphorically, folded her hands and idled away her life so far as the needs of others were concerned. She meant to do it no longer, and she knew, or, bless her innocent heart, she thought she knew, of hundreds who would join her with heart and soul and purse. The purse was the part that for herself she could not compass. But she reflected with satisfaction that the Lord had many stewards in the first church to whom he had entrusted houses and lands and gold and silver. There was no need for that part of the work to fail. So behold her arrayed in her winter best, ready for calls on a certain number of families whose names were on the same church roll as her own, and who were amply supplied with leisure and wealth. She hoped to make rapid work during those two hours, for she was one who, having little time in which to work, must needs work fast. She made her first attempt in Mrs. Van Norman's elegant Uptown mansion. Mrs. Van Norman was young, bright and beautiful, having unlimited wealth and unlimited control over it, and with all having the reputation of possessing a very kind heart and warm impulses. And Mrs. Van Norman was a Christian, who so well calculated to give time and money and enthusiasm to so great a work as this. The servant eyed Mrs. layman's plain black cashmere and neat cloak of last year's style, somewhat dubiously, while he waited for her card, and finally had to ask her name. Before he had received his answer he had determined her position in society and left her standing in the grand hall while he went to announce her to his mistress. Little cared she for that. The hall was grander than any parlor with which she was familiar, and she looked about her with genuine interest, and feasted her beauty-loving eyes on its appointments. She did not hear Mrs. Van Norman's half-impatient soliloquy. What on earth can she want, a sewing-woman, you think, James? Nothing of that sort, ma'am, I should say. Well, let her come up here, she wants work, I presume. But Mrs. layman's entrance was cordial, and her greeting that of an equal. She had sat in the same pew with Mrs. Van Norman at communion to Sabbaths before, and remembered that she was greeting a sister in the Lord. Then she eagerly, with bright eyes and ringing voice and animated expressions, unfolded her errand, as one who expected to come in contact with an instant heartthrob of sympathy. She was suddenly interrupted. My dear woman, do you actually say you went into the creature's houses and sat down on their horrible chairs? Really, I think it was attempting of providence. What horrible diseases you may have brushed against! How could you? But the awful need for somebody to do it, Mrs. Van Norman, think of that. I did not come in closer contact than was necessary, and it is to remove such a dreadful state of things that I want your help. And besides, she hurried on, seeing Mrs. Van Norman's lips about to open, and not liking the expression of her face. I found some, and indeed they were the saddest cases, who, in their abject poverty, were yet clean and had made pitiful attempts to put their bare homes into something like decency. Such people need help. If we had a room where their children could come once a week, and indeed where they could come, to get help and to learn ways of managing, and to get a breath of hope breathed into their discouraged souls, think what a transformation it would soon make in their lives. It looks like an utterly wild idea, said Mrs. Van Norman, settling back among her cushions, and opening wide the book in which she had kept the place with her finger. A perfectly unpractical and undesirable thing. Whom could you get, who would endure the horrors of spending an afternoon with them? Certainly no one who had self-respect, or who knew enough of decency to be able to teach anything, if any of them wanted to learn, which of course they don't. Two red spots began to glow on Mrs. Lehmann's cheeks. I would spend an afternoon a week willingly, she said firmly, and there are some things I could teach them. You, well, my good woman, I advise you never to do it. There must be less horrible ways of earning a living than that. Mrs. Lehmann rose hastily. She had made a mistake. Surely the Lord Jesus Christ could not be this woman's elder brother. No hope of her devoting of her leisure to help his poor up to a knowledge of him. Yet there were her hundreds of thousands. Could she go away without enlisting some little might from them for the treasury of her Lord? She kept down her indignation and was meek. If you cannot give this matter your personal help, will you not lead my paper with a subscription that will start the thought for others? Mrs. Van Norman hesitated, opened her tiny jeweled watch, started with an air of well-bred surprise at the lateness of the hour, rang her bell, gave an order to the servant to the effect that her carriage should be ready precisely at four, then turned again to her collar. I really haven't time to investigate the matter this evening. Someday I will look into it perhaps and determine whether to give you a donation, though as I told you it doesn't commend itself to my judgment. I think it will be very likely to be money thrown away, and for yourself I don't believe you would find it profitable employment. Then she settled back to her cushions and her book. Then Mrs. Layman went with speed, and resolved on her way downstairs that she would never, know never, ask that woman for money again. Let us hope that she broke that foolish resolution. End of section 6