 CHAPTER IX THE TEA PARTY I will make you fishers of men. There will be a high old time to-night, Miss Dell, I just expect. I don't look for nothing else. Sally volunteered this information as she cleared off the dinner table. Dell turned from the window where she had been overseeing some of Katie's operations and gave Sally the benefit of a bright smile as she questioned, what kind of a time is that, Sally? Why, there's a barn raising up in the hollow and the folks will be coming home about dark and the way they'll pour in here won't be slow and they smokes and drinks most generally them times till twelve o'clock and sometimes they get pretty merry. Dell's smile had vanished and her eyes had an indignant flash. I thought they had those disgraceful scenes in the barn after it was raised at the expense of the owner. So they does, the workers, but these fellows that come in here are the hangers on like, who don't do no work and can't get in at the supper, so you see they come here. The face over by the window was turned suddenly away from Sally and the fair brown head drooped low. This was bitter truth to which she had been listening. Her father's guests were those who were not sufficiently respectable to be admitted to the regular merry makings and so took refuge with him. There were times when those disgraceful truths surged over Dell with such overwhelming power that it seemed to her she must sink beneath them. She struggled against this feeling now. She battled with her hot indignant tears. They should not fall, they could do no good. She was put here for work, not for weeping. But what to do? Suddenly she turned again to Sally. Who told you about all this? Sally tossed her head contemptuously. Oh, Sam Miller did. He knows everything that's going on and more, too. If there's a thing in Lewiston that that fellow don't know about unless it's his own business, I'd like to hear what it is. Dell left her abruptly to search for Sam. He was in the bar room and for a wonder it had no other occupant. She leaned coaxingly over the dirty counter. Sam, does father know about the raising this afternoon? Sam stared. Not as I knows on, he said at last. No, I guess he don't. There ain't been a soul in that spoke of it as I've heard. He never goes, Miss Bronson. This last was in a tone intended to be encouraging. Well now, said Dell in confidential tones, I want father all to myself this evening. Don't tell him anything about the raising, and if I succeed in getting him to come with me, can't you attend to things here and not let him be called whoever comes? And, Sam, won't you keep things quiet out here for me? Sam looked at her solemnly. The poor drunkard understood her object as plainly as though she had expressed it in words and felt a pitiful kind of sympathy for her struggles after her father. He even thought, in a weak childish sort of way, that if she or somebody were struggling after him in that eager fashion he would give up the rum for her sake. Meantime, of course, he forgot the struggling wife at home and little Mamie. I'll do it if I can, he said impressively. I'll do the very best I can, but I don't know how much it will be. I'll trust you, said Dell, with a peculiar earnestness in her voice, and then she vanished. Her father was in the garden, hoeing. Thithers she followed him and promptly introduced her subject. Father, I am going to have a tea party this afternoon. Will you come? Not I, he answered emphatically. Have your tea parties and welcome, child. I'm glad to see you gay. I ain't stingy. You're welcome to all the good things you want, but don't expect me to come to them. Ah, but I do, and Dell leaned both hands on his arm in a coaxing, winning fashion that reminded him, in spite of himself, of the days when he was young and Dell's mother clung to his arm. I depend on you. I have my plans all made, and you will spoil them all if you don't come, for you see there is not to be another living being there but you and me. Her father stared at her in a blank surprise for a few minutes, then he leaned over his hoe and chuckled. You're a queer fish, he said at last. Now what notion will you take next, I wonder? I'll be blamed if you ever took one like anybody else since you was born. Will you come, Dell repeated, with pretty persistency? I'm going to have just such things as you like best, for supper, and I shall have the tea-room all brightened up beautifully, so much pleasanter than that long table, and I never sit down with you there, you know. Will you promise? Mr. Bronson shook his head. I can't, child. I've got to eat my supper with the folks. They're good enough for me, and you might sit down with us, if you would. It wouldn't look well to see me away from my own table. Can't you be invited out to tea once in a while, as well as anybody else? I tell you it is my tea-party, and, Father, don't you remember how you and Mother and I used to have tea together all alone, once in a while, when I was a little bit of a girl? Oh, Father, I have not had you all to myself once, since I came home, and I want it so much. Won't you come? It was a mistake to suppose that a rum-seller has no heart. They are hard to reach. It is true, and I doubt if Jonas Bronson was sure that he had one until Del's pleading said it into unusual motion. He looked down almost tenderly on the earnest young face. Well, he said at last, it's as silly a piece of business as I've ever heard of, but, land-sake, if it will do you any good, I might as well eat my supper in that room for once, as to the other one, so if I get back in time, I'll come. Oh, are you going away? She asked, with dismayed face and beating heart. What if he should be going to drop in at the raising after all? Got to go to the corners this afternoon to see Jim Turner on business, and I declare for it I ought to be off this minute. The bright look returned. Oh, you'll get back, she said gaily. I know you will. You wouldn't disappoint me for all the Jim Turner's in creation. I know you won't. It is a wonderful thing sometimes to trust a man. Perhaps after all it was more that last sentence than anything else that made Mr. Bronson actually hasten his movements, and so drive up to his house ten minutes before six. Meantime Del had not been idle. The tea room was a marvel of freshness and beauty. There were flowers and mosses, and also a most dainty spread tea-table. Muffins made by Del's own hand, such as Sally might have tried in vain to manufacture. She stood looking at it all when the work was done with a pleased face. She did not expect her father to notice the flowers and mosses. Even if he did he would be likely to call them trumpery, but she had a fancy that the general effect of grace and beauty might linger in his memory as a pleasant thing. She was on the watch and ran to the door at the first sound of the wheels, and presently carried her father in gleeful triumph to the tea-room, and seated him in the great armchair with a fresh newspaper in hand while she went to her muffins. It was a queer little supper. The father and daughter, sitting opposite each other at that round table, had not apparently a single idea in common. The father seemed to feel it most, and it tinged his manner with embarrassment. But Del exerted herself to talk and laugh and wait on him. And the muffins and cold chicken he certainly enjoyed, likewise the pickled lobster, sent from Boston on purpose for him, Del informed him. "'You're a good cook,' he said complacently, as he finished his fourth cup of tea and arose from the table. And a good girl, I guess. I reckon they ain't spoiled to you in Boston for all they tried. Anyhow, things are different about the house. You needn't think I don't notice things, because I do. I know when a bed is made comfortable and when it ain't as well as the next man. Your mother was a master hand at making a bed, and you've took after her.' Del had made her father's room over in every imaginable aspect since her return home, and now had it under her daily supervision, so that from being the dingiest and most ill- kept room in the house, it had grown into one that was always fresh and cheery. This was the first time her father had, by word or look, evened any knowledge of the change. It was something to know that he appreciated his bed. She sprang up eagerly, he was looking around for his hat. "'Oh, Father, read the newspaper a few minutes, while I get rid of this table, and then I have got something to show you. Here is a Boston daily, which came just a few minutes ago.' "'I don't know about it,' he said doubtfully. I guess I ought to go. Nevertheless, he took the paper and sat down, while Del almost breathlessly hurried the dishes out to Katie. Every nerve was on the alert. There was a drawn battle between the tea-room and the bar-room that evening, and the daughter knew only too well what a powerful ally that bar-room possessed. She came in with a small square board filled with pegs, and watching her chance as the paper began to be turned restlessly, she produced it. "'Father, are you as sharp at puzzles as you used to be? Do you remember those you used to get out for mother? Here is one that I have looked at a great many times, and I don't get it at all.' "'Oh, I don't fuss at such nonsense now,' he said loftily. "'I used to amuse your mother in that way once in a while, and so you remember it, do you? That's queer now. You was just a little might of a child.' "'I wish you would help me with this,' Del said, bending over it with a perplexed face. I can't see through this in the least, and it provokes me to fail in anything.' Whereupon her father chuckled admiringly, "'It does, eh? You're a chip off the old block. I've seen the time that I've bothered for hours over the things, and I always beat them, too. Let's see this one.' Never surely was the game of solitaire so closely and eagerly watched. Del bent over the board with glowing cheeks and shining eyes, having in her heart the eager hope not that he would succeed, but that he would fail again and again. For this once accomplished, what could she do next? There seemed little fear of its being accomplished. Apparently he had found something that could beat him. He knitted his brows and pulled out the pegs and stuck them in every imaginable way, and finally threw it down with an impatient, "'Shah, the thing is a humbug. There can't nobody do it.'" "'How provoking,' Del said innocently. Professor Thompson can do it in a twinkling. I've seen him, but he does it so fast you can't tell anything about it. Uncle Edward and I have sat and looked right at him, and then tried, and we couldn't get it. Your Uncle Edward can't get it, eh? With all his book-learning, that's a smart notion.' And he drew it toward him again, and presently the wrinkles came in his forehead, and he was again absorbed. Del looked about her for a fan, and fanned hard and fast. She trembled visibly. She had been so frightened lest the puzzle had failed her. There came a low tap at the side door. She arose and opened it softly. It was Sally, respectful and sympathetic, perfectly comprehending what her young mistress was about. She spoke in whispers. "'Mr. Elliot and Mr. Nelson are waiting in the parlor to see you, Miss Del.' Del did not hesitate for an instant. Tell them I am very much engaged, and they must excuse me this evening. And, Sally, if anyone else should call, just excuse me without coming.'" Slowly but surely the evening waned, and still the puzzle held sway. They held conversation over it now and then. Her father called it the confoundest thing that ever got hold of him, and slammed it down on the table several times. And as often some innocent remark of Del's about Uncle Edward's trials over it would give him a fresh impulse. Suddenly a prolonged and triumphant, aha! announced a victory. He had accomplished the feat. But even then Del had to be taught, and she proved a stupid pupil, and when she finally felt that it would be wise to learn, her father immediately said, "'There, you've got it. Now I must go. I don't know what that Sam may be about. That lobster of yours must have been uncommon salt. I'm as dry as a fish.'" Del sprang up eagerly. "'Oh, are you? How glad I am. I have been hoping you would say so. Now I am going to give you a splendid surprise. You think, I suppose, that Sally knows how to make coffee, but you wait just a minute and see what you think of mine.'" There was a locale to Sally, who seemed to be in waiting, a few hurried words with her, and in a very few moments thereafter her father was drinking a cup of very strong, very richly sugared, very thickly creamed coffee, precisely what he liked. "'It is good. That's a fact,' he said as he poured it down. The little coffee pot was on hand and Del hastened to replenish his cup. As she gave it back to him, she asked, "'Do you like singing as much as you used to, father? You have not heard me since I came home. I know that old ballad that mother used to sing. I'm going to sing it for you.'" And immediately her full, rich voice filled the room. Her father drank his coffee more slowly and presently set down his cup, got out his handkerchief, and blew his nose. There were more memories woven around that song than his daughter knew of. He said not a word when it was finished. Indeed, she hardly gave him a chance, but wobbled off into another old song. He listened, certainly, and that was a great deal. Song after song was finished and another commenced, and still he sat silent and attentive. Presently his head began to droop. He gave several emphatic nods, and finally settled back against the wall and snored. Del sang on softly, not daring to stop at first, but soon the snoring became so positive and well-defined that she ceased her music. But she stirred neither hand nor foot, and almost wanted to stop breathing. If this blind nap would only wear out the rest of the evening. And so, silent and motionless, she sat through her vigil. The clock from the distant kitchen struck faintly. She tried to count it. Could it be possible that it was ten o'clock? She drew her tiny watch. Yes, victory! The evening was gone. With a reassuring look at the sleeper, she stole softly from the room across the dining room and hall, and peeped into the bar room from the half-open door. It was unusually quiet there. A few loungers were in different stages of drunkenness and sleep. The half-filled, badly-trimmed lamps cast their smoky light over the miserable scene. It was no part of Del's intention to make the bar room inviting, so she left it to uninterrupted dirt and gloom. Sam Miller caught a glimpse of her and came out speaking earnestly. I kept things just as still as I could. There came a lot of fellows about an hour ago and made a great row and wanted to see your father, but I told them that he was out to tea and could not be seen, and pretty soon they went off. Del looked at him gratefully. I know you have kept it very still and I thank you. Now, Sam, can't you have these people go away and put out the lights? It's time, I'm sure, and I don't want father to come here to-night. Yes, Sam said virtuously, it is time that's a fact. Oh, yes, I can manage that for you. I'll send them home, which he did most unceremoniously. Here, you dick Johnson, go and sleep on your own floor. You can't have ours any longer. Jim Cole, get up and go home. And in less than fifteen minutes each sleepy loafer had staggered off and the bar room lights were out. Del went swiftly back to her father. He might waken now whenever he chose. A few minutes more and then a more decided snor than usual aroused him. He looked around with a bewildered air. Remarked that he guessed he had fallen asleep, then he yawned and stretched himself, and finally drawing his great watch said, Well, I swan, if it ain't going on to eleven o'clock. Why, what the dickens has been going on in the bar room, I wonder. It's all right, father, Del said cheerily. Sam has closed things up and gone home. I told him you were tired and I thought you wouldn't be out. The mischief, he said, staring, this is a funny evening, I declare. Well, I am tired, that's a fact. Give me another drink of your coffee, and then I'll go to bed. The door closed on him at last, and Del sat down with a weary sigh on the couch. The energy was gone, she was tired. A funny evening. Well, it had certainly been a strange one. How hard she had worked and after all what had she accomplished? It was only one evening. She felt like a feather trying to beat back the waves of the ocean. Would she ever be able to stem the awful tide that was setting against her? She drew the large Bible to her that she had placed conspicuously on the little table and wearily turned the leaves until pausing over the story of the weary fishermen who had toiled all night and taken nothing, she read the story through. Some way it gave her courage. Nevertheless, at thy command we will let down the net. There was another verse, follow me and I will make you fishers of men. Was not the message to her? Fishers of men. Wasn't she willing to do the work? What if she did toil all night and take nothing, nevertheless at his command? Who could tell what the fruits of that one evening might be? Couldn't God use her toiling? Wasn't it something to have charmed her father into a quiet evening instead of leaving him to a drunken revel? Yes, she would toil not only all night, but many nights. Wasn't there always before her the promise, I will make you fishers of men? With this to plead, the elder brother's own words, could she ever weary over the toiling? CHAPTER 10 DEL'S VISITORS I know thy works that thou art neither cold nor hot. Mr. Chester Elliott and the reverent Mr. Tressavant selected the same evening in which to call on Del. It was not by any means Mr. Elliott's first call. He had seemed anxious to atone for the neglect of his sister and had been very cordial and courteous in his attentions. The talk had been on general topics and had been decidedly enjoyable until a slight pause occurred when Del suddenly turned to Mr. Elliott. By the way, we are in need of your assistance, Mr. Elliott, why don't you join our temperance society? He laughed good humoredly and answered carelessly, I am afraid you wouldn't admit me. We certainly would and be glad to do so. We only ask you to sign the total abstinence pledge. That constitutes membership. Whether it is kept or not, Miss Bronson, said Mr. Tressavant, something peculiar in the minister's voice or manner annoyed Del, and she answered with a heightened color and some haughtiness, of course we believe that our members sign in good faith with intent to keep their promises. Which, nevertheless, and unfortunately, sometimes they fail to do what then. Then happens just what happens in other matters when people fail to keep their promises, they lower themselves in their own estimation and in that of others. And do you consider a man better or worse because of a broken pledge? Del's eyes flashed. Do you consider a man better or worse who pledges himself to the Church of Christ and then, as unfortunately many do, breaks his pledge? Worse decidedly, Mr. Tressavant answered composedly. And do you therefore try to deter a man from uniting with the Church lest he may sometime in the future break his promises? Mr. Tressavant fidgeted a little in his chair and toyed with the top of his cane. I do not, of course, he said at last, but I need not remind you, Miss Bronson, that the cases are not parallel, that when a person desires to unite with the Church, we trust he leans upon the divine arm for strength, and there is therefore little danger of his falling. Whereas in the matter of a total abstinence pledge, it is merely a compact between man and his own weak will. I did not know it, Del answered gravely. I supposed that every attempt on our part to do right was an evidence of the guiding of the divine arm. I imagined that our own weak wills, left to themselves, did not so much as conceive of a right desire. Mr. Elliott turned with a half-amused, half-earnest air toward his pastor. That is the theology that you preach, is it not, sir? he asked, respectfully. In general terms, yes, Mr. Tressavant answered, smiling, but Miss Bronson has very naturally confused the two points. I don't in the least understand what you mean, Del said frankly, but I just want to say that I have a higher opinion even of our weak human wills than you seem to have. If Mr. Elliott should promise to pay me a certain sum of money on a certain day, and should sign a note to that effect, I must say I should be inclined to think he would do it. But I didn't mean to open a discussion on temperance, but only to ask why he didn't join our society. Now, I thought we had thrown you off your tracks, said that gentleman gaily. And behold, here you are at the very same station. Well, the truth is, if I must confess it, I don't think I am prepared to keep the pledge. I should have no objections to signing it if I thought it at all probable that I should keep it for twenty-four hours. I am sorry you have so little confidence in your own strength of purpose, Del said dryly. No, you mistake. It is not strength of purpose that is needed, but inclination. You see, I have never been converted to the theory of total abstinence. Oh, Del said very coldly. If you had the misfortune to live where I do, you would see a speedy convert I fancy. And I should suppose that one day spent at your father's factory would be likely to have the same effect. That is just the point on which we should differ. If you temperance reformers would confine your efforts to the lower classes, I should be with you heartily, and I think you might do a vast deal of good. But I cannot see the use of fettering the world because a few poor wretches abuse their privileges. Del's lip curled just a little, and she spoke rapidly. Do you believe what you are saying, Mr. Elliot? How long do you suppose it would be necessary for you to talk temperance according to your fashion to Pat Hughes, for instance? I believe he is one of your father's men. Suppose you try it. Tell him liquor is a very improper article for him to use, that he belongs to the lower classes, and therefore cannot control his appetite, and that he ought by all means to sign the pledge, but that you, being made of different dust from himself, shall continue the moderate use of liquor. When would you expect to see him a reformed man? Mr. Elliot shrugged his handsome shoulders. I shall expect the millennium to come before even you can reform poor Pat with any sort of temperance effort whatever. But I don't have to carry Pat's conscience, you know. It is enough for me to look after my own. Oh, then it resolves itself into the old argument, am I my brother's keeper? The Christian standpoint would be that you were bound to make every effort in your power to give up every possible indulgence that might stand in his way, to see if by doing so you could not save one soul made even of such common clay as Pat Hughes. The flush on Mr. Elliot's cheek deepened slightly, but he answered courteously and with a strong attempt at playfulness. Now you are rather hard on me, Miss Bronson, to lay Pat's failings at my door. Why, he was a drunkard before I was born, but I don't think I stand alone in the matter. Here is Mr. Trecevant. You will admit that he views things from a Christian standpoint. Now if you can prevail on him to sign the pledge, I will put my name under his. Mr. Trecevant nestled uneasily and looked annoyed. Miss Bronson and I should differ as to the ways and means rather than as to the sin of drunkenness, he said quietly. Of course, if I were convinced that the total abstinence pledge was the best way of meeting this important question, I would sign it without hesitation. Perhaps I don't think it the best way myself, Del answered promptly, but since it is one of the ways and one of the best that we have at present, why not use it as far as it goes? But you don't approve of total abstinence pledges at all, do you, sir? I have heard so at least. Mr. Elliot spoke eagerly and seemed confident of the response. I certainly do not consider it necessary in order that a man should abstain from the use of liquor that he should write his name on a bit of paper. But hasn't it been repeatedly proved that the pledge has been a help to people? Del asked uneasily. Haven't we numerous instances on record? Haven't there been those who have signed the pledge and in a moment of great temptation broken it and then have of their own accord signed it again, feeling conscious that it was a help to them? There have been instances undoubtedly wherein men considered themselves helped by the pledge and we are bound to believe them. Then why is it not right to promote its circulation so long as it is agreed that it may be a help to some and certainly it can do no injury? All are not agreed on that point, you know, Mr. Tresivant's reply was very kind and smiling. Truth to tell, Del did not know it, at least she did not know that Christian people differed. She spoke in a dismayed tone. Do you think it does injury, Mr. Tresivant? I think there are natures that it might injure. I should hesitate to press a pledge of that nature upon persons. Will you be kind enough to tell me why? Well, I am not sure that I can do so briefly. There is much that might be said. But you are aware, of course, that many persons, I might almost say most persons, are impelled strongly to do that which they have promised not to do, so that I have no doubt that oftentimes the pledge creates or at least stimulates the desire. Del surveyed him in unaffected amazement, and her voice had almost a touch of scorn as she asked. Is it then only the total abstinence pledge that works in this manner, or do you really think that the command, Thou shalt not steal, is the author of all the dishonesty there is in the world? Mr. Tresivant laughed. You are a casualist, Miss Bronson, are you not? He asked with unfailing courtesy. But, said Del, I don't understand. I am sure we do not consider other promises as having such disastrous results. Church pledges, bank pledges, marriage vows, the whole long list of promises given and received daily, in the social and business world, nobody seems to have conscientious scruples against them. There is scarcely such a drawing away toward the breaking of any of these as there often is in the case of the total abstinence pledge. But is the boy who promises his mother never to touch wine, who when pressed by evil companions to drink, answers nobly, I cannot, I promised mother I wouldn't, really weakened, injured by his promise? Well, said Mr. Tresivant smiling, that is putting the case somewhat strongly perhaps. I would not be understood to be out of sympathy with the temperance reform. Intemperance is a gigantic evil, and it is right to combat it. Only, of course, people must be allowed to choose their own weapons, and to think less of some than of others. What weapon would you recommend in the place of the temperance pledge, Del asked the question dryly. The great weapon to be used above all others, against the sin and suffering that can be found in this world, is the religion of Jesus Christ, answered Mr. Tresivant solemnly, looking and speaking as though he considered himself as having made an unanswerable remark. But the answer, or rather the next question, was quick and pointed. Then you consider that a man who has been persuaded to sign a total abstinence pledge is a less hopeful subject of divine grace than a drunkard is? What answer the minister of the gospel would have made to this very singular and troublesome question cannot be known. Mr. Elliot came to the rescue. But surely total abstinence and temperance are two different subjects. Aren't you confounding them, Miss Bronson? I can hardly call them distinct subjects, Mr. Elliot, and therefore, of course, cannot confound them. Mr. Elliot looked annoyed. But you certainly do not think that every man who occasionally drinks a glass of wine or even of cider is going to become a drunkard. I see your pledge even prohibits cider. I think that I do not know anything about it and cannot possibly tell unless I meet him twenty years from now, or more likely in a much shorter period of time. But this I do certainly know that every poor drunkard on earth today began by drinking only an occasional glass of wine or cider. I believe it is well known that men do not plunge into drunkenness as they do into the river to commit suicide, and I do certainly believe the Christian standpoint to be look not upon it. The law of expediency ought to prove that, even to those who have no fears for themselves. But Miss Bronson, you involve yourself in logical difficulties, do you not, when you take such ground? It was the soft, calm voice of the minister who spoke now. For instance, there are people in this world who just as certainly kill themselves from overeating as others do from over-drinking. Should you then, as a Christian woman, abstain from the use of food? Yes, said Del coldly, just as soon as I discover that a large proportion of my brothers and sisters are ruining their bodies and wrecking their souls, not only for time but for eternity, and bringing absolute and hopeless ruin on their families from overeating. And as soon as I discover that I am setting them an example, when food is not only not a necessity of life at all, or even conducive to health, but is on the contrary considered by eminent men a positive injury, just so soon will I consider it my duty to abstain from the use of food. At this point, with a good deal of bang and scuffle, Mr. Bronson appeared on the scene. Mr. Tresavant immediately rose and courteously extended his hand, Mr. Elliot followed his example, and Del brought forward a chair which she had no sooner done than she was sorry for it. Her father's unusually talkative mood proved to her that he had been taking much more than his usual amount of liquor. And when he abruptly called her to account for not treating her friends and opening the hall door screamed loudly to Sam to bring the best brandy there was in the bar, her misery was at its height. He talked on loud and fast until, Sam having promptly obeyed his order, the host took the salver from his hand and approached the clergyman. What, you won't drink? he said, in apparent surprise, as Mr. Tresavant refused. Oh, well, you're a person. We must excuse you, I suppose, though I've heard you say you was a good hand at cider, and I'll be hanged if I haven't seen a man get drunker than a fool on cider. Well, my hearty, you and I will have a drink together anyhow, we ain't Parsons. Mr. Elliot, being divided between his desire not to anger the drunken man and not to utterly offend Del, stood irresolute. Not so, Del. She came around to her father's side, laid her hand on his shoulder, and spoke in low, firm tones. Father, I consider that any guest of mine who drinks a drop of liquor in my presence has insulted me. That being the case, said Mr. Elliot quickly and soothingly, I am sure Mr. Bronson will excuse me. Then immediately both gentlemen arose to depart, as Mr. Bronson, staring and muttering ominously, finally backed out of the room with his refreshments. Del standing before them, ghastly pale even to her lips, said, still speaking in low, cold tones, I am sure after this scene the gentleman will be prepared to excuse my extreme total abstinence principles. There was a time, not many years ago, when my father only took an occasional glass of cider. CHAPTER 11 How to Teach Reckless Boys I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance. They are a very wild set, said Mr. Nelson. In fact, I am not sure that there are five wilder young men in the factory. That is encouraging, Del said. Well, in one sense it is, perhaps. At least it is very astonishing that they are willing to come to Sunday school even once more. Have they been before? Oh yes, several times. Never for two sabbaths in succession. We don't expect that. We have had very queer times with them. Once they left in the midst of the exercises, and once they got into such a brorious laughter that the teacher left them in a huff or a fright, I hardly know which. It was unfortunate anyway, for since that time their aim has been to dispose of every teacher given them. I think that is their principal object in being willing to try Sunday school again. And you want me to try to teach such a class? Del exclaimed in amazement. That is precisely what I want, he answered, laughing. You see, Miss Bronson, it resolves itself into this, speaking seriously now and earnestly. There is absolutely no one else, not a single person, who is willing to make the attempt. I have asked Mr. Tresavant, but he assures me he cannot. I think he is not disposed to risk the chances. They would be more than likely to make sport of everything he said, and I fancy he does not like to compromise his dignity. Perhaps he is right. Besides, he has a very important class of good Christian young ladies. Miss Emeline Elliott is one of them. It is next to impossible to beg a teacher from his class for a temporary supply they are so much attached to their teacher. Mr. Nelson said, Del, who had been thinking her own thoughts during the time, what do you honestly suppose I could do with such a class as you describe? That I honestly don't know, he answered, laughing again. I am extremely anxious to try you and to discover, or more truthfully, I really don't expect you to do much of anything with them. I don't think anyone can. But what I want to avoid is the necessity of saying to them, poise, you may come to the Sunday school, of course, but we haven't a man or woman in our church who dares to undertake the charge of you as a class, therefore you must be teacherless. That is about what they expect, and they delight in the thought. Now I did not come to you having any hope that you would grant my request. It is a strange one to make to a young lady. But as I told you before, you are my last resort, and if these fellows are willing to come inside the church, if only for one Sabbath, isn't it a pity to lose the chance of saying something that might possibly do them good? Del made apparently an irrelevant response. Mr. Nelson, you are really the strangest man I ever met in my life. Mr. Nelson turned to thus suddenly from the subject that engrossed his thoughts, elevated his eyebrows, and looked astonished. I am. That amazes me. I thought I was very common place. May I inquire your meaning? Why, your conversation would lead me constantly to suppose that your life was permeated with a high Christian principle, and yet you disclaim all title to the name Christian. I do not understand it. I think I may say that I am actuated by principle, he said, smiling gravely, the principle of love to the whole human race. Then I cannot see how you can help owning allegiance to him who so loved the whole human race that he not only died for them, but lived for them solely on this weary earth for long, long years. Del spoke quickly and with tones full of deep feeling. Her companion was entirely grave now and apparently sad. After a little silence, he said, slowly and earnestly, by their fruits ye shall know them. That is a Bible doctrine, is it not? I shall have to confess to you that the fruits which have fallen under my knowledge have not been such as to lead me to admire the tree on which they grew. Have you no exceptions to make? He answered her quickly, Oh yes, indeed, I would not have you think me so cynical. Yes, I have known noble Christian men and women and admired them, but pardon me, they really seemed to be the exceptions. They stood on the table beside Del, a neglected dish of fruit. All the good apples had been culled, leaving only the gnarled, nerly ones. She seized upon one that chanced to be very small, very worm-eaten, and beginning to decay, and holding it up by the stem, said quickly, I ought you to judge the fruit of the apple tree by this specimen. He looked steadily and gravely at the apple, then at her, then smiling he bowed slightly, and said, I accept your rebuke, but, Miss Bronson, what about my boys? Are they doomed to go teacherless? Why don't you take them yourself, Mr. Nelson? There are two reasons. In the first place, I have a class that I gathered at infinite pains. They have never had another teacher, and no other stands ready to take them. And secondly, now I shall run the risk of appearing inconsistent again, but I do feel the need of securing for them a teacher who knows experientially about this high Christian principle of which you speak. Del was silent and thoughtful. There was an old sentence sounding through her brain, whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, and yet another, whatsoever he saith unto you, do it. Who was she that she had a right to hesitate? What do you mean by there being a wild set, she asked suddenly? How wild are they? Oh, they swear outrageously, and spoke profusely, and gamble whenever they get a chance, not often for money, for they have very little of that article about them, but for raisins, or pins, or straws, or anything that is convenient, and they used liquor freely every one of them. Mr. Nelson, said Del earnestly, I am afraid I should miserably fail with such a class, and wouldn't that be worse for them than if I had not tried? They have had no other teaching than continued failures. They never had the same teacher twice, as no one would attempt it a second time. We have managed to be very unfortunate in our selections. One began at once to talk to them personally about their wicked ways, another addressed them solemnly as my dear young friends, and one tried to give them the story of Samuel. So you see, you start with at least equal hopes of success. Besides, what do you Christian people believe in regard to these matters? Have I not heard something about not leaning on an arm of flesh? A little silence fell between them, but at last Del broke it. Well, Mr. Nelson, I will do the very best I can. Thus it came to pass that Del Bronson, daintily clothed in purest white, stood in the doorway of the Old Church on the next Sabbath morning, waiting for Mr. Nelson to show her to her class. Are they here? she asked, as he came toward her. Every one of them excessively amused over their own wit, and ready for almost anything. So am I. I declare to you I shall not be surprised in the least to be called on to help quell a riot. I don't know what turn their fun will take. I don't know whether I can do anything with them or not, but I am going to try," Del answered, with a peculiar note in her voice that always gave one courage. Mr. Nelson, I want their names on a card. Do they know that I am to be their teacher? Mr. Nelson shook his head. I speculated some little time as to whether I would inform them. I finally decided not. I didn't like to risk it. Here are the names. Shall I go in and give you a formal introduction? Del took the card and studied it carefully. Jack Cooley, Jim Forbes, John Barney, Dick Holmes, Henry Day. Do you suppose I shall ever know more about them personally than I do today? Mr. Nelson shook his head. I will neither encourage nor discourage you. I am in as noncommittal a state of mind as can be imagined. That is a remarkable encouragement, Del said, smiling. No thank you. I mean to introduce myself. Then she went in and took a seat in front of the five boys. They looked at her and at each other, chuckled and whistled, not very loud, and made observations about her in a not very undertone. She turned toward them the moment the opening exercises were concluded with a very cheery, good morning, young gentleman. I don't know but you have the advantage of me. I presume you know that I am Miss Bronson, while I know your names it is true, but haven't an idea which name belongs to which person. I shall have to ask your help. Will you be kind enough to tell me which is Mr. Cooley? If Del had only known it, she had taken them at a disadvantage. They had been taught, or at least talked at, by middle-aged gentlemen in spectacles, by middle-aged ladies with severely rebuking faces, people who had evinced more or less embarrassment or bewilderment as if they had said, How shall we approach these young savages? But they had never in their lives before come in contact with a young, pretty, exquisitely dressed lady who surveyed them with utmost composure without a trace of bewilderment or embarrassment who addressed them with courteous politeness as becoming young ladies speaking to young gentlemen. Not a single one of them laughed as they had previously expected to do, and the corner one answered promptly, My name's Cooley. Well, then, Mr. Cooley, Del said, holding out her hand with a bright smile, Will you introduce me to the rest of the friends? Which Mr. Cooley, much to his own amazement, found himself doing in a fashion somewhat unlike ordinary introduction to be sure, but it answered Del's purpose very well. After a few minutes preliminary talk, she suddenly asked a question which seemed to greatly astonish them, yet it was simply, Are you interested in the lesson for today? Now it had never before seemed to occur to any of these teachers that there was a possibility of their being interested in any lesson whatever, so they stared at each other and laughed a little, finally Mr. Cooley ventured to remark, We ain't no kind of an idea where the lesson is. Oh, you have not studied it, then, the innocent teacher said, speaking as if it were a matter of surprise. Then, of course, you will not be particularly interested in it. I find it as a lesson that requires a great deal of study. I have spent about four hours on it this week. At which remark Jim Forbes was very much amazed. For the land's sake, he said earnestly, how many verses is there in it? And upon being informed that there were only seven, he said with a contemptuous air, that he would bet a goose that he could learn them seven verses in a good deal less than four hours. Oh, it wasn't the committing to memory that took so long, Del explained, but there was so much to think about in it all. It is about the blind man, you know, who sat by the wayside begging. He called to Jesus, you remember, as soon as he heard that he was passing by and begged for his sight to be restored, and Jesus heard his call and gave him his sight, and I spent a good deal of time in trying to find out why the story was put in the Bible for us to read, and how many points of similarity there were between this blind man and the people around us nowadays who are blind, and the more I thought about it, the more interested I became. Did you find out what they put it in the Bible for? Dick Holmes questioned. Why yes, said Del. I think I found some reasons. It is apt to give us confidence in a physician, you know, when we hear of wonderful cures that he has performed. Then the thought that interested me greatly was that the blind man seemed entirely conscious of his own state. He appeared to be fully convinced that he was blind. I don't think that's anything great, Jim Forbes said contemptuously. I should think a fellow might find out mighty quick whether he was blind or not. I don't know. I was thinking he might have argued something like this. I don't believe I'm blind. People make a great fuss about seeing. I don't think it amounts to much. I shouldn't wonder if I can see as well as anybody can. What is seeing, anyway? Very likely there is no such thing. Haven't you heard people argue something in that way about things of which they know nothing? Jack Cooley laughed. He had, he said, but Dick Holmes was ready for an argument. Yes, but you can prove to a blind man that he can't see because you can describe things to him that he knows he never saw. But how are you going to make him believe that you have ever seen them? Can't I, being a Christian, describe things to a person that he knows he has never felt, and won't he be very likely to say? That's all imagination on her part. I don't believe a word of it. Then several of the others laughed and looked curiously at Dick because this was precisely what he was in the habit of saying. Their looks made him reckless and he spoke with an air of defiance. Well, I don't. I don't believe anything. I think these Bible stories are all humbug. I don't believe there ever was any blind man that got his sight again in the way it tells about. I think religion is all a pack of lies. Then he folded his arms and sat back triumphantly and waited for the shocked look that he delighted to bring to people's faces. But he looked in vain. Del Space was as serene as a summer morning. Yes, she said placidly, as if she might perhaps agree with every word he said. But, Mr. Holmes, you said you didn't believe anything. Of course you don't quite mean that. Don't you believe, for instance, that people die? Mr. Holmes started but admitted that he did. You really have no doubt about it, have you, but that all people in this world will die? No, he hadn't the least doubt about that. Well, now, my Bible states that fact distinctly, stated at hundreds of years ago, not only that everybody would die, but what would be the average length of life, and I find that it has made no mistake. Here has been not even one exception to the law. I find that you believe so much unhesitatingly. Now, just suppose for argument's sake that everything else that the Bible states should happen to be true as this is. There are certain things that in one sense we cannot prove until we die, but since we know that we have got to die, wouldn't it be wise to be on the safe side, have the chances of securing all the joy that the Bible speaks of if there should be any such thing to secure? It was a strange way of putting the question, a new way to them. They looked at each other in puzzled silence, that the thought interested them was certain, and Dell had very little difficulty in keeping up the interest to the end. It was a rather strangely conducted lesson, not at all in the orthodox style Dell was certain, but the superintendent's bell rang while they were still sitting thoughtful and quiet, boldly discussing questions that no one had ever permitted them to broach before. Did you give them a morphine powder, Mr. Nelson questioned, with a look of puzzled wonder, as he met Dell in the hall? I certainly never knew them to be quiet before. And Dell's answer was, Mr. Nelson, they every one promised me that they would come next Sabbath. CHAPTER XI. THE KING'S DOTTER. THE KING'S DOTTER BY PANZI. CHAPTER XII. THE TEMPERANCE DIALOGUE. VOW AND PAY UNTO THE LORD, YOUR GOD. Dell had been very busy for two weeks. Mr. Nelson's last brilliant idea had occupied all her leisure time. It was complete now in all its details. The girls were perfect in their parts, and the eventful evening had arrived. They were to have another temperance meeting, the distinguished feature of which was to be an original colloquy, subject, the pledge, performed by members of the society. It had not been announced who the author was, and only Dell and Mr. Nelson knew. To show you in what degree the new idea succeeded, I will give you the performance entire. First in order was the reading of the pledge by Mr. Nelson, and the pledge was worded thus. I hereby solemnly promised to abstain from the use or sale of all spiritus or malt liquors, wine or cider as a beverage. Then Tommy Truman had a word to say. Is there a father or mother who loves his or her children who would not be glad to have the names of those children on this pledge? Is there a sister, a child, a wife, a Sunday school teacher, who would not rejoice over the added names of their dear ones? Can there be any good reason for refusing to sign the pledge? Can there be two sides to this question? Are we not all agreed? His sturdy little friend and fellow signer, Harry Mason, made the somewhat pompous answer. There are undoubtedly two sides to this question. Many persons differ, and may we not say differ honestly from the views that have been expressed? At any rate they would like to be heard before being condemned. Are there not thousands of people, good people, too, who never touched the accursed thing and yet signed no pledge? Tommy Truman responded. Is that an argument, my friend? I can't see how your thousands would be worse off if they proclaimed their temperance principles by signing the pledge, and thus helped others to know where they stood. Harry answered with indignant eyes and puffy cheeks. But can't you trust a man when he promises you without putting that promise on paper? Why yes, said Tommy. Of course you can. Don't you ever take a man's note when he owes you money, nor ask for a receipt when you pay him a thousand dollars? You must trust him, you know, without his name on a paper. How would your argument work, if you call it an argument, on any question but temperance? Tom Stewart was on hand next. Our friend forgets, too, that we don't ask his name on the pledge because we do not trust him without it, but to help him to trust himself. Every honest man knows that his determination to do or not to do a thing grows stronger and firmer every time he commits himself in words or on paper. Every true man honors his promise, and if he means it, he is not ashamed to confirm his own resolution by putting his name to it. Then Harry contemptuously. Let the weak one sign it then. We who are strong and have principle need no pledge. It was Mr. Nelson's kind, grave voice that made answer. We then that are strong are to bear the infirmities of the weak and not to please ourselves. There was a merry true man who now took up the question. But suppose we sign the pledge and break it. Would it not be a great sin? Is it not better to drink wine a hundred times than to break one promise? Think of the multitudes who have done this. Besides being drunkards, they are covenant breakers. So if I sign the pledge and break it, what then? Tommy's answer burst forth. I say shame on you, and again I say, sign to keep and not to break. No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of heaven, my Bible says. Do you suppose it will be a comfort for a lost soul when he lifts his eyes being in torment to remember that he never signed the pledge? If you are afraid you will break the pledge, then you are in danger already, and who more than you needs the restraining power of a sacred pledge. Afraid you may break it and go back? Why you are back now. You are the very one who needs help, and if you have any regard for your word, the pledge will help you. Will Jones was the next speaker. I have no desire to make a display of my temperance principles. How many people sign the pledge because they would have people think them very good and self-denying. I have seen enough of this empty pretense, this temperance hypocrisy, whereby people drink on the sly and yet get a name for abstinence. Let not your left hand know what your right hand doeth. Susie Carter answered him. That's the queerest argument I have ever heard yet, and I have heard some queer ones. I don't write any letters to my friends, for that would be making a parade of my affections. There are people in this world who cheat, therefore I won't profess not to. People sign the pledge and drink on the sly. That was the refined expression that was used, I believe. Therefore I won't sign it lest I may drink on the sly, too. Is that it? Then the idea of quoting from the Bible to match that style of argument. It must be the only verse that gentleman knows. He cannot, at least, have come across the one that declares, By their fruits you shall know them. Or, neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Or this, let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven. There was a nice oldish lady deeply interested in the temperance cause who had been coaxed into service, and who now popped up and spoke earnestly. For my part, I don't see no great difference between drinking brandy and wine and cider and eating it, and so long as you folks like mince pies and nice sauce and things, as well as you do, you hadn't ought to come down on them that makes them for you. Her own grandson, a splendid young fellow, answered her, I agree with you in that matter. It is as well to drink as to eat brandy. But, Grandma, can't you make mince pies without brandy? And is there no other delicious sauce but this? Are we indeed as badly off about our food, as was Miss Flora McFlimsy about her finery? She had forty dresses yet nothing to wear. Our heavenly Father has filled the world full of good things, and yet without mince pies mixed with brandy, we are in danger of starvation. Miss Lily Archer asked the next question. May I ask abstainers if any such pledge as the one given here this evening can be found in our Bible? The very last chapter warns against adding anything to this sacred book. Will not those abstainers be cursed for being wise above what is written? Before I sign this pledge I must have a thus sayeth the Lord. Tommy Truman was ready with an answer. But they said, We will drink no wine, for Jonah dabb, the son of Raycab, our Father commanded us, saying, We shall drink no wine, neither ye nor your sons forever. Thus have we obeyed the voice of Jonah dabb, the son of Raycab, our Father, in all that he hath charged us to drink no wine all our days, we, our wives, our sons, nor our daughters. That's Bible. Doesn't it sound somewhat like a pledge? Perhaps you would like also to hear something about the Nazarites' temperance pledge and Daniel's and Jeremiah's and Paul's. The Bible is barely good enough temperance pledge for me. Then Fred Edson had a word to say. But did not Noah drink freely and wasn't he a good man? Did not the priests and kings of Judah? Did not Jesus? They called him a wine bibber. And were not the disciples in the habit of drinking all they wished? Peter, in his great Pentecostal sermon, does not deny that his friends were very fond of wine. He merely says they were not drunk so early in the morning. At the communion table did not the Savior command them to drink the wine? Drink ye all of it. Then remember what Paul tells young Timothy, Take a little wine for thy stomach's sake. What can you say to that? Tommy Truman was ready for him. I can say, are you Timothy? Have you, Timothy's, complained? Has Paul examined your physical disorder and directed wine? And have you some of Timothy's wine? Noah drank freely, you say. Yes, and got drunk, therefore we must. Solomon had many wives, must we? David committed murder. Peter took the name of God in vain. You say, Christ commanded them to drink wine, and you might have added that he changed water into wine. Therefore it is wicked to pledge against wine we must drink. But what if that wine which Jesus made at the marriage in Cana, and that made at the communion, and that recommended by Paul to Timothy, was all new the fresh juice of the grape? Then where is your Bible for touching the filthy, poisoning stuff sold in barrooms and saloons, a compound of prusic acid, cockalus indicus, alum, Brazilwood, gypsum, lead, copperous, sulfuric acid, logwood, muriatic acid, lavender, cloves, and rosemary? Then young Williams, oh, do stop this talk about poison. Doesn't the Bible say, every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused? Isn't wine a good creature of God? Has the Creator taken so much pains to make all these things, and shall we call them nasty poisons? Let us beware how we pour contempt upon the Word of God, and on his good creatures. This brought Edward Phillips to his feet with a glowing face. Every creature of God is good, good to eat and drink, you mean? Rattle snakes are creatures, so are crows. Would you like a dish of them to eat? How about poison ivy, quicksilver, and nitric acid? God takes pains to make all these creatures. Therefore, if we do not drink them, let us beware how we pour contempt upon the Bible. Is that the argument? Fred Edson, meantime, seemed to have thought of a new idea. But are we not called unto liberty, while this pledge of yours makes one a slave? It binds one hand and foot, puts a lock on one's mouth when he is ready to die with thirst. Did not our forefathers bleed and die to eat and drink what they would? Have you never seen the declaration of independence and its list of glorious signers? You have surely heard how when Washington put his name there, he said, Give me liberty or give me death. Shall I sign away my liberty? Never. Edward Phillips had not yet exhausted his fund of sarcasm. Liberty, he repeated in scornful tones, liberty to drink rum, liberty to reel through the streets, liberty to fight and swear and roll in the gutter, to have a black eye and a bloated face, to have rags, poverty, and contempt, liberty to bruise one's wife and beggar one's children, to end up in the prison or on the gallows. Is this the liberty that our fathers bled and died for? Is this what our blessed Bible means when it says we are called unto liberty? Why, the pledge is the breaking of the prisoner's chains. It is the sign of liberty to be a sober, industrious Christian man. Charlie Brown was the next speaker. But this pledge makes cruel distinctions in society. You may be prepared to put yourself in a straight jacket. You may have no taste for intoxicating liquors. Water may satisfy you. Many others are not prepared for this sacrifice. Is it kind? Is it polite to ask others to join a pledge that would be so hard for them to keep? Think how awkward such are made to feel when your pledge is presented to them and they cannot sign it. Is it like a true wife to put down her name and so place a bar between herself and her husband? Does not this interfere with the happiness of the husband and wife? Hump, said Tommy Truman. That is, it would make my neighbor feel uncomfortable if I should paint my house, therefore I must let it remain as rusty as his. If a lady's husband swears, so must she. If he choose tobacco, so must she. If he would sooner go to a horse-race than a prayer meeting, must she go too? It might interfere with their mutual happiness if she should pledge herself to Christ. What must she do? Harry Mason interrupted him. But cider is good. It is splendid when sucked through a straw. It is nice when friends come to spend an evening with you. It is very refreshing when you are tired or cold or thirsty or hot or when you have lost your appetite. Cider keeps me from the pledge, wine others, beer others. I do love cider. I make no concealments, let us be frank. But I never expect to drink to excess, nor to drink hard cider. Cider is good, you say, said Tom Stewart. How much does that remark mean? If you are talking about nutriment, there is more nutriment in one pound of beef steak than in a whole barrel of cider. Apple juice ferments in twenty-four hours after being pressed from the fruit, yet you are not going to drink hard cider. Hard cider contains more alcohol than lager beer, porter, or ale. At a meeting where there were sixty reformed drunkards, the question was asked, how many of you believe that you could not drink one glass of the mildest liquor without going back to your former habits? Every one of the sixty arose to their feet. They evidently considered cider a dangerous drink. A few years since, a young man in Massachusetts learned to like cider by sucking it through a straw. At fourteen his daily beverage was cider, and he would become beastly drunk. At eighteen the father offered him a farm if he would sign the pledge. His answer was, I'd rather have my cider. At twenty-three he was in a drunkard's grave. Yet my friend here says, cider is good. By this time Mary Truman had found voice again. But what prey will come of the great army of brewers and distillers, saloon keepers, bartenders, and others if we all sign the pledge and don't patronize them any more, going to let them starve? Her brother answered her briefly and sharply, let them go to work like honest men. Lily Archer curled her pretty nose as she said, so many of your pledgers are such outrageous fanatics. Better to be a fanatic than a drunkard, said Tom Stewart shortly. There was a bright-eyed little girl sitting near Mr. Nelson. He suddenly turned toward her and said pleasantly, Laura, I have a request to make of you. A request, she repeated, with wondering eyes. Yes, do you know I want you to sign this pledge? I? Why, what possible good could that do? I am not in danger. Everyone is in danger, my child. Men and boys you mean, Mr. Nelson. I mean women as well as men, girls as well as boys. You, young as you are, are not too young or too wise or too strong to escape. He goeth about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Besides, you have influence. Laura, if you sign, you may save someone. If you refuse, you may ruin someone. If I really thought I had any influence or could be the means of helping anyone, I would sign it. I think I will do it, Mr. Nelson. Thank you, Mr. Nelson said, with a bright smile. More than this audience are rejoicing over your decision. Truman, will you pass the pledge book this way? The young girl's cheeks flushed a deeper red and she said in some confusion, Do you really mean I am to sign it now? Now, why not? Do with thy might what the hand findeth to do. But before all the people, isn't there time enough, Mr. Nelson? Let your light so shine before men, quoted Mr. Nelson meaningly, and without more ado, Laura wrote her name. Now, Laura, I wish I could get you and all young ladies to make one more promise, that you would never marry a man who refuses to sign the pledge. This was evidently putting the matter a little too strongly for Tom Stewart. But, Mr. Nelson, he said, what if a man entirely worthy of Miss Laura in every other respect and truly loving her, refuses to sign the pledge? Should she have nothing to do with him? I do not believe, Tom, that a man who will not shut and lock and bolt and bar the door between himself and strong drink ever does truly love, honor, and respect a woman. That is taking strong ground, you think, but I have lived more years and watched this matter longer than you have. I tell you, it is dangerous. Laura had been listening, her large eyes fixed intently on the speaker, and suddenly she said, I promise, I do promise. Mr. Nelson answered quickly, Thank God, may you be helped to keep your vows. CHAPTER XIII. A strange scene in a bar-room. I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. Del and Mr. Tresivant walked homeward, a fair share of the way, in almost absolute silence. Del ventured a remark or two about the beauty of the evening, but she received absent-minded replies until she began to wonder why he did not go his own homeward way and commune with his own thoughts without disturbance if such were his desire. At last she broke the silence and spoke in a mischievous tone. Mr. Tresivant, why don't you criticize our performance this evening? How do you know I'm in a critical mood? he asked quietly. Oh, I know you are longing to disapprove of a dozen things that were said and done. I can see it in your face. The moonlight is very bright, you know. Besides, I looked at you twice during the evening. He laughed a little at that, then said gravely, Since you read my face so well, I may as well confess to you that I did entirely disapprove of the tenor of the arguments tonight. I do not know who I am censuring, probably Mr. Nelson. He is not a Christian man, and, therefore, we must not expect much of him, but I can but wish that he were more careful of his choice of language. If you mean the exercise, Dell answered promptly. It was not his language at all. The exercise was selected. Well, in his selections, then, I think it was a most unfortunate thing. Mr. Tresivant was growing excited. He spoke very earnestly, a little hotly, Dell thought. She felt perfectly composed and good humored. She had not expected Mr. Tresivant to be pleased, knowing perfectly well that the arguments trenched too closely on his views to be agreeable. Do you enlighten us as to the unfortunateness of our evening's work, she said, still speaking gaily? Because we are pluming ourselves on the fact that it passed off delightfully, and perhaps it is as well to have our pride somewhat subdued. I know you are not in sympathy with my views, Miss Bronson. I know you feel deeply on this subject. I honor you for it. If you carry the feeling to almost an extreme, it is not in the least to be wondered at. But aside from your personal feeling, let me ask you, do you think it right to hold the pastor of a church up to ridicule before his own young people, be the subject what it may? May he not honestly differ in opinion from one member of his congregation without thus being made the subject of public sarcasm? Now indeed, Dell was dismayed. She spoke hurriedly and eagerly. Mr. Tresivant, I do earnestly assure you that nothing of the sort was intended or implied. I am posted in this matter, and the principal actors in it would be utterly shocked and grieved to do they suppose that you for a moment imagined such a thing. Mr. Tresivant smiled loftily. I do not doubt your sincerity, he said kindly. It is evident that you do not share the feeling which I am certain exists. But allow me to remind you that I am older than you, and have probably seen more of the wrong side of the world. You are kind enough to believe that the exercise of the evening was selected. I believe nothing of the sort. I consider Mr. Nelson entirely capable of having written it, and I have not the least doubt but that he did so, and it was most closely and unkindly aimed at me throughout. I confess I once thought him more of a gentleman than to be guilty of so small a thing, but I must change my mind. Dell's voice lost its touch of dismayed distress. It was cold and had a touch of hot tour, as she said. You have an undoubted right to believe what you please, a right which you seem bent on gratifying to the utmost tonight. Therefore I cannot know that you will please to believe me when I tell you that Mr. Nelson never heard one word of the exercise until this evening, and that it was prepared by my Uncle Edward and myself before I had so much as heard of your existence, so that I am at a loss to understand how it could be considered a personal attack unless it touched you so nearly that you must accept it as belonging to you. It was Mr. Tresivant's turn to be dismayed. Mr. Brunson, I beg your pardon, he said, in a voice full of distress. I did not imagine, I assure you, I had no idea. I do hope you will overlook my language. There is no occasion to apologize, Dell said gaily, her good humor having returned. Indeed, you have quite honored me in appropriating my wisdom as Mr. Nelson's, and if I have proved to you that personality was the farthest from my thoughts, I think I have fairly earned the right to hear your criticisms. I am sorry that while I admire the genius displayed, I must be frank and not approve some of the arguments, he answered gravely. I am not sorry at all. I knew you would not approve. What I want to know now is the reason why. Miss Brunson, haven't we been all over this ground before? Not a bit, Dell said promptly. The arguments are not old ones. We consider that we advanced some, at least, that are original. Now for your objections. I do not approve of exacting indiscriminate promises, especially from the young, for any purpose whatever. Nor do I, but how does your remark apply to us? The promise asked for tonight applied to something very definite, very simple, and something that had been very carefully explained. Have you an idea that the promise extorted from that child tonight, in regard to her some time in the future marrying somebody, will be in the least likely to be kept, provided it conflicts with her future wishes? I don't know, Dell answered gravely, but Mr. Tressavant, the same child united with your church two weeks ago, have you an idea that she will keep the solemn promise that you, I will not say extorted from her, although I think there certainly was as much appearance of extortion as there was in our meeting this evening? If she does keep it, he answered her in some heat, and ignoring the question she asked, if she does keep it, I think you have laid her under a cruel obligation, one that may be the cause of great and unnecessary suffering. The man who seeks her for a wife might be in every way worthy of her, and yet have conscientious scruples against signing a pledge. How can you think it right to fetter people thus? Then Dell did a most disrespectful thing. She laughed, but she immediately apologized for it. I beg pardon, Mr. Tressavant. You undoubtedly have a right to your own views, and I suppose I have a right to consider them absurd if I choose. But if you wish me to define my opinion, it is simply that a good man, who has considered the magnitude of the evils of intemperance, and who has resolved in his heart and asked God to help him to do everything in his power by precept and example, and in every other way that he thinks right to put down the evil, is in my estimation solemnly pledged. If he is conscientiously opposed to putting his name on a piece of paper, he is a mystery to be sure, and to me he would be an absurdity. I should consider him standing in his own light and trampling on one means of usefulness, but that would not alter the nature of his solemn pledge between God and his own soul. But a man who was conscientiously opposed to pledges because he believed in temperance as opposed to total abstinence, because in short he liked wine or beer or cider and meant to use it, I certainly would not marry. I would do anything in my power to keep a friend of mine from marrying him. Those are my solemn convictions of duty, Mr. Trecevant. He answered her lightly without a trace of his former interest. Ms. Bronson, I propose that you and I raise a flag of truce. We shall probably never agree any better than we do now in our views on this subject, and we certainly can find pleasanter topics to discuss. I beg your pardon for having drawn you into this debate, and I will endeavor not to transgress again. Then followed a few bright words from each in regard to other matters, and he left her at her father's door. She went to her little back parlor and dropped herself wearily into a seat. That reaction which those who have felt understand so well and dread so much began to creep over her. She had worked hard and eagerly for this evening, she had assumed much care and responsibility in what had been accomplished. Nothing it seemed to her. She even doubted whether the exercise was not a failure, if only Uncle Edward had been there to help and comment. If he were only here now, this poor lonely girl said aloud, or if I were there, sitting on the low seat by Aunt Laura, with her hand just touching my hair, and Uncle Edward going over the evening and pointing out what we could do to improve the next effort. Oh, Uncle and Auntie, I want you, I need you. Oh, Pasha! This last is a sort of rallying cry to her drooping heart. You must not desert me, she said to her weary spirits. This is not Boston, and I am not Uncle Edward. If I were, it would be a nicer world, but since I am only myself, we must do what we can and be cheerful over it. She gathered up her fallen hat and gloves and passed out into the hall. There was much loud talking in the bar room, among which she could distinguish her father's voice and her own name. My dell will beat all the singing you ever heard tell of, he was saying earnestly. I declare now if you shan't have a specimen. And just as dell was passing the door, he swung it open and spoke to her. I declare, here you are. I am in the very nick of time. I was coming to hunt you. Just you come in now and give us a song. Steve here has been bragging like all possessed about his girl's singing, and I tell him I know she can't begin to compare with mine, and I want you to come and prove it. Saying which, he took hold of her arm and tried to draw her in. There was necessity for very rapid thinking on dell's part. Her father had been drinking, not so much as he often did, but enough to render him incapable of seeing the impropriety of his direction. There were four others in the bar room, all of them in different stages of intoxication. One of them, a young man, seemed to have some faint gleams of sense left in his confused brain, for he muttered, Oh, now, Bronson, that's rather mean taking advantage of a girl. Let her go now, that's a good fellow. What should she do? Here was her father talking eagerly and gently pushing her in. Yet there was a wild gleam in his eye, suggestive of anything but gentleness, and there were no means of determining what he might not do if his anger were aroused by a refusal. Yet could she come into that awful room and sing for those four drunkards? Was there any hope that song of hers might reach their hearts through brain so befodbed with liquor? Would she not, in a sense, be casting pearls before swine if she attempted to reach them in any way while in that condition? What would Uncle Edward tell her to do if he were there? Should she try to get away and run the risk of maddening her father and losing for the future the influence that she now possessed over him? Oh, what would the master tell her to do? In season and out of season. Did it mean even at such times as these? And Del Bronson lifted up her heart in brief earnest cry for help, then allowed herself to be drawn into the room, pushed the door behind her, and taking her station near it, behind a large chair, looking meantime in her white robes and white face like a pale spirit descended among them from another world, she suddenly let her pure rich voice float through the room. Her father dropped silently into a chair near her, and listened as every word came to their ears as distinctly as though she had been reading it. Say, sinner, hath a voice within, oft whispered to thy secret soul, urged thee to leave the ways of sin and yield thy heart to God's control? Sinner, it was a heavenly voice. It was the spirit's gracious call. It bade thee make the better choice and haste to seek in Christ thine all. Spurn not the call to life and light, regard in time the warning kind. That call mayst not always slight, and yet the gate of mercy find. Sinner, perhaps this very day, thy last accepted time may be. O, shouldst thou grieve him now away, then hope may never beam on thee. Even Del herself was conscious of the fact that she had never sung before as she sang those words that night. They seemed to be rung from her very soul, and her listeners sat as if they felt something of their power. Through to the end with clear full tones, then as silently and swiftly as if she had indeed been a spirit, she turned and vanished from the room. She ran upstairs through the hall to her own room, and locked and bolted the door. Then she flung herself on her knees and buried her head in the pillow, giving weight to a perfect passion of tears. The utter desolation and bitterness of her lot rolled heavily upon her. What a humiliation had come over her! What would her Boston friends have thought to have found her singing songs in a bar room to a company of drunkards, and one of them her father? O, the bitterness of that thought! She felt utterly crushed and hopeless. Her life seemed to her not worth a struggle. What had she accomplished? What could she accomplish? Who was there to help her? Even the minister of the Gospel turned with cold eyes away from the work, had no words for it but those of discouragement. It was an hour of great and bitter sorrow. The bowed form shook and trembled with the strength of her pain. The poor motherless, worse than fatherless girl, felt utterly desolate and alone. Gradually the stormy grief subsided, and her tears came quietly, and after a little there came to the lonely girl a sweet remembrance of the fact that she was not alone, that there really was no such thing as lonely hours for her. Had not her father said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee? I am a weak, foolish child, she said aloud. I constantly forget my father's house and the room preparing for me there. I even forget my father's presence and promise and complain that I am alone and desolate. O father, forgive my murmuring and teach me how to endure patiently, remembering that thy ways are not as our ways. His ways are not as our ways. It was another august day, hot and dusty, and altogether uncomfortable for most people. Del did not look uncomfortable. She stood framed in the doorway of the old depot, exactly where she stood the first time you ever heard of her. And but for the fact that the linen suit was fresh and crisp, and the lawn ruffles at neck and wrist perfectly pure and untravel-stained, you might imagine that we had gone backward in our story and had just helped her off the cars to make her entree in Lewiston. So exactly in every other aspect did she look like that bright young girl of whom we told you. Yet she was really a year older and had not just alighted from the train but was standing there watching the man while he fastened the bit of brass to her neat little trunk that was to see it safe to Boston. It was just a year to a day since she had stood there before and waited for her father. She thought of it and it sent her mind wandering back over the year, how much she had meant to accomplish. A year had seemed to her a long time and she had almost expected to work miracles. She both smiled inside as she thought of it that afternoon. Well, what had been accomplished? There were times in which Del's heart answered drearily, nothing, nothing. The horrible old tavern still stood and the dreadful bar still poured forth its poisons. Her father still drank his glasses of brandy more glasses than he used to drink a year ago. Sam Miller still reeled home from time to time in the darkening twilight and whipped little Mamie and turned his wife out of doors. The loafers still spit and chewed in the bar room just as many of them as here to whore. Mr. Tresavant still preached his sermons of a Sabbath in the horrible den of a church still looked with grave doubtful eyes on the temperance movement and still remained conscientiously opposed to pledges. Young Mr. Elliott still drank his wine in a gentlemanly way when he was where respectable people could see him and in a much more doubtful way sometimes if reports spoke truth. And a looker on would have said that all things remained as they were before. No, not all. The long dirty piazza where the spitting chewing loafers sat that day and stared at Del was now in a new coat of paint was spotlessly clean and neat and absolutely bereft of loafers. There were things that Del would not endure and this, though apparently a trifle, was one of them. It was an innovation. The great leather-bottomed high-backed armchairs had stood on that piazza as long and much longer than Del could remember and the chewing and spitting and chuckling had gone on from time immemorial. But when Del had said, they must do all such disgraceful work up inside father I cannot have it on my nice clean piazza and saying it had dropped her brown head a little on one side and spoken with a determined little ring to her voice her father had remembered certain other innovations such as clean rooms and exquisitely comfortable meals and no more fighting in the kitchen and had chuckled a little and admired his daughter immensely and declared it should be as she said. So the piazza was purified and the young men who boarded in the house came up clean steps without the smell or touch of tobacco or whiskey. A little thing vary but who is ever going to know but that it saved those young men. There were other little things. Sally and Kate in the kitchen, being still good Catholics, stood ready to fall down and worship their mistress and in every way in their power aided and abetted her efforts. For hadn't Sally a lover and didn't he now and then have a spree and wasn't Miss Dell a help in him to overcome himself? Then the temperance meeting, weak and small though it was, still lived and there were two or three who had joined them that they did not expect. Among others the post office clerk who boarded at the hotel and who used to take an occasional glass of wine. Then, and Dell's eyes brightened as she thought of that, her class, those five wild young men, her class still, reformed, you probably think, become patterns to the rising youth of America. Very little of that, but they came to Sunday school, came every Sunday, and were attentive and respectful to her, though hardly so to anyone else, and Dell was praying for them all, now hopefully, now despairingly, always persistently. Mr. Trecevant came briskly down the straggling street, spring up the steps, and held out his hand to Dell. You meant to be in time, did you not, Miss Dell? I called to walk with you to the cars, but found you vanished. Dell laughed. I was in haste, she said naively, and it seemed to me I should get on faster if I took an early start, but I don't see that I have made great speed thus far. Isn't the train late, Mr. Trecevant? Not yet, certainly, as it is not due for ten minutes. What haste are you in to leave Lewiston? Has it then no attraction whatever for you? Are you always going to feel that there is no place in the world but Boston? He spoke half reproachingly, but Dell had no answer for him. Both eyes and thoughts were engaged elsewhere. One of her enemies in the shape of a cellar grocery, or, in other words, cellar rum shop, was directly across the street, and toward that fascinating spot shambled one whom she knew. She watched him eagerly till he neared the door, and then the only reply Mr. Trecevant received was an eager. Isn't that Jim Forbes, Mr. Trecevant? Yes, I know it is. Then she called in clear, quick tones. Mr. Forbes, and if a bombshell had exploded just ahead of him, the young man could not have turned more suddenly than he did at the sound of that voice. He came across the street, and Dell came down from the doorway and stood on the second step, smiling in cordial. Did you come up to see me off? she asked, holding out her hand, which he grasped as if his had been an iron vice. No, he said with an awkward laugh. Not exactly. I came to see myself off. I've got to go down to Boston to get an iron fixed. And you are going on this train? Why, then, I shall not have to travel alone after all. That's nice. Meantime, Mr. Trecevant, after an impatient frown or two, had risen above himself and came forward to greet Jim Forbes. He did not offer to shake hands with him. He had not learned that art yet. Truth to tell, he did not know the rough young fellow well enough to venture, but his greeting was sufficiently kind, and Jim received it with an awkward attempt at courtesy. Mr. Forbes is going to Boston on this train, explained Dell, so I shall have someone to take care of me. Then there came over Mr. Trecevant a suffocating sense of the fact that he, being a minister of the gospel, ought to say something improving to this young man, and he said the last thing that Dell would have had him say if she could have chosen. You must keep away from all such places as that which I saw you about to enter, if you are going to take care of the ladies, my boy. The boy blushed to the roots of his very red hair, but answered promptly enough. That's easier said than done when there's one of them places at every corner and folks hanging around to coax a fellow in. That is true, Dell said quickly, but, Mr. Forbes, there is coaxing going on on the other side, too. You must remember, don't you know how much I want you to join our temperance society? And that, you see, could be a help to you as well as to us. Saying which, she looked wistfully at Mr. Trecevant, half hoping he would in this one case see the merit of a pledge and join his persuasion to hers. But Mr. Trecevant looked down at his boots and was gravely silent. As for Jim Forbes, he only blushed the harder and muttered, I don't know about that. And then the train shrieked itself in and in a very few minutes out again, taking Dell and her escort with it. Dell settled herself into a seat and made room for Jim beside her. That gentleman, however, preferred the arm of the seat and stationed himself thereon. Gradually, Dell became unpleasantly conscious that she was attracting attention. She was very well aware that she was a neat, trim, becomingly dressed maiden, and she was equally well aware that Jim Forbes was a tall, ungainly, freckled, tanned, red-haired youth in a very much soiled factory shirt, minus collar and cravat, and with a well-worn, not-to-say-regged coat hanging on his arm. Yet there he sat on the arm of her seat and talked earnestly to her. The stairs became frequent and some of the comments were loud. As the train meered Boston, there came in the chesters, the three young ladies, and Mr. Wilchester. They were eager and joyous in their greetings. Why, Dell, Dell Bronson, what a delight to see you again. Are you coming home to stay? Only a week. How awful. Oh, Dell, we can't let you go away again. And then they turned wondering eyes on poor Jim, and Wilchester leaned forward and said, Isn't that fellow offensive to you? Shall I suggest his removal? And Dell, flushing almost as deeply as Jim himself, answered quickly, Oh no, I know him very well, and turned again to Jim with a cordial, finish telling me about that evening now, will you? And the chesters stared and wondered and whispered. At the next station there came on the Dequincies. Now the Dequincies had been in the habit of, well, not exactly turning their aristocratic heads away from Dell, because Mr. Edward Stockwell's niece was not a lady to be turned away from, even by the Dequincies, but they thought her exceedingly peculiar, and were rarely in sympathy with her singular movements. They came over to greet her and to assure her that Boston had missed her, and then Jim endured some fearful staring, and Ms. Helen Dequincie whispered, Isn't that dreadful creature intoxicated? Why don't you appeal to the conductor? Because, said Dell, all her blushing embarrassment gone, and her eyes brimming with mischief, because I have no need of his services, this gentleman is a particular friend of mine. To tell the truth, Dell hardly enjoyed shocking the Dequincies. At last the train steamed into the Boston depot. Two minutes more, and the tall form of Mr. Edward Stockwell was gently forcing its way through the crowd. Even the Dequincies stepped a little one side to let him pass. There were very few who were not willing to yield to Mr. Edward Stockwell. Oh, Uncle, Dell said breathlessly, with very bright, yet very moist eyes. And the voice, gentle and tender as a woman's, yet with a strange sense of strength about it, answered, darling child. And Dell knew that she was at home once more. She turned suddenly to her companion and spoke eagerly, Uncle Edward, this is Mr. Forbes. Mr. Stockwell's keen eye lighted with a genial smile. One of your class, he said instantly, I remember the name perfectly. Welcome to Boston, Mr. Forbes. Thank you for taking care of my niece. And Jim Forbes felt his hand held in such a cordial, kindly grasp as he had never known in all his life before, and both the Dequincies and Chesters stared. Now, said Uncle Edward, as the train fairly stopped at last, we can go, I think, one, two, three. Any more, Dell? Mr. Forbes, if you will take the traveling bag, I will manage the rest. And so Mr. Forbes made his first awkward essay in Waiting on a Lady. Where do you stop, further questioned Mr. Stockwell as they neared his carriage? Any place in view? Oh, let me direct you, then, will you? I'll find you a very convenient place. Just take a seat in the carriage. I'm going directly past where you would like to be. Oh, certainly get in. There's plenty of room. It's no trouble at all. A friend of Miss Bronson is a friend of mine. And Jim Forbes leaned back among the puffy cushions and wondered as they whirled through the streets what would happen to him next and what Joe and Tom and all of them would think if they could see him. At a certain point Mr. Stockwell stopped the carriage and spraying out. Entering the building where a dozen men were writing, he said briefly, Mr. Lewis, I want to see Carrie a moment. From an inner office a brisk young man was promptly summoned. Carrie, said Mr. Stockwell, Miss Dell has come and in company with her is a young man from the country, one of those whom Satan tempts on every side. Can you get him in at your boarding place and help him through with his business? He is a very rough young fellow, needs especially to avoid saloons and the like. The young man thus addressed answered in a tone prompt and energetic enough to be Mr. Stockwell's own. I'll look after him, sir. Where shall I find him? Here in my carriage. Mr. Stockwell, meantime, drew his pocketbook and placed a bill in the young man's hands. And Carrie, have you some pleasant place of entertainment and employment for the evening? Yes, sir, but I have funds on hand. Never mind, this will do for another time then. Come to the carriage at once, please. Mr. Lewis, you will excuse Carrie for the remainder of the day, if you please. Now, Mr. Forbes, Mr. Stockwell continued, being now at the carriage door. I have a friend here who will look after your comfort with pleasure. Mr. Carrie, Mr. Forbes. You return tomorrow, I think you said. Will you call it my office in the morning? Mr. Carrie will show you the way. Good afternoon and thank you again for your kindness. Uncle Edward, Del, said, clasping her hands in an ecstasy of delight as the carriage door shut them in together. That is just splendid. How did you remember all about this boy and know what ought to be done for him? It is part of my business, dear child, as an employee of the master, to remember people's names and study their character as far as possible. Uncle Edward, it isn't possible to help these boys in Lewiston. It is a little bit of a village, and I suppose Boston is a great wicked city, but if they were all in Boston, I could help to save them. There is not a living soul to help them, no one who has any interest in them. What has become of Mr. Nelson? He would if he could, Del said thoughtfully, but uncle, there is nothing to do it with. Then it is the facilities that you lack, not the living soul, and in regard to that, dear child, isn't God in Lewiston, and have you forgotten that he has facilities to work with that we know not of? After dinner they went to the back parlor, where they used to linger together on summer evenings. And Del, mindful of how many times she had longed for that seed, went straight to that low ottoman, wielded in front of Aunt Laura's chair, and snugged herself into it. And Aunt Laura's left hand finally smoothed the soft bands of brown hair, just as she knew it would, just as she had imagined the touch endless times during the long days of that past year. Baby Laura, meantime, trotted with pretty restlessness from one object of interest to another, stopping to be so shy, wondering glances on the forgotten cousin's face. Uncle Edward had brought pen and paper and occupied a table in the west window. When his wife frowned on the business implements, he said, Just a very little writing, my dear, I have brought it here because I can imagine myself visiting with you. We must make the most of Del. It is only a week, you know. I shall be through very soon, and meantime you may talk or play as the mood takes you. It will not disturb me in the least. So they talked, one of their long, sweet talks in the quiet twilight. By and by the twilight deepened, Aunt Laura and Baby Laura went away together, and Del turned for company to the piano. Her dear piano, for which her fingers had fairly ached during the year of separation. She touched the keys with a sort of tremulous eagerness, and soft, sweet, plaintive sounds filled the room, sounds that made the rider over by the table pause and raised his head to listen. Presently he hurried the last line to its close, shut his ink stand with a click, and, rising, wheeled a large chair toward the piano. Now, dear child, the music is glorious, but tongues are aching to be used. Begin at the beginning and tell me about the year. Del wheeled around on the piano stool and, leaning forward, rested her hand on his arm as she said, Oh, Uncle, the beginning? What a long story it will be! And yet, after all, there is just the least little bit to tell. It has been a long year, and I have tried to do a great many things, and I have done none of them. That, after all, is the whole story in a nutshell. But I don't want it in a nutshell. I want the whole story spread out, detailed. Unless you have greatly changed, you know how to do it. Has Lewiston changed much? I haven't seen it in eight years, you know. Uncle, it has changed backward. It is the meanest, dullest, stupidest place I ever heard of. There is no paint on the buildings and no posts to the fences. They have rotted and tumbled over. And the church, oh, dear me, I can't detail that to you. Why, your carriage house would make a delightful house compared with it. And there is a rum hole at every corner. Oh, worse than that, some between corners. I never saw such a place. Yet the people are not poor? No, indeed. There is wealth enough in the place to revolutionize it. But I don't know what is the matter with the people. They have no enthusiasm for anything but their stores and factories and saloons. Uncle Edward, what do you suppose God thinks of such Christians as there are in Lewiston? Uncle Edward looked up suddenly, smiled a kind, brave smile, laid a tender hand over the little one resting on his arm, and said, He has told you and me what to think about them. We must remember, judge not that ye not be judged. And with what measure ye meet, it shall be measured to you again. What of the dear father, Dell? Uncle, there is nothing to say. That awful tavern is still there, and father is selling rum as usual and drinking it. The last two words with lowered voice and burning cheeks. And what is our darling doing for him just now? There is nothing for me to do, she answered him sadly. At least if there is, I cannot find it. I have tried everything that I can think of and failed in all. Then you are not praying for him anymore? Oh, Uncle Edward, with a quick startled look, you know I did not mean that. I am praying for him constantly with all my heart, but that is all. Well, what about the class? Are you encouraged? Why, they come regularly, and they seem to like me. But as to any change of them I see none. No, I can't say that I am encouraged. I am very heavy hearted. What good for them to spend an hour a week in Sabbath school if it doesn't influence their lives a particle? Uncle Edward waved the question, is Mr. Trecevant any help to you? Dell's eyes flashed. No, sir, he isn't. He is a drawback. I have written you about Mr. Elliott? Well, I believe he could be gotten into our society, but for Mr. Trecevant's influence, he actually uses it against us. Uncle, do you see how a good man in these days can work against the temperance cause? No, my dear, I don't. Yet I trust the Lord sees how they can work against some phases of the temperance cause, and yet be not good men, perhaps, but Christian men. Understand me, dear child, I am not in sympathy with this man, who is now your pastor. I believe him to be mistaken. If he is, the Lord will someday set him right. But in the meantime, you and I must remember that he is your pastor, and speak and think of him accordingly. Dell laughed a little. Uncle Edward, she said playfully, don't you think it would be well for me to stop detailing? Don't you see that I have grown uncharitable? Let me ask one more question first. What of Mr. Nelson? He is the same mystery that he was at first, working faithfully and apparently conscientiously, but without conscientious motives. Indeed, Uncle, we are all just what we were a year ago. Is that possible? Her uncle asked quickly with an earnest searching look. My dear daughter, I have asked many questions about others. Will you answer one very carefully concerning yourself? You and I think that to stand still for a year is impossible. Have you, darling, gone onward? Do you find your faith stronger, your trust firmer, your heart and life more entirely hid with Christ in God? Dell's head went suddenly down on the arm against which she leaned, and her bright eyes filled with tears. He waited quietly, and presently she raised her head again and spoke earnestly. Uncle Edward, I don't know. Sometimes it seems to me that I have gone backward. I have tried to work for Christ. I know I have that end in view, but in every single thing I seem to have failed. I have done nothing. It seems to me almost a wasted year, and there are times when I want to run away from it all and hide with you and Aunt Laura. And there are times that I am utterly impatient and rebellious and think that I have done all I can, and it is time there was some fruit. So a great deal of the time I am not happy, and yet I don't quite know what is wrong. While she was speaking Aunt Laura returned and took the low seat which her husband drew forward in front of him and beside Dell. Then he answered the young girl's wistful look with a kindly smile as he said, Do you want me to pick your work to pieces, dear child, as I used to do when you were indeed a child and criticize it? Indeed, Uncle Edward, I want your help. I have wanted it more than I can tell you. Then, my dear, I think I shall have to tell you that I think the main trouble with you has been a too vivid realization of the person called I. I do not mean by that that you are troubled with egotism. I do not consider that one of your faults, nor do I mean that you have too strong a sense of personal responsibility, but that your temptation is to forget that you are a worker with God. It is a temptation common to us all. You grow discouraged. You think your efforts have been failures. Now there are two or three questions that you should carefully ask yourself. First, am I really engaged in a work in which I believe the Lord himself is interested? If so, is he discouraged, or has his working with me been a failure? That puts the failure in a very startling form, you see. Our own shortcomings we have reason to lament, not sitting down with folded arms using up precious time while we mourn, but with the only true sorrow that which says, God helping me, I will not make that mistake again, or leave that duty undone tomorrow. And then giving a firmer buckling to the armor starts out afresh. But to lament over the non-accomplishment of a work, our part of which we have honestly and earnestly tried to do, is, in my opinion, forgetting the fact that when our part is done, it is God himself who is to do the rest. You may depend upon it, dear child, that the Lord wants that dear father of yours and Sam Miller and Mr. Nelson and all your class to be numbered among his jewels quite as much as you possibly can. And he has ways and means with which to bring about his ends that you and I dream not of. You must drop that over-tast much-cumbered eye out of your thoughts and learn to say we. Think much about the co-partnership. Tell it over often to yourself reverently indeed, but yet triumphantly God and I. But uncle, odd I not to feel a deep interest in and, yes, in one sense anxiety about these souls unsaved in danger. If you ask me whether you, if you be deeply interested in your work, will not be likely to feel more or less anxiety despite every effort to quiet it, I answer yes. Being a young, impetuous Christian, you will doubtless have much of this feeling to struggle with, but that it should be struggled with until we reach that more blessed resting place where we can say it is the Lord let him do what seemeth him good I assuredly believe. Don't you know the direction and having done all to stand and yet another wait on the Lord be of good courage and he shall strengthen my heart wait I say on the Lord. We have many directions about that sort of waiting, Del, and your eager heart needs to learn the lesson carefully. A little silence fell between them. Del's hand sought Aunt Laura's and was firmly and lovingly clasped. Finally she looked up with bright grave eyes and said earnestly, thank you uncle Edward you have given me the help I needed. I think if you follow my advice you will find yourself rested there is no more solemn prayer and I think none more needed for us who are called by his name than that which our elder brother left among his latest for us not as I will but as thou wilt. Then a sudden change of subject have you really decided Del that you must not accompany us to the seaside for a little rest you know we have counted on it very much. Del answered him with her old bright smile and very earnest eyes as she quoted with peculiar emphasis and having done all to stand there is work for me to do uncle and her uncle laid his hand on her head and answered solemnly the Lord before whom I walk will send his angel with thee and prosper thy way. There were days that followed like flashes of sunlight the beauty and joy and rest of which Del never forgot. So unlike they were to the dull shivery rainy one on which she rubbed the car window with her handkerchief to catch one glimpse of the retreating form of her uncle Edward as he drew his cloak about him and bent his umbrella forward to shield himself from the sleet that she half wondered if the time that had seemed such a tiny week to her had not after all been months and world her right into the middle of November dreariness but it wasn't it was only one of those delightful august four tastes of what November can do. Del struggled bravely with her homesick desolate heart she tried not to think of the difference between Lewiston and Boston as the train shrieked into or rather by the side of the Lewiston depot and she clambered out alone and bargained for a seat in the mail wagon and thanked a stranger for a piece of his umbrella when she landed in the haul at home which despite all her rearrangements looked dingy enough she resolutely put from her the thought of that other long wide beautiful haul giving glimpses through half open doors of fair rooms on either side into her father's greeting well and so you are here she answered cheerily yes i'm here and then she went straight over to him and bestowed a hearty kiss on the rough red face as she went up to her own room she had need again to shut out comparisons and cheer herself with something so she said aloud and firmly wait on the lord be of good courage and he shall strengthen thine heart wait i say on the lord there had already ripened some fruit from that boston visit if del had but known it jim orbs walking down to the factory with his friend and boon companion coulee gave a detailed account of his boston experience and finished it on this wise him and her both couldn't have treated me no better if i'd been a prince and i'll tell you what my mind is made up to coulee i'm going to sign that their pledge the very next meeting they have blamed if i don't and he did end of chapter 15 recording by trisha g