Part 32 (1/2)

”Mrs. Williams, your little girl is all right again?

”Well, Mrs. McNeil” (to a rusty, thinly clad woman who sat with her back to me), ”so your husband won his case, after all? His lawyer was an old friend of mine.”

I had sat far back, as the church was full when I entered, and was waiting for him to get through with his congregation before making myself known to him; so, though he was now quite close to me, he did not recognize me until I spoke to him. As I mentioned his name, he turned.

”Why, Henry Glave!” Then he took me in his arms, bodily, and lifting me from the ground hugged me there before the entire remnant of his congregation who yet remained in the church. I never had a warmer greeting. I felt as if I were the prodigal son, and, although it was embarra.s.sing, I was conscious that instant that he had lifted me out of my old life and taken me to his heart. It was as if he had set me down on a higher level in a better and purer atmosphere.

I went home with him that night to his little room in a house even smaller and poorer than that in which I had my room--where he lived, as I found, because he knew the pittance he paid was a boon to the poor family who sublet the room. But as small and inconvenient as the room was, I felt that it was a haven for a tired and storm-tossed spirit, and the few books it contained gave it an air of being a home. Before I left it I was conscious that I was in a new phase of life. Something made me feel that John Marvel's room was not only a home but a sanctuary.

We sat late that night and talked of many things, and though old John had not improved in quickness, I was surprised, when I came to think over our evening, how much he knew of people--poor people. It seemed to me that he lived nearer to them than possibly any one I had known. He had organized a sort of settlement among them, and his chief helpers were Wolffert and a Catholic priest, a dear devoted old fellow, Father Tapp, whom I afterward met, who always spoke of John Marvel as his ”Heretick brother,” and never without a smile in his eye. Here he helped the poor, the sick and the outcast; got places for those out of work, and encouraged those who were despairing. I discovered that he was really trying to put into practical execution the lessons he taught out of the Bible, and though I told him he would soon come to grief doing that, he said he thought the command was too plain to be disobeyed. Did I suppose that the Master would have commanded, ”Love your enemies,”

and, ”Turn the other cheek,” if He had not meant it? ”Well,” I said, ”the Church goes for teaching that theoretically, I admit; but it does not do it in practice--I know of no body of men more ready to a.s.sert their rights, and which strikes back with more vehemence when a.s.sailed.”

”Ah! but that is the weakness of poor, fallible, weak man,” he sighed.

”'We know the good, but oft the ill pursue;' if we could but live up to our ideals, then, indeed, we might have Christ's kingdom to come.

Suppose we could get all to obey the injunction, 'Sell all thou hast and give to the poor,' what a world we should have!”

”It would be filled with paupers and dead beats,” I declared, scouting the idea. ”Enterprise would cease, a dead stagnation would result, and the industrious and thrifty would be the prey of the worthless and the idle.”

”Not if all men could attain the ideal.”

”No, but there is just the rub; they cannot--you leave out human nature.

Selfishness is ingrained in man--it has been the mainspring which has driven the race to advance.”

He shook his head. ”The grace of G.o.d is sufficient for all,” he said.

”The mother-love has some part in the advance made, and that is not selfish. Thank G.o.d! There are many rich n.o.ble men and women, who are not selfish and who do G.o.d's service on earth out of sheer loving kindness, spend their money and themselves in His work.”

”No doubt, but here in this city----?”

”Yes, in this city--thousands of them. Why, where do we get the money from to run our place with?”

”From the Argand Estate?” I hazarded.

”Yes, even from the Argand Estate we get some. But men like Mr. Leigh are those who support us and women like--ah--But beyond all those who give money are those who give themselves. They bring the spiritual blessing of their presence, and teach the true lesson of divine sympathy. One such person is worth many who only give money.”

”Who, for instance?”

”Why--ah--Miss Leigh--for example.”

I could scarcely believe my senses. Miss Leigh! ”Do you know Miss Leigh?

What Miss Leigh are you speaking of?” I hurriedly asked to cover my own confusion, for John had grown red and I knew instinctively that it was she--there could be but one.

”Miss Eleanor Leigh--yes, I know her--she--ah--teaches in my Sunday-school.” John's old trick of stammering had come back.

Teaching in his Sunday-school! And I not know her! That instant John secured a new teacher. But he went on quickly, not divining the joy in my heart, or the pious resolve I was forming. ”She is one of the good people who holds her wealth as a trust for the Master's poor--she comes over every Sunday afternoon all the way from her home and teaches a cla.s.s.”

Next Sunday at three P. M. a hypocrite of my name sat on a bench in John's little church, pretending to teach nine little ruffians whose only concern was their shoes which they continually measured with each other, while out of the corner of my eye I watched a slender figure bending, with what I thought wonderful grace, over a pew full of little girls on the other side of the church intent on their curls or bangs.