AN UNARMED SOLDIER.
MANY things intervened to keep Ruth Erskine from having much to do with
that list which her pastor had given her. She read it over indeed, and
realized that she was not familiar with a single name.
"What an idea it will be for me to go blundering through the city,
hunting up people whom I shall not know when I find."
This she said as she read it over; then she laid it aside, and made
ready to go out to dinner with her father, to meet two judges and their
wives and daughters who were stopping in town.
During that day she thought many times of the sentences that had been
read to her out of that plain-looking, much-worn Bible on Dr. Dennis'
study-table. The only effect they had on her was to make her smile at
the thought of the impossibility of anything like a religious
conversation in such society as that!
"How they would stare," she said to herself, "if I should ask them about
a prayer-meeting! I have half a mind to try it. If father were not
within hearing I would, just to see what these finished young ladies
would say."
But she did not try it; and the evening passed, as so many evenings had,
without an attempt on her part to carry out any of the thoughts which
troubled her. She looked forward to one bit of work which she expected
to fall to her share, at least she liked to call it work.
That card-party to which she had been invited; she would be expected to
attend in company with Mr. Wayne; she meant to decline, and her father
would be surprised and a trifle annoyed, for it was at a place where,
not liking the people well enough himself to be social, he desired his
daughter to atone for his deficiency. But she would steadily refuse. She
did not shrink from this effort as Flossy did; on the contrary, she
half enjoyed the thought of being a calm and composed martyr.
But, quite to her discomfort, the martyrdom was not permitted; at least
it took a different form. Mr. Wayne was obliged to be out of town, and
sent profuse regrets, assuming that, of course, it would be a sore
disappointment to her.
Her father took sufficient notice of it to make one or two efforts to
agreeably supply his place, and failing in that, assured his daughter
that rather than have her disappointed, he would have planned to
accompany her himself if he had known of Mr. Wayne's absence in time.
The actual cross that it would have been to explain to her father that
she did not desire to go, and the reasons therefor, she did not take up;
but the occurrence served to annoy her.
Two days afterward she was busy all the morning with her dressmaker,
getting a special dress ready for a wedding among the upper circles. She
had been hurried and worried, and was as nearly out of patience as her
calmness ever allowed her to be. Still she remembered that it was the
prayer-meeting evening, that she should see Dr. Dennis, and that he
would be likely to ask her about the people on that list. She ought to
go that afternoon, and try what she could do.
Once since her call on Dr. Dennis she had met him as he was going down
Clinton Street, and he had turned and joined her for a few steps, while
he said:
"I have been thinking about another friend of yours, that I should be
very glad to see influenced in the right direction. His sister is
trying, I presume; but other people's sisters some times have an
influence. Young Mitchell, the doctor's son, is a young man of real
promise; he ought to be on the Lord's side."
"You are mistaken in supposing him to be a friend of mine," Ruth said,
with promptness and emphasis. "We have the most distant speaking
acquaintance only, and I have a dislike for him amounting to absolute
aversion." There was that in Ruth Erskine's voice when she chose to let
it appear that said, "My aversion is a very serious and disagreeable
thing."
"Yes," the Doctor said, quietly, as one in no degree surprised or
disturbed; "yet he has a soul to be saved, and the Lord Jesus Christ
died to save him."
There was no denying this; and certainly it would not look well in her
to say that she had no desire to have part in his salvation; so she kept
silence. But there followed her a disagreeable remembrance of having
negatived every proposition whereby the doctor had hoped to set her at
work. She decided, disagreeable as it was, to make a vigorous assault on
those families, thereby showing him what she could do.
To this end she arrayed herself in immaculate calling attire--with a
rustle of silk and a softness of ruffle, and a daintiness of glove that
none but the wealthy can assume, and, in short, with that unmistakable
air about every thing pertaining to her that marks the lady of fashion.
These things were as much a part of Ruth Erskine as her hair and eyes
were. Once ready, her dress, perhaps, gave her as little thought as her
eyes or hair did. But she looked as though that must have been the sole
object of thought and study in order to produce such perfect results.
Her preparation for her new and untried work had been none of the best.
As I said, the morning had been given to the cares of the dressmaker and
the deceitfulness of trimmings, so much so that her Bible reading even
had been omitted, and only the briefest and most hurried of prayers,
worthy of the days when prayer was nothing to her but a formal bowing of
the head, on proper occasions, had marked her need of help from the
Almighty Hand. These thoughts troubled her as she went down the Street.
She paused irresolutely before one of the principal bookstores.
"I ought to have some tracts," she said, doubtfully, to herself; "they
always take tracts when they go district visiting; I know that from
hearing Mrs. Whipple talk; what is this but a district visiting; only
Dr. Dennis has put my district all over the city; I wonder if he could
have scattered the streets more if he had tried; respectable streets,
though, all of them; better than any Mrs. Whipple ever told about."
Then she tried to select her tracts; but when one has utter ignorance of
such literature, and a few minutes at a crowded counter in which to make
a selection, it is not likely to be very select. She finally gave up any
attempt at choice, beyond a few whose titles seemed inviting, chose a
package at random, and hastened on her way.
"Mrs. C. Y. Sullivan" was the first name on her list, and, following her
directions, she came presently to the street and number. A neat brick
house, with a modern air about it and its surroundings; a bird singing
in a cage before the open window, and pots of flowers blooming behind
tastefully looped white curtains; not at all the sort of a house that
Ruth had imagined she would see.
It did not suit her ideas of district visiting, crude though those ideas
were. However, she rang the bell. Having commenced the task she was not
one to draw back, though she admitted to herself that she never felt
more embarrassed in her life. Nor did the embarrassment lessen when she
was shown into the pretty, tasteful parlor, where presently Mrs.
Sullivan joined her.
"I am Miss Erskine," Ruth said, rising as Mrs. Sullivan, a tall woman of
some degree of dignity after a slight bow, waited as if she would know
her errand. Unfortunately Ruth had no errand, save that she had come out
to do her duty, and make the sort of call that Dr. Dennis expected her
to make. Her embarrassment was excessive! What _could_ she do or say
next? Why did not Mrs. Sullivan take a chair, instead of standing there
and looking at her like an idiot?
"Do you get out to church every Sabbath?" she asked, suddenly, feeling
the need of saying something.
Mrs. Sullivan looked as though she thought she had suddenly come in
contact with a lunatic.
"Do I get out to church?" she repeated. "That depends on whether I
decide to go or not. May I ask why you are interested?"
What had become of Ruth's common sense? Why couldn't she have said, in
as natural a way as she would have talked about going to a concert, that
she was interested to know whether she enjoyed such a privilege? Why
couldn't she have been herself in talking about these matters, as well
as at any other time? Does anyone know why such a sense of horrible
embarrassment creeps over some people when their conversation takes the
least tinge of religion--people who are wonderfully self-possessed on
all other themes?
"Well," said Ruth, in haste and confusion, "I merely inquired; I mean
no offence, certainly; will you have a tract?" And she hastily seized
one from her package, which happened to be entitled, "Why are you not a
Christian?"
"Thank you," Mrs. Sullivan said, drawing back, "I am not in special need
of reading matter; we keep ourselves supplied with religious literature
of a kind that suits our tastes. As to tracts, I always keep a package
by me to distribute when I go among the poor. This one would not be
particularly appropriate to me, as I trust I am a Christian."
Dear me! how stiff and proper they both were! And in their hearts how
indignant they both felt. What about? Could either of them have told?
"I wonder what earthly good that call did?" Ruth asked herself, as with
glowing cheeks and rapid steps, she made her way down the street. "What
could have been Dr. Dennis' object in sending me there to call? I
thought I was to call on the poor. He didn't say any thing about whether
they were poor or not, now I think of it; but I supposed, of course,
that was what he meant. Why need she have been so disagreeable, anyway?
I am sure I didn't insult her."
And I tell you truly that Miss Erskine did not know that she had seemed
disagreeable in the extreme to Mrs. Sullivan, and that she was at that
moment raging over it in her heart.
Extremely disgusted with her first attempt, and almost ready to declare
that it should be the last, Ruth still decided to make one more
venture--that inborn dislike which she had for giving up what had once
been undertaken, coming to her aid in this matter.
Another pretty little house, white and green blinds, and plant in bloom;
the name on the door and on her list was "Smith." That told her very
little. She was ushered into what was evidently the family sitting-room,
and a pretty enough room it was; occupied just now by three merry girls,
who hushed their laugh as she entered, and by a matronly lady, whom one
of them called "mother."
Ruth had never made calls before when she had the least tinge of
embarrassment. If she could have divested herself of the idea that she
was a district visitor out distributing tracts, she would not have felt
so now; but as it was, the feeling grew upon her every instant. Pretty
little Miss Smith had decidedly the advantage of her, as she said,
promptly:
"Good afternoon, Miss Erskine; mother, this is Judge Erskine's
daughter;" and then proceeded to introduce her friends.
Now, if Ruth could have become unprofessional, all might have been well;
but she had gone out with a sincere desire to do her duty; so she took
the offered seat near Mrs. Smith, and said:
"I called this afternoon, at Dr. Dennis' request, to see if there was
anything that I could do for you."
Mrs. Smith looked politely amazed.
"I don't think I quite understand," she said, slowly; while in the
daughter's bright eyes there gleamed mirth and mischief.
"I do," she said, quickly. "Dr. Dennis is very kind. Miss Erskine, I am
very anxious to have a blue silk dress, trimmed in white lace, to wear
to the party next week; could you manage it for me, do you think?"
"Caroline!" spoke Mrs. Smith, in a surprised and reproving tone, while
Ruth looked her indignant astonishment.
"Well, mother, she said she called to see if we wanted anything, and I
certainly want that."
"There is some mistake," Mrs. Smith said, speaking kindly, and evidently
pitying Ruth's dreadful embarrassment. "You have mistaken the house, I
presume; our name is such a common one. You are out on an errand of
charity, I presume? We are glad to see you, of course, but we are not in
need of anything but friends. I believe you attend the same church with
ourselves; we ought to know each other, of course. So we shall profit by
the mistake after all. My daughter is a wild little girl, and lets her
sense of fun get the better of her politeness sometimes; I hope you will
excuse her."
What was to be said? Why could not Ruth get rid of her horrible
embarrassment and rally to meet this kind and frank greeting? In vain
she tried to command her tongue; to think of something to say that would
be proper under these strange circumstances. How had she misunderstood
Dr. Dennis! Why should these people be called on? Why should they feel
that they were being neglected when they were in need of nothing?
It was all a mystery to her; and the world is full of people who do not
understand a sense of loneliness, whose lives are so full of
friendships, and engagements, and society, that they imagine all other
people are like themselves except that class known as the poor, who need
old clothes, and cold pieces, and tracts!
That was all that Ruth Erskine knew. She could not recover from her
astonishment and confusion; she made her stay very short, indeed,
apologizing in what she was conscious was an awkward way for her
intrusion, and then went directly toward home, resolving in great
firmness that she had made her last calls on people selected from that
horrible list.
She was more than embarrassed; she was utterly dismayed and
disheartened. Was there, then, nothing for her to do? It had been a real
honest desire to be up and doing which had sent her to Dr. Dennis; it
had been a real cross, and one keenly felt to take up this work about
which she had started. What an utter failure! What could he have meant?
How was she expected to help those people? They needed nothing; they
were Christian people; they were pleasantly circumstanced in every way.
She had not the least idea how to be of any help to them. There was
nothing for her to do. She felt humbled and sad.
Yet that young lady was joined in a few minutes by Nellis Mitchell, who
cordially volunteered to shield her dainty summer toilet from certain
drops of rain that began to fall, and so walked six entire blocks by her
side, pleasant and genial as usual, and not a word said she to him about
the great topic to which her life was consecrated. He even helped her by
himself referring to the evening meeting, and saying that he should have
to escort Eurie as far as the door if this rain continued, and she did
not so much as think to ask him to come farther and enjoy the meeting
with them. She did not like Nellis Mitchell, you will remember.
Also that same evening she spent an hour after prayer-meeting in
conversation with her friend, Mr. Wayne, and she said not a single word
to him about this matter. She could not talk with him, she told
herself; he did not understand her, and it did no good. Some time, when
he was in a less complaisant mood, she could do something for him, but
not now. She was not very companionable, however; her mind was dwelling
on her afternoon disappointment.
"It was the most horrid time I ever had in my life!" she told Marion,
after going over an account of the experience. "I shall not be caught in
that way again."
And Marion, unsympathetic girl that she was, laughed much and long.
"What a creature you are!" she said, at last. "I declare, it is funny
that people can live in the world and know so little about their
fellow-mortals as you and Flossy do. She knows no more about them than a
kitten does, and you know no more than the moon. You sail right above
all their feelings and ideas. It served you right, I declare. What
earthly right had you to go sailing down on people in that majestic
fashion, and asking questions as if they were Roman Catholics and you
were the priest?"
"I don't see what in the world you mean!" Ruth said, feeling exceedingly
annoyed.
"Well, my dear young woman, you ought to see; you can't expect to get
through the Christian world even without having a due regard for common
sense. Just suppose the President's wife should come sweeping into your
parlor, asking you if you went to church, and if you would have a tract.
I am afraid you would be tempted to tell her it was none of her
business."
"The cases are not at all parallel," Ruth said, flushing deeply. "I
consider myself on quite an equal footing with the President's wife or
any other lady."
Whereupon Marion laughed with more _abandon_ than before.
"Now, Ruth Erskine," she said, "don't be a goose. Do use your common
sense; you have some, I am sure. Wherein are these people whom you went
to see on a lower footing than yourself? Granting that they have less
money than you do, or even, perhaps, less than I have, are you ready to
admit that money is the question that settles positions in society?"
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