and dens of vice, and their mothers eked out a wretched existence as
best they could. Young men and women were walking in the footsteps of
those who were lost in this wilderness, and the children were following
on. Their scrawny limbs must reach out and grow to adult stature and
their minds, already befogged by the uncleanliness that had been their
portion from birth, were twining about the mean, demoralizing things
that lead to destruction.
On the outskirts of the Flat where the Flat proper began to rise in
undulations and low hills, from which could be seen stretches of field
and upland, there stood an old, weather-beaten house. It was large and
square and porches had once run the length of its sides. This old
building had once been a summer hotel, or resort, as it was called.
Vines that had been planted about it in those days now clambered about
the partly fallen columns and endeavored, as Nature often endeavors, to
hide from view unsightly blots and blemishes. There may be people who
would cavil at using this building because of the various uses to which
it had been put since the days of its freshness and popularity.
When the balance of interest became established on the Edgerly side, and
the Resort fell off in the patronage of the better class of people, an
unsavory fame came to attach itself to the place. We sometimes hear old
tales of disembodied spirits who walk through halls and corridors and
flit about apartments that they were wont to inhabit in the days of
their flesh. But if the crime and suffering, the shame and woe that had
existed beneath the roof of this crumbling old Resort had massed itself
in one monster shape and walked the streets of the city over the hill,
men and women would have cried out for a place to hide themselves, as
did the Canaanites when the walls of Jericho fell down.
When gruesome stories regarding the place began to float about, when the
scurry of rats and the rattling of blinds and the whistling of the wind
through the crevices came to be known as the wailing and moaning of lost
spirits, the place was deserted; and so it had stood for years, ruined
and forsaken. But whoever might cavil at the building because of its
infamous notoriety of the past, Mrs. Thorpe had no compunctions and no
fears. She saw in the deserted rooms beneath the crumbling roof a place
for the children, the neglected, untaught children of the Flat. Bit by
bit a plan formed in her mind and grew from day to day until,
full-fledged, but lacking yet in detail, she laid it before Margaret.
And as though while she had been pondering the main plan, Margaret had
been arranging the minor parts; now all the way seemed open before them.
The first step was to see the owner of the building and get his consent
to use it for a school and kindergarten. The greater part of the Flat
district was owned by a descendant of the first Bolton. This man in his
younger days had cherished the old hope that the Flat would yet make a
prosperous town. There is more money to be made from ownership of a
prosperous, respectable town than from a disreputable Flat; but if he
could not own a respectable town and make his money in a creditable
manner there was but one thing left for him to do, and he put his foot
squarely on his honor and did it. He saw that saloons and places of
vice were erected to lure the sort of population that must people a
wretched Flat.
Mrs. Thorpe called on this man at his business office in Edgerly. He
regarded her keenly as she explained to him the use she wished to make
of the old Resort.
"So you wish to open a school on the Flat?" he said. The expression on
his face was inscrutable and his small eyes were so far sunk into the
folds of flesh which surrounded them that it was difficult to know just
where his gaze was directed.
"It is a long walk to the Edgerly school for the little children," she
said, "and if they do not go when they are small it is difficult to get
them started later."
"Exactly. I think I understand, Mrs. Thorpe." The small eyes, sunken
in their folds of flesh, were looking for the future recruits for the
saloons and places of vice, and the man's mind was busy with a fine
calculation as to where they were coming from if these children were to
be so taught as to make self-respecting citizens of them.
Sometimes we feel the atmosphere about us to be keen and rare, sometimes
fragrant with the breath of flowers and the incense of morning dew;
again we are aware that it is charged with a coming storm, or dark with
impurities, or heavy with moisture. There are those who are as keenly
sensitive to the mental atmosphere about them. Mrs. Thorpe felt
strongly that unless her faith in the integrity of her purpose sustained
her, her undertaking must fail before it had drawn the first full breath
of life. She had stated her purpose and asked the favor and she felt
little inclined to beg or plead for its fulfillment. Yet a battle was
fought, keen and sharp. There was no flashing of swords nor pomp nor
parade, neither were there words nor argument. It was the play of mind
upon mind; penetrating, forceful. It was thought pitted against
thought; right demanding its own. The small eyes shifted about uneasily
and the man moved ponderously in his chair. When he spoke again his
voice expressed his irritability.
"It is not my policy to let my buildings free of charge, Mrs. Thorpe.
What consideration can you offer me for the use of this building?"
Mrs. Thorpe realized that she had not fallen into the hands of a
philanthropist; she was fully aware that the man was not in sympathy
with her plans. Without a moment's hesitation or a word of protest she
drew from her purse the banknote that Mrs. Mayhew had pressed upon her,
and handed it to him.
"How long may I have the use of the place for that amount?" she asked.
He held the money in his fingers as though testing its quality, and his
eyes were fixed upon it, but the struggling soul within him was making
him very uncomfortable. How merciless are the voices that contend in
the soul of a man! These children of the Flat--was he in any way
responsible for them? They were no better than so many rats in their
holes--the houses that he provided were miserable holes--the wretched
children--but why should he charge this woman rent for an old, deserted
building set in a thicket of briars and brambles?
"You may have the building for the summer, if you like," he said aloud.
Mrs. Thorpe's eyes were upon him curiously. She could not tell how it
happened, nor when, nor why, but she became aware that this pompous man
of wealth had lost his air of condescension and self-conscious
superiority.
"And now as I am paying you rent for this property," she said, "you
will, I hope, make some needed repairs on the building and perhaps put
the ground in a little better shape?"
The small eyes seemed to stand out from the enfolding flesh to look her
full in the face. And that which they saw there aroused a smouldering
spark of manhood. He turned to his desk and wrote rapidly for a few
minutes. He handed her the paper. It was an order for whatever
improvements she wished for both building and grounds.
"Present this to my business manager," he said, "and your bills will be
paid."
Mrs. Thorpe arose at once and thanked him very sincerely.
"You are very kind," she said, "and I believe that you will never regret
this day's work, liberal though it has been."
*CHAPTER XVII*
*EVERY WHIT WHOLE*
Poverty, poverty, the curse of the Flat--the curse of all on whom its
blighting influence falls! We have been told that the love of money is
the root of all evil. The misuse of money is the most atrocious thing in
our civilization; but poverty is a devastating monster that crushes out
the better nature of men as relentlessly as any monster of the jungle
crushes its victim between its giant jaws.
Nature is prolific, lavish, luxurious; there is neither limit nor
measure to her bounty and generosity. The ever-faithful Friend of man
withered the fig tree because it failed to bring forth fruit.
Everywhere over the wide earth we see provision made for the needs of
men. Food, shelter and clothing the world does not lack. Nature's
storehouses circle the globe, and they are never empty. Vast,
measureless seedbeds, watered and warmed from Heaven, impelled by an
unseen Power, are growing and producing the seasons through. Forests of
fruit trees yielding their succulent, sweet-flavored fruit; oceans of
grain fields, whose length and breadth the eye cannot measure--to feed
the human race. Cotton, wool and hemp and the patient spinning of the
silk-worm--to clothe the children of men; quarries of stone and forests
of wood to provide shelter from sun and storm. Let us never, even in
our weakest, most irreverent moments, voice a protest against the great
and generous Giver of this boundless, countless wealth because of the
disposition men have made of it.
Some day, that bright, blessed day that even now is dawning, men will
not keep and hoard that for which they have no need, and for the lack of
which a fellow man perishes and dies. When this day dawns no man will
desire more of this world's goods than he can use and enjoy. Men will
not seat themselves at a feast and stuff and feed until their bodies
distend and their eyes start from their sockets while the wail of hungry
children echoes in the land.
The monster, cruel, relentless, immovable, that Mrs. Thorpe found
everywhere on the Flat was Poverty. This monster may spring from a
gentle mother, more sinned against than sinning, but it is sired by
Ignorance and the stamp upon its forehead is Vice.
Mrs. Thorpe visited in these poor, barren homes; she became acquainted
with the people and was a friend to all, and with tact and patience she
presented to them the desirability of the school that she was about to
open.
The boys, profane, reared in immorality, knew her and in their boyish
hearts admired her. When she called upon them and solicited their aid
they responded readily, and devastating war was waged upon the briers
and brambles that cumbered the soil around the old Resort. And while
the ground that she planned for flower beds and vegetable gardens
yielded up its unprofitable growth and was made ready for the plowman's
steel the boys were receiving Nature's best discipline, the tug and
sweat of honest work.
A workman skilled with tools, but who had abandoned his trade for the
gambler's fortunes, was called upon and pressed into service to mend the
broken roof and place again the crumbling columns. And when this work
was finished the man, feeling again the spirit of manhood revived by
honest work, went over into Edgerly and obtained steady employment; and
his wife and children awoke to a new appreciation of life. The wife
took a lot of the ground that lay back of the old Resort and vied with
her neighbors in raising her beds of vegetables--tender lettuce, green
peas and cucumbers.
As the summer wore on, the old Resort, robbed of its superstitions and
the evil hold its uncanny tales had had upon the minds of the people,
stood forth erect in the midst of cultivated grounds. The babble and
chatter of children's voices echoed through it and exorcised the last
remaining trace of evil that may have lingered there.
It had been somewhat difficult to induce the women whose children
attended the school to plant and care for the garden lots, and their
somewhat reluctant consent to do this was given more as a favor to Mrs.
Thorpe than from any interest in the work. But he who cultivates Nature
becomes interested in spite of himself. And as the brown seeds
quickened and sent forth their little flame of life and developed into
vigorous plants, each after its kind, the flame of Truth and Immortality
in the hearts of the workers revived and grew and expanded.
The goddess Ceres vied with the Bacchus of the Flat and in a measure was
the winner. In the cool of the summer evenings, when the day was
slipping away and the earth prepared her bath of cooling dew, men,
vicious-faced and with bloodshot eyes and unkept hair and beards, had
been wont to take themselves to the dens of vice and quaff the cup in
which the hissing serpent lurks; but now there was another attraction on
the Flat. The owners of the garden lots would gather around the old
Resort in the evenings to dig and weed and hoe, and the men fell into
the way of strolling over to view the work of their wives' hands, and
before the summer was over there was not a place on the Flat more
popular than this. And sometimes a man whose heart was not all bad
would take the rake and hoe and assist in the work. And then there were
some whose memories took them back to boyhood days on the old farm,
before the Evil One came with his false promises of pleasure.
Sometimes Mrs. Thorpe would induce the parents to come into the
schoolroom and she would show them the work that their children were
doing; and sometimes she would talk to the mothers about the care and
management of their children and of their homes, and other subjects of
interest; and then sometimes in passing their houses she would see that
a window had been cleaned and a curtain, or perhaps a clean newspaper
answering the place of a curtain, had been put up; or perhaps she would
observe that some rubbish pile had been removed, or that a walk had been
cleaned, and as she noticed these small improvements she felt that she
had received her reward, and went on her way with strengthened purpose.
Mrs. McGowan so far recovered her health and her eyesight that she was
able to take the greater share of the household cares upon herself, thus
leaving Mrs. Thorpe and Margaret free to devote their time to the
school. A strange school it was; there were no hard and fast rules; no
one was compelled or commanded, but he who denies that love has power to
rule denies because he has not love in his heart and is a stranger to
its transfiguring power. It was, perhaps, more of a community of
interest than a well-regulated school, but its influence was
unmistakable.
Little children were amused and instructed and taught to be kind to each
other. There were classes at regular hours that were given instruction
from the standard text-books. Boys and girls who had never been to
school and who were ashamed to go to Edgerly now, came here to learn to
read and write. Girls brought their sewing and were given instruction
in the art of cutting and making garments. Housewives were encouraged
to come in and learn to cook. Daily it was impressed upon Mrs. Thorpe's
mind that the harvest was ripe but the laborers were few. She did each
day all that the limit of her strength allowed, but she carried no
burdens and permitted herself no load of care. The work was hers, her
heart and soul were in it; it strengthened her and put heart and zest
into her life.
In the evening after her day's work was done she often spent an hour
with Jamie, teaching and amusing him. She felt strangely drawn to the
unfortunate child, and often talked to him about her work and related to
him any pleasing incident that occurred during the day.
The boy had never attempted to walk, had never stood upon his feet. Dr.
Eldrige Jr. had taken a special interest in him and had done much toward
removing his physical deformity and freeing him from pain. He still had
hopes that continued treatment would enable him to walk, but all his
efforts to get him on his feet had so far proved futile.
Mrs. Thorpe was sitting in the gloaming one evening talking to the boy.
He sat in his invalid's chair facing a flaming, fire-like cloud, the
trailing garment of the setting sun.
"Please sing for me to-night, Mrs. Thorpe," he said. "I love to hear
you sing while I sit here and watch the glory cloud fade out of the
sky."
Mrs. Thorpe went to the piano that had been hers from the days of her
girlhood and let her hands wander over the keys, recalling snatches of
song and old, half-forgotten melodies.
Mrs. McGowan came into the room and seated herself in the easy chair
that had been set apart for her. She leaned her head back against the
cushion and closed her eyes, and a sense of peace and blessing welled up
in her heart. She had seen many hard places in life and their influence
had lingered with her. But to-night she had a peculiar feeling as of all
her cares rolling from her and only that which was glad and good
remained, and her spirit seemed light and free as in the days of her
young womanhood, before care and trouble called her.
Mrs. Thorpe ceased the desultory snatches of song and melody and,
turning the leaves of her song-book, she came to a song especially dear
to her. Her voice was sweet and low, and when she sang her soul poured
forth the joy of her spirit, and all that stood between her and her
heart's happiness seemed to recede and slip away from her.
The low, sweet strains of the instrument rose and fell in pleasing
cadence, and the tender, pleading voice floated out on the soft evening
air.
Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the tired waketh, and the shadows flee,
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee.
The words came to Mrs. McGowan like a confirmation of that which her
heart had felt, and she seemed to feel the ever presence of infinite
Love. An intensity of feeling swept over her, an ecstasy of peace and
joy that seemed almost pain, so sure and keen it was. She did not move
nor stir; she felt that she scarcely breathed.
Margaret, looking at her mother, saw the glory of the sunset reflected
on her quiet face. How peaceful and quiet it was; how strangely still,
as though it was the glory divine that rested there.
With an indescribable feeling in her heart, half worship, half wonder,
she turned instinctively to Jamie and saw that his eyes had left the
flaming west and were fixed upon Mrs. Thorpe's face. His lips were
parted, his eyes aglow, his thin, white face eager with unspoken desire,
and--was it the sunset that touched his yellow curls, transforming them
into a crown of light?
Alone with Thee, amid the seeming shadows,
The solemn hush of being newly born,
Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
Margaret, watching the boy, felt her awe and wonder growing upon her.
His slight body inclined forward as though in waiting expectation. A
warm glow had come to his cheeks and there was a strange light in his
eyes.
And still the low, sweet words flowed on.
So shall it ever be in that bright morning,
When Divine sense bids ev'ry shadow flee,
And in that hour fairer than daylight dawning,
Remains the glorious thought I am with Thee.
Quietly, without seeming effort, the boy slid from his chair and,
steadily, erect, he crossed the room and stood by Mrs. Thorpe's side.
The red glory encircled him and the pleading melody seemed to fold him
about, hold and sustain him.
Margaret, as though fearful that she was looking upon something too
sacred for mortal vision, covered her face with her hands and a
quivering sob fell from her lips.
Mrs. McGowan sat erect, and instantly her eyes sought the boy's chair;
she arose in consternation. Then in the waning red light she saw him
standing by Mrs. Thorpe's side. A great trembling seized her; but amid
her confusion of thought, before words came to her, she was conscious
that a prescience of this thing that had happened had been with her
since she first came into the room.
"Jamie!" she cried, "oh, Jamie, Jamie!" She was by his side, her arms
about him. "My child, my child! That I have lived to see the goodness
of the Lord! That I have lived to see this blessed day!"
The song had ended, and with a quivering note the music ceased. Mrs.
Thorpe turned and confronted the mother and child and at once
comprehended the meaning of what she saw.
"Christ is the Healer Divine!" she cried, and she kissed the boy's white
brow and clustering curls.
Margaret knelt beside them, and her tears flowed unrestrained. "Little
brother, little brother!" she said, "cured by the great Physician!"
The boy threw his arms about her neck. "I can walk, Margy, I can walk!
But why do you cry, Margy?--mother, Mrs. Thorpe--you are not
surprised--you believed--the Lord has promised--don't you know? And I
believed--I truly did believe!"
*CHAPTER XVIII*
*THE HEART'S DESIRE*
At the approach of cold weather Mrs. Thorpe was obliged to close the
school, but she and Margaret worked among the people during the winter
and were rewarded by the fact that there was less suffering and sickness
than there had been the year before.
Some of the older boys and girls came to Mrs. Thorpe's cottage for
instruction, and prepared to enter the Edgerly school in the spring.
The classes in sewing and cooking were also continued, although
necessarily on a reduced scale.
In the spring when the school was again opened there was no difficulty
in arousing interest and enthusiasm. The garden lots were in great
demand, and the children begged for a corner for flowers. The vines
that had been cared for and trained the year before now climbed about
the posts and columns and transformed the old Resort into a mass of
greenery and rioting bloom.
The sweet summer days drew on with golden sunshine and lavish promise,
and the Flat received something of Nature's benediction. Throughout the
summer Mrs. Thorpe and Margaret continued their work. Day by day they
bound the sheaves; day by day they saw dear smiles break on childish
faces and light dawn where darkness had reigned before.
Yet there were times when the magnitude of the work arose before Mrs.
Thorpe and appeared to her like a Red sea in her path. The ignorance
and immorality, the poverty and the want, the small, poorly built homes
and lack of order and law massed themselves into a rolling sea which she
could see no way around and no way through unless the Lord of Hosts
should cleave the waters for her. But with characteristic faith she
resolved that should the command ever come to her "To lift up thy rod
and stretch out thine hand over the sea and divide it," she would be
ready to obey. And for her there was consolation in the thought that
her work had come to her with no uncertain appeal; she had sought it and
it had found her. She loved it with her heart and soul, this work of
hers, and stripped of its gruesome exterior, beneath the sackcloth of
poverty and misfortune, the loving, throbbing heart of it responded to
her.
The long summer days slipped by and the frost of autumn was again in the
air. Red and yellow leaves fluttered down from the trees, sported with
the winds, and lay in garlands along the streets and pathways. Mrs.
Thorpe and Margaret left the school together at the close of one blue,
balmy day; but at the gate they parted.
"I shall not go directly home," Margaret said. "I am going for a walk,
over to Cedar Brook, perhaps; I shall be back before dark."
"Very well, my dear," Mrs. Thorpe replied. "The walk will do you good,
no doubt." She stood for a minute at the gate and watched the
retreating figure. Many times of late she had seen the fire of the
girl's spirit leap into the dark eyes; and all that day her heart had
ached at the sight of the restless pain in the thin, dark face. Was the
turbulent nature warring again?--the restlessness of her spirit not yet
subdued?
"Keep my girl, dear God, keep my girl," she murmured, as she turned in
at the gate. "Keep my dear, dear girl."
A man, gaunt and worn, with signs of recent illness upon his face,
stepped out of one of the prosperous-looking, well-kept homes of
Edgerly. His step was not so elastic as it once had been, but the face
had lost none of its alertness, nor the eyes their keenness. He passed
the Mayhew house; how familiar it looked. Not a tree or shrub seemed
changed; he noticed the sweet-brier by the library window, and in fancy
he could hear it tapping against the window-pane. Farther out he passed
the home of Dr. Eldrige and saw the old doctor in an invalid's chair on
the porch. He had heard the harrowing story of the old man's
affliction, also some gruesome reports concerning it. That blood and
froth oozed from his nostrils and mouth during his attacks, which
contained a virus that poisoned all flesh that came in contact with it
was supposed to be a fact; but that this poison exuded continually from
his body was believed by most people to be an exaggeration of the case.