The quiet of a Sunday morning in early May was over the city. Stores
and business houses were closed, save here and there a meat market,
which opened for careless citizens who had neglected to lay in their
supply the night before. A group of negro loafers sat on the stone
steps of the National Bank, and lounged about the entrance of the Opera
House. A little farther up the street a company of idle whites sat in
front of a restaurant; and farther on, in the doorway of a saloon, a
drunkard was sleeping in the sun. Old Dr. Watkins, in his buggy, came
clattering down the street and stopped in front of the Boyd City Drug
Store, and a man with his arm in a sling followed him into the building.
Then the church bells rang out their cheery invitation, and the
children, neat and clean in their Sunday clothes, trooped along the
street to the Sunday Schools. An hour later the voices of the bells
again floated over the silent city, and men and women were seen making
their way to the various places of worship.
In the throng which passed through the door of the Jerusalem Church
was a gentleman dressed in gray. It was not difficult to guess from
his manner, as he stood in the vestibule as though waiting for someone,
that he was a stranger in the place. His figure was tall, nearly if
not quite six feet, well formed, but lithe rather than heavy, giving
one the impression not only of strength, but of grace as well; the
well-set head and clear-cut features; the dark hair and brows,
overshadowing, deep-set, keen gray eyes; the mouth and chin,
clean-shaven and finely turned; all combined to carry still farther
the impression of power. Even the most careless observer would know
that he would be both swift and sure in action, while a closer student
would say, "Here is one who rules himself, as he leads others; who is
strong in spirit as well as body; who is as kind as he is powerful;
as loving as he is ambitious; this is indeed a man whom one would love
as a friend and be forced to respect as an enemy."
Charlie Bowen, one of the ushers, came hurrying up and caught the
stranger by the hand. "Good," he whispered, looking him over admiringly;
"Glad to see you, old man. Whew, but you do look swell. Folks will
think you're a Congressman sure, in that outfit."
"Do I take my hat off when I go in?" whispered Dick, who already had
his hat in his hand, "Or do I wait till after prayers?"
"You come along and do as the Romans do, of course," replied
Charlie.
"Didn't know I was getting into a Catholic church," retorted the other.
"Say, don't rush me way up in front, will you?"
"Never you mind that. Come on." And before Dick could say more the
usher was half way up the aisle.
"Who is that stranger Charlie Bowen is seating?" said old Mrs. Gadsby
in a low voice, to her neighbor. The neighbor shook her head. "Isn't
he handsome?" whispered a young school teacher to her chum. "Some
distinguished strangers here to-day," thought the pastor as he glanced
over his congregation. And Adam Goodrich turned his head just in time
to look into the face of the tramp printer, who was being seated in
the pew behind him. Miss Goodrich was with her father and Dick heard
nothing of the opening part of the service, only coming to himself
when Cameron was well started in his discourse. The preacher's theme
was, "The Sermon on the Mount," and the first words that caught the
young man's ear were, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is
the kingdom of Heaven." He glanced around at the congregation. Mrs.
Gadsby was inspecting the diamonds in the ears of the lady by her side,
who was resting her powdered and painted face on the back of the pew
in front, as though in devotion.
"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," read the
minister. Dick thought of the widows and orphans in the city, and of
the luxurious homes of the people he saw about him. "Blessed are the
meek, for they shall inherit the earth." Dick looked straight at Adam
Goodrich, the very back of whose head showed haughty arrogance and
pride. "Blessed are they that do hunger and thirst after righteousness,
for they shall be filled." Dick lifted up his eyes and looked at four
members of the choir who were whispering and giggling behind their
books, and noted the beautiful frescoed ceiling, the costly
stained-glass windows, the soft carpets and carved furniture on the
rostrum, and the comfortable, well-cushioned pews. "Is all this
righteousness?" he asked himself. And he thought of the boys and girls
on the street, of the hungry, shivering, starving, sin-stained creatures
he had seen and known, who would not dare present themselves at the
outer door of this temple, consecrated to the service of Him who said,
"Come unto me and I will give you rest." And then, lest men might be
mistaken, added, "Whosoever will may come."
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Dick's eyes
rested on the girl in the next seat. Yes, Amy was pure in heart. There
was no shadow of evil on that beautiful brow. Innocence, purity and
truth were written in every line of the girlish features, and Dick's
heart ached as he thought of his own life and the awful barrier between
them; not the barrier of social position or wealth; _that_, he knew,
could be overcome; but the barrier he had builded himself, in the
reckless, wasted years. And then and there the strong young man fought
a battle in the secret chamber of his own soul; fought a battle and
won; putting from himself forever, as he believed, the dreams he had
dared to dream in the lonely evening hours in the printing office.
His struggle with himself seemed to make Dick feel more keenly the
awful mockery of the worshippers; and to him, who all his life had
been used to looking at things as they really were, without the glasses
of conventionalism or early training, the very atmosphere of the place
was stifling.
When the services were over, he rushed from the building without even
returning Charlie's salutation, only drawing a long breath when he was
safe on the street again; and rejoiced in his heart when at dinner,
the restaurant keeper cursed his wife in the kitchen, and a drunken
boarder fell from his chair. "This, at least, is real," he said to
himself; "but what a world this would be if only the Sermon on the
Mount were lived, not simply talked about."
The Monday night following Dick's visit to the church, Charlie Bowen
had gone back to the office after supper, as he often did when business
was brisk, forgetting that it was the first Monday in the month, and
that the official board of the Jerusalem Church would hold their regular
business meeting there.
The matter was only brought to his mind when Elder Wicks, with Rev.
Cameron, entered, followed soon after by two or three others. Charlie's
first impulse was to leave the office, but it was necessary that his
work be done. His employer knew that he was there and could easily
give him a hint if it would be better for him to retire. Shrewd old
Uncle Bobbie, however, had his own plans in regard to this particular
meeting, and it was not a part of them to have his young assistant
leave the office. So nothing was said, and the meeting opened in the
regulation way, with a prayer by Elder Gardner, the Chairman of the
Board. The pastor and the different standing committees, with the
treasurer, made their reports; some general matters were passed upon,
and then the much-talked-of, long-deferred subject of building an
addition to their place of worship was introduced.
"You know, Brethren," said the pastor, "our house does not begin to
hold the people at the regular services, and we must have more Sunday
School room. It seems to me that there will be no better time than the
present. The church is in a prosperous condition; we are out of debt;
and if we ever expect to enlarge our work we must begin."
"I know, Brother Cameron," said Deacon Godfrey, stating the standard
objection, as it had been stated for the past two years, "but where's
the money to come from? The members are paying all they can now to
keep out of debt, and I don't believe they will do any more."
"We do need more room," said Elder Chambers; "that's a fact. The Sunday
School is too crowded, and lots of people can't get to hear the
preaching. But I'm like Brother Godfrey, I don't see how it's to be
done. I'm giving every cent I can now, and I know lots of the Brethren
who are doing the same."
"The Lord will provide," said Deacon Wickham, with a pious uplifting
of his eyes, and a sanctimonious whine in his voice. "The Lord will
provide. Brethren, I'm ashamed for you to talk in this doubting manner.
What would the congregation think if they should hear you? Can't you
trust the Lord? Don't, oh, don't doubt His precious promises. He will
provide. If we need an addition to the church let us ask Him. He will
provide."
"Yes, the Lord will provide, but we've got to do the hustlin'," said
Uncle Bobbie. "He'll provide common sense and expect us to use it."
"Couldn't the women folks do something?" timidly suggested another.
"Of course they could," said Deacon Sharpe. "They could get up a social,
or fair, or an entertainment of some kind. They used to do a lot that
way before Brother Cameron came."
"Yes, and spent twenty-seven cents to make seventeen, while their boys
run the streets and their husbands darn their own britches," broke in
Uncle Bobbie again. "I tell you, I don't believe that so much of this
Ladies' Aid business is business. Christ wouldn't run a peanut stand
to support the church, ner pave a sinner's way to Heaven with pop-corn
balls and molasses candy--" A half smothered cough came from the next
room and everybody started. "Oh, it's only Charlie. He's got some work
to do to-night," said the old man, reassuringly.
"Everybody does it though," said Deacon Sharpe, encouraged by the nods
of Chambers and Godfrey. "All the churches depend upon the women, with
their fairs and such, to pay their way. I don't see what's the harm.
It gives the women something to do, and keeps us from paying out so
much cash."
"Yes, an' that's what ails the churches," retorted Elder Wicks again.
"There's too many of 'em run on the lemonade and ice cream basis; and
as fer givin' the women somethin' to do, my wife's got her hands full
takin' care o' me and her home. That's what I got her for, ain't it?
She didn't marry the church--to-be-sure, though, it does look like it
sometimes."
"We must all work in the Master's vineyard. None shall lose his reward,"
said Deacon Wickham again. "We all have our talents and God will hold
us responsible for the use we make of them. We all have our work to
do." To which sentiment Uncle Bobbie's reply was, "Yes; that means all
the women have our work to do, and that we'll get our reward by makin'
'em do it. I ain't got no use fer a man who lets a woman do his work,
even in church. There's enough for 'em to do that we can't, without
their spoilin' their eyes and breakin' their backs makin' sofa pillows,
carpet rags, and mince meat, to pay the runnin' expenses of the church,
and the debt besides."
"I know of only one way," said the pastor, anxious to prevent these
too frequent clashes between the pious deacon and the sharp old elder.
"What's that?" asked Chairman Gardner.
"The Young People's Society."
There was a slight rustle and the sound as of a book falling to the
floor in the other room.
"Umph," said Godfrey; "what can _they_ do?"
"Have you ever attended their meetings?" asked Cameron. "They have
done more practical, Christian work this past year than all the rest
of the church put together. And if the truth must be told, are more
to be depended upon at regular services, and prayer meeting, than some
members of the official board."
"Better turn the church into a Young Folks' Society then," said Wickham,
angrily; "and throw away the Bible altogether. Christ didn't say, 'Upon
this rock I'll build my Young People's Society.' For my part, I won't
have nothing to do with it. There is not a single passage of Scripture
that says we shall have such things; and until you can show me, book,
chapter and verse, I'll fight it."
"I'll give ye book, chapter and verse," said Uncle Bobbie;
"Phillippians, iv: 8."
There was a painful silence and then one of the deacons asked, "But
would the young folks help?"
"I think so," said the pastor.
"We might ask Charlie Bowen 'bout that," suggested Mr. Wicks.
"Charlie," he called, "are you most through with them books?"
"Yes, sir," answered the young man.
"Well, lock 'em up and come in here."
When they had laid the matter before him Charlie said, "Yes, I am sure
the Society would take the matter up but for one thing; ever since
Brother Cameron's sermon, on the Church of the Future, we have been
planning to furnish a reading room somewhere, and it may be that they
wouldn't want to give up the idea. If it was arranged so that we could
have a room in the church when the addition was built, I am sure the
Society would be glad to take hold."
Uncle Bobbie's eyes twinkled as he watched his young helper. He had
not misjudged his man. This was just what he had expected. But Deacon
Wickham was on his feet almost before Charlie finished speaking.
"Brethren, this is entirely out of order. We have no right to listen
to the counsel of this boy. He has not a single qualification, for
either a deacon or an elder. I believe we ought to go according to the
Scriptures or not at all; and as for this new-fangled idea of a reading
room in the church, it's all wrong. The Bible don't say a thing about
reading rooms and there is no authority for it whatever. If the inspired
apostles had wanted reading rooms in the church they would have said
so. Paul didn't have them. Let us stand for the religion of our fathers
and let the young people read at home if they want to. Brethren, I am
opposed to the whole thing. This boy has no right to speak here."
Wicks whispered to Charlie, "Never you mind him. He's got just so much
sputtering to do anyway. I'll fix him in a minute, and then he'll wash
his hands of the whole matter." "I think it's a fine plan," he said
aloud.
"So do I," agreed Deacon Sharpe. "Why not let the young folks have the
room? We could charge ten cents admission and make a good thing for
the church. I believe we ought to watch these corners and make a little
now and then. Paul worked to support himself."
"Make not my Father's house an house of merchandise," said Cameron,
but faintly concealing his disgust. "I tell you, Brethren, this thing
must be free. I am sure that is the plan of the young folks. The Young
People's Society is not in the business to make money. Am I right,
Charlie?"
"Yes, sir," answered the young Christian eagerly. "We wanted to fix
some place where the young men of the town could spend their evenings,
without going to the bad. There are lots of them who don't have homes,
but live in boarding houses and have no place to go."
"And a pretty crowd you'll have too," said Wickham.
"Yes, and if you had to pay the preacher you'd want to rent the room,"
said Sharpe.
Cameron's face flushed at the hard words.
"Come, come, Brethren, what shall we do about this?" said the
Chairman.
"I move," said Elder Wicks, "that we ask the Young People's Society
to assist us in building the addition to the church, and that we give
them one of the rooms."
"I second the motion," said Cameron; and it was carried. Then the
meeting adjourned with the usual prayer.
"Well," said Wickham, "I wash my hands of the whole matter."
Uncle Bobbie nudged Charlie in the side as he started for his hat; and
later, as he walked down the street, arm in arm with his pastor and
his bookkeeper, he said: "Poor old Wickham; his heart's all right, but
he's got so much Scripture in his head that his think machine won't
work."
"Friends," said Cameron, as they paused in front of the parsonage;
"this is the day I have looked forward to for a long time. This step
will revolutionize our methods. It's hard to get out of old ruts, but
the world needs applied Christianity. Thank God for the young people."
And Uncle Bobbie said, "Amen."