THE ORPHAN
Just a little white-faced lad
Sitting on the "Shelter" floor;
Eyes which seemed so big and sad,
Watched me as I passed the door.
Turning back, I tried to win
From that sober face a smile
With some foolish, trifling thing,
Such as children's hearts beguile.
But the look which shot me through
Said as plain as speech could be:
"Life has been all right for you!
But it is no joke for me!
I'm not big enough to know--
And I wonder, wonder why
My dear 'Daddy' had to go
And my mother had to die!
"You've a father, I suppose?
And a mother--maybe--too?
You can laugh and joke at life?
It has been all right for you?
Spin your top, and wave your fan!
You've a home and folks who care
Laugh about it those who can!
Joke about it--those who dare
--But excuse me--if I'm glum
I can't bluff it off--like some!"
Then I sadly came away
And felt guilty, all the day!
Dr. Frederick Winters was a great believer in personal liberty for
every one--except, of course, the members of his own family. For them
he craved every good thing except this. He was kind, thoughtful,
courteous, and generous--a beneficent despot.
There is much to be said in favor of despotic government after all. It
is so easy of operation; it is so simple and direct--one brain, one
will, one law, with no foolish back-talk, bickerings, murmurings,
mutinies, letters to the paper. A democracy has it beaten, of course,
on the basis of liberty, but there is much to be said in favor of an
autocracy in the matter of efficiency.
"King Asa did that which was right in the sight of the Lord"; and in
his reign the people were happy and contented and had no political
differences. There being only one party, the "Asaites," there were no
partisan newspapers, no divided homes, no mixed marriages, as we have
to-day when Liberals and Conservatives, disregarding the command to be
not unequally yoked together, marry. All these distressing
circumstances were eliminated in good King Asa's reign.
It is always a mistake to pursue a theory too far. When we turn the
next page of the sacred story we read that King Omri, with the same
powers as King Asa had had, turned them to evil account and oppressed
the people in many ways and got himself terribly disliked. Despotism
seems to work well or ill according to the despot, and so, as a form
of government, it has steadily declined in favor.
Despotic measures have thriven better in homes than in states. Homes are
guarded by a wall of privacy, a delicate distaste for publicity, a
shrinking from all notoriety such as rebellion must inevitably bring,
and for this reason the weaker ones often practice a peace-at-any-price
policy, thinking of the alert eyes that may be peering through the filet
lace of the window across the street.
Mrs. Winters submitted to the despotic rule of Dr. Winters for no such
reason as this. She submitted because she liked it, and because she
did not know that it was despotic. It saved her the exertion of making
decisions for herself, and her conscience was always quite clear. "The
Doctor will not let me," she had told the women when they had asked
her to play for the Sunday services at the mission. "The Doctor
thought it was too cold for me to go out," had been her explanation
when on one occasion she had failed to appear at a concert where she
had promised to play the accompaniments; and in time people ceased to
ask her to do anything, her promises were so likely to be broken.
When the Suffrage agitators went to see her and tried to show her that
she needed a vote, she answered all their arguments by saying, "I have
such a good husband that these arguments do not apply to me at all";
and all their talk about spiritual independence and personal
responsibility fell on very pretty, but very deaf, ears. The women
said she was a hopeless case.
"I wonder," said one of the women afterwards in discussing her, "when
Mrs. Winters presents herself at the heavenly gate and there is asked
what she has done to make the world better, and when she has to
confess that she has never done anything outside of her own house, and
nothing there except agreeable things, such as entertaining friends
who next week will entertain her, and embroidering 'insets' for
corset-covers for dainty ladies who already have corset-covers enough
to fill a store-window,--I wonder if she will be able to put it over
on the heavenly doorkeeper that 'the Doctor would not let her.' If all
I hear is true, Saint Peter will say, 'Who is this person you call the
Doctor?' and when she explains that the Doctor was her husband, Saint
Peter will say, 'Sorry, lady, we cannot recognize marriage relations
here at all--it is unconstitutional, you know--there is no marrying or
giving in marriage after you cross the Celestial Meridian. I turned
back a woman this morning who handed in the same excuse--there seems
to have been a good deal of this business of one person's doing the
thinking for another on earth, but we can't stand for it here. I'm
sorry, lady, but I can't let you in--it would be as much as my job is
worth.'"
Upon this happy household, as upon some others not so happy, came the
war!--and Dr. Winters's heroic soul responded to the trumpet's call.
He was among the first to present himself for active service in the
Overseas Force. When he came home and told his wife, she got the first
shock of her life. It was right, of course, it must be right, but he
should have told her, and she remonstrated with him for the first time
in her life. Why had he not consulted her, she asked, before taking
such a vital step? Then Dr. Winters expressed in words one of the
underlying principles of his life. "A man's first duty is to his
country and his God," he said, "and even if you had objected, it would
not have changed my decision."
Mrs. Winters looked at him in surprise. "But, Frederick," she cried,
"I have never had any authority but you. I have broken promises when
you told me to, disappointed people, disappointed myself, but never
complained--thinking in a vague way that you would do the same for me
if I asked you to--your word was my law. What would you think if I
volunteered for a nurse without asking you--and then told you my
country's voice sounded clear and plain above all others?"
"It is altogether different," he said brusquely. "The country's
business concerns men, not women. Woman's place is to look after the
homes of the nation and rear children. Men are concerned with the big
things of life."
Mrs. Winters looked at him with a new expression on her face. "I have
fallen down, then," she said, "on one part of my job--I have brought
into the world and cared for no children. All my life--and I am now
forty years of age--has been given to making a home pleasant for one
man. I have been a housekeeper and companion for one person. It
doesn't look exactly like a grown woman's whole life-work, now, does
it?"
"Don't talk foolishly, Nettie," he said; "you suit me."
"That's it," she said quickly; "I suit you--but I do not suit the
church women, the Civic Club women, the Hospital Aid women, the
Children's Shelter women; they call me a slacker, and I am beginning
to think I am."
"I would like to know what they have to do with it?" he said hotly;
"you are my wife and I am the person concerned."
Without noticing what he said, she continued: "Once I wanted to adopt
a baby, you remember, when one of your patients died, and I would have
loved to do it; but you said you must not be disturbed at night and I
submitted. Still, if it had been our own, you would have had to be
disturbed and put up with it like other people, and so I let you rule
me. I have never had any opinion of my own."
"Nettie, you are excited," he said gently; "you are upset, poor girl,
about my going away--I don't wonder. Come out with me; I am going to
speak at a recruiting meeting."
Her first impulse was to refuse, for there were many things she wanted
to think out, but the habit of years was on her and she went.
The meeting was a great success. It was the first days of the war,
when enthusiasm seethed and the little town throbbed with excitement.
The news was coming through of the destruction and violation of
Belgium; the women wept and men's faces grew white with rage.
Dr. Winters's fine face was alight with enthusiasm as he spoke of the
debt that every man now owes to his country. Every man who is able to
hold a gun, he said, must come to the help of civilization against
barbarism. These dreadful outrages are happening thousands of miles
away, but that makes them none the less real. Humanity is being
attacked by a bully, a ruffian,--how can any man stay at home? Let no
consideration of family life keep you from doing your duty. Every
human being must give an account of himself to God. What did you do in
the great day of testing? will be the question asked you in that great
day of reckoning to which we are all coming.
When he was through speaking, amid the thunderous applause, five young
men walked down to the front and signified their intention of going.
"Why, that's Willie Shepherd, and he is his mother's only support,"
whispered one of the women; "I don't think he should go."
When they went home that night Mrs. Winters told the Doctor what she
had heard the women say, and even added her remonstrance too.
"This is no time for remonstrance," he had cried; "his mother will get
along; the Patriotic Fund will look after her. I tell you human
relationships are forgotten in this struggle! We must save our
country. One broken heart more or less cannot be taken into
consideration. Personal comfort must not be thought of. There is only
one limit to service and sacrifice, and that is capacity."
Every night after that he addressed meetings, and every night recruits
came to the colors. His speeches vibrated with the spirit of sacrifice
and the glory of service, and thrilled every heart that listened, and
no heart was more touched than that of his wife, who felt that no
future in the world would be so happy as to go and care for the
wounded men.
She made the suggestion one night, and was quite surprised to find
that the Doctor regarded it favorably. All that night she lay awake
from sheer joy: at last she was going to be of service--she was going
to do something. She tried to tell herself of the hardships of the
life, but nothing could dim her enthusiasm. "I hope it will be hard,"
she cried happily. "I want it hard to make up for the easy, idle years
I have spent. I hate the ease and comfort and selfishness in which I
have lived."
The next day her application went in and she began to attend the
ambulance classes which were given in the little city by the doctors
and nurses.
The Doctor was away so much that she was practically free to go and
come as she liked, and the breath of liberty was sweet to her. She
also saw, with further pangs of conscience, the sacrifices which other
women were making. The Red Cross women seemed to work unceasingly.
The President of the Red Cross came to her office every morning at
nine, and stayed till five.
"What about lunch?" Mrs. Winters asked her, one day. "Do you go home?"
"Oh, no," said the other woman; "I go out and get a sandwich."
"But I mean--what about your husband's lunch?"
"He goes home," the president said, "and sees after the children when
they come in from school--of course I have a maid, you know."
"But doesn't he miss you dreadfully?" asked Mrs. Winters.
"Yes, I think he does, but not any more than the poor fellows in the
trenches miss their wives. He is not able to go to the front himself
and he is only too glad to leave me free to do all I can."
"But surely some other woman could be found," said Mrs. Winters, "who
hasn't got as many family cares as you have."
"They could," said the president, "but they would probably tell you
that their husbands like to have them at home--or some day would be
stormy and they would 'phone down that 'Teddy' positively refused to
let them come out. We have been busy people all our lives and have
been accustomed to sacrifice and never feel a bit sorry for it--we've
raised our six children and done without many things. It doesn't hurt
us as it does the people who have always sat on cushioned seats. The
Red Cross Society knows that it is a busy woman who can always find
time to do a little more, and I am just as happy as can be doing
this."
Mrs. Winters felt the unintentional rebuke in these words, and turned
them over in her mind.
One day, three months after this, the Doctor told her that it was
quite probable he would not be going overseas at all, for he was
having such success recruiting that the major-general thought it
advisable to have him go right on with it. "And so, Nettie," he said,
"you had better cancel your application to go overseas, for of course,
if I do not go, you will not."
For a moment she did not grasp what he meant. He spoke of it so
casually. Not go! The thought of her present life of inactivity was
never so repulsive. But silence fell upon her and she made no reply.
"We will not know definitely about it for a few weeks," he said, and
went on reading.
After that, Mrs. Winters attended every recruiting meeting at which
her husband spoke, eagerly memorizing his words, hardly knowing why,
but she felt that she might need them. She had never been able to
argue with any one--one adverse criticism of her position always
caused her defense to collapse. So she collected all the material she
could get on the subject of personal responsibility and sacrifice. Her
husband's brilliant way of phrasing became a delight to her. But
always, as she listened, vague doubts arose in her mind.
One day when she was sewing at the Red Cross rooms, the women were
talking of a sad case that had occurred at the hospital. A soldier's
wife had died, leaving a baby two weeks old and another little girl of
four, who had been taken to the Children's Shelter, and who had cried
so hard to be left with her mother. One of the women had been to see
the sick woman the day before she died, and was telling the others
about her.
"A dear little saint on earth she was--well bred, well educated, but
without friends. Her only anxiety was for her children and sympathy
for her husband. 'This will be sad news for poor Bob,' she said, 'but
he'll know I did my best to live--I cannot get my breath--that's the
worst--if I could only get my breath--I would abide the pain _some
way_.' The baby is lovely, too,--a fine healthy boy. Now I wonder if
there is any woman patriotic enough to adopt those two little ones
whose mother is dead and whose father is in the trenches. The baby
went to the Shelter yesterday."
"Of course they are well treated there," said Mrs. Winters.
"Well treated!" cried the president--"they are fed and kept warm and
given all the care the matron and attendants can give them; but how
can two or three women attend to twenty-five children? They do all
they can, but it's a sad place just the same. I always cry when I see
the mother-hungry look on their faces. They want to be owned and
loved--they need some one belonging to them. Don't you know that
settled look of loneliness? I call it the 'institutional face,' and I
know it the minute I see it. Poor Bob Wilson--it will be sad news for
him--he was our plumber and gave up a good job to go. At the station
he kept saying to his wife to comfort her, for she was crying her
heart out, poor girl, 'Don't cry, Minnie dear, I'm leaving you in
good hands; they are not like strangers anymore, all these kind
ladies; they'll see you through. Don't you remember what the Doctor
said,'--that was your husband, Mrs. Winters,--'the women are the best
soldiers of all--so you'll bear up, Minnie.'
"Minnie was a good soldier right enough," said the president, "but I
wonder what Bob will think of the rest of us when he comes home--or
doesn't come home. We let his Minnie die, and sent his two babies to
the Children's Shelter. In this manner have we discharged our
duty--we've taken it easy so far."
Mrs. Winters sat open-eyed, and as soon as she could, left the room.
She went at once to the Shelter and asked to see the children.
Up the bare stairs, freshly scrubbed, she was taken, and into the
day-nursery where many children sat on the floor, some idly playing
with half-broken toys, one or two wailing softly, not as if they were
looking for immediate returns, but just as a small protest against
things in general. The little four-year-old girl, neatly dressed and
smiling, came at once when the matron called her, and quickly said,
"Will you take me to my mother? Am I going home now?"
"She asks every one that," the matron said aside.
"I have a little brother now," said the child proudly; "just down from
heaven--we knew he was coming."
In one of the white cribs the little brother lay, in an embroidered
quilt. The matron uncovered his face, and, opening one navy-blue eye,
he smiled.
"He's a bonnie boy," the matron said; "he has slept ever since he
came. But I cannot tell--somebody--I simply can't."
Mrs. Winters went home thinking so hard that she was afraid her
husband would see the thoughts shining out, tell-tale, in her face.
She told him where she had been and was just leading up to the appeal
which she had prepared, for the children, when a young man called to
see the Doctor.
The young fellow had called for advice: his wife would not give her
consent to his enlisting, and his heart was wrung with anxiety over
what he should do.
The Doctor did not hesitate a minute. "Go right on," he said; "this is
no time to let any one, however near and dear, turn us from our duty.
We have ceased to exist as individuals--now we are a Nation and we
must sacrifice the individual for the State. Your wife will come
around to it and be glad that you were strong enough to do your duty.
No person has any right to turn another from his duty, for we must all
answer to Almighty God in this crisis, not to each other."
The next day, while the Doctor was away making a recruiting speech in
another town, the delivery van of the leading furniture store stood at
his back door and one high chair stood in it, one white crib was being
put up-stairs in his wife's bedroom, and many foreign articles were in
evidence in the room. The Swedish maid was all excitement and moved
around on tip-toe, talking in a whisper.
"There ban coming a baby hare, and a li'l' girl. Gee! what will the
Doctor man say! He ban quick enough to bring them other houses, no
want none for self--oh, gee!"
Then she made sure that the key was not in the study door, for Olga
was a student of human nature and wanted to get her information
first-hand.
* * * * *
When the Doctor came in late that night, Mrs. Winters met him at the
door as usual. So absorbed was he in telling her of the success of his
meetings that he did not notice the excitement in her face.
"They came to-night in droves, Nettie," he said, as he drank the cocoa
she had made for him.
"They can't help it, Fred," she declared enthusiastically, "when you
put it to them the way you do. You are right, dear; it is not a time
for any person to hold others back from doing what they see they
should. It's a personal matter between us and God--we are not
individuals any more--we are a state, and each man and woman must get
under the burden. I hate this talk of 'business as usual'--I tell you
it is nothing as usual."
He regarded her with surprise! Nettie had never made so long a speech
before.
"It's your speeches, Fred; they are wonderful. Why, man alive, you
have put backbone even into me--I who have been a jelly-fish all my
life--and last night, when I heard you explain to that young fellow
that he must not let his wife be his conscience, I got a sudden
glimpse of things. You've been my conscience all my life, but, thank
God, you've led me out into a clear place. I'm part of the State, and
I am no slacker--I am going to do my bit. Come, Fred, I want to show
you something."
He followed her without a word as she led the way to the room upstairs
where two children slept sweetly.
"They are mine, Fred,--mine until the war is over, at least, and
Private Wilson comes back; and if he does not come back, or if he will
let me have them, they are mine forever."
He stared at this new woman, who looked like his wife.
"It was your last speech, Fred,--what you said to that young man. You
told him to go ahead--his wife would come around, you said--she would
see her selfishness. Then I saw a light shine on my pathway. Every
speech has stiffened my backbone a little. I was like the mouse who
timidly tiptoed out to the saucer of brandy, and, taking a sip, went
more boldly back, then came again with considerable swagger; and at
last took a good drink and then strutted up and down saying, 'Bring on
your old black cat!' That's how I feel, Fred,--I'm going to be a
mother to these two little children whose own mother has passed on and
whose father is holding up the pillars of the Empire. It would hardly
be fair to leave them to public charity, now, would it?"
"Well, Nettie," the Doctor said slowly, "I'll see that you do not
attend any more recruiting meetings--you are too literal. But all the
same," he said, "I am proud of my convert."
Olga Jasonjusen tiptoed gently away from the door, and going down the
back stairs hugged herself gayly, saying, "All over--but the kissing.
Oh, gee! He ain't too bad! He's just needed some one to cheek up to
him. Bet she's sorry now she didn't sass him long ago."