OPPORTUNITIES.
A CHURCH social had been one of the places against which the senior
Morgans had set their faces like flints. Not that there had been much
occasion for peremptory decisions. John, when he arrived at the proper
age for attending, had grown away from the church into a lower circle,
and Dorothy was frightened at the mere thought of going anywhere
alone. So occasional sharp criticisms as to the proceedings, reports
of which floated to them from time to time, was the extent of their
interference. But Louise had weighed the matter carefully, and was bent
on an attendance at the church social. Had she taken time to notice it,
she might have been amused over the various forms of objection that met
her plans.
"I'm afraid they will think the Morgan family have turned out en
masse," had her husband said when he listened to the scheme. "I'm in
favour of our going, because I think the people will like to meet you,
and you will like some of them very well; but wouldn't it be better to
get acquainted with them ourselves before getting Dorothy into society?
She will be frightened and awkward, and will be very far from enjoying
it. John won't go, of course."
"Lewis," his wife said impressively, "I believe John will go; I am very
anxious to have him, and I feel impressed with the belief that God
will put it into his heart." The curious look on her husband's face
emboldened her to ask a question which had been troubling her. "Lewis,
you sometimes act almost as though you didn't believe such matters were
subjects of prayer at all. Are these things too small for His notice,
when he himself refers us to the fading wild flowers for lessons?"
Lewis studied his answer carefully; he admitted that, of course, we had
a right to pray about everything; but then—well, the truth was, she
certainly had a way of attaching importance to matters which seemed to
him trivial. Take, for instance, that tea: he had not understood then,
did not now, why she should have been so anxious about it; and as for
this matter, what particular good was it going to do to take John to
the church social?
"Don't you see," his wife asked earnestly, "that we must get John into
a different circle, if we would draw him away from the one he has
fallen into?"
Yes, he admitted that; in fact, he admitted everything that she could
possibly desire, and yet she knew he went away feeling that it was,
after all, of exceeding little consequence whether John went or stayed.
Nevertheless her desire for the accomplishment of this matter remained
firm. She studied many ways for winning John's consent to the plan,
seeking counsel on her knees, and wondering much that no way opened
to her, until she discovered, on the day in question, that there was
no need for an opening. John, for reasons best known to himself, had
settled the matter, and himself broached the subject by inquiring
whether she still believed that the pleasantest thing she could do was
to walk.
"Walk where?" questioned the mother, and the subject was before them.
"Why, to the social this evening," explained Louise quickly. "I propose
a walk. The evenings are perfect now, and I'm a first-class walker; I
feel anxious to show my skill in that line."
"To the church fiddlestick!" said Father Morgan, with more than usual
asperity; and Mother Morgan added—
"I wonder if you and Lewis are going to countenance those gatherings?"
"Why," said innocent Louise, "of course we must sustain the social
gatherings of our church; I think them very important aids."
"Aids to what, I'd like to know? They are just dancing parties, and
nothing else. I'm not a church member, to be sure, but I know what
church members ought to be; and to see them standing up for the world
in that way, and helping it along, is sickening, to say the least."
This from Farmer Morgan.
Then Mrs. Morgan, senior—
"They stay until near morning, and dress, and gossip, and giggle, and
dance; if that is sustaining the church, the less it is sustained the
better, according to my notion."
Then Louise—
"May not part of the trouble be that those who do not approve of such
management stand aloof and let Satan manage it his own way, and lead
the young people whither he will?"
"Humph!" said Farmer Morgan (and there is hardly in our language one
syllable more expressive than that in the mouths of some people). "The
minister goes."
"I know, but he cannot do much alone."
"In my opinion," said Mrs. Morgan firmly, "he enjoys it all too well to
want to do anything." Her firm lips and eyes said as plainly as words
could have done: "You will do as you like, no doubt, but you won't get
my Dorothy to help to sustain any such thing."
"Well, mother, we are going to-night, to see what we can do toward
sustaining, or something else. I hardly know what we are going for, I'm
sure; but I know this much, we are going."
Perhaps of all the group no one was more surprised than Louise at this
statement from John's lips.
She hesitated, and her heart beat high with anxiety and doubt. John
meant to go, then; but ought he to speak so to his mother? And ought
she to seem to approve of such speaking? Only a second of thought, then
she said—
"O John, we wouldn't go if mother disapproved, would we? Lewis says he
always minds his mother, and I'm sure I always minded mine."
This sentence, half-laughing, yet inwardly wholly earnest, was sent
forth in much anxiety, the speaker remembering the fifth commandment,
even though she wished most earnestly, just then, that it were not made
so difficult a duty by the mother in question.
But a change had suddenly come over that mother. To have the boy John
even at a church social, disreputable as she believed those places to
be, was much better than to have him at the corner grocery, or in any
of his favourite haunts. The moment there dawned upon her the idea that
he really meant to go, her objections softened.
"Oh, I don't want to keep any of you from going, sure. Go if you want
to, of course. A church gathering ought to be a nice place, and if it
isn't what it ought to be; it isn't your fault, I suppose. I shan't
make any objections."
Which was a remarkable concession when we consider the woman who made
it. So they went to the social; also they walked—Lewis and Louise
stepping briskly along together over the moon-lighted earth, and
enjoying every step of the way, as only those can who have little
opportunity for long, quiet walks together, even though they are bound
by the closest ties.
The large modern farmhouse where the gathering was held was a
surprise to Louise; unconsciously she had gauged all farmhouses by
her father-in-law's. But here she was introduced to one of those fair
country homes with which our land abounds—bright and tasteful, and,
in its free and easy, home-like way, beautiful. The large rooms were
carefully arranged, and little works of art and souvenirs of celebrated
spots and scenes were freely scattered, and the books, displayed
lavishly, spoke of cultured tastes and leisure for their indulgence. A
large company was gathered, and the scene was social in the extreme.
The new-comers were very heartily greeted, it being evident to all but
herself that Mrs. Lewis Morgan was looked upon as an acquisition to
the society much to be desired. As for that lady, she was so engrossed
in making Dorothy feel at home and have a good time, and so anxious
that John should not slip away in disgust before the evening was over,
that she forgot her position as a stranger, and, with an end in view,
made acquaintances eagerly and searchingly, looking everywhere for the
helpers that she hoped to find in these young people.
Meantime she studied the actual scene, trying to fit it to the reports
which had come to her. The company was very merry. They talked a good
deal of nonsense, no doubt, and it was possible that a sort of giggly,
good-natured gossip came in for its share; and they were, at least
the younger portion, too much dressed for a church social; but though
the evening was advancing, she had as yet seen no indications of the
amusement which Father and Mother Morgan found so objectionable.
During a moment's leisure Mr. Butler came over to her. He had been
among the young people all the evening, the favourite centre of the
merriest circles. It was evident that these young people enjoyed their
pastor at a church social, whatever opinion they might have of him
elsewhere.
"I am so glad you came out to our gathering," he said to her cordially.
"It was very kind in you to overlook our lack of courtesy in the matter
of calls and come at once. Our ladies will call on you promptly enough
now. Some of them had the impression that you might not care to make
new acquaintances."
"I wonder why?" said Louise in surprise. "My old friends are too
far-away to be made available. Mr. Butler, what a great company of
young people! Do these all belong to your congregation Where were they
on Wednesday night?"
"Well," said Mr. Butler, "the plain and painful truth is, that wherever
they are on Wednesday evenings, at one place they are not, and that is
the prayer-meeting. Some of them are church members, but it never seems
to be convenient for country people to come to town on Wednesdays,
nor to be out so late as is necessary in order to attendance at
prayer-meeting."
"Yet they come to the church socials?"
"Oh yes, indeed. That is another matter; they have no objection to
being social."
"Then, what a pity it is that we couldn't have our prayer-meeting
social, isn't it?"
Mr. Butler laughed, then grew grave.
"Well, but, Mrs. Morgan, you do not suppose it is possible to make
prayer-meetings into places where those who have no love for Christ
will like to come?"
"Perhaps not; though more might be done for even that class, I suspect,
than is. But some of these young people belong to Christ, do they not?"
He shook his head.
"Very few. I never knew a church with such a large class of indifferent
young people in it. Oh, some of them are members, to be sure; but the
large majority of those here to-night, the young ones, have no sympathy
with the church, except in its socials."
"Then what a doubly important opportunity this church social is," said
Louise, with kindling eyes. "This is really almost your only chance
with the young people, then, save in calls. How do you manage the work?
Or is that too close a question to answer?"
The bright eyes of the young minister dropped before her. He felt, in
truth, that the question was too close, though not in the sense that
she meant it. He wished, in his truthful heart, that he could just
leave her to think that his ways of working were too intermingled to be
explained; but whatever faults he may have had, deception was not one
of them.
He hesitated and flushed, then met her gaze squarely, as he said—
"The simple truth is, Mrs. Morgan, I am doing just nothing with these
young people, and I don't know what to do."
"I know," she said quickly; "the work is immense, and little patient
efforts sometimes seem like 'just nothing.' But, after all, how can
you tell? The earnest words dropped here and there, even in such soil
as this, may spring up and bear fruit; so long as you meet your people
in this way, once a week, and can gather them about you as you do, I
shouldn't allow myself to get discouraged."
Evidently she did not understand him. He was leaving her to suppose
that he was moving quietly around among them dropping seed, when, in
reality, he had been chatting with them about the skating and the
sleighing, and the coming festival, and the recent party, and had
dropped no earnest, honest seed of any sort. His honest heart shrank
from bearing unmerited approval.
"I am literal in my statement," he said earnestly, "though you are kind
enough to translate it figuratively. I do not feel that I am saying
anything to help these young people, save as I am helping them to have
a pleasant evening. I don't know how that is going to tell for the
future, and I don't know what I can do to tell toward that. I cannot
get one into a corner and preach a sermon to him at such a time as
this; now, can I?"
"I shouldn't think it would be a good place in which to read sermons,"
said Louise, with smiling eyes and grave mouth. "But, then, we who
never preach at all will not allow you to profess that the sermon is
the only way of seed-sowing."
"I did not mean literal preaching, of course," he said, a trifle
annoyed; "but what I mean is, there is no opportunity here for personal
effort of any sort. I am always afraid to attempt anything of the kind,
lest I may prejudice people against the whole subject. Don't you think
there is danger of that?"
"Well, I don't know," Louise said thoughtfully. "If I were to talk with
one of my friends who is not acquainted with you, and tell her how kind
you were, and how interested in all young people, and how pleasant
and helpful you were, it doesn't seem to me that I should prejudice
that friend against you. Why should I feel afraid of prejudicing them
against my Saviour?"
He looked at her doubtfully.
"Don't you think that young people look upon this question with
different eyes from that which they give to any other? Aren't they more
afraid of hearing it talked about?"
"Aren't they more unaccustomed to hearing it talked about?" was
Louise's earnest answer. "Have we, as Christians, tried the experiment
fully of talking freely, brightly, socially about this matter, about
our joys and hopes and prospects? What do you suppose the effect would
be? Suppose, for instance, Mr. Butler, you and I were in the midst
of that circle across from us where there is just now a lull in the
conversation, and you should say to me: 'Mrs. Morgan, what have you
found to-day that affects our plans?' and I should answer: 'Why, I
found that our Father loves us even better than I had supposed. I found
to-day that he says he blots out our transgressions for his own sake!'
I did find that to-day, Mr. Butler, and it is as news to me. He really
loves us so much that, for his own sake, he forgives us. What if I
should say that to you in the presence of these others?"
"They would consider us a couple of fanatics," said Mr. Butler quickly.
"Well," said Louise, with bright eyes and smiling mouth, "that,
certainly, wouldn't hurt us. But why should we be called fanatics? I
heard you telling what Professor Proctor says he has recently decided
in regard to a scientific matter, and the young men about you listened
and questioned, and didn't act as though you were a fanatic at all."