THE REASON OF THINGS.
JOHN came over to her, speaking abruptly, recognizing the presence of
the pastor only by a nod:—
"They want to know whether you dance."
The minister flushed over the question, as though it had been personal;
but Louise laughed.
"Can't you tell them, John?"
"How should I know?" given in his gruffest tones.
"Now, John! didn't you tell me only a few days ago what you expected of
me in that regard? Do you think I want to disappoint your expectations?"
"Well, then, what is the reason that you don't?"
"Mr. Butler, think of my being called upon to answer such an immense
question as that at a church social. John, you will have to be my
champion, and explain, if you are hard pressed, that the reasons are
too numerous to be given now and here. Meantime, you may vouch for me
that I have excellent ones."
John turned away, a grim smile on his face. Louise, looking after him,
feeling much less bright and undisturbed than she appeared, saw that
he was not displeased with her answers, but wondered uneasily what he
might be enduring, in the way of banter, for her sake. She had grown
to have that degree of confidence in him; she believed that he would
endure something for her sake. She need not have been disturbed; there
had been no bantering; Mrs. Lewis Morgan was at present held in too
great respect for that. Still, John had been surprised into some abrupt
admissions, which he had felt obliged to have corroborated by her.
"Does your sister dance?" had been asked him abruptly by one of
the pretty visions in curls whom his eyes had been following half
the evening. He had given a confused little start, and glanced
instinctively at the corner where Dorothy sat, being kindly talked to
by a nice old lady.
"Dorothy!" he exclaimed, a surprise note in his voice. How absurd it
seemed to suppose such a thing! "No; she never dances."
"Oh, I don't mean Dorothy," and the pretty vision echoed his surprise
in her voice; "I mean your brother's wife."
Then did John turn and look at her as she stood a little at one
side, conversing animatedly with the minister. How pretty she was;
how unlike any one that he knew! What a strange sound it had to him,
that sentence, "your sister," when he applied it to this fair young
woman! She was his acknowledged sister, then, in the eyes of all his
people. He had not realized it before—to be sure she had called him
her brother, and it had pleased him; but, at the same time, the idea
that other people so spoke had not before occurred to him. It certainly
was by no means an unpleasant idea. He was in danger of wandering off
over the strangeness of this relation and its possible pleasantness,
unmindful of the small questioner who waited.
"Well," she said inquiringly, a little laugh closing the word, "are you
trying to decide the momentous question?"
"No," he said with emphasis, "she doesn't dance."
"Never!"
"Of course not."
"Dear me! Why 'of course'? You speak as if it were the unpardonable
sin!" The very words that John had used in speaking of this very
subject, yet he disliked this speaker for these words which slipped so
smoothly from her pretty lips. All unconscious of this, however, she
continued: "I shall be greatly surprised if you are not mistaken. She
is from the city, and in cities all the young people dance; the old
country ideas on that subject are thought to be absurd. I believe she
would like a little refreshment from this dulness, and really I think
she looks too sensible to have any such silly notions as some of our
deacons indulge. I don't suppose you ever asked her point-blank, did
you?"
John did not choose to tell how nearly he had done just this, did not
choose to be catechised longer, so he turned from her with this parting
sentence—
"If you are anxious about the matter, it is easy enough to ask her; she
can speak for herself." And his mental addition was, with a curling
lip—"She is one of their Christians!" Though why John Morgan should
have any right to pass judgment upon her for disgracing a profession in
which he did not believe is more than I can understand. This, however,
I know—they nearly all do it.
No sooner was he left to himself than it occurred to him that he had
been very emphatic; after all, what ground had he for his positive
statements? He recalled the brief conversation which he had held with
Louise on the subject; what had she said? Not much besides asking
him a question or two. He did not believe that she ever joined in
that amusement; he felt positive about it; at the same time he could
not have told why he felt so. Suppose he should be mistaken? Suppose
they should get up a dance here and now, and she should join them?
He grew hot over the thought. "She needn't try to cajole me into her
prayer-meetings or organ-mendings after that," he told himself in
indignation. But then, John Morgan, why not? You believe in dancing;
you know you have sneered at your mother for her views on this subject.
Never mind; whatever he believed, he assuredly did not believe in
having this new sister of his take such a position before this public.
A desire to have the proof of her own words, added to his feelings,
sent him across the room to interrupt that conversation between her and
the minister. And though she certainly did not say much, he had turned
from her satisfied that "city lady though she was, that pert little
yellow-curled girl would find herself mistaken."
Meantime Mr. Butler regarded the lady with a curious blending of
amusement and anxiety on his face.
"Your brother has evidently assumed your defence," he said lightly;
and then, as if with a sudden resolution to be earnest, he added; "I
could find it in my heart to repeat and press the question that has
just been asked you if I thought you were willing to enter into the
discussion with me. Not—" he added, with a slightly flushing face, as
she turned surprised eyes on him, "not as to why you do not dance, for
of course your position and mine are answer enough to this question,
but as to what reasons you give to others for taking such views of the
question. I confess to you frankly that it puzzles me beyond almost
any other that I meet, how to explain to those bright young girls and
pleasant-faced boys, who gather in this congregational capacity every
two weeks, and who are well acquainted with each other, that there is
any harm in having a promenade together, for really that is all that
the sort of dancing in which they indulge amounts to. Positively,
when they say to me, 'What is the harm?' I am nonplussed. I feel the
inconsistency, but am at an utter loss how to explain it. Now, may I
ask you what you do with such questions when they are asked you?"
"Well," said Louise thoughtfully, "it depends upon the standpoint from
which I am to talk; by which I mean there are various presentations of
the subject. You do not expect to influence one who has no love for
Christ with the same motives that you do an earnest Christian, you
know."
"Certainly not; but it is from a Christian standpoint that I want
you to speak now. I have some young Christians here who say to me,
'Now, Mr. Butler, what harm can there be in our dancing together
occasionally, we boys and girls who know each other so well? We don't
go to balls or large parties, but when we meet in this way, please tell
us the harm?' And while it may be a very humiliating confession, I
have never been able to answer them satisfactorily to myself. Suppose
that a young girl who professed to belong to Christ should ask you the
question, what would you say?"
"I should say, 'Whether, therefore, ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye
do, do all to the glory of God.' And then I should ask her to tell me
how dancing could be made subservient to his glory."
"But, Mrs. Morgan, isn't that very high ground?"
"Certainly it is; is it higher than a follower of Christ ought to take?"
"Well, but the difficulty with such reasoning is that it condemns so
many things which we consider innocent; for instance, that corn which
Miss Dorothy and I popped the other evening, would it be possible to
fit that to God's glory?"
"I find it by no means difficult," Louise said, giving him a bright
smile. "I am not sure but that, while the corn popped, avenues were
opened in the family which may lead to hearts, and make a road for
you to lead them to your Master. I assure you that I believe even
such trivialities as kernels of corn may tend to his glory. But then,
if we became, as a family, infatuated with corn-popping, so that we
spent our evenings away into the midnight, if not away beyond it, in
popping corn, and unfitted ourselves for the next day's duties; and if
some people, or occasionally one person, had been led by the popping
of corn into temptation and danger and death, I should feel that you
ought to use your influence against our amusement in that direction.
And this world is in such a cranky state of mind that in order to use
your influence against my excesses, you would have to refrain from ever
popping one single kernel. Now, wouldn't you?"
"I might say," he answered, laughing, "that if you were so extremely
foolish as to be led astray by such an innocent amusement as that, it
was your own fault, and I was not responsible."
"And I should ask, 'Shall the weak sister perish for whom Christ died?'"
"But, Mrs. Morgan, seriously, many of our young people, or at least
some of them, have so slight a knowledge of the world that they really
cannot realize the possibility of persons being led astray by such
causes; and where they have not wise mothers and tender fathers to
influence them, in whose superior wisdom they can trust, how can I
reach such?"
"There is one line of argument that ought to reach all such, I think.
Take, for instance, my brother John; isn't it evident, Mr. Butler, that
he doesn't consider dancing consistent with a Christian profession?"
"Oh, of course," said Mr. Butler promptly; "there is hardly an
unconverted man or woman in the world who does. We are sure to find
sneerers among that class, but I had always supposed that was rather
because they had caught the impression from some advanced Christians,
and, being always ready to sneer, were glad to have this to sneer
about."
"Now, we might go off on a side issue, and try to discover where these
advanced Christians got their views. But suppose we do not; suppose
we grant that such is the case, what then? Have I, as a Christian,
any right to indulge in that which is not in itself a duty, and which
may cause me to be a stumbling-block in the way of another? Why, the
argument is very old: 'By meat destroy not the work of God.' If I may
not do it for meat, can I possibly see a right to do it for amusement?"
"Well," said Mr. Butler, after a long pause, "I see the line of
argument; it is capable of covering very broad ground. What do you say
to an unconverted person on this subject?"
"Various things," said Louise, smiling; "among others I try to persuade
them to love the Lord Jesus, and then when he makes it plain to them
that there are greater pleasures in store than these can give, they
will be enabled even to give up dancing for his sake! If the Christian
world were a unit on this question, do you really think it would give
us much trouble, Mr. Butler?"
"No," said Mr. Butler gravely; "the trouble grows out of a divided
host. Yet there are arguments against dancing on the side of morals and
propriety, but it is exceedingly difficult to make pure-hearted young
girls understand this."
"I know, and herein lies so much of the mischief; because, Mr. Butler,
young men like my brother John know only too well the arguments which
might be advanced in that direction.—Now, tell me, please, who is that
young man who seems to stand aloof? I have noticed him several times
this evening; he appears like a stranger; he is standing now, near the
sitting-room door, quite alone."
"I don't know who he is," said Mr. Butler; "I have noticed him at the
socials once or twice before, but I don't know his name, and can't
imagine where he belongs."
"Won't you please find out for me, if you can, and introduce us?"
Thus commissioned, the minister turned away with heightened colour. Not
a word had Mrs. Morgan said as to the strangeness of having a young man
appear in his church socials two or three times without discovering
who he was. Nevertheless an uncomfortable sense of having appeared
indifferent to his flock haunted the minister as he looked about for
ways and means of making the acquaintance of the stranger.
"That?" said Deacon Shirley's son, to whom he appealed. "Oh, that is
young Martyn; he is a farm hand in summer, and a—well, anything he can
find to be in winter. He is doing odd jobs for Mr. Capron now, on the
farm, working for his board, I believe, and attending the school in the
village. I don't know him. Keeps himself to himself."
"Hasn't he been to our socials before?"
"Oh yes; twice, I think. Jennie Capron has to depend on him for an
escort; and so he comes in the line of his work, just as he does
everything else. He doesn't seem to enjoy them much."
"Suppose you introduce me?" said the minister; and young Shirley, much
amazed, complied.
Meantime, while they were making their way to his side, little Minnie
Capron, who had been standing near them, sped away to the young man,
who was a friend of hers, and whispered—
"Callie! O Callie! Mr. Butler has been asking Ben Shirley all about
you, and he wants to be introduced to you, and they are coming now."
"All right, little one," said the young man cheerily; "only don't tell
them we know it," and he received the promised introduction with a
broad smile on his face.
Nobody knew better than Mr. Butler how to be genial when he chose, or,
more properly speaking, when he thought of it; so young Carey Martyn,
who had felt somewhat sore over the thought that even the minister
had overlooked him, thawed under the bright and cordial greeting, and
was presently willing to cross the room to Louise and receive another
introduction.
"Mrs. Morgan wants to meet you," said the minister as they went toward
her. "She specially desired an introduction."
And the young fellow's heart warmed at the idea: he was not to be quite
left out in the cold, then, if he did drive Mr. Capron's horses and
work for his board. That is the way in which he had interpreted the
thoughtlessness of the young people. He was proud, this young man—a
good many young men are, intensely and sensitively proud, about a
hundred little things of which no one save themselves is thinking; and
thus they make hard places in their lives which might just as well be
smooth.
Mr. Butler, having performed his duty, immediately left the two to make
each other's acquaintance, and went himself to hunt out a new face that
he had seen in the crowd. He was beginning to feel that there were ways
of making church socials helpful.
A little touch of pride, mingled with a frank desire not to sail into
society under false colours, made young Martyn say, in answer to
Louise's kindly cross-questioning—
"Oh no, I don't live here; my home is a hundred miles away; I am,
really, only a servant."
"To be a servant, under some masters, is a very high position," Louise
answered quickly. "May I hope that you are a servant of the great King?"
Then you should have seen Carey Martyn's gray eyes flash.
"I believe I am," he said proudly. "I wear his uniform, and I try to
serve him."
"Then we are brother and sister," said Louise. "Let us shake hands in
honour of the relationship," and she held out her fair hand and grasped
the roughened one, and the young man's heart warmed, and his face
brightened as it hardly had since he left his mother.