HOW THE "FLITTING" ENDED.
As for Ruth Erskine, if she had been asked whether she was enjoying the
day, she would hardly have known what answer to make; she could not even
tell why the excursion was not in every respect all that it had promised
in the morning. She had no realization of how much the atmosphere of the
day before lingered around her, and made her notice the contrast between
the people of yesterday and the people of to-day. Mrs. Smithe, if she
were a Christian, as her nephew insisted, was one of the most
unfortunate specimens of that class for Ruth Erskine to meet; because
she was a woman who entered into pleasure and fashion, and
entertainments of all sorts, with zest and energy and only in matters
of religious interest seemed to lose all life and zeal.
Now Ruth Erskine, calm as a summer morning herself over all matters
pertaining to the souls of people in general, and her own in particular,
was yet exceedingly fond of seeing other people act in a manner that she
chose to consider consistent with their belief; therefore she despised
Mrs. Smithe for what she was pleased to term her "hypocrisy." At the
same time, while at Saratoga, she had quite enjoyed her society. They
rode together on fine mornings, sipped their "Congress" together before
lunch, and attended hops together in the evenings. Now the reason why
Mrs. Smithe's society had so suddenly palled upon her, and the words
that she was pleased to call "conversation" become such vapid things,
Ruth did not know, and did not for one instant attribute to Chautauqua;
and yet that meeting had already stamped its impression upon her. From
serene, indifferent heights she liked to look down upon and admire
earnestness; therefore Chautauqua, despite all her disgust over the
common surroundings and awkward accommodations, had pleased her fancy
and arrested her attention more than she herself realized. It was her
fate to be thrown almost constantly with Mrs. Smithe during the day, and
before the afternoon closed she was surfeited. She heartily wished
herself back to the grounds, and found herself wondering what they were
singing, and whether the service of song was really very interesting.
One episode in her day had interested her, and she could not tell
whether it had most amused or annoyed her. One of their party was
conversing with a gentleman as she came up. She had just time to observe
that he was young and fine-looking, when the two turned to her, and she
was introduced to the stranger.
"You are from Chautauqua?" he said, speaking rapidly and earnestly.
"Grand meeting, isn't it? Going to be better than last year, I think.
Were you there? No? Then you don't know what a treat you are to have.
I'm very sorry to lose to-day. It has been a good day, I know. The
programme was rich; but a matter of business made it necessary to be
away. It is unfortunate for me that I am so near home. If I were two or
three hundred miles away where the business couldn't reach me, I should
get more benefit. Miss Erskine, what is your opinion of the direct
spiritual results of this gathering? I do not mean upon Christians. No
one, of course, can doubt its happy influence upon our hearts and lives.
But I mean, are you hopeful as to the reaching of many of the
unconverted, or do you consider its work chiefly among us?"
Such a volley of words? They fairly poured forth! And the speaker was so
intensely in earnest, and so assured in his use of that word "we," as if
it were a matter that was entirely beyond question that she was one of
the magic "we." She did not know how to set out to work to enlighten
him. In fact, she gave little thought to that part of the matter, but,
instead, fell to wondering what _was_ her idea--whether she did expect
to see results of any sort from the great gathering, and that being the
case, what she expected? "Spiritual results," she said to herself, and a
smile hovered over her face--what _were_ "spiritual results?" She knew
nothing about them. _Were_ there any such things? Eurie Mitchell, had
such a question occurred to her, would have asked it aloud at once and
enjoyed the sense of shocking her auditor. But Ruth did not like to
shock people; she was too much of a lady for that.
"What proportion of that class of people are here, do you think?" she
said, at last. "Are not the most of them professing Christians?"
"Precisely the question that interests me. I should really like to know.
I wonder if there is no way of coming at it? We might call for a rising
vote of all who loved the Lord; could we not? Wouldn't it be a beautiful
sight?--a great army standing up for him! I incline to your opinion that
the most of them are Christians, or at least a large proportion. But I
should very much like to know just how far this idea had touched the
popular heart, so as to call out those who are not on the Lord's side."
"They would simply have come for the fun of the thing, or the novelty of
it," she said, feeling amused again that almost of necessity she was
speaking of herself and using the pronoun "they." What would this
gentleman think if he should bring about that vote of which he spoke and
happen to see her among the seated ones?
"'A wolf in sheep's clothing' he would suppose me to be," she said to
herself. "But I am sure I have not told him that I belong to the 'we' at
all. If he chooses to assume things in that way, it is not my fault."
Apparently he answered both her expressed sentence and her thought:
"I do not think so," he said, earnestly. "I doubt if any have come
simply for fun or for novelty. There are better places in which to
gratify both tastes. I believe there is more actual interest in this
subject, even among the unconverted, than many seem to think. They are
reasonable beings. They must think, and many of them, no doubt, think to
good purpose. It may not be clear even to themselves for what they have
come; But I believe in some instances, to say the least, it will prove
to have been the call of the Spirit."
Again Ruth felt herself forced to smile, not at the earnestness--she
liked that, but there was her party, and she rapidly reviewed
them--Marion, with her calm, composed, skeptical views, indifferent
alike to the Christian or unchristian way of doing things; Eurie, who
lived and breathed for the purpose of having what in wild moments she
called "a high time;" Flossy with her dainty wardrobe, and her dainty
ways, and her indifference to everything that demanded thought or care.
Which of them had been "called by the Spirit"? There was herself, and
for the time she gave a little start. What had _she_ come to Chautauqua
for? After all she was the only one who seemed to be absolutely without
a reason for being there. Marion's avowed intention had been to make
some money; Eurie's to have a free and easy time; Flossy had come as she
did everything else, because "they" did. But now, what about Ruth
Erskine? She was not wont to do as others did, unless it happened to
please her. What had been her motive? It was strange to feel that she
really did not know. What if this strange speaking young man were right,
and she had been singled out by the Spirit of God! The thought gave her
a thrill, not of pleasure, but of absolute, nervous fear. What did she
know of that gracious Spirit? What did she know of Christ? To her there
was no beauty in him. She desired simply to be left alone. She was
silent so long that her companion gave her a very searching review from
under his heavy eyebrows, and then his face suddenly lighted as if he
had solved a problem.
"May I venture to prophesy that you have some friend here whom you would
give much to feel had been drawn here by the very Spirit of God?" He
spoke the words eagerly and with earnestness, but with utmost respect,
and added, "If I am right I will add the name to my list for special
prayer. Do not think me rude, please. I know how pleasant it is to feel
there is a union of desire in prayer. I have enjoyed that help often. We
do not always need to know who those are for whom we pray. God knows
them, and that is the needful thing. Good-evening. I am glad to have met
you. It is pleasant to have additions to our list of fellow-heirs."
How bright his smile was as he said those words! And how thoroughly
manly and yet how strikingly childlike had been his words and his trust!
Ruth watched him as he walked rapidly away to overtake a friend who had
just passed them. Do you remember a certain gentleman, Harold Wayne by
name, who had walked with them, walked especially with Ruth, down to
the depot on the morning of departure, who had toyed with her fan and
complained that he could not imagine what they were going to bury
themselves out there for? Ruth thought of him now, and the contrast
between his lazily exquisite air and drawling words and the fresh,
earnest life that glowed in this young man's veins brought a positive
quiver of disgust over her handsome face. There was no shadow of a smile
upon it now. Instead, she felt a nameless dread. How strange the talk
had been! To what had she committed herself by her silence and his
blunders? _She_ pray for any one! What a queer thing that would be to
do. _She_ anxious that any one should be led by the spirit of God! The
spirit of God frightened her. For whom would this young man pray? Not
certainly for any friend of hers; yet he would put the name of some
stranger in his prayers. He was thoroughly in earnest, and he was the
sort of a man to do just what he said. God, he had said, would
understand whom he meant. For whom would God count those prayers? For
her? And that thought also frightened her.
"They are all lunatics, I verily believe, from the leaders to the
followers," she said in irritation, and then she wished herself at home.
During the remainder of the day she was engaged in trying to shake off
the impression that the stranger had left upon her. Go where she would,
say what she might, and she really exerted herself to be brilliant and
entertaining, there followed her around the memory of those great,
earnest eyes when he said, "I will add the name to my list for special
prayer." What name? He knew hers. He would say, doubtless, "Her friend
for whom she was anxious." But the one to whom he prayed would know
there was no such person. What would _He_ do with that earnest prayer?
For she knew it would be earnest. She was not used to theological mazes,
and if ever a girl was heartily glad when a day of pleasuring was over,
and the boat had touched again at the Chautauqua wharf, it was Ruth
Erskine.
As for Flossy, it so happened that Charlie Flint, after Marion had
startled and disgusted him, sought refuge with her. She was pretty and
dainty, and did not look strong-minded; not in the least as if her
forte was to preach, so he made ready to have a running fire of small
talk with her.
This had been Flossy's power in conversation for several years. He had
judged her rightly there. But do you remember with whom her morning had
commenced? Do you know that all the day thus far she had seemed to
herself to be shadowed by a glorious presence, who walked steadily
beside her, before her, on either hand, to shield, and help and bless?
It was very sweet to Flossy, and she was very happy; happier than she
had ever been in her life. She smiled to herself as the others chatted,
she hummed in undertone the refrain of a hymn that she had caught in a
near tent that morning:
"I am so glad that Jesus loves me."
_Wasn't_ she glad! Was there anything better to find in all this world
than the assurance of this truth? She felt that the thought was large
enough to fill heaven itself. After that, what hope was there for
Charlie Flint and his small talk? Still, he tried it, and if ever he did
hard work it was during that talk. Flossy was sweet and cheery, but
preoccupied. There was a tantalizingly pleasant smile on her face, as if
her thoughts might be full of beauty, but none of them seemed to appear
in her words. She did not flush over his compliments, nor was she
disturbed at his bantering.
He got out of all patience.
"I beg pardon," he said, in his flippantly gallant way, "but I'm
inclined to think you are very selfish; you are having your enjoyment
all to yourself. To judge by the face which you have worn all day your
heart is bubbling over with it, and yet you think about it instead of
giving me a bit."
Flossy looked up with a shy, sweet smile that was very pleasant to see,
and the first blush he had been able to call forth that day glowed on
her cheeks. Was it true? she questioned within herself. Was she being
selfish in this, her new joy? Ought she to try to tell him about it?
Would he understand? and could she speak about such things, anyway? She
didn't know how. She shrank from it, and yet perhaps it would be so
pleasant to him to know. No, on the whole, she did not think it would be
pleasant. They had not talked of the meetings nor of religious matters
at all; but for all that the subtle magnetism that there is about some
people had told her that Charlie Flint would not sympathize in her new
hopes and joys.
Well, if that were so, ought she not all the more to tell him, so that
he might know that to one more person Christ had proved himself a
reality, and not the spiritual fancy that he used to seem to her?
Flossy, you see, was taking long strides that first day of her Christian
experience, and was reaching farther than some Christians reach who have
been practicing for years. Something told her that here was a chance of
witnessing for the one who had just saved her. She thought these
thoughts much more quickly than it has taken me to write them, and then
she spoke:
"Have I been selfish? I do not know but I have. It is all so utterly new
that I hardly know how I am acting; but it is true that my heart has
been as light as a bird's all day. The truth is, I have found a friend
here at Chautauqua who has just satisfied me."
"Have you indeed!" said Mr. Charlie, giving, in spite of his well-bred
effort to quell it, an amused little laugh. And in his heart he said,
"What a ridiculous little mouse she is! I wonder if they have the
wedding day set already, and if she will announce it to me?" Then aloud:
"How very fortunate you have been! I wish I could find a friend so
easily as that! I wonder if I am acquainted with him? Would you mind
telling me his name?"
And then Flossy answered just one word in a low voice that was tremulous
with feeling, and at the same time wonderfully clear, and with a touch
of joy in it that would not be suppressed, "Jesus."
Then it was that the exquisite young fop at her side was utterly
dumbfounded. He could not remember ever before in his life being so
completely taken by surprise and dismay that he had not a word to
answer. But this time he said not a single word. He did not even attempt
an answer, but paced the length of the deck beside her in utter and
confused silence, then abruptly seated her, still in silence, and went
hurriedly away. Flossy, occupied with the rush of feeling that this
first witnessing for the new name called forth, gave little heed to his
manner, and was indifferent to his departure. He was right as to one
thing. Her love was still selfish: it was so new and sweet to her that
it occupied all her heart, and left no room as yet for the outside world
who knew not this friend of hers. They were almost at the dock now, and
the glimmer of the Chautauqua lights was growing into a steady
brightness. As she stood leaning over the boat's side and watching the
play of the silver waves, there brushed past her one who seemed to be
very quietly busy. One hand was full of little leaflets, and he was
dropping one on each chair and stool as he passed. She glanced at the
one nearest her and read the title: "The True Friend," and it brought an
instant flush of brightness to her face to understand those words and
feel that the Friend was hers. Then she glanced at the worker and
recognized his face. He had prayed for her. She could not forget _that_
face. It was plain also that his eyes fell on her. He knew her, and
something in her face prompted the low-toned sentence as he paused
before her: "You have found the Father, I think."
And Flossy, with brightening eyes, answered, quickly, "Yes, I have."
And then the boat touched at the wharf, and the crowd elbowed their way
out.
There were two opinions expressed about that excursion by two gentlemen
as they made their way up the avenue. One of the gentleman was clerical,
and spectacled, and solemn.
"There go a boat-load of excursionists," he said to his companion.
"They come, as likely as not delegates, from some church or
Sabbath-school, and the way they do their work is to go off for a frolic
and be gone all day. I saw them when I left this morning. That is a
specimen of a good deal of the dissipation that is going on here under
the guise of religion. I don't know about it; sometimes I am afraid more
harm than good will be done."
The other speaker was Mr. Charlie Flint, and as he rushed past these two
he said to _his_ companion, "Confound it all! Talk about getting away
from these meetings! It's no use; it can't be done. A fellow might just
as well stay here and run every time the bell rings. I heard more
preaching to-day on this excursion than I did yesterday; and a good deal
more astonishing preaching, too."