“WHAT MADE HER DIFFERENT?”
“I have heard a good deal about your sister that has interested me. Do
you like to talk of her?”
This was the question which Gracie Dennis asked of young Ried as he
stood beside her at the piano. She had been playing, and had come to
the music alcove for the purpose of turning her music; but now she was
touching sweet chords here and there aimlessly, and waiting for his
answer.
At the further end of the parlor Mrs. Roberts was entertaining a caller;
but the distance between them was so great that, in effect, the young
people were alone.
“I like nothing better than to talk of her.” Mr. Ried said, with
animation; “but I don't know so much about her as I wish I did. She went
away when I was quite young. I used to say 'she died,' but since I have
awakened to see her cherished plans being carried on all around me I
cannot think of her as dead.”
“That is what I want to talk about,--her work, or her plans for work.
What made her so different from other people, Mr. Ried. _Wasn't_ she
different?”
The young man regarded the question thoughtfully before answering.
“Not from all the people,” he said at last; “but certainly very
different from some. I used to think that all Christians were like her,
of course; then, when I saw my mistake, I went to the other extreme, and
thought there were none like her on earth. I have discovered that the
medium position is the correct one.”
“But what I want to know is, what _made_ her different? It wasn't her
age. Mrs. Roberts thinks she was young?”
“She was hardly nineteen when she died. Oh, no, it wasn't age; she
told me that she used to be very different. She was a Christian from
childhood, but she said that she was ashamed to claim the name. There
was nothing Christlike about her; still she was a member of the Church.
As I remember her, and as I look at other people, my judgment is that,
in her early Christian life, she was much like most of the Christians
with whom you and I are familiar.”
“And what made her different? Was it--that is--do you think it was
because she was to die so soon that she had a special experience?”
“Not at all,” he said, promptly; “it was before she realized anything
about her condition that the great change took place in her. My
brother-in-law says that she supposed herself to be in perfect health at
the time when she was most marked in her Christian life.”
“Ah! but you don't understand; I mean more than that. It is difficult to
tell what I mean; I mean--but you know, of course, _God_ knew that she
was soon to go to heaven. I thought, perhaps, he gave her a special
experience on that account.”
“No; oh, no,” he said, speaking with great earnestness. “Ester
was particularly anxious that no one should suppose her experience
exceptional. Little fellow though I was, it seemed to be her desire that
I should fully understand this. Don't let anybody make you think that
because you are a little boy you must be a sort of half-way Christian,'
she used to say, and her eyes would glow with feeling. 'I tried that way
for years,' she said, 'and I want you to understand that it is not only
sinful, but there is not a particle of happiness to be gotten out of
it--not a particle; and I would give almost nothing for what such a
Christian can accomplish. The harm one does, more than overbalances all
effort for Christ.' I think, perhaps, she felt more deeply on that than
on almost any subject; and it was because she thought she had wasted so
many years.”
“Then do you think that there is, or rather that there should be, no
difference in Christians? Have all the same work to do?”
“Not that, quite, of course,--or, I don't know, either. Isn't it all
different forms of the Master's work. The children of the home may
have each a different task, but each is needed to make the home what
it should be, and each worker needs the same spirit of love and
unselfishness to enable him to do his part. It isn't a perfect
illustration, Miss Dennis. I'm not skillful in that direction; but _I_
know what I mean, and that is a comfort.”
“And I know what you mean,” Gracie said, not joining in his laugh; “but
I am not sure that I believe it. Why, Mr. Ried, that would make a very
solemn thing of living.”
“Well, did you suppose it was other than solemn? I'm sure it makes a
triumphant thing of it, too; and without it we are only a lot of wax
figures, dancing to pass the time away.”
“But don't you really think that people have a right to have _any_ nice
times?”
“Miss Dennis, did you ever see any person who had nicer times than your
friend, Mrs. Roberts?”
“Well, Flossy is peculiar; her tastes all seem to lie in this direction;
though once they did not, I admit. Papa used to think that she had
no talent for anything but dancing. Something changed Flossy's entire
character. No one who knew her two years ago could possibly deny that.”
“She will serve as an illustration, then, to explain my meaning. I
believe, Miss Dennis, that religion should have sufficient power over
us to change all our tastes and plans in life, fitting them to the
Saviour's use.”
“But what would such a rule as that do with most of the Christians of
your acquaintance?”
“Ah! I am old and experienced enough to warn you not to make shipwreck
of your happiness on that shoal. I hovered around it, and vexed my soul
over the whole bewildering question until I suddenly discovered that I
was held absolutely responsible only for my own soul, and that the Lord
would look after his own.”
For a time there was no answer to this.
Gracie let her fingers wander with apparent aimlessness over the keys,
drawing out soft, sweet strains. Suddenly she said:--
“What do you expect Flossy will accomplish with that last scheme of
hers? I ought to beg her pardon for the familiar name, but I have known
her ever since I was a child. Don't you think her attempts for those
boys rather hopeless?”
Instantly the young man's eyes filled with tears, and when he spoke his
voice indicated deep emotion.
“I can hardly tell you how I feel about those boys. I have been anxious
for them so long and felt so hopeless. Do you remember how Elijah sat
under a juniper tree, discouraged, and said that he was the only one who
had not bowed the knee to Baal, and the Lord told him he was
mistaken, that there were five thousand others? It sounds ridiculously
egotistical, but I have felt at times something like that; as though I
was the only one who cared whether the poor fellows went to destruction
or not. But since I have met Mrs. Roberts, and seen how intense she is
and single-hearted, and since through her I have met Dr. Everett, and
seen how they are trying to work at the same problem, and since I have
come to know how Mr. Roberts is at work all the time for young men; and,
above all, since that wonderful evening here last Monday, when I saw how
two gifted ladies understood the art of turning their accomplishments
to account, in order to take those poor fellows captive for Christ, I
discovered that there were ways of solving this problem about which
I had known nothing, and people to carry it through. It was simply
glorious in you to give those fellows such music as you did, and to
accomplish by it what you did. My life has been narrow, Miss Dennis; I
never saw the piano used for Christ before.”
Gracie looked down at the keys, her face aglow. It was a new experience,
this being classed among the Christian workers of the world; making her
music for other purposes than to amuse the gay friends who chanced to
gather around her. She made the keys speak loudly for a few minutes,
then softening them, said:--
“You must not class me with Flossy, Mr. Ried. I only did what she wanted
done. I am not in the least like her, unselfish and gentle and all
that.”
But his reply, spoken low, was pleasant to her ears:--
“'By their fruits ye shall know them.'”
He evidently looked upon her as a worker. She could not help feeling
that it was pleasant to be so classed. What an intense young man he
was! Not in the least like those with whom she had hitherto been most
familiar.
There was another voice in the front parlor--a strong, vigorous voice
that carried a sense of power with it.
“Ah!” said Ried, his eyes bright, his face eager; “that is Dr. Everett.
Just study him if you want another type of the sort of Christian about
whom we have been talking; the grandest man!”
Gracie, shielded by the distance, turned on her stool and studied him.
Certainly he did not look much as though he were appointed for early
death. What a splendid physique it was!
And how thoroughly wide awake and interested he was in the subject under
discussion. Bits of the talk floated back to the two at the piano.
“Oh, he is young,” Dr. Everett was saying; “I hope for returned vigor in
time; but there must be long weeks of patience before he will be ready
for his old employment.”
“Do you know of whom he is speaking?” Gracie asked.
“I fancy it is that Calkins boy, the one with the broken limb. He is
deeply interested in the poor fellow, and is trying to plan employment
of some less wearing sort for him, I believe. Dr. Everett is always
intensely interested in somebody.”
“Is it always the very poor?”
Alfred laughed.
“Not always. I know several quite well-to-do fellows in whom he keeps
a careful oversight; but he is grandly interested in the poor. He is
taking rank as one of the most successful physicians in the city, and,
of course, he is pressed for time; yet he is so continually at the call
of the poor that people begin to speak of him as the poor man's doctor.
He told me he was proud of that title.”
At this point the musicians were appealed to to come to the front
parlor, and Gracie had opportunity for a nearer study of the man whom
she could not help but admire. He was not likely to suffer from a nearer
view; at least, not while Gracie was in the mood that then possessed
her. He greeted her cordially, and at once brought her into the
conversation by appealing to her for a decision, seeming to take it for
granted that she was of the same spirit with himself.
This young lady was taking lessons of life that were designed to be
helpful to her if she would but let them. A thoroughly well-educated and
cultured gentleman, well fitted to take high rank in society, not in the
ministry, and yet thoroughly absorbed in what she had hitherto almost
unconsciously set down as ministers' work was a mystery to her.
Moreover, for the second time that evening, she felt a curious sense of
satisfaction in being classed among the energetic workers of the
world. The pretty school-girl, who had lived all her young life in a
neighborhood where she was “Gracie Dennis,” looked up to, indeed, by
her set, and having a decided influence of her own, yet felt it to be a
novel experience to hear herself addressed in a clear, firm voice after
this manner:--
“Miss Dennis, what means would you advise for interesting a company of
young girls in reading, regularly, books which would be of use to them?
Of course, I speak of a class of girls who have done no reading of any
account heretofore, and who have no knowledge in the matter.”
“It is something about which I have not thought at all,” said Gracie,
her pretty face all in a flush. “But I should suppose the way would be
to take one girl at a time, and study her, to find what would be likely
to interest and help _her_, and also to get such an influence over her
that she would read what I wanted her to.”
“First catch your hare, eh? Good!” said the doctor, with an approving
glance towards Mrs. Roberts. “The longer I live the more convinced am
I that individual effort is what accomplishes the great things in this
world.”
There was more talk about this and kindred matters; and Gracie found
herself drawn out, and her interest excited on themes about which she
had supposed she knew nothing.
Then occurred an interruption,--a ringing of the door-bell.
“For Miss Dennis,” said the messenger; but she handed the card to Mrs.
Roberts.
There was just a moment of hesitation, while that lady apparently
studied the name, then she said, composedly:--
“This is Professor Ellis, Gracie. Do you wish to receive him this
evening?”
Since I have known Mrs. Roberts well, I have studied her innocently
sincere manner, with not a little curiosity as to the probable effect on
the world, suppose it were possible for others to adopt her method. The
actual practical effect with her is that she succeeds often in wisely
deceiving, while intending to be perfectly sincere. For instance, her
question to Gracie after a moment of hesitation, during which she asked
herself, “What ought I to do?” and immediately answered herself, “There
is nothing for me to do, but to be perfectly straight-forward.”
Her question was intended to say to Gracie: “I trust you. What your
father has directed you to do, I feel sure you will obey.” But it said
different things from that to Gracie. Ever since she had been told that
she might make her old acquaintance, Flossy, a visit, this highly-strung
young lady had been suspicious that this was a device of her stepmother
to get pleasantly rid of her for a few weeks. She surmised that a very
carefully elaborate account of her sins had been written out by this
same stepmother for the benefit of her young hostess, and that special
directions had been given for guarding her from the wolf, Professor
Ellis. She would have spoiled the entire scheme by haughtily refusing to
leave home had not the innocent delight of a young girl over the thought
of visiting a beautiful strange city gotten the better of her pride. The
gently-put question of her hostess disarmed a whole nest of suspicions.
It was hardly possible that it had been hinted to Flossy that her guest
might attempt to elope with this man, else she would not with serene
face be asking whether it was her wish to receive him.
“If you please,” she made haste to answer, her cheeks glowing the while,
and Mrs. Roberts gave instant direction that the gentleman be shown to
the parlor.
There were several new lessons set for Miss Gracie Dennis to learn that
evening. One was that Professor Ellis, with his faultless dress and
excessive politeness, his finished bows and smiles, that would have done
credit to any ball-room in the land, his accurate knowledge of all the
printed rules of etiquette, yet in Mrs. Roberts' parlor, contrasted with
Dr. Everett, and even with young Ried, the dry-goods clerk, appeared at
a disadvantage.
She was slow in learning the lesson: on that first evening she simply
stared at it in bewilderment. What did it mean? There was an attempt to
draw the professor into the circle, to continue the conversation that
had been so animated and interesting before his entrance. The effect
was much like that produced in striking a discordant note in a hitherto
faultless piece of music. Young men out of business needing help,
needing an encouraging word, an out-stretched hand! Professor Ellis had
words, and hands, but he might have been without either for all the help
they gave him in responding to efforts like these. Books to help uplift
the young, to give them high ideas of life, to enthuse them with
desires to live for a purpose! Truly he could only stare blankly at the
suggestion. What did he know of books written for such purposes? Yet
Gracie had supposed him to be literary in his tastes and pursuits.
Certainly he read French? Yes, French novels! He was quite familiar with
some of such a character that, had Gracie been a good French scholar and
ever likely to come in contact with a copy of them, he would not have
dared to mention their names in her presence. More than once of late had
the stepmother wished that her young daughter understood the language
well enough to be aware that the man whom she admired used frequently
smooth-sounding French oaths. But alas for Gracie, when he had so
poisoned her mother's influence over this dangerously pretty girl, that
she would have believed his word at any time rather than that mother's.
Well, he read other than French novels; Charles Reade, for instance, and
some of the more recent authors fashionable in certain circles. It is
true that Gracie was not acquainted with them, that her father would not
allow a copy of their books to come freely into his home, and Gracie
was much too honorable to read them in private. But it is also true that
while professing to admire this trait in her, as charming in a young
daughter, the professor had also, pityingly and gently, told this young
daughter that these things were her father's concessions to the narrow
age and trammelled profession to which he belonged; that the fact was,
free thought was discouraged, because there was that in every church
which would not bear its light; that her wise father was one of a
hundred in recognizing this, and trying to shield her while she was
young.
You are also to remember that she _was_ young, and therefore forgive her
that she did not detect the contradictory sophistry in the professor's
words. He really understood how to sugar-coat poison as well as any man
of his stamp could.