“Pearly! Pearly!”
It was a woman’s shrill voice that fiercely shrieked the name out into
the morning air.
We were homeward bound from the Old Red Spring in Saratoga, when we
were arrested by her screams. The sun shone brightly, the robins and
other song birds were trilling out their sweetest melodies, the air
was heavily scented with white clover blossoms and sweetbrier. It was
a rarely beautiful July morning. All the world to us was melody, save
the jar made by this thin, haggard, unkempt woman. In her effort to be
heard she travelled along the road in the direction she thought Pearly
must have gone, crushing the daisies and buttercups down before her.
Two Sabbaths before we had sat at the communion table, and then felt a
kinship to all, that our brothers and sisters were not only those of
our very own by ties of blood, but were close to us the round world
over. The Sabbath before, as the clergyman said, “freely ye have
received, freely give,” we thought more of the giving of ourselves
than of our money, more of letting others have a share of the good
gifts that had been our lot, joy, music, loving-kindness generally,
than of offering our filthy lucre. Indeed, it seemed a great descent,
for we had been taken up on the moment by our pastor’s tender words,
and now must remember Vanity Fair and the necessity for money in this
worldly world. And so thinking, this woman with the wild, disagreeable
voice, stopped us; and should we not do something to help her, was the
question put to ourselves.
She was one of the resident Saratogians. Cross, possibly, because she
was tired; haggard, because she had no time for rest. To her the Spring
waters were as a myth, and the dry, bracing air little considered in
her work-a-day existence. We, therefore, turning in the direction in
which this woman went, commenced our search for the little girl, for
such we decided she was, but all in vain. Whether Pearly, familiar to
the harsh voice and recognizing extra work or disagreeable duty as
a result of coming to the front, had hidden behind the large clumps
of elderberry bushes which grew thickly around, or had run off to
the woods for protection, we know not; we only know that we had to
leave the woman to conclude her search alone. But the words, “Pearly!
Pearly!” now and again caught our ear, though indistinctly, as the
distance widened between us, and later we lost the sound altogether.
Then it was that another Pearly came into our thought.
She had been baptized Margaret; but the old-fashioned long name had
been shortened during her babyhood to the beautiful name, “Pearl.” She
has always been loving and lovable, and always seemed consecrated, even
from her cradle. Many of the wise people have often gravely said of
her, “That child can never live to grow up. She is too good.” But she
has lived to grow up, and, nothing happening, in a year or two more
she will be graduated from one of our most respected women’s colleges.
She, even as a little child, never had to be punished. “Pearl, that
is wrong; you should not act or speak that way,” was the most serious
chiding she ever needed to receive; for when told she had done wrong,
she would immediately say, “I will try never to do that again.” And she
invariably would keep her promise.
As a schoolgirl she is a general favorite, being popular enough
to receive the unanimous vote for class president, for Pearl is a
sunny, bright, sympathetic girl. The truly good are always the truly
happy. Her religion is of the character to attract, not to repel. And
possibly there are nowhere to be found keener or more severe critics
than schoolgirls are of one another. The long-faced piety, as it is
sometimes called, would receive from them only ridicule and contempt.
The abandon of youth is not slow in exposing what they consider
trustless and wrong.
But my story would be too long to tell many incidents in the life of
Pearl; to tell the many ways she has helped all with whom her short
life of eighteen years has brought her in contact; to tell of her
sympathetic words, helpful handclasp, feet swift to run on deeds of
kindness, voice raised in song, thus aiding others in the schoolroom,
the prayer-meeting or the home. Indeed, Pearl was constantly forming
new ties, thus binding the hearts of all who met her to herself.
The incident of which I would particularly write is her work as a
King’s Daughter. She was one of the earliest to join this organization,
and the first band she formed was to pay for the education of a young
girl in the same school as herself. This young girl was the only child
of a rich father, but it was the old story—a dishonest partner used
the firm’s money for speculating purposes, and in an evil hour all was
gone; not only money, but reputation also, and Elsie, the only child,
must now leave school, it seemed, forever. Then it was Pearl came to
the rescue; and first binding her ten to secrecy, because it would
wound Elsie to ever know, it was arranged with the President and
officers of the school that this band should pay for Elsie’s schooling;
and she will graduate with Pearl, all unconscious of the one to whom
she is indebted.
Elsie’s father was notified by the school President that his daughter
was too much beloved not to have an opportunity to finish her
education. If he was ever able to refund the money, all right, if not,
it was still all right; and this is all Elsie or her father know.
Since then Pearl has started nine other bands, each doing noble
work for Christ and humanity. With only one of these is she herself
connected. It every year supports ten poor, aged women, who otherwise
would be obliged to go to the almshouse. By the help of this King’s
Daughters’ Band these women remain in their own little homes, passing
the hours as their desires dictate, and not feeling the pain which
Will Carleton so vividly describes in his poem, “Over the Hills to the
Poorhouse.” No wonder that these poor old women frequently ask God’s
blessing on these young girls, for they are so comfortable and happy as
they thus quietly wait for the summons to the other home whose builder
and maker is God. And no wonder that Pearl wears a happy face, for the
face indicates the heart within. The good she has done, and may yet do,
will never be known here, nor is it necessary. Sufficient for Pearl
will be the words which we hope will also be ours some day, “Enter thou
into the joy of thy Lord.”