A REPORTER AT CHURCH.
The Blanchards were an old Puritan family, and Dr. Blanchard, who
inherited a good deal of the Puritan steadiness of temperament, held
staunchly by the old ways, notwithstanding the fact of his having
married an Episcopalian wife. Mrs. Blanchard's family were parishioners
of Mr. Chillingworth, she herself having married shortly after he had
entered on his present charge, and he had always been treated as a
friend and welcome guest. But Mr. Alden had been Dr. Blanchard's
minister since he had first come to Minton. He had owed much, as a young
physician, to Mr. Alden's kind brotherly counsels and warm Christian
influence; and his preaching just suited men like the doctor, to whom
plain, downright, unpretentious, practical teaching was most acceptable.
Nobody ever heard Mr. Alden dealing with any abstract "plans" or
"systems," or with purely commercial considerations of future "rewards
and punishments"; or with a so-called "salvation," uncomprehended as to
its real nature, to be procured by a certain vague assent to an equally
uncomprehended formula. He gave his people, not scholastic theology, but
_religion_, as he found it in the Bible, warm, concrete, throbbing with
the human heart. He showed them the Infinite as he saw Him in every page
of his Bible, but especially in the Man of Nazareth; not as the cold,
stern Law-giver, ready to make His creatures suffer for even
intellectual shortcomings and mistakes, but as the infinitely
loving--infinitely righteous Father, seeking to raise all His children
to their highest possibilities; while, at the same time, he laid down
the irreversible laws of spiritual and moral life and health, with the
faithful candor of a true physician. And he was perpetually seeking,
first to call out in the hearts of his people a grateful and loving
response to that Infinite Love, so divine yet so human; and, next, to
show how the truth of that response lay in real turning from sin, a
willing and faithful obedience to the voice of God in duty, in every
relation of life, and that duty nothing less than that of "loving our
neighbor as ourselves." No one ever left his church without feeling more
strongly impressed with some point of his duty to his brother
man--without having had another lesson in the truth that "love is the
fulfilling of the law." Some critics, especially clerical ones, who
missed a certain familiar terminology, and a well-worn conventional way
of putting things, shook their heads over what seemed to them
"superficial" and "latitudinarian," but Mr. Alden only smiled quietly to
himself. He knew that he was not superficial; that what he taught people
went to the very root of the matter; that, if he sought to be "broad as
God's love," he sought also to show, in its divine distinctness, the
sharp line of demarcation between good and evil, love and selfishness.
And he knew that, in the real and quickened life of many, his ministry
was not without its fruit.
But Roland Graeme, with the best will in the world, could not find much
material for a striking "report," as he sat next morning, note-book in
hand, anxious to do Mr. Alden some justice in the _Minerva_. There were
no high imaginative flights, like those in which Mr. Chillingworth
indulged; though now and then there would be a burst of real eloquence,
struck out of the tense emotion of a tender heart, yet almost impossible
to summarize in a sentence. All Roland could do was to give the outline
of the clear, practical teaching addressed to the heart and conscience,
the appeals to do battle with the demon of selfishness, the close
analysis of the base substratum of so many current usages and maxims,
and the condemnation of them by a simple comparison of them with the
teachings and example of Christ.
Miss Blanchard's quick eye soon noticed the young man, though he sat at
some distance on the opposite side of the church. She recognized, at
once, the slightly upward poise of the head, the clear candid eyes, the
earnest, kindling look, as the preacher warmed to his subject. She
observed, also, his pencil and note-book, and wondered if he were taking
notes for his own benefit. For no one ever thought of "reporters" in Mr.
Alden's church. Once Roland's eye caught the graceful figure and
_spirituelle_ face that he had by no means forgotten, and saw by its
expression, that he too was recognized. Nora fancied that his glance
wandered frequently, from the preacher to the sweet childlike face of
Grace Alden, sitting with a troop of little ones in the minister's pew
near the pulpit. She did not wonder at it, for she, herself, loved to
look at Gracie, of whom she had grown very fond. There was in her fair
face, such a heavenly purity, combined with a sunny brightness, of which
the golden wavy hair seemed the natural outward expression, that she
attracted Nora's eyes as if by a magnetic influence. And Nora knew, too,
that the outward beauty was only a symbol of the genuine goodness and
sweetness of a nature of rare gentleness and purity. Kitty was as fair
in all external points--more exquisite and finished indeed; but her face
could never "hold" Nora as did that of this child of sixteen.
As Miss Blanchard passed out, Grace pressed up to her as she usually
did, for the affectionate greeting they always exchanged.
"Father wants you to come, to-morrow evening, to a private meeting of
the 'Helping Hands,'" she said. "He's going to make arrangements for a
Christmas festival. He wants you on the programme for a song or two, and
you are to come to tea, of course, he says."
"You can depend on my coming, then," was Nora's ready reply. Few people
lingered when Mr. Alden said "Come!"
That afternoon, Nora prepared for a visit to Lizzie Mason, with a little
nervous trepidation. She had been accustomed from childhood to visiting
among her poor friends in Rockland, and loved to do it. But, much as she
was interested in Lizzie, she felt shy about going in among a set of
strange faces, and into such a home as she could but dimly picture, with
the formidable figure of "Jim" in it, too, as a subject for her
exhortations. However, the thing must be done, and she braced herself to
do it, accordingly.
It was not so hard, after all as she found when she reached the poor
street, with the dingy unattractive houses, and stopped at the door to
which Roland Graeme had guided her. Lizzie was on the lookout for her,
and showed her into a little family sitting-room, where everything was
poor and shabby enough, but yet clean and tidy. No one was there but
"Jim," a rather good-looking young fellow, with a somewhat sullen brow
and weak mouth and chin, who sat reading a newspaper, quite unconscious
of the various little wiles whereby Lizzie had managed to detain him
indoors till her expected visitor should arrive. He rose and saluted
Miss Blanchard awkwardly, with evident surprise at her appearance, and
then retreated into the background, where he could look at her at
leisure without being observed. The children were out at Sunday-school,
Lizzie explained, "and mother had gone in to see a neighbor." She
herself looked rather better and much brighter than she had done the day
before.
"After you were gone, yesterday afternoon," she said, "the nurse came
in, and thought I wanted a tonic, so she went and got me one from the
dispensary, and I declare I feel quite set up by it already; and she
talked a good deal to us, too. My! it was just beautiful! it brightened
me up ever so much to see her and you!"
Of course, thought Nora, the poor girl needed a tonic; she wondered she
had not thought of it. Certainly Janie Spencer _was_ cut out for a
nurse. But it was not the tonic alone which had done Lizzie good; the
kind sympathy and cheering talk had been quite as effectual.
Nora tried to draw "Jim" out a little, but it was hard work. He replied
by monosyllables, chiefly negatives. He didn't care for reading; he
didn't go to church, he didn't think it would do him any good if he did.
As for approaching the special subject of Lizzie's dread, it would, of
course, have been impossible without something to lead up to it. Nora
was rather relieved when the door opened, and Nelly stepped in, very
much "got up" for a Sunday walk, and looking prettier and more pert than
ever. She was really a good deal taken aback at seeing Miss Blanchard
seated there, but she nodded familiarly, and answered in a tone meant to
assert the dignity and independence of one who felt herself "as good as
anybody."
Nora did her best to try to get at the girl's real self--talked to her
patiently and gently, overlooking the pertness that offended her
fastidious sense of the fitness of things. At last she asked her if she
ever went to church with her friend Lizzie.
"No," said Nelly, "I guess I've got enough of big stuffy rooms full of
people, all the week! I want some gayer kind of a picnic than that!"
Jim laughed, and even Lizzie smiled a little. They evidently thought
this a clever speech of Nelly's. Nora made no reply, indeed she was at a
loss what to say; and presently Nelly rose, remarking that she must go
on for her walk, as the afternoon was nearly over. Jim, of course,
accompanied her. Nora could not help thinking of the tender-hearted,
dreamy Pippa of the poem; and wondered what could be done with such a
hard and frivolous specimen as this. Yet, had she only known it, her
grace and gentleness and culture had had their effect on this girl,
under all her _insouciance_; had set her vaguely longing for something
that as yet she only dimly felt, something better and nobler than
anything she yet knew. We are not, as a rule, ready to show outwardly
when our self-satisfaction has been upset, and more than half of the
elevating influences of life arise out of mere contact of the higher
with the lower; far more out of what we _are_, than out of what we say.
Nora remained a little longer with Lizzie, gently trying to raise her
mind to the ideal that had so cheered herself in thinking about the poor
overweighted life. The girl did, evidently, lay hold of it to some
extent. She had that in her already, which prepared her for it, even if
she could not yet comprehend the words in which the poet had put the
truth, that:
"All service ranks the same with God."
But the anxious, loving little heart could at least grasp and hold
something of the "best love of all."
After waiting to see and greet the mother--a tired-looking woman,
prematurely broken down by ceaseless toil, Nora bade Lizzie good-by,
putting into her hand Ruskin's touching little "Story of Ida," of which
she herself was very fond, and which she thought Lizzie might be able to
appreciate. Later, she was thankful that she had followed the impulse to
do it--one of those instincts that are quicker and often truer than
reason.
Mr. Chillingworth's evening sermon was the one on which he was wont to
"lay himself out." Strangers often came to hear it, and it was
frequently reported. Roland Graeme was there as usual, as reporter; and
Miss Blanchard again, from her seat in the gallery, caught a glimpse of
the young man scribbling away in his note-book. It was odd, she thought,
how often he had seemed to cross her path since their accidental
meeting. The sermon was one of Mr. Chillingworth's most eloquent ones,
full of grand ideals, with no lack of fine and forcible expressions;
here and there, Roland thought, somewhat too rhetorical for a thoroughly
cultivated taste. There were touches in which Nora could recognize
traces of the Browning reading, the evening before, for Mr.
Chillingworth could hardly refrain from bringing into his sermons
anything which had strongly impressed him. But, however fine Mr.
Chillingworth's ideals might be, there was always a gap between these
and the realities of common life, which he seemed unable to fill up.
Their uplifting influence did not, in general, last longer than the
concluding words, except in the case of the few who could supply what he
failed to give them. In that of most of his audience, there was a period
of transient exaltation, followed by a collapse of the artificial wings,
and a sudden descent to the commonplace flats of average life and
feeling. Neither did his hearers, in general, connect these ideals with
the humble details of daily life; especially as his presentation of good
and evil was often drawn with such melodramatic intensity of light and
shade, that his hearers failed utterly to connect either with
themselves. It never occurred to Mr. Pomeroy, for instance, that the
"self-surrender" so glowingly advocated implied that he should devote
time, thought and sacrifice to the interests of his work-people. To Mrs.
Pomeroy the idea meant only increased devotion and generosity to her
favorite "missionary enterprise." It never occurred to her that it might
mean, also, a loving, motherly interest in the many comparatively
friendless girls, whose toil was helping to gather in for her the wealth
she had to bestow, but for which _she_ "neither toiled nor spun." As for
young Pomeroy, he never once even thought of any reason why he should
ever put himself out for anybody. Miss Pomeroy was perhaps beginning to
think a little, though she was naturally neither responsive nor
expansive; but it was not Mr. Chillingworth who had made her begin.
_As_ the seat occupied by the Pomeroy family was not far from that
occupied by the Farrells, Harold Pomeroy joined Nora and Kitty _as_ they
moved out. When they reached the foot of the stair, they encountered, in
the full light of the vestibule, Roland Graeme, coming from the opposite
side. Not being of the order of girls who can carelessly pass, without
sign of recognition, a person with whom they have conversed, because
they may not have been formally introduced, or because he or she may not
be in "their set," Nora was glad of the opportunity of giving him a
courteous salutation, and a pleasant "Good-evening," which was as
courteously returned.
"Why, how on earth did you come to know that fellow?" exclaimed young
Pomeroy in surprise, after Roland had passed on.
"Why should there be anything surprising in it?" returned Nora, rather
stiffly. She cordially detested Mr. Pomeroy's "airs."
"Only I shouldn't have supposed you were likely to have met Graeme," he
said, in a somewhat apologetic tone.
"Is that Roland Graeme!" she exclaimed, too much surprised to think of
anything else for a moment. Kitty laughed heartily.
"So Nora, you didn't even know who it was that you were bowing to? That
_is_ funny!"
"No, I didn't know his name, certainly, but I know _him_. That was the
young man who escorted me to see the sick woman I went to help that
evening, don't you remember? I had a good deal of talk with him on the
way, and I liked him very much. So that is the Roland Graeme they were
talking about last night. Well, I don't think he's a 'crank' in the
least."
"Oh, even a crank can be sensible sometimes, you know," said young
Pomeroy. "But I hope he isn't going to make a disciple of you."
"I shall certainly read _The Brotherhood_ now," replied Nora,
maliciously. "I believe there's a copy in my brother's surgery."
"And I certainly shall _not_" returned the young man, as he and Kitty
bade her good-night at Dr. Blanchard's door.