HELPING HANDS.
When Miss Blanchard reached Mr. Alden's house the next evening, she met
with the usual warm welcome from the whole family,--Grace as usual
constituting herself her special attendant, and claiming a song from her
friend before tea.
"For we shan't have any time, you know, after, on account of the
meeting," she said, coaxingly.
But just as they were looking over the music, and deciding what song it
should be, the door opened to admit Mr. Alden's cheery presence. And
with him came in, to Nora's amused surprise, Mr. Roland Graeme.
"I met Mr. Graeme down town," Mr. Alden explained, "and we got so
interested in the things we were talking about, that he walked nearly
all the way up with me before we knew it, so I wouldn't let him go back.
I told him he must come in and have tea with us, as I want him to come
to our meeting. So now, my dear Miss Blanchard, please go on. I'm glad I
came just in time. You know my favorites--give me one of them, please."
And he threw himself back in his easy chair, his face lighted up with
its most genial smile. Miss Blanchard thought for a minute or two; then,
with a significant smile, both at him and at Roland Graeme, she took a
well-worn song that lay at hand, and sang with great spirit, "A Man's a
Man for a' That." Mr. Alden listened with evident delight, his deep bass
occasionally breaking into the chorus, till, when the last verse was
reached, he turned to Roland:
"Come Mr. Graeme, I know you can join in that song. Gracie, let us all
give that last verse in a ringing chorus." And they did--the four voices
blending in very pleasant unison in the words:
"For a' that and a' that;
It's coming, yet, for a' that;
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that!"
"Now, Miss Blanchard, I presume you gave us that as a delicate
compliment to my likings and to my young friend's new venture--_The
Brotherhood_!" Nora smiled and bowed. "But of course that song doesn't
do your singing justice, for any tyro like me can sing it, in a way, if
he only has the heart. Now, I want you to give us my favorite love-song,
"Robin Adair," my mother's old-time lullaby. _That_ does bring out her
voice," he added, turning to Roland.
"It's a song I'm very fond of," Roland replied.
Nora sang the old, tender, Scotch love-song with a simple pathos that
suited it as well as did her fine contralto. Roland, who like most
emotional people, was exceedingly sensitive to the power of music, felt
it float through his whole being--soothing the nervous system which had
been on the strain all day, and taking him, for a moment, into that
world of romance among whose bowery walks it is so pleasant, for even
the most practical-minded, occasionally to wander. But the dream of
romance was abruptly ended by the summons to tea. And Nora could not
help noticing, all through that meal, how Roland's eyes followed every
motion of Grace Alden with a quite unconscious devotion. It recalled to
her Tennyson's line:
"And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung."
But Grace, she was sure, would never be the "shallow-hearted cousin Amy"
in any event. Was she too much of a child, still, to be touched by this
unspoken, though evident admiration on the part of a young man so
attractive as Roland Graeme? Nora could not, at any rate, detect, in the
frank ingenuous face, any trace of consciousness. And the father and
mother seemed equally unconscious; which was scarcely to be wondered at,
for they regarded Grace, at sixteen, as only a child still. Fathers and
mothers are often the last to see that the nestlings are fledged.
Nora, as most people will have discerned, was a rather romantic young
woman, and it did not take many minutes for this little possible romance
to flash through her brain. Roland sat near her at tea, and his first
remark was, naturally, an interested inquiry for the poor invalid to
whom he had guided her.
"And how is the little girl getting on?" asked Mr. Alden, when Nora had
given her report of the mother.
"Oh, she seems tolerably contented, now," was the reply. "But she is a
strange child--rather; very variable in her moods, though very
concentrated and self-contained. Under all her quietness, she seems
nervous and excitable, with a passionate and self-willed nature--I can
see very well--though her very shyness seems to keep it down."
"I have no doubt her mother must have a history," said Mr. Alden,
thoughtfully. "I wish we could know what it is."
"Cecilia has a wonderfully good ear," Nora went on, "and a perfect
passion for music. I shouldn't wonder if she were to turn out a
_prima-donna_ yet."
"And so you have taken charge of the child, yourself," said Roland, his
eye lighting up with ready sympathy. "That was truly kind!"
The words were said with so much feeling, that Nora felt slightly
embarrassed, but turned the matter off by declaring that,
notwithstanding her peculiarities, she was a very interesting child, and
they were all growing quite fond of her. She would be sorry when her
mother could claim her again.
"Gracie must go and bring her here, some day soon. It would do her good
to be with these noisy youngsters for a while," said Mr. Alden.
"She's a remarkably refined child," said Nora. "Her mother must have
kept her very much to herself."
"Well, we mustn't lose sight of her. There's no knowing what may be made
of her yet." And then Mr. Alden turned to Roland, and they resumed the
discussion they had begun before. It was on some rather abstruse
questions as to the relations of capital and labor; but Nora--with her
intelligence on such matters quickened by the argument she had so
recently heard--listened with attention enough to grasp, at least, the
general position involved. Mr. Alden had taken a great interest in the
enthusiastic and generous young reformer, and was genuinely anxious to
keep him, if he could, from rushing into extreme or ill-considered
views, however plausible they might at first sight appear. And though he
had not the advantage of Roland's special reading on these subjects, his
sound, common-sense experience and insight into human nature gave him a
quick perception of the fallacy of any extreme position, such as Roland,
in his inexperienced enthusiasm, was often too ready to embrace.
"The 'Knights' want me to give them a lecture by and by. I'm thinking of
taking up the subject of 'Modern Miracles,'" said Roland, with a smile.
"Meaning, I suppose, the wonders science is perpetually astonishing us
with?"
"Yes, especially as an agency at work in consolidating the human race
into one organism; having common interests and common dangers, so that a
famine in one quarter of the globe means scarcity in another. I don't
want to take up the labor question directly, just now; I should get the
name of an 'incendiary' or an 'agitator' at once, and I don't want to
make the men any more discontented than they are. It's the employers we
want to get at. But such a subject as the 'Miracles of Science' would
afford plenty of opportunity for pointing out the benefits of
coöperation, as being necessary for guiding these tremendous new forces
for the good, not the ill, of humanity."
"Will any one besides 'Knights of Labor' be allowed to go?" asked Nora.
Mr. Alden looked at her with one of his broad, genial smiles. "Are _you_
taking an interest in such matters, then?" he asked.
"I have been, lately," Nora said. "The subject seems to be 'in the air.'
Everything I've heard or read lately seems to bring it up. And I know so
little about it, really, that I want to learn."
"--The best possible frame of mind for getting wisdom," replied Mr.
Alden. "I wish my people would only come to church in it! Well, I hope
Mr. Graeme is not going to shut the public out; and then you and I can
go together to hear him."
Roland's face had again lighted up with pleasure. "I believe it's to be
an open meeting," he said. "Of course there's no reason for excluding
the public, and I think they want to make a little by it. I'll ask
'Brother' Dunning, and let you know."
"You all call each other 'Brother,' in the order, do you?" asked Mr.
Alden.
"Yes, 'Brother' or 'Sister,' as the case may be," he replied smiling.
"It seems to be quite a matter of course, when you get used to it."
"Mr. Graeme," said Nora, as they walked together to the place of
meeting, "would you mind telling me just why you became a 'Knight of
Labor'?"
"Not in the least," he said. "It is very simple. I felt, as I think no
entirely unprejudiced person can help feeling nowadays, that our
working-classes do not get fair play in the great struggle going on
about us; that here the 'battle' is emphatically 'to the strong,' and
that the weaker are being, perforce, driven to the wall,--crushed
beneath the great iron wheels of Progress, Capital, Combination, and
Protection. And I always had an instinctive sympathy with the 'under dog
in the fight.' Ever since, as a boy, I read Spenser's 'Faërie Queen,' it
seemed to me the noblest task a man could devote himself to,--the
fighting the battles of the weak against selfish tyrants,
'To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,'
or whatever corresponds to that in our prosaic age."
"Yes," said Nora, warmly, "but why, for that end, did you need to become
a 'Knight' of that description?"
"For two reasons," he replied. "First, because the only way to
thoroughly understand their position seemed to me to become one of them,
as it were; to comprehend their feelings, aspirations, aims. And,
secondly, because I think they need, above all things, some intelligent
help and guidance from within. They are so apt to grow wrong-headed and
unjust, simply from the perpetual pressure of the hardships of their
position. Although I can honestly say, too, that I have often been
deeply impressed by the patience and moderation that they show in very
trying circumstances. I seldom attend one of their mass-meetings without
feeling deeply touched by the vague, wistful sense of the possibilities
toward which they are groping, burdened with a sense of tremendous
difficulties in the way, and of their own inability to cope with them.
And I often wish I could only inspire a whole army of intelligent,
energetic, educated young men to take up their cross and help them to
win the day. It would be the salvation, it seems to me, not only of this
country, but, in a great measure, of the human race!"
Roland spoke with all the warmth of his intensely altruistic nature, and
his voice thrilled with irrepressible feeling. Nora felt her own pulse
quicken with the contagion of his enthusiasm. Mr. Alden, who overheard
the last words, turned back to add:--
"Yes, Graeme, I believe it will be all that; _if_ only you can, at the
same time, raise this great mass of toiling humanity in the moral and
spiritual scale, as well as in the material and intellectual one.
However, do all you can for both!"
They had, by this time, arrived at the place where the "Helping Hands
Society" usually held its meetings. The place had a history of its own.
It had originally been a much frequented saloon, which had stood like a
dragon in the way of Mr. Alden's mission work, in a very unpromising
portion of his field of labor. It was the place, also, where many days'
wages were sunk in ruinous indulgence, instead of being spent in
comforts for hungry families. There men lured each other to destructive
excesses that besotted them till there was apparently nothing of their
better nature left to which to appeal. Mr. Alden conceived the idea of
out-flanking the dragon, and carried out his design, with the aid of a
few generous members of his congregation. At a time when the place was
about to change hands, through the necessities of an owner, ruined by
his own merchandise, the building was secured for a comparatively low
price, and forthwith turned into a mission-centre of a peculiar kind.
Mr. Alden had too much shrewdness to turn the old "Good-fellows' Hall"
into anything like a church or mission-hall--the idea of some of his
zealous helpers. He knew that this would only frighten away the old
_habitués_, and that a successor to the extinct saloon would speedily
spring up. So the "Good-fellows' Hall," it remained, with the same
external attractions as before, apparently changed in only one
respect--that coffee, lemonade, and other temperance beverages were the
only things sold there. A respectable temperance man was installed as
keeper, and conducted this part of it on his own responsibility. Men
might come there and smoke, talk, or read the papers. They were not even
prohibited from bringing their own ale with them, so long as they used
it in moderation. But, as a matter of fact, they hardly ever chose to do
so, feeling an unwritten law; and if they did bring it, the slightest
tendency to excess was sternly repressed. But in all else they were free
to do as they pleased. Care was, of course, taken that all the papers
and other reading matter on the table should be of the best and most
elevating character adapted to their taste and calibre. So most of the
old _habitués_ continued to frequent it; and if they grumbled at first,
at the loss of the wonted dram, they gradually forgot to miss it, and
met, and smoked, and told old yarns as readily as ever.
But behind this expurgated saloon--and divided from it by double
doors--were two large rooms devoted to very different purposes. One was
a reading-room, with shelves tolerably well filled with interesting
books, history, travels, tales, and modern books relating to various
industrial occupations. This room was furnished with comfortable chairs,
and any one might enter and read to his heart's content, provided he
would leave his pipe outside. The other was fitted with seats, and
served as a lecture-room or a preaching hall. Here a Sunday-school was
held weekly, and here Mr. Alden or some one of his helpers frequently
held simple, short services which were generally well attended by the
people of the neighborhood. Here it was, that the Christmas festival was
to be given by the "Helping Hands Society," and a small committee-room
adjoining was the place of the present meeting.
Its components were rather a heterogeneous group. There were two or
three young business men, a shop-keeper and his wife, two or three
mechanics and artisans who were "Knights" and acquaintances of Roland,
and several girls in different occupations, two of them teachers, and
almost all self-supporting. The festival was, of course, to be held for
the benefit of the poor people of the neighborhood, who were not
included in any other Christmas-keeping arrangements. Some of those
present were representative of the people to be entertained, and to
these Mr. Alden, as chairman, gave considerable heed in the preparation
of the programme; but all could, in some way, assist in carrying it out.
Finally it was arranged as follows:--
First, of course, there was to be a "Tree," laden with little gifts for
the children; after that, Christmas music, including a violin solo from
one of the young men; then a magic-lantern exhibition of Oriental views,
followed by one of Mr. Alden's common-sense "Talks"; and last, but not
least, a reading from Dickens' "Christmas Carol," by Roland Graeme.
The latter undertook to escort Miss Blanchard home, after the meeting
was over. As they walked together under the clear, cold, winter
starlight, Nora told the young man something of poor Lizzie Mason's
story, and her anxiety for the brother, about whom she had also spoken
to Mr. Alden.
"I'll look him up," said Roland, heartily, "and see if anything can be
done with him. As for the girls whose wages have been 'cut,' that matter
has been up before the 'Knights' and a deputation is to interview the
manager."
"Oh, do you think it will do any good?" she exclaimed.
"That I can't say," he replied. "We can only try."
"Do you know, Mr. Graeme, if I were a man, I think I should be a
'Knight' too!"
He laughed. "But you know our modern 'Knights' are not always _men_!" he
replied.