AFTERNOON VISITORS.
The days seem to go on faster after the winter solstice is turned, and
so, too, often do the life and work of men. Roland Graeme, at all
events, found the days fly past with an increasing rapidity. He had,
indeed, no idle time on his hands. His law-studies and office-work
absorbed the best part of his day. His reporting and journalizing filled
in all the intervals, and several evenings. The meetings of the "Knights
of Labor" always occupied one evening in the week, and sometimes more;
for besides his regular attendance at the Assembly to which he belonged,
his intelligence and ability were frequently called into requisition,
either in getting new assemblies into working order, or in helping to
settle difficult matters that came up for consideration. Roland's
influence had already made itself felt among the men, with whom a
combination of honest enthusiasm, energy and ability like his, speedily
becomes a power. Dunning, the head of the Minton organization, himself a
shrewd, intelligent man, had soon recognized Graeme's value, and
frequently sought his counsel. And with the men generally, his ready
sympathy, genial address, and persuasive eloquence had gained an
influence that often surprised him, almost as much as did the fair and
moderate views and temperate and sensible speeches that he often heard
from them. He would laughingly remark to Mr. Alden, that, if the
masters, generally, were only as fair and reasonable in their attitude
as were most of the men, there need never be a "strike" or a "lock-out."
To which Mr. Alden would reply, that, as it had been from the beginning,
so it was still, most difficult for "a rich man to enter the Kingdom of
Heaven."
Then, in addition to all his other work, Roland had his editorials for
_The Brotherhood_ to write, as well as all the rest of its editorial
management on his hands; and though it was only a small weekly sheet,
this work often kept his lamp burning till far into the night. With all
these things on his mind, it is no wonder if he began sometimes to feel
the pressure--if his color was somewhat less fresh and his face more
lined and worn than on his first arrival in Minton. Both Sandy Dunlop
and his friend Dick Burnet sometimes warned him that he was "burning the
candle at both ends," but his own enthusiasm was like a spirited steed
that will carry its rider on, at full gallop, almost in spite of
himself.
As for _The Brotherhood_, it could not be called a very brilliant
success, financially at least. This, however, had not been expected by
any one concerned, and was a matter of least concern to Sandy Dunlop,
who supplied most of the funds, with a grim satisfaction in feeling that
he was thereby doing a little toward "the keeping in order" of bland
autocrats like Mr. Pomeroy, for whom the rugged Scotchman had little
love. Dick Burnet helped his friend materially, by printing the paper as
economically as possible, at the office of the _Minerva_; though this
was, for obvious reasons, kept very quiet. The new paper found, of
course, its largest circulation among the workingmen, being a sort of
recognized "Organ" in their interests; and a good many business men, who
wanted their patronage, used it as an advertising medium, its principal
source of profit. But, of the people Roland most desired to reach, few
read it, or cared to do so. Burnet, however, went as far as he thought
he safely could, in reprinting portions of Roland's best articles on
general subjects, as well as some of his selections; and the very fact
of the existence of such a paper with such a title and such principles,
was not without its effect in the community. Managers became somewhat
more pliant; concessions were somewhat more readily gained; negligence
of precautions was less common, now that the employers knew, at least,
that there was "a chiel amang them, takin' notes," though it need
scarcely be said that the "note-taking" individual was not particularly
agreeable to the subjects of his notes. For this, however, Roland cared
little. His own affairs and the estimation in which he was held, did
not, happily, weigh heavily on his mind. He had too many other people to
think about, and, as yet, he had no engrossing personal interests;
moreover, he could now always find a haven of rest and refreshment in
Mr. Alden's pleasant home. The sight of Grace, indeed, always refreshed
him, in itself, as did a fine poem or picture. He was content simply to
sit and watch her acting "little mother" to the other children, while he
talked with Mr. Alden, and his boyish friend, Frank. Mr. Alden smiled a
little to himself, as he began to notice the magnetic attraction that
drew Roland's eyes constantly in the direction of Grace's girlish
figure. It reminded him of his own young days; and he knew that Roland
was as romantic as any young troubadour. He, however, had too much real
faith to be a fussy or fidgety man, and he could see that Grace was as
unconscious of Roland's silent devotion as any prudent father could
desire. He knew that, in some things, she was even younger than her
years, owing, in part, to her quiet and healthy up-bringing; and he was
not afraid of a premature love affair. Nor, indeed, was Roland's the
kind of devotion that easily finds expression in "love-making"--though
among his papers there were scattered various fragments of verse which
sometimes came to him, even in his busy life, and which owed their
inspiration to Grace Alden. He would have felt it a desecration of the
reverent emotion with which he regarded her, to say a word which would
have broken or disturbed the childlike unconsciousness, the calm, even
current of her life. Grace was used to having people love her. She could
not have fancied what it would be to live without what was to her the
very breath of life, but it never occurred to her to think of it, or
about herself in connection with it.
So Mr. Alden reassured the slight uneasiness of his wife, and took no
notice; but continued to give Roland the benefit of his kindly sympathy
and friendly counsel. He was, indeed, with the exception of Sandy
Dunlop, the only man Roland knew in Minton to whom he could talk with
perfect freedom and confidence in his honest impartiality. And, though
Mr. Alden never forced on his young friend his own strong religious
convictions, the latter often _felt_ them; and, without his knowing it,
they helped him to keep up heart and hope even in his discouragements,
by the recognition of the "Divinity that shapes the ends" of men to
other issues than they themselves have designed. Roland's faith in this
respect had never quite given way; and the influence of Mr. Alden's
strong and happy realization of it very much helped his own.
Roland was not likely, however, to forget his promise of calling to see
Miss Blanchard and the little girl whom he had first befriended. Early
in the new year, he called, late one snowy afternoon, when he thought he
would be pretty sure of finding Miss Blanchard at home. She was alone in
the drawing-room, reading by the window. She expressed great pleasure at
seeing him again, and sent at once for the three children; having
noticed Roland's predilection for the society of the little Aldens.
Eddie, who had by no means forgotten him, rushed at him with a familiar
"Hallo!" which rather shocked Nora's ideas of propriety. But Roland
responded in the same fashion, and Eddie and he were soon in a merry
flow of talk, while Daisy, on his knee, was trying to introduce
"Tatters" and give a catalogue of his accomplishments. Cecilia, shy and
grave as usual, recognized Roland with evident pleasure, and soon seemed
so much at home with him, that she willingly went, at his suggestion, to
get her accordion and play him a tune on it.
"She is really quite useful, now," said Miss Blanchard, in Cecilia's
absence. "She has great influence over these two, who think her the most
wonderful musician that ever was."
"The little Aldens seemed greatly taken with her, too," said Roland,
laughing. "Mrs. Alden says she has made quite a conquest of Frank."
"Well, Grace has certainly made a conquest of her," replied Nora; "the
child has taken the greatest fancy to her, and I don't wonder. She is
such a lovely girl, isn't she, Mr. Graeme?" and as she spoke she looked
up, a half mischievous smile hovering about her lips and in her eyes.
"She is, indeed!" replied Roland, with straightforward warmth. He never
had any self-conscious impulse to conceal his admiration for Grace. But
Cecilia had returned with her accordion, and surprised him a good deal
by her correct rendering of a number of airs which she had picked up
entirely by ear.
"Why, you are going to be a modern St. Cecilia!" he said. "Do you know
who she was?" he added.
"Yes," said the child, smiling, and looking up at Miss Blanchard
comprehendingly.
"She says her mother told her she was named after her father," remarked
Nora; "of course his name must have been Cecil."
"Does she speak as if he were dead?" he asked, in a low tone, as the
child began playing another air.
"She doesn't seem to know anything about him," she replied, in the same
tone. "Miss Spencer has an idea her mother may be a deserted wife," she
added.
"Poor thing!" said Roland; then turning to another subject, one of the
objects of his visit: "I am going to give that lecture of mine that I
was talking of, on 'Modern Miracles,' next week," he said, smilingly.
"You said you would like to hear it, so I've brought you two or three
tickets for yourself and any friends of yours who might do me the honor
of coming. The price of admission is a merely nominal one," he added,
disclaiming thanks, "simply to keep out 'roughs,' as the lecture is
designed mainly for the men themselves. There will be a few seats
reserved, for admission to which these tickets are intended; but I don't
know that they will have many occupants. Mr. Alden and Miss Grace are
going, so in any case you will have them for company, if you care to
come."
"Oh, indeed, I want very much to go," replied Nora, eagerly, "and I
think my brother will go, too, if he possibly can. He reads your paper
regularly, and is much interested in your work."
"I am glad to hear it," he said. "I wish he could influence Mr. Pomeroy
a little to be reasonable in meeting the reasonable requests of the men.
I am afraid there may be trouble if he does not. We have been doing our
best to stave off a strike, but it may have to come. By the way, that
young fellow, Mason, seems to have a desperate grudge against young
Pomeroy. One of our men says that there's a girl in the case,--that it's
jealousy that makes him so set on mischief."
"Oh, impossible!" exclaimed Nora. "Mr. Harold Pomeroy is engaged to Miss
Farrell, an intimate friend of mine."
"So I've heard," said he. "But that hardly proves the contrary. Young
men do all sorts of silly and wicked things for a little amusement, I'm
sorry to say," he continued, gravely. "And sometimes young ladies do so,
too! However, there may be nothing in it. I only give it as I heard it."
Nora's mind had been going back to the things that Lizzie Mason had told
her, in the beginning of their acquaintance. Was it possible that Harold
Pomeroy could be the unknown "gentleman" who "turned Nelly's head with
compliments and attention",--who had so upset Jim and poisoned poor
Lizzie's piece of mind? The thought made her cheek burn with intense
indignation. This would be worse than anything else.
Meantime Roland's thoughts had been taking a different direction; and he
presently remarked:
"Waldberg's going to relieve the dryness of the lecture with a little
music. He offered, and I thought it a good idea."
"Mr. Waldberg is a friend of yours, isn't he?" remarked Nora.
"Yes, Waldberg and I started a friendship when I first met him, along
with a party of jolly students, while I was taking a walking-tour in
Germany. He and I spent some happy days, roaming about the Black Forest
together; and as I found that he was just about to start for the New
World to seek his fortune, I gave him a note to my friend Burnet, the
editor of the _Minerva_, you know. So when I arrived here, I found he
had cast anchor in Minton; and we have kept together ever since. He and
I recall to each other a good many pleasant associations, as we often
talk over the 'Fatherland;' and I keep my German a little in practice.
He likes to talk it now and then, of course, though he speaks English so
well. He and I and my old friend, Mr. Dunlop, get on very comfortably
together. Dunlop has rather a fancy for Waldberg, though he thinks him a
little reckless. I sometimes wish he had a little more of Dunlop's sound
Scotch principle."
"Oh, I suppose that Mr. Dunlop is the old gentleman I took such a fancy
to," said Nora.
"Where did you meet him?" he asked.
"At Mr. Pomeroy's; there happened a discussion there about these labor
questions, and he spoke out so strongly!"
"Oh, yes, Dunlop's sound enough on that head, and he's by no means
afraid of saying what he thinks. You see, he's rich enough to be able to
take liberties, though he likes to live quietly in his own old-fashioned
way. He has plenty of time on his hands, and it has been a great
interest to him to read this thing up. I should not have been able to
start _The Brotherhood_ without his help, and he's as much interested in
this lecture of mine as I am."
"Is he all alone in the world, then?" asked Nora.
"Yes--he seems so. His wife and only child died long ago, and he doesn't
care to live by himself. He has his own two comfortable rooms, and he
sometimes has Waldberg and me in to dine with him. He has taken up some
idea that I must be a distant relation of his, a Scotch cousin of some
remote degree, because my mother's name was Dunlop. He has been writing
to her about it, to see if he can establish some link of relationship."
Evidently Mr. Graeme must be a great favorite of this old gentleman,
Nora thought.
Presently she took up another subject that had been occupying her mind.
"Do you know, Mr. Graeme, an idea has come to me about something we might
do for some of these poor girls. I was asking Mr. Alden if we couldn't
start some sort of club for them, such as I've read about--a place where
they could spend the evenings when they chose, where they could have
books or music, or anything else they liked. Don't you think that would
brighten up their lives a little?"
"Yes, if you could get them to use it," he replied.
"Mr. Alden thinks we might manage it," she said. "And he said he would
let us have that committee-room where the 'Helping Hands' meet, and they
could use it always, except when there are meetings. So I am going to
get it nicely fitted up by some of the young ladies I know here. Miss
Farrell's going to help, and I think Miss Pomeroy will, too, if I ask
her."
"It would be a capital thing, if you could only bring these young ladies
into direct contact with the working-girls, so that they might know
something of their lives, and realize their circumstances. That's what
people really need, most of all."
"Well, I'm going to _try_," said Nora, decidedly.
Roland rose as if he thought it time for him to go. He took up the
volume of Lowell's poems that Miss Blanchard had laid down on his
entrance, and opened it where she had laid a geranium leaf to keep her
place.
"Ah, I see, you are reading 'The Vision of Sir Launfal'! That is one of
my favorites," he said.
"Yes, I think it is a lovely poem," she said.
He glanced at the open page, then out of the window, where, as the
daylight was fading, the soft falling snow, clinging to the trees, was
conjuring up a ghostly, spectral white forest without.
"We might alter these lines just a little," he said, "to describe that
fairy scene:
"'Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt,
Long gleaming aisles of snow-clad trees,
Bending to simulate a breeze.'"
They were still talking over the poem, when the door opened, and Mrs.
Blanchard entered, fresh from an afternoon _siesta_, in her pale-green
"tea-gown." Nora introduced "Mr. Graeme," whom Mrs. Blanchard expressed
herself as much pleased to meet, having heard so much about him of late.
"But why haven't you lights?" she asked. "You're almost in the dark!"
"That's what I like, you know, at this hour, and it seemed a pity to
shut out that white world!" said Nora.
"That dreary world!" said Mrs. Blanchard, turning up the gas, while
Roland courteously lighted it for her. He declined the offered cup of
tea, and was just about to take leave, when the door opened again,
admitting Mr. Chillingworth. The clergyman looked surprised at seeing
Roland there, though not by any means discomposed by his recollection of
the previous meeting. He only remarked, as Mrs. Blanchard was about to
introduce him, "I have met Mr. Graeme before," greeting him with
something of his former stiffness, as Roland, bidding the ladies a
courteous good-evening, took his leave.
"I wish he wouldn't have gone quite so soon," said Mrs. Blanchard. "I'd
really have liked to hear him talk a little. He seems quite a mild young
man, doesn't he now, Mr. Chillingworth?"
"What did you expect, Sophy?" said Nora, laughing.
"Oh, I expected a beard, at least, and he has only a moustache, and
doesn't look a bit fierce or revolutionary! And what has he been talking
to you about, all this time, Nora, for Eddie told me he had been here a
good while?"
"He kindly brought us some tickets for a lecture he's going to give next
week. Will you have one, Mr. Chillingworth?" she asked, audaciously. "If
you'll go, I'll give you one."
"Thanks very much, Mrs. Blanchard," said the clergyman, taking the
offered cup of tea. "I'm afraid I must decline the pleasure," he said,
returning the ticket. "I see he calls his lecture 'Modern Miracles.'
Very possibly it is just a pretext for bringing out some of his
sceptical views."
"Oh no!" replied Nora. "It's nothing of that kind. I heard him talking
to Mr. Alden about it. He only means to give a sketch of the scientific
wonders of the age, and show how human ingenuity has almost annihilated
space and time. It is chiefly for workingmen, but I had said I should
like to go."
"Ah well, you never can tell," Mr. Chillingworth replied, doubtfully.
"People bring in their attacks on Christianity under cover of all sorts
of things."
"Well, we'll go to the lecture, and give you a full report," said Mrs.
Blanchard, lightly.
"By the way," said Mr. Chillingworth, glad to get away from the subject
of Mr. Graeme and his lecture, "you'll be happy to hear that Mr. Pomeroy
sent me, the other day, a cheque for five thousand dollars, for our new
church."
"Oh, isn't that splendid!" said Mrs. Blanchard. "It was very handsome of
him! And I've no doubt he'll give more, by and by."
Nora said nothing, but thought of poor Lizzie Mason, and her overworked,
starved life, and wondered whether, after all, it had been his _own_
money that Mr. Pomeroy had bestowed.
"Now Nora, let us have some music," said Mrs. Blanchard. "I know that's
what Mr. Chillingworth wants."
"You always comprehend my wishes, Mrs. Blanchard," he replied, moving at
once toward the piano.
"Oh, Cecilia," said Mrs. Blanchard, "it's time to take the children away
for their tea."
The little girl proceeded to comply, rather reluctantly, for she wanted
to stay for the music. Mr. Chillingworth had never happened to hear her
name before; since, mindful of her first encounter with him, she had
generally kept out of his way. He looked round at her now, and said,
smiling graciously, as he held out his hand:
"So your name is Cecilia! Why, you are almost a namesake of mine!"
The little girl did not seem to find this a very interesting
circumstance, however, and only seemed glad to escape further notice by
a speedy retreat, while Mr. Chillingworth luxuriously resigned himself
to the enjoyment of the softly flowing "Songs without Words" which Miss
Blanchard played so well. By and by, he asked her to sing for him a song
with words, naming one of his favorites, "My Queen." And, as he listened
to her rich, clear voice, and watched, with æsthetic pleasure, the
graceful poise of her head and figure, he thought that she seemed no
inapt illustration of "that sweet calm" which was just his own ideal.