"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 Reid as he
stood beside her at the piano. She had been playing, and he 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 farther end of the parlour 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. Reid 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. Reid? 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 Christ-like 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. "Esther 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 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 skilful 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. Reid, 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. Reid. 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 parlour, a strong, vigorous voice,
that carried a sense of power with it.
"Ah!" said Reid, 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 vigour
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 on 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
parlour, 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 minister's 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
neighbourhood 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 doorbell.
"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
straightforward."
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
into the parlour.
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's parlour, contrasted
with Dr. Everett, and even with young Reid, 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 outstretched
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 to 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 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 honourable 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.