Like Byron, Margaret awoke one day and found herself famous. The daily
press, in keeping close watch of the anarchist movement, had reported
nearly verbatim the speeches of both Gilbert and Margaret. Editorials
had been written upon Margaret’s utterances, and one enterprising daily
had printed a supposed portrait of her and given a brief account of her
work in the tenement-house, wherein she had been glorified beyond her
just deserts and made to wear the mantle of the professional reformer.
Margaret was by no means pleased with this unexpected notoriety, and
particularly displeasing to her sensitive nature was the attitude in
which she had been made to stand with reference to those whom she had
sought to aid in the quietness and sympathy of her home life. As a
friend, she was sure of their appreciation and co-operation; as a
reformer, she felt fearful of their mistrust and the gradual withdrawal
of the sympathies she had grown to depend upon for her own guidance and
happiness. It was, therefore, with no little vexation of spirit that she
found herself waited upon one day by a committee of ladies who urged her
going upon the platform as the advance agent of a board of foreign
missions.
“It is impossible,” cried Margaret when the object of the visit had been
explained. “I am not fitted for such work. Indeed, it was a mere
accident which caused my appearance in public, and I hope never to
repeat it.”
The ladies looked at each other aghast. Here was good timber obviously
going to waste. Something must be done to secure it. “But,” they argued,
“you must have the interests of our work at heart, as your utterances
gave evidence and as your work in your own home circle proves. Why not
be willing to broaden it and bring the suffering ones of earth, whom you
evidently pity, a little relief?”
“Because,” said Margaret, smiling, “I believe, in the truest sense, in
the old saying that ‘Charity begins at home.’ I have a home to make,
first of all, for a young brother and sister who look upon me as mother
and guardian. So long as they have need of me I shall always keep for
them the one spot where home ties may reign supreme. In the next place,
I shall doubtless horrify you by saying that I do not believe in
charity.”
A look of wide-eyed dismay went around the little circle.
“But let me qualify the ruggedness of so bare a statement,” said
Margaret as a look of quiet amusement crept over her face. “I have
reference only to the charity which is practised under present
conditions. In the first place, I think we have heathen enough to
convert at home; in the second, if there were more of the genuine
charity which was taught by our great Preceptor, there would be scant
need of the various forms of associated charity. Modern charity
belittles and robs men of the God-given sense of independent manhood
which should be cultivated and respected in every one. The helping hand
that is given by associated charity fosters a national laziness and
sloth which grows every year more wide-spread and disgraceful.”
“That is a most astounding statement,” cried her hearers.
“I think you will find it true,” replied Margaret quietly. “Charity that
is bestowed with the air of patronage which such organizations can
scarcely fail to exhibit, must make its wards feel that independent
effort is not respected as it should be. We do not give any more from a
fraternal desire to see our fallen brother rise to his feet and work
steadily toward the goal which we have reached or are nearing; but we
give perhaps from a desire to display our importance, or from a
philanthropy which expects to find its way into the newspapers and be
talked about, or because it is fashionable to ‘assume a virtue if we
have it not.’ If we gave from the standpoint of humanity and a desire to
see all men on an equal footing before the law, do you suppose it would
be necessary to announce such themes from the pulpits of elegant and
exclusive churches as ‘How to reach the masses?’ The masses would be
there to be reached. They would not be outside, because an exclusive
sexton had found that he must look to the best interests of his patrons.
The church is every day growing richer and more influential. How is it
with the heaven-born principles of Him who toiled at the carpenter’s
bench and proved to the fishermen of Galilee that a common bond of
divine and human love held them together? What is the church to-day in a
great measure but a business institution? How much of the old faith
clings to the embroidered garment that has displaced the simple white
robe of the Messiah of all men? It is useless to offer charity to a man
whose rights you have denied, and expect thereby to build up a
prosperous and God-fearing commonwealth. Ladies, I must forego the
generous offer you make me, for the bread would be bitter in my mouth
which I earned by upholding a belief that I felt to be fundamentally
wrong. I ask nothing more than to be given strength to help wherever I
can in the humblest way and with the sincerest love.”
It was a silent and crestfallen committee that bowed itself from
Margaret’s presence and whispered “quixotic,” “cranky,” “absurd,” when
it reached the sidewalk. Margaret sank into a chair, after the committee
had left her, with a feeling of vague discomfort and unrest. Did this
invasion of her private work bear any occult meaning? Was there really a
broader field of action awaiting her helping hand wherein she could
better fulfill the principles she loved to disseminate? Suddenly, as if
in revelation, she saw Gilbert’s impassioned face as he pleaded so
eloquently for his brother toilers at the anarchist meeting. Here was
work for Gilbert, stretching out into an indefinite and glowing future.
A society of universal brotherhood! She remembered that once a stranger
had preached in her father’s pulpit on that very topic, and she had
never forgotten the five great principles he had enunciated. She had
jotted them down in her note-book as truths worth remembering, and now
they came back to her with the vividness and force with which a thinking
brain is often overtaken by the ideas of the great minds of the world.
1. “A society of universal brotherhood must be founded on eternal
truth.”
2. “It must permit full and free development to every member of the
human race.”
3. “There must be perfect harmony between all its members.”
4. “It must attempt to secure happiness in this world. Here, now, on
this planet, in this day and generation, it must give justice to all
mankind.”
5. “It must make not only men, but nations, free.”[1]
She well remembered how the eloquent clergyman had enlarged upon this
declaration of principles in glowing words.
“Tell me,” he had said, “would not such a society meet your desires? Yet
such was the organization founded by Jesus Christ. Men have found
occasion to depart a long way from it, but not till they retrace their
steps and take up the work as He planned it, can they enjoy the fruits
of the wisest law-giver the world ever beheld. He was the true leader of
men. He was born in a manger and brought up in poverty. He preached the
purest and truest democracy the world has ever listened to. The tramp,
the outcast, the beggar were with Him the equals before the law of the
richest man on the face of the earth. There was nothing narrow in His
creed. But how shall men establish the new order? We must take the
kingdom of heaven by storm; we must convert the boodlers and the
aristocrats who now dominate the church. Let me tell you the rich are
getting tired of the life they are living. They are beginning to see its
falsity, and many of them are anxious to see some means adopted by which
greater justice can be rendered to all. Work, then, my brothers, in
behalf of the rich as well as the poor, and make the society of
universal brotherhood the grand factor in a new civilization.”
Footnote 1:
These principles were recently enunciated by Father Huntington.
These impassioned words had burned themselves on Margaret’s
memory, and in the light of later events seemed to have a peculiar
force and significance. A society of universal brotherhood! How
beautiful it seemed in theory; how easily, even on the basis of an
eighteen-hundred-years-old truth, the theory might be evolved into
established fact. Yet that mighty and eternal truth had been all
these years, through innumerable persecutions and conflicts,
vainly seeking its perfect flower and fruit. Where lay the
difficulty? Why were its life-giving branches so persistently
lopped, its trunk gashed and riven, its healing leaves stripped
and torn, and its fruition hindered and obstructed? Margaret
pondered long over the puzzling questions. It was a fundamental
truth that mankind was seeking happiness and had the same general
nature and desires. What, then, made the great divergence? The
casuist and sophist might find deep within the logic of history
and the philosophy of man a more lofty reason; but Margaret’s
primitive nature saw only the main truth that men had departed
from the underlying principle on which Christ had founded His
church of the living gospel. Primitive ideas had been ignored,
scoffed at, trampled in the dust, and yet the great Master had
made those ideas the whole sum and substance of life when He
enjoined upon man to love God and his neighbor, live soberly and
righteously, visit the fatherless and widows in affliction, and
keep himself unspotted from the world. Setting aside the divine
emanation of such laws, they were the truest interpretation of
natural law, for what is vicious is injurious. The divine virtues
of truth and equity are the bulwarks of society; if they are
transgressed, the whole body politic suffers, even as the
transgression of natural law causes disease and dissolution.
Surely, here “the steps are not straightened and he that runneth
stumbleth not.”
To Gilbert, Margaret communicated all her doubts and fears as well as
hopes upon this theme, and with the eagerness with which an awakened
spirit seizes upon ideas, he followed her reasoning to a conclusion
which would have been remarkable in one so young, if it had not been the
logical result of Margaret’s training and practice.
“I can only work on the plan you outline by first finding out how those
I desire to reach are striving for the happiness that is their aim. It
will be a long and laborious effort, for I must truly prove myself the
friend of every man. No thief, thug, criminal, outcast, or harlot must
be too vile and degraded to receive the warm clasp of my hand and the
hearty utterance of my good-will. Am I equal to it?” Gilbert buried his
head in his hands with a sob that was wrung from the consciousness of a
life-long sacrifice. Margaret knelt beside his chair and softly slipped
an arm around his neck.
“A second Jean Valjean!” she whispered.
“It is at most an experiment,” said Gilbert later, “and even in the
event of failure must do more good than harm. I will try it.”
The loss of Elsie’s abundant wages had been a trying matter to the
little household. Gilbert’s attendance at the manual-training school had
been perforce curtailed, and the question of subsistence became a
serious one. Herbert had begged to be allowed to supply their needs,
since his indiscretion had been the cause of their loss, but the
ingrained independence of both sisters rebelled at the suggestion.
“No,” exclaimed Elsie emphatically, “not until I say ‘yes’ at the
altar—and that day is still so remote as to be almost nebulous—shall I
permit any expenditure of your money on my behalf.”
“Not even for this?” and Herbert drew from his pocket a small velvet
case and flashed a brilliant diamond ring before Elsie’s eyes. She took
it, flushing with pleasure over its beauty, and held it up over her head
to watch the play of translucent light on its polished surface.
“Oh, what beautiful things God makes in His laboratory!” she cried, “and
how I do love beauty! But take it back, Herbert; it would be out of
place on the hand of a working girl.”
“I’m tempted to quarrel with you all the time,” said Herbert petulantly.
“What shall I get you—an iron ring?”
“You might have it silver-plated,” suggested Elsie soberly, “so that,
like the majority of my sex, I would not know it was iron until after
marriage.”
“You are incorrigible! But what are you going to do with yourself,
anyway, while you are waiting for that haughty sister of mine to come
under my soothing ministrations?”
“Something new—work!”
“At what?”
“Slop-work, like Margaret. I’ve already bought a new sewing-machine—on
part payments, of course—and I am going to break the record on hickory
shirts and blue jeans overalls.”
“Absurd! quixotic! outrageous!” exclaimed Herbert, springing to his feet
and pacing the room with an excited air. “I tell you, Elsie, you and
Margaret will kill yourselves in endeavoring to uphold the dignity of
woman or labor or some other foolish notion.”
“Herbert!” Elsie’s eyes flashed ominously. “If the whole world were like
you—Supreme Sultans of Gilded Leisure—you might make your
uncomplimentary classifications; but under existing conditions, I
think—well, I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself; so there!”
“I am,” said Herbert contritely, as he took her in his arms. “I don’t in
the least question the nobility of motive that inspires all this
heroism, but I do question its result. Do you think the fate of the
world is hanging on the struggles of two such admittedly unselfish and
uplifted slips of girls?”
“You’re just like the old heathen masters of morality!” ejaculated
Elsie. “They gave such excellent rules for other men’s guidance, but
they hadn’t the courage to try their arguments on themselves. Of course
Margaret and I are _very_ heroic in trying to live up to our
principles—but _very_ silly!”
Herbert’s laugh was so contagious that even Elsie joined in it.
“I am afraid I’m a heathen,” he said dubiously, “if in this day and age,
when the air is blue with reforms, I object to seeing the girl I love
wearing her life away for a mere chimera.”
“Herbert Lynn!” exclaimed Elsie impetuously as she drew away from his
embrace and looked him earnestly in the face. “Do you look upon the
question of the day, the question that occupies all tongues and speaks a
heart-rending language in every half-starved wretch that walks the
street, as a chimera?”
“It is a phantom that has been chased a good many thousand years,” he
answered, “and the end is not yet.”
“Have you no interest in the question?”
“Specifically, yes; generally, no.”
“Then you have no heart!” exclaimed Elsie warmly.
“I confess that it has left me and is in the keeping of a fierce little
radical.”
“Who wishes your judgment was with it, for I think such conservatism as
yours is dangerous and—yes, positively wicked!”
“You are charming when you wear that look,” said Herbert critically.
“Just wait till I find you are as obstinate as you are evasive, and I
shall not look so charming. But really I wish you would go away. Do you
see that pile of blue jeans? Every moment wasted on you is just so much
stolen from my beauty sleep, and of course you care more for that than
for any purpose of mine.”
“Well, then, if you’ll remember that all I shall ask of you at our next
meeting will be to look pretty and talk nonsense I’ll go.” Suiting the
action to the word, he left the room.
“Elsie,” he called a moment later as he put his head in the open door,
“may I send you a violet if it’s a very small and stingy one?”
Herbert dodged just in time to escape the pin-cushion Elsie threw at his
head, but the supper-table that night was graced with a generous bouquet
of Parmesan violets, and they nestled lovingly in Elsie’s dark locks,
under her plump chin, and in the cincture of her slender waist.