Hattie was engaged that night, until a late hour, over her
writing-desk. A letter which she had already written, enveloped,
sealed, and stamped ready for mailing, was opened, a long postscript
added, and then it was sealed with wax, and from a tiny seal in ivory
an impression was made--an anchor and a cross, signifying Hope and
Faith.
Hattie wept over this letter, and, after she had sealed it, took up
the mountain sketch we have alluded to, and looked at it long and
tearfully. Then, with a swift, skillful hand, she copied this sketch on
a smaller scale on the head of a large letter-sheet. Then, taking three
letters from envelopes, which all bore the pierced hearts as a seal, of
which we have spoken several times, she read them over and over, and
taking one, copied a portion of it beneath the sketch which she had
just completed.
“If he will undertake the mission, by this Mr. W---- can be surely
guided to that ‘Mountain Home,’ and if all is found, as I hope to our
Father it may be, his mission will bring joy to a lonely heart, perhaps
sweep away the clouds that have so long darkened my path; and then,
absolved from my vow, I can throw off the veil that I abhor, and once
more among my equals in the world take the place which belongs to me.
Surely I deserve it if patience and long suffering ever met a reward.”
It was after midnight, by the tokens of the city bells, when our
heroine closed her writing-desk. A brief time over her Bible, a
little while at silent prayer, and then she lay down to rest on her
coarse and humble bed, contented with her lot, and not for an instant
regretting that she had refused a home of affluence and the fostering
care of rich and loving friends.
At early dawn the loud, shrill calls of steam whistles, blown to wake
the workers in great establishments, woke our heroine, and she was up
and washed, ready to breakfast with the rest at the usual early hour.
Miss Scrimp, with her lean neck bandaged where it had been scalded the
night before, sat grim and silent at her post. But the steaks were good
and well cooked, the bread soft and fresh, the coffee strong, and all
still went on as it had done since Hattie held the finger of fear above
the old maid’s head.
The meal soon over, the chattering girls wended their way to their
various shops, and Hattie, within almost a minute of her usual time,
went to her table in the old book-bindery, which seemed almost like a
home to her.
Mr. Jones met her with his usual pleasant good-morning as she went to
her place, and other hands, whom she knew slightly, bowed; but these
were the only recognitions. She had never made any intimacy in all the
long months she had worked there.
Mr. W---- came in later, and went at once into his office. Though
Mr. Jones kept the time of every hand, Mr. W---- always made out the
pay-roll on the morning of each Saturday, and in the afternoon the
hands went into the office as called, one by one, and received their
pay.
And that had been the custom for the many years that the bindery,
first under the father alone, and now under the father and son, had
been kept running. Never, in easy times or hard, had the practice
varied--never had a Saturday’s sun set with a single one of their
employees unpaid. No wonder that good and steady hands remained there,
and the best work in all the great city was the result.
Hattie waited until the noon-day hour of rest came before disturbing
Mr. W----. She knew it was his busy day, and she also knew enough to
respect it.
If others were always as thoughtful many an employee would be saved the
sin of hard thoughts and harsh words.
While the people were at their dinners, Hattie took but a little while
for her lunch, and with her letters ready, entered the office.
Mr. W--- sat there, looking weary and sad.
“Do I disturb you, sir?” she asked, gently.
“No, Miss Hattie, you come like an angel of relief. I have been working
over Jones’ time-book, and making out the people’s accounts. Permit me
to pay you now, so you will not have to come again.”
“Thank you, sir.”
And she took the money she had earned, and signed the receipt-book, as
she had done for months and months, when her turn came, but under far
different circumstances.
After this was done, and he had asked Hattie to sit down--for no one
else would be called until the dinner-hour was past, and the work
call sounded--Hattie took the letters from her pocket and opened her
business.
“You kindly consented to undertake a mission for me, Mr. W----. It may
be to you a thankless undertaking. Yet, on the contrary, it may be a
joyous, gracious work. I have seen so much, suffered so much that I
have little faith in the reformation of man when he has once yielded
himself a slave to appetite and forgotten his manhood. If you follow
the directions laid down in a letter I have written to you, you will
deliver another letter to a man whom I once believed to be the noblest
of his race. He fell, thank Heaven, before I was placed where his fall
could drag me down. I would not utterly condemn and bid him go down,
down, till he sank forever in the gulf of shame. I wept over him while
I drove him from my side, and I prayed to him to go where no one would
know him, and there to lead a new life. It was a terrible thing for me
to do. I loved that man with my whole heart and soul. You may know some
time who and what I was when I thus sent him forth--let it suffice that
I was not a work-girl.
“He went. I have never seen him since. But at intervals I have heard
from him. It was he who sketched the ‘Mountain Home,’ which you found
in my portfolio. He professes to have reformed entirely. He says he
is rich. I care not for his gold. But if he is rich in temperance, in
virtue, in honor, in manhood restored and truth redeemed, I will keep
the troth once plighted.
“To you, dear, kind friend, I confide the task of learning if this be
so. I know you will do it without one selfish thought or wish to warp
your judgment. And now you see my future is in your hands. Take these
letters and the sketch of the spot where he writes he is to be found.
There is a secret trail, but the key to find it is in my letter.”
“I accept the mission. Manfully to him and truthfully to you will I
carry out your desires.”
“Thank you, Mr. W----. Look over my letter, and see if it needs any
explanation. I will look at the morning paper while you read.”
She took up the paper while he read the letter.
Suddenly he heard a gasping cry from her lips. He looked up--she stood,
pale and breathless like a statue of despair, with her finger on one of
the “Personal” notices in that paper. At a glance, wild and swift, he
read these words:
“G. E. L.--If you yet live, come to your mother quickly--she is
dying!”