Since the pastor from the village had called upon them, the young
people of the stone barn had been identified with the little white
church in the valley. Shirley had taken a class of boys in the
Sunday-school and was playing the organ, as George had once predicted.
Carol was helping the primary teacher, George was assistant librarian
and secretary, Harley was in Shirley's class, and Doris was one of the
primaries.
Shirley had at once identified herself with the struggling little
Christian Endeavor society and was putting new life into it, with her
enthusiasm, her new ideas about getting hold of the young people of the
community, and her wonderful knack of getting the silent ones to take
part in the meetings. She had suggested new committees, had invited
the music committee to meet her at her home some evening to plan out
special music, and to coöperate with the social committee in planning
for music at the socials. She always carried a few appropriate
clippings or neatly written verses or other quotations to meeting to
slip into the hands of some who had not prepared to speak, and she saw
to it that her brothers and sisters were always ready to say something.
Withal, she did her part so unobtrusively that none of the old members
could think she was trying to usurp power or make herself prominent.
She became a quiet power behind the powers, to whom the president and
all the other officers came for advice, and who seemed always ready to
help in any work, or to find a way out of any difficulty. Christian
Endeavor in the little white church at once took great strides after
the advent of the Hollisters, and even the idlers on the street corners
were moved with curiosity to drop into the twilight service of the
young people and see what went on, and why everybody seemed so
interested. But the secret of it all, Shirley thought, was the little
five-minute prayer service that the prayer-meeting committee held in
the tiny primary room just before the regular meeting. Shirley as
chairman of the prayer-meeting committee had started this little
meeting, and she always came into the larger room with an exalted look
upon her face and a feeling of strength in her heart from this brief
speaking with her Master.
Shirley was somewhat aghast the next Sabbath to have Sidney Graham
arrive and ask her to take a ride with him.
"Why, I was just going to church," she said, half hesitating, and then
smiling bravely up at him; "besides, I have a Sunday-school class. I
couldn't very well leave them, you know."
He looked at her for a moment thoughtfully, trying to bridge in his
thoughts this difference between them. Then he said quite humbly,
"Will you take me with you?"
"To church?" she asked, and there was a glad ring in her voice. Would
he really go to church with her?
"Yes, and to Sunday School if I may. I haven't been to Sunday School
in years. I'd like to go if you'll only let me."
Her cheeks grew rosy. She had a quick mental picture of putting him in
Deacon Pettigrew's Bible class.
"I'm afraid there isn't any class you would enjoy," she began with a
troubled look. "It's only a little country church, you know. They
don't have all the modern system, and very few teachers."
"I should enjoy going into your class very much if I might."
"Oh, mine are just boys, just little boys like Harley!" said Shirley,
aghast.
"I've been a little boy once, you know I should enjoy it very much,"
said the applicant with satisfaction.
"Oh, but--I couldn't teach _you_!" There was dismay in her voice.
"Couldn't you, though? You've taught me more in the few months I've
known you than I've learned in that many years from others. Try me.
I'll be very good. I'll be a boy with the rest of them, and you can
just forget I'm there and go ahead. I really am serious about it. I
want to hear what you have to say to them."
"Oh, I couldn't teach with you there!" exclaimed Shirley, putting her
hands on her hot cheeks and looking like a frightened little child.
"Indeed I couldn't, really. I'm not much of a teacher. I'm only a
beginner. I shouldn't know how to talk before any but children."
He watched her silently for a minute, his face grave with wistfulness.
"Why do you teach them?" he asked rather irrelevantly.
"Because--why, because I want to help them to live right lives; I want
to teach them how to know God."
"Why?"
"So that they will be saved. Because it was Christ's command that His
disciples should give the message. I am His disciple, so I have to
tell the message."
"Was there any special stipulation as to whom that message should be
given?" asked the young man thoughtfully. "Did He say you were just to
give it to those boys?"
"Why, no; it was to be given to--all the world, every creature."
Shirley spoke the words hesitatingly, a dimple beginning to show in her
cheek as her eyelids drooped over her shy eyes.
"And don't I come in on that?" asked Graham, with a twinkle that
reminded Shirley of his father.
Shirley had to laugh shamefacedly then.
"But I couldn't!" said Shirley. "I'd be so scared I couldn't think of
a thing to say."
"You're not afraid of me, Miss Shirley? You wouldn't be scared if you
thought I really needed to know the message, would you? Well, I really
do, as much as any of those kids."
Shirley looked steadily into his earnest eyes and saw something there
that steadied her nerve. The laughter died out of her own eyes, and a
beautiful light of longing came into them.
"All right," she said, with a little lift of her chin as if girding up
her strength to the task. "You may come, and I'll do the best I can,
but I'm afraid it will be a poor best. I've only a little story to
tell them this morning."
"Please give them just what you had intended. I want the real thing,
just as a boy would get it from you. Will the rest of them come in the
car with us?"
Shirley was very quiet during the ride to church. She let the rest do
all the talking, and she sat looking off at the woods and praying for
help, trying to calm the flutter of her frightened heart, trying to
steady her nerves and brace herself to teach the lesson just as she had
intended to teach it.
She watched him furtively during the opening exercises, the untrained
singing, the monotonous prayer of an old farmer-elder, the dry
platitudes of the illiterate superintendent; but he sat respectfully
listening, taking it all for what it was worth, the best service these
people knew how to render to their Maker.
Somehow her heart had gained the strength she needed from the prayers
she breathed continually, and when the time for teaching the lesson
arrived she came to her class with quietness.
There was a little awe upon the boys because of the stranger in their
midst. They did not fling the hymn-books down with a noisy thud, nor
send the lesson leaves flying like winged darts across the room quite
so much as they were wont to do. They looked askance at Harley, who
sat proudly by the visitor, supplying him with Bibles, hymn-books,
lesson leaves, and finding the place for him officiously. But Graham
sat among the boys without ostentation, and made as little of his own
presence as possible. He smiled at them now and then, put a handful of
silver into the collection envelope when they would have passed him by,
and promised a ride to one fellow who ventured to ask him hoarsely if
that was his car outside the church.
Shirley had made up her mind to forget as far as she could the presence
of the visitor in the class, and to this end she fixed her eyes upon
the worst little boy present, the boy who got up all the disturbances,
and made all the noises, and was the most adorable, homely, sturdy
young imp the Valley Church could produce. He sat straight across from
her, while Graham was at the side, and she could see in Jack's eye that
he meant mischief if he could overcome his awe of the stranger. So
before Jack could possibly get started she began her story, and told it
straight to Jack, never taking her eyes from his face from start to
finish, and before she was half-way through she had her little audience
enthralled. It was a story of the Bible told in modern setting, and
told straight to the heart of a boy who was the counterpart in his own
soul of the man whom Christ cured and forgave. What Graham was
thinking or looking Shirley did not know. She had literally forgotten
his existence after the first few minutes. She had seen the gleam of
interest in the eyes of the boy Jack; she knew that her message was
going home to a convicted young soul, and that he saw himself and his
own childish sins in the sinful life of the hero of her tale. Her
whole soul was bent on making him see the Saviour who could make that
young life over. Not until the story was almost finished did any one
of the listeners, unless perhaps Harley, who was used to such
story-recitals, have a suspicion that the story was just a plain,
ordinary chapter out of the Bible. Then suddenly one of the elder boys
broke forth: "Aw! Gee! That's just the man in the Bible let down
through the roof!" There was a slight stir in the class at the
discovery as it dawned upon them that the teacher had "put one over on
them" again, but the interest for the most part was sustained
breathlessly until the superintendent's bell rang, and the heads drew
together in an absorbed group around her for the last few sentences,
spoken in a lower tone because the general hum of teaching in the room
had ceased.
Graham's face was very grave and thoughtful as she finished and slipped
away from them to take her place at the little organ. One could see
that it was not in the teacher alone, but in her message as well, that
he was interested. The boys all had that subdued, half-ashamed,
half-defiant look that boys have when they have been caught looking
serious. Each boy frowned and studied his toes, or hunted assiduously
in his hymn-book to hide his confusion, and the class in various keys
lifted up assertive young voices vigorously in the last hymn.
Graham sat beside Shirley in the little crowded church during the
rather monotonous service. The regular pastor, who was a good,
spiritual man if not a brilliant one, and gave his congregation solid,
practical sermons, was on his vacation, and the pulpit was supplied by
a young theologue who was so new to his work that his sermon was a
rather involved effort. But so strong was the power of the
Sunday-school lesson to which he had just listened that Graham felt as
if he were sitting in some hallowed atmosphere. He did not see the
red-faced, embarrassed young preacher, nor notice his struggles to
bring forth his message bravely; he saw only the earnest-faced young
teacher as she spoke the words of life to her boys; saw the young
imp-faces of her boys softened and touched by the story she told; saw
that she really believed and felt every word she spoke; and knew that
there was something in it all that he wanted.
The seat was crowded and the day was warm, but the two who looked over
the same hymn-book did not notice it. The soft air came in from the
open window beside them, breathing sweet clover and wild honeysuckle,
and the meadowlarks sang their songs, and made it seem just like a
little bit of heaven.
Shirley's muslin frills trembled against Graham's hand as she reached
to catch a fluttering leaf of the hymn-book that the wind had caught;
once her hand brushed the coatsleeve beside her as they turned the
page, and she felt the soft texture of the fine dark blue goods with a
pleasant sense of the beautiful and fitting. It thrilled her to think
he was standing thus beside her in her own little church, yielding
himself to the same worship with her in the little common country
congregation. It was wonderful, beautiful! And to have come to her!
She glanced shyly up at him, so handsome, standing there singing, his
hand almost touching hers holding the book. He felt her glance and
answered it with a look and smile, their eyes holding each other for
just the fraction of a second in which some inner thought was
interchanged, some question asked and answered by the invisible flash
of heart-beats, a mutual joining in the spiritual service, and then
half-frightened Shirley dropped her eyes to the page and the soft roses
stole into her cheeks again. She felt as if she had seen something in
his eyes and acknowledged it in her own, as if she had inadvertently
shown him her heart in that glance, and that heart of hers was leaping
and bounding with an uncontrollable joy, while her conscience sought by
every effort to get it in control. What nonsense, it said, what utter
folly, to make so much of his coming to church with her once! To allow
her soul to get into such a flutter over a man who had no more idea of
noticing her or caring for her than he had for a bird on the tree.
And with all the tumult in her heart she did not even see the envious
glances of the village maidens who stared and stared with all their
might at the handsome man who came to church in an expensive car and
brought the girl who lived in a barn! Shirley's social position went
up several notches, and she never even knew it. In fact, she was
becoming a great puzzle to the residents of Glenside.
It was good to know that for once the shabby collection-box of the
little church was borne back to the altar laden with a goodly bill, put
in with so little ostentation that one might have judged it but a
penny, looking on, though even a penny would have made more noise in
the unlined wooden box.
After the service was over Graham went out with the children, while
Shirley lingered to play over an accompaniment for a girl who was going
to sing at the vesper service that afternoon. He piled all the
children in the back seat of the car, put the boy he had promised a
ride in the seat beside him, took a spin around the streets, and was
back in front of the church by the time Shirley came out. Then that
foolish heart of hers had to leap again at the thought that he had
saved the front seat for her. The boy descended as if he had been
caught up into heaven for a brief space, and would never forget it the
rest of his life.
There was that same steady look of trust and understanding in Graham's
eyes whenever he looked at her on the way home, and once while the
children were talking together in the back seat he leaned toward her
and said in a low tone:
"I wonder if you will let me take you away for a little while this
afternoon to a quiet place I know where there is a beautiful view, and
let us sit and talk. There are some things I want to ask you, about
what you said this morning. I was very much interested in it all, and
I'm deeply grateful that you let me go. Now, will you go with me?
I'll bring you back in time for the Christian Endeavor service, and you
see in the meantime I'm inviting myself to dinner. Do you think your
mother will object?"
What was there for Shirley to do but accept this alluring invitation?
She did not believe in going off on pleasure excursions on the Sabbath,
but this request that she ride to a quiet place out-of-doors for a
religious talk could not offend her strongest sense of what was right
on the Sabbath day. And surely, if the Lord had a message for her to
bear, she must bear it to whomsoever He sent. This, then, was this
man's interest in her, that she had been able to make him think of God.
A glad elation filled her heart, something deep and true stirred within
her and lifted her above the thought of self, like a blessing from on
high. To be asked to bring light to a soul like this one, this was
honor indeed. This was an answer to her prayer of the morning, that
she might fulfil God's pleasure with the lesson of the day. The
message then had reached his soul. It was enough. She would think no
more of self.
Yet whenever she looked at him and met that smile again she was
thrilled with joy in spite of herself. At least there was a
friendliness here beyond the common acquaintance, a something that was
true, deep, lasting, even though worlds should separate them in the
future; a something built on a deep understanding, sympathy and common
interests. Well, so be it. She would rejoice that it had been given
her to know one man of the world in this beautiful way; and her foolish
little human heart should understand what a high, true thing this was
that must not be misunderstood.
So she reasoned with herself, and watched him during the dinner, among
the children, out in the yard among the flowers and animals,
everywhere, he seemed so fine and splendid, so far above all other men
that she had ever met. And her mother, watching, trembled for her when
she saw her happy face.
"Do you think you ought to go with him, daughter?" she asked with
troubled eyes, when they were left alone for a moment after dinner.
"You know it is the Sabbath, and you know his life is very different
from ours."
"Mother, he wants to talk about the Sunday School lesson this morning,"
said Shirley shyly. "I guess he is troubled, perhaps, and wants me to
help him. I guess he has never thought much about religious things."
"Well, daughter dear, be careful. Do all you can for him, of course,
but remember, don't let your heart stray out of your keeping. He is
very attractive, dear, and very unconventional for a wealthy man. I
think he is true and wouldn't mean to trifle, but he wouldn't realize."
"I know; mother; don't you be afraid for me!" said Shirley with a lofty
look, half of exultation, half of proud self-command.
He took her to a mossy place beside a little stream, where the light
filtered down through the lacy leaves flecking the bank, and braided
golden currents in the water; with green and purple hazy hills in the
distance, and just enough seclusion for a talk without being too far
away from the world.
"My little sister says that you people have a 'real' God," he said,
when she was comfortably fixed with cushions from the car at her back
against a tall tree-trunk. "She says you seem to realize His
presence--I don't know just how to say it, but I'd like to know if this
is so. I'd like to know what makes you different from other girls, and
your home different from most of the homes I know. I'd like to know if
I may have it too."
That was the beginning.
Shirley, shy as a bird at first, having never spoken on such subjects
except to children, yet being well versed in the Scriptures, and
feeling her faith with every atom of her being, drew out her little
Bible that she had slipped into her pocket when they started, and
plunged into the great subject.
Never had preacher more earnest listener, or more lovely temple in
which to preach. And if sometimes the young man's thoughts for a few
moments strayed from the subject to rest his eyes in tenderness upon
the lovely face of the young teacher, and long to draw her into his
arms and claim her for his own, he might well have been forgiven. For
Shirley was very fair, with the light of other worlds in her face, her
eyes all sparkling with her eagerness, her lips aglow with words that
seemed to be given her for the occasion. She taught him simply, not
trying to go into deep arguments, but urging the only way she knew, the
way of taking Christ's promise on its face value, the way of being
willing to do His will, trusting it to Him to reveal Himself, and the
truth of the doctrine, and make the believer sure.
They talked until the sun sunk low, and the calling of the wood-birds
warned them that the Endeavor hour was near. Before they left the
place he asked her for the little Bible, and she laid it in his hand
with joy that he wanted it, that she was chosen to give him a gift so
precious.
"It is all marked up," she said apologetically. "I always mark the
verses I love, or have had some special experience with."
"It will be that much more precious to me," he said gently, fingering
the leaves reverently, and then he looked up and gave her one of those
deep looks that seemed to say so much to her heart. And all at once
she realized that she was on earth once more, and that his presence and
his look were very precious to her. Her cheeks grew pink with the joy
of it, and she looked down in confusion and could not answer, so she
rose to her feet. But he, springing at once to help her up, kept her
hand for just an instant with earnest pressure, and said in deeply
moved tones:
"You don't know what you have done for me this afternoon,
my--_friend_!" He waited with her hand in his an instant as if he were
going to say more, but had decided it were better not. The silence was
so compelling that she looked up into his eyes, meeting his smile, and
that said so many things her heart went into a tumult again and could
not quite come to itself all through the Christian Endeavor service.
On the way home from the church he talked a little about her vacation:
when it came, how long it lasted, what she would do with it. Just as
they reached home he said,
"I hope you will pray for me, _my friend_!"
There was something wonderful in the way he said that word "friend."
It thrilled her through and through as she stood beside the road and
watched him speed away into the evening.
"My friend! I hope you will pray for me, _my friend_!" It sang a
glory-song down in her heart as she turned to go in with the vivid
glory of the sunset on her face.