University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.

NEXT day Christie braved the lion in his den,
otherwise the flinty Flint, in her second-class
boarding-house, and found that alarm and remorse had
produced a softening effect upon her. She was unfeignedly
glad to see her lost lodger safe, and finding that
the new friends were likely to put her in the way of
paying her debts, this much harassed matron permitted
her to pack up her possessions, leaving one trunk as a
sort of hostage. Then, with promises to redeem it as

soon as possible, Christie said good-bye to the little
room where she had hoped and suffered, lived and
labored so long, and went joyfully back to the humble
home she had found with the good laundress.

All the following week Christie “chored round,” as
Mrs. Wilkins called the miscellaneous light work she
let her do. Much washing, combing, and clean pinaforing
of children fell to her share, and she enjoyed it
amazingly; then, when the elder ones were packed off
to school she lent a hand to any of the numberless
tasks housewives find to do from morning till night.
In the afternoon, when other work was done, and little
Vic asleep or happy with her playthings, Christie
clapped laces, sprinkled muslins, and picked out edgings
at the great table where Mrs. Wilkins stood
ironing, fluting, and crimping till the kitchen bristled
all over with immaculate frills and flounces.

It was pretty delicate work, and Christie liked it, for
Mrs. Wilkins was an adept at her trade and took as
much pride and pleasure in it as any French blanchisseuse
tripping through the streets of Paris with a tree
full of coquettish caps, capes, and petticoats borne
before her by a half invisible boy.

Being women, of course they talked as industriously
as they worked; fingers flew and tongues clacked with
equal profit and pleasure, and, by Saturday, Christie
had made up her mind that Mrs. Wilkins was the most
sensible woman she ever knew. Her grammar was an
outrage upon the memory of Lindley Murray, but the
goodness of her heart would have done honor to any
saint in the calendar. She was very plain, and her
manners were by no means elegant, but good temper

made that homely face most lovable, and natural refinement
of soul made mere external polish of small
account. Her shrewd ideas and odd sayings amused
Christie very much, while her good sense and bright
way of looking at things did the younger woman a
world of good.

Mr. Wilkins devoted himself to the making of shoes
and the consumption of food, with the silent regularity
of a placid animal. His one dissipation was tobacco,
and in a fragrant cloud of smoke he lived and moved
and had his being so entirely that he might have been
described as a pipe with a man somewhere behind it.
Christie once laughingly spoke of this habit and declared
she would try it herself if she thought it would
make her as quiet and undemonstrative as Mr. Wilkins,
who, to tell the truth, made no more impression on her
than a fly.

“I don't approve on 't, but he might do wuss. We
all have to have our comfort somehow, so I let Lisha
smoke as much as he likes, and he lets me gab, so it 's
about fair, I reckon,” answered Mrs. Wilkins, from the
suds.

She laughed as she spoke, but something in her face
made Christie suspect that at some period of his life
Lisha had done “wuss;” and subsequent observations
confirmed this suspicion and another one also, — that
his good wife had saved him, and was gently easing
him back to self-control and self-respect. But, as old
Fuller quaintly says, “She so gently folded up his
faults in silence that few guessed them,” and loyally
paid him that respect which she desired others to
bestow. It was always “Lisha and me,” “I 'll ask my

husband” or “Lisha 'll know; he don't say much, but
he 's a dreadful smart man,” and she kept up the fiction
so dear to her wifely soul by endowing him with her
own virtues, and giving him the credit of her own
intelligence.

Christie loved her all the better for this devotion,
and for her sake treated Mr. Wilkins as if he possessed
the strength of Samson and the wisdom of Solomon.
He received her respect as if it was his due, and now
and then graciously accorded her a few words beyond
the usual scanty allowance of morning and evening
greetings. At his shop all day, she only saw him at
meals and sometimes of an evening, for Mrs. Wilkins
tried to keep him at home safe from temptation, and
Christie helped her by reading, talking, and frolicking
with the children, so that he might find home attractive.
He loved his babies and would even relinquish
his precious pipe for a time to ride the little chaps on
his foot, or amuse Vic with shadow rabbits on the
wall.

At such times the entire content in Mrs. Wilkins's
face made tobacco fumes endurable, and the burden of
a dull man's presence less oppressive to Christie, who
loved to pay her debts in something besides money.

As they sat together finishing off some delicate laces
that Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Wilkins said, “Ef it 's
fair to-morrow I want you to go to my meetin' and
hear my minister. It 'll do you good.”

“Who is he?”

“Mr. Power.”

Christie looked rather startled, for she had heard of
Thomas Power as a rampant radical and infidel of the

deepest dye, and been warned never to visit that den
of iniquity called his free church.

“Why, Mrs. Wilkins, you don't mean it!” she said,
leaving her lace to dry at the most critical stage.

“Yes, I do!” answered Mrs. Wilkins, setting down
her flat-iron with emphasis, and evidently preparing to
fight valiantly for her minister, as most women will.

“I beg your pardon; I was a little surprised, for I 'd
heard all sorts of things about him,” Christie hastened
to say.

“Did you ever hear him, or read any of his writins?”
demanded Mrs. Wilkins, with a calmer air.

“Never.”

“Then don't judge. You go hear and see that
blessed man, and ef you don't say he 's the shadder of
a great rock in a desert land, I 'll give up,” cried the
good woman, waxing poetical in her warmth.

“I will to please you, if nothing else. I did go once
just because I was told not to; but he did not preach
that day and every thing was so peculiar, I didn't know
whether to like it or be shocked.”

“It is kind of sing'lar at fust, I 'm free to confess,
and not as churchy as some folks like. But there
ain't no place but that big enough to hold the crowds
that want to go, for the more he 's abused the more
folks flock to see him. They git their money's wuth I
do believe, for though there ain't no pulpits and pews,
there 's a sight of brotherly love round in them seats,
and pious practice, as well as powerful preaching, in
that shabby desk. He don't need no commandments
painted up behind him to read on Sunday, for he keeps

'em in his heart and life all the week as honest as man
can.”

There Mrs. Wilkins paused, flushed and breathless
with her defence, and Christie said, candidly: “I did
like the freedom and good-will there, for people sat
where they liked, and no one frowned over shut pew-doors,
at me a stranger. An old black woman sat next
me, and said `Amen' when she liked what she heard,
and a very shabby young man was on the other, listening
as if his soul was as hungry as his body. People
read books, laughed and cried, clapped when pleased,
and hissed when angry; that I did not like.”

“No more does Mr. Power; he don't mind the cryin'
and the smilin' as it 's nat'ral, but noise and disrespect
of no kind ain't pleasin' to him. His own folks behave
becomin', but strangers go and act as they like, thinkin'
that there ain't no bounds to the word free. Then
we are picked at for their doin's, and Mr. Power has to
carry other folkses' sins on his shoulders. But, dear
suz, it ain't much matter after all, ef the souls is well-meanin'.
Children always make a noise a strivin' after
what they want most, and I shouldn't wonder ef the
Lord forgive all our short-comin's of that sort, sense
we are hankerin' and reachin' for the truth.”

“I wish I had heard Mr. Power that day, for I was
striving after peace with all my heart, and he might
have given it to me,” said Christie, interested and impressed
with what she heard.

“Wal, no, dear, I guess not. Peace ain't give to no
one all of a suddin, it gen'lly comes through much
tribulation, and the sort that comes hardest is best
wuth havin'. Mr. Power would a' ploughed and harrered

you, so to speak, and sowed good seed liberal;
then ef you warn't barren ground things would have
throve, and the Lord give you a harvest accordin' to
your labor. Who did you hear?” asked Mrs. Wilkins,
pausing to starch and clap vigorously.

“A very young man who seemed to be airing his
ideas and beliefs in the frankest manner. He belabored
everybody and every thing, upset church and state,
called names, arranged heaven and earth to suit himself,
and evidently meant every word he said. Much
of it would have been ridiculous if the boy had not
been so thoroughly in earnest; sincerity always commands
respect, and though people smiled, they liked
his courage, and seemed to think he would make a man
when his spiritual wild oats were sown.”

“I ain't a doubt on 't. We often have such, and
they ain't all empty talk, nuther; some of 'em are surprisingly
bright, and all mean so well I don't never
reluct to hear 'em. They must blow off their steam
somewheres, else they 'd bust with the big idees a
swellin' in 'em; Mr. Power knows it and gives 'em the
chance they can't find nowheres else. 'Pears to me,”
added Mrs. Wilkins, ironing rapidly as she spoke, “that
folks is very like clothes, and a sight has to be done to
keep 'em clean and whole. All on us has to lend a
hand in this dreadful mixed-up wash, and each do our
part, same as you and me is now. There 's scrubbin'
and bilin', wrenchin' and bluein', dryin' and foldin',
ironin' and polishin', before any of us is fit for wear a
Sunday mornin'.”

“What part does Mr. Power do?” asked Christie,
much amused at this peculiarly appropriate simile.

“The scrubbin' and the bilin'; that 's always the
hardest and the hottest part. He starts the dirt and
gits the stains out, and leaves 'em ready for other folks
to finish off. It ain't such pleasant work as hangin'
out, or such pretty work as doin' up, but some one's
got to do it, and them that 's strongest does it best,
though they don't git half so much credit as them as
polishes and crimps. That 's showy work, but it
wouldn't be no use ef the things warn't well washed
fust,” and Mrs. Wilkins thoughtfully surveyed the
snowy muslin cap, with its border fluted like the petals
of a prim white daisy, that hung on her hand.

“I 'd like to be a washerwoman of that sort; but as
I 'm not one of the strong, I 'll be a laundress, and try
to make purity as attractive as you do,” said Christie,
soberly.

“Ah, my dear, it 's warm and wearin' work I do
assure you, and hard to give satisfaction, try as you
may. Crowns of glory ain't wore in this world, but
it 's my 'pinion that them that does the hard jobs here
will stand a good chance of havin' extra bright ones
when they git through.”

“I know you will,” said Christie, warmly.

“Land alive, child! I warn't thinking of Cynthy
Wilkins, but Mr. Power. I 'll be satisfied ef I can set
low down somewheres and see him git the meddle.
He won't in this world, but I know there 's rewards
savin' up for him byme-by.”

“I 'll go to-morrow if it pours!” said Christie, with
decision.

“Do, and I 'll lend you my bunnit,” cried Mrs. Wilkins,
passing, with comical rapidity, from crowns of
glory to her own cherished head-gear.

“Thank you, but I can't wear blue, I look as yellow
as a dandelion in it. Mrs. Flint let me have my best
things though I offered to leave them, so I shall be
respectable and by-and-by blossom out.”

On the morrow Christie went early, got a good seat,
and for half an hour watched the gathering of the
motley congregation that filled the great hall. Some
came in timidly, as if doubtful of their welcome; some
noisily, as if, as Mrs. Wilkins said, they had not learned
the wide difference between liberty and license; many
as if eager and curious; and a large number with the
look of children gathering round a family table ready
to be fed, and sure that wholesome food would be
bountifully provided for them.

Christie was struck by the large proportion of young
people in the place, of all classes, both sexes, and
strongly contrasting faces. Delicate girls looking with
the sweet wistfulness of maidenly hearts for something
strong to lean upon and love; sad-eyed women turning
to heaven for the consolations or the satisfactions earth
could not give them; anxious mothers perplexed with
many cares, trying to find light and strength; young
men with ardent faces, restless, aspiring, and impetuous,
longing to do and dare; tired-looking students, with
perplexed wrinkles on their foreheads, evidently come
to see if this man had discovered the great secrets
they were delving after; and soul-sick people trying
this new, and perhaps dangerous medicine, when others
failed to cure. Many earnest, thoughtful men and
women were there, some on the anxious seat, and some
already at peace, having found the clew that leads safely
through the labyrinth of life. Here and there a white

head, a placid old face, or one of those fine countenances
that tell, unconsciously, the beautiful story of
a victorious soul.

Some read, some talked, some had flowers in their
hands, and all sat at ease, rich and poor, black and
white, young and old, waiting for the coming of the
man who had power to attract and hold so many of his
kind. Christie was so intent on watching those about
her that she did not see him enter, and only knew it by
the silence which began just in front of her, and seemed
to flow backward like a wave, leaving a sea of expectant
faces turning to one point. That point was a
gray head, just visible above the little desk which
stood in the middle of a great platform. A vase of
lovely flowers was on the little shelf at one side, a
great Bible reposed on the other, and a manuscript lay
on the red slope between.

In a moment Christie forgot every thing else, and
waited with a curious anxiety to see what manner of
man this was. Presently he got up with an open book
in his hand, saying, in a strong, cheerful voice: “Let
us sing,” and having read a hymn as if he had composed
it, he sat down again.

Then everybody did sing; not harmoniously, but
heartily, led by an organ, which the voices followed at
their own sweet will. At first, Christie wanted to
smile, for some shouted and some hummed, some sat
silent, and others sung sweetly; but before the hymn
ended she liked it, and thought that the natural praise
of each individual soul was perhaps more grateful to
the ear of God than masses by great masters, or psalms
warbled tunefully by hired opera singers.

Then Mr. Power rose again, and laying his hands
together, with a peculiarly soft and reverent gesture,
lifted up his face and prayed. Christie had never heard
a prayer like that before; so devout, so comprehensive,
and so brief. A quiet talk with God, asking nothing
but more love and duty toward Him and our fellow-men;
thanking Him for many mercies, and confiding all
things trustfully to the “dear father and mother of
souls.”

The sermon which followed was as peculiar as the
prayer, and as effective. “One of Power's judgment-day
sermons,” as she heard one man say to another,
when it was over. Christie certainly felt at first as if
kingdoms and thrones were going down, and each man
being sent to his own place. A powerful and popular
wrong was arrested, tried, and sentenced then and
there, with a courage and fidelity that made plain
words eloquent, and stern justice beautiful. He did
not take David of old for his text, but the strong,
sinful, splendid Davids of our day, who had not fulfilled
the promise of their youth, and whose seeming success
was a delusion and a snare to themselves and others,
sure to be followed by sorrowful abandonment, defeat,
and shame. The ashes of the ancient hypocrites and
Pharisees was left in peace, but those now living were
heartily denounced; modern money-changers scourged
out of the temple, and the everlasting truth set up
therein.

As he spoke, not loudly nor vehemently, but with
the indescribable effect of inward force and true inspiration,
a curious stir went through the crowd at times,
as a great wind sweeps over a corn field, lifting the

broad leaves to the light and testing the strength of
root and stem. People looked at one another with a
roused expression; eyes kindled, heads nodded involuntary
approval, and an emphatic, “that 's so!” dropped
from the lips of men who saw their own vague instincts
and silent opinions strongly confirmed and nobly
uttered. Consciences seemed to have been pricked to
duty, eyes cleared to see that their golden idols had
feet of clay, and wavering wills strengthened by the
salutary courage and integrity of one indomitable man.

Another hymn, and a benediction that seemed like a
fit grace after meat, and then the crowd poured out;
not yawning, thinking of best clothes, or longing for
dinner, but waked up, full of talk, and eager to do
something to redeem the country and the world.

Christie went rapidly home because she could not
help it, and burst in upon Mrs. Wilkins with a face full
of enthusiasm, exclaiming, while she cast off her bonnet
as if her head had outgrown it since she left:

“It was splendid! I never heard such a sermon
before, and I 'll never go to church anywhere else.”

“I knew it! ain't it fillin'? don't it give you a kind
of spirital h'ist, and make things wuth more somehow?”
cried Mrs. Wilkins, gesticulating with the
pepper-pot in a way which did not improve the steak
she was cooking, and caused great anguish to the noses
of her offspring, who were watching the operation.

Quite deaf to the chorus of sneezes which accompanied
her words, Christie answered, brushing back
her hair, as if to get a better out-look at creation generally:

“Oh, yes, indeed! At first it was rather terrible,

and yet so true I wouldn't change a word of it. But I
don't wonder he is misunderstood, belied, and abused.
He tells the truth so plainly, and lets in the light so
clearly, that hypocrites and sinners must fear and hate
him. I think he was a little hard and unsparing, sometimes,
though I don't know enough to judge the men
and measures he condemned. I admire him very much,
but I should be afraid of him if I ever saw him nearer.”

“No, you wouldn't; not a grain. You hear him
preach agin and you 'll find him as gentle as a lamb.
Strong folks is apt to be ruther ha'sh at times; they
can't help it no more than this stove can help scorchin'
the vittles when it gits red hot. Dinner 's ready, so set
right up and tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Wilkins,
slapping the steak on to the platter, and beginning to
deal out fried potatoes all round with absent-minded
lavishness.

Christie talked, and the good soul enjoyed that far
more than her dinner, for she meant to ask Mr. Power
to help her find the right sort of home for the stranger
whose unfitness for her present place was every day
made more apparent to the mind of her hostess.

“What took you there first?” asked Christie, still
wondering at Mrs. Wilkins's choice of a minister.

“The Lord, my dear,” answered the good woman, in
a tone of calm conviction. “I 'd heard of him, and I
always have a leanin' towards them that 's reviled; so
one Sabbath I felt to go, and did. `That 's the gospel
for me,' says I, `my old church ain't big enough now,
and I ain't goin' to set and nod there any longer,' and
I didn't.”

“Hadn't you any doubts about it, any fears of going

wrong or being sorry afterwards?” asked Christie,
who believed, as many do, that religion could not be
attained without much tribulation of some kind.

“In some things folks is led; I be frequent, and
when them leadin's come I don't ask no questions but
jest foller, and it always turns out right.”

“I wish I could be led.”

“You be, my dear, every day of your life only you
don't see it. When you are doubtful, set still till the
call comes, then git up and walk whichever way it
says, and you won't fall. You 've had bread and water
long enough, now you want meat and wine a spell;
take it, and when it 's time for milk and honey some
one will fetch 'em ef you keep your table ready. The
Lord feeds us right; it 's we that quarrel with our
vittles.”

“I will,” said Christie, and began at once to prepare
her little board for the solid food of which she had had
a taste that day.

That afternoon Mrs. Wilkins took her turn at churchgoing,
saw Mr. Power, told Christie's story in her
best style, and ended by saying:

“She 's true grit, I do assure you, sir. Willin' to
work, but she 's seen the hard side of things and got
kind of discouraged. Soul and body both wants tinkerin'
up, and I don't know anybody who can do the
job better 'n you can.”

“Very well, I 'll come and see her,” answered Mr.
Power, and Mrs. Wilkins went home well satisfied.

He kept his word, and about the middle of the week
came walking in upon them as they were at work.

“Don't let the irons cool,” he said, and sitting down

in the kitchen began to talk as comfortably as if in the
best parlor; more so, perhaps, for best parlors are apt
to have a depressing effect upon the spirits, while
the mere sight of labor is exhilarating to energetic
minds.

He greeted Christie kindly, and then addressed himself
to Mrs. Wilkins on various charitable matters, for
he was a minister at large, and she one of his almoners.
Christie could really see him now, for when he preached
she forgot the man in the sermon, and thought of him
only as a visible conscience.

A sturdy man of fifty, with a keen, brave face, penetrating
eyes, and mouth a little grim; but a voice so
resonant and sweet it reminded one of silver trumpets,
and stirred and won the hearer with irresistible power.
Rough grey hair, and all the features rather rugged, as
if the Great Sculptor had blocked out a grand statue,
and lef the man's own soul to finish it.

Had Christie known that he came to see her she
would have been ill at ease; but Mrs. Wilkins had kept
her own counsel, so when Mr. Power turned to Christie,
saying:

“My friend here tells me you want something to do.
Would you like to help a Quaker lady with her housework,
just out of town?”

She answered readily: “Yes, sir, any thing that
is honest.”

“Not as a servant, exactly, but companion and
helper. Mrs. Sterling is a dear old lady, and the place
a pleasant little nest. It is good to be there, and I
think you'll say so if you go.”

“It sounds pleasant. When shall I go?”

Mr. Power smiled at her alacrity, but the longing
look in her eyes explained it, for he saw at a glance
that her place was not here.

“I will write at once and let you know how matters
are settled. Then you shall try it, and if it is not what
you want, we will find you something else. There 's
plenty to do, and nothing pleasanter than to put the
right pair of hands to the right task. Good-by; come
and see me if the spirit moves, and don't let go of Mrs.
Wilkins till you lay hold of a better friend, if you can
find one.”

Then he shook hands cordially, and went walking
out again into the wild March weather as if he
liked it.

“Were you afraid of him?” asked Mrs. Wilkins.

“I forgot all about it: he looked so kind and friendly.
But I shouldn't like to have those piercing eyes of his
fixed on me long if I had any secret on my conscience,”
answered Christie.

“You ain't nothin' to fear. He liked your way of
speakin' fust rate, I see that, and you 'll be all right
now he 's took hold.”

“Do you know Mrs. Sterling?”

“Only by sight, but she 's a sweet appearin' woman,
and I wouldn't ask nothin' better 'n to see more of
her,” said Mrs. Wilkins, warmly, fearing Christie's heart
might misgive her.

But it did not, and when a note came saying Mrs.
Sterling would be ready for her the next week, she
seemed quite content with every thing, for though the
wages were not high she felt that country air and quiet
were worth more to her just then than money, and
that Wilkinses were better taken homœopathically.

The spirit did move her to go and see Mr. Power, but
she could not make up her mind to pass that invisible
barrier which stands between so many who could give
one another genuine help if they only dared to ask it.
But when Sunday came she went to church, eager
for more, and thankful that she knew where to go
for it.

This was a very different sermon from the other, and
Christie felt as if he preached it for her alone. “Keep
innocency and take heed to the thing that is right, for
this will bring a man peace at the last,” might have
been the text, and Mr. Power treated it as if he had
known all the trials and temptations that made it hard
to live up to.

Justice and righteous wrath possessed him before,
now mercy and tenderest sympathy for those who
faltered in well-doing, and the stern judge seemed
changed to a pitiful father. But better than the pity
was the wise counsel, the cheering words, and the devout
surrender of the soul to its best instincts; its
close communion with its Maker, unchilled by fear,
untrammelled by the narrowness of sect or superstition,
but full and free and natural as the breath of
life.

As she listened Christie felt as if she was climbing up
from a solitary valley, through mist and shadow toward
a mountain top, where, though the way might be rough
and strong winds blow, she would get a wider outlook
over the broad earth, and be nearer the serene blue
sky. For the first time in her life religion seemed a
visible and vital thing; a power that she could grasp
and feel, take into her life and make her daily bread.

Not a vague, vast idea floating before her, now beautiful,
now terrible, always undefined and far away.

She was strangely and powerfully moved that day, for
the ploughing had begun; and when the rest stood up
for the last hymn, Christie could only bow her head
and let the uncontrollable tears flow down like summer
rain, while her heart sang with new aspiration:

Sitting with her hand before her eyes, she never
stirred till the sound of many feet told her that service
was done. Then she wiped her eyes, dropped her veil,
and was about to rise when she saw a little bunch of
flowers between the leaves of the hymn book lying
open in her lap. Only a knot of violets set in their
own broad leaves, but blue as friendly eyes looking
into hers, and sweet as kind words whispered in her
ear. She looked about her hoping to detect and thank
the giver; but all faces were turned the other way, and
all feet departing rapidly.

Christie followed with a very grateful thought in her
heart for this little kindness from some unknown friend;
and, anxious to recover herself entirely before she faced
Mrs. Wilkins, she took a turn in the park.

The snow was gone, high winds had dried the walk,
and a clear sky overhead made one forget sodden turf
and chilly air. March was going out like a lamb, and
Christie enjoyed an occasional vernal whiff from far-off

fields and wakening woods, as she walked down the
broad mall watching the buds on the boughs, and listening
to the twitter of the sparrows, evidently discussing
the passers-by as they sat at the doors of their little
mansions.

Presently she turned to walk back again and saw
Mr. Power coming toward her. She was glad, for all
her fear had vanished now, and she wanted to thank
him for the sermon that had moved her so deeply. He
shook hands in his cordial way, and, turning, walked
with her, beginning at once to talk of her affairs as if
interested in them.

“Are you ready for the new experiment?” he asked.

“Quite ready, sir; very glad to go, and very much
obliged to you for your kindness in providing for
me.”

“That is what we were put into the world for, to help
one another. You can pass on the kindness by serving
my good friends who, in return, will do their best for
you.”

“That 's so pleasant! I always knew there were
plenty of good, friendly people in the world, only I did
not seem to find them often, or be able to keep them
long when I did. Is Mr. Sterling an agreeable old
man?”

“Very agreeable, but not old. David is about
thirty-one or two, I think. He is the son of my
friend, the husband died some years ago. I thought I
mentioned it.”

“You said in your note that Mr. Sterling was a florist,
and might like me to help in the green-house, if I was
willing. It must be lovely work, and I should like it
very much.”

“Yes, David devotes himself to his flowers, and leads
a very quiet life. You may think him rather grave and
blunt at first, but you 'll soon find him out and get on
comfortably, for he is a truly excellent fellow, and my
right-hand man in good works.”

A curious little change had passed over Christie's face
during these last questions and answers, unconscious,
but quite observable to keen eyes like Mr. Power's.
Surprise and interest appeared first, then a shadow of
reserve as if the young woman dropped a thin veil between
herself and the young man, and at the last words
a half smile and a slight raising of the brows seemed to
express the queer mixture of pity and indifference with
which we are all apt to regard “excellent fellows” and
“amiable girls.” Mr. Power understood the look, and
went on more confidentially than he had at first intended,
for he did not want Christie to go off with a
prejudice in her mind which might do both David and
herself injustice.

“People sometimes misjudge him, for he is rather
old-fashioned in manner and plain in speech, and may
seem unsocial, because he does not seek society. But
those who know the cause of this forgive any little
short-comings for the sake of the genuine goodness of
the man. David had a great trouble some years ago
and suffered much. He is learning to bear it bravely,
and is the better for it, though the memory of it is still
bitter, and the cross hard to bear even with pride to
help him hide it, and principle to keep him from
despair.”

Mr. Power glanced at Christie as he paused, and was
satisfied with the effect of his words, for interest, pity,

and respect shone in her face, and proved that he had
touched the right string. She seemed to feel that this
little confidence was given for a purpose, and showed
that she accepted it as a sort of gage for her own fidelity
to her new employers.

“Thank you, sir, I shall remember,” she said, with
her frank eyes lifted gravely to his own. “I like to
work for people whom I can respect,” she added, “and
will bear with any peculiarities of Mr. Sterling's without
a thought of complaint. When a man has suffered
through one woman, all women should be kind and
patient with him, and try to atone for the wrong which
lessens his respect and faith in them.”

“There you are right; and in this case all women
should be kind, for David pities and protects womankind
as the only retaliation for the life-long grief one
woman brought upon him. That's not a common revenge,
is it?”

“It 's beautiful!” cried Christie, and instantly David
was a hero.

“At one time it was an even chance whether that
trouble sent David to `the devil,' as he expressed it, or
made a man of him. That little saint of a mother kept
him safe till the first desperation was over, and now he
lives for her, as he ought. Not so romantic an ending
as a pistol or Byronic scorn for the world in general
and women in particular, but dutiful and brave, since
it often takes more courage to live than to die.”

“Yes, sir,” said Christie, heartily, though her eyes
fell, remembering how she had failed with far less
cause for despair than David.

They were at the gate now, and Mr. Power left her,
saying, with a vigorous hand-shake:

“Best wishes for a happy summer. I shall come
sometimes to see how you prosper; and remember, if
you tire of it and want to change, let me know, for I
take great satisfaction in putting the right people in the
right places. Good-by, and God be with you.”