"But I would have lost my self-respect. I should have done worse—"
"Self-respect!" interrupted his mother, with an expression akin to disgust flitting across her pale face. "How can you use that word after what has happened, and especially now that you are working among those vulgar factory people, and living with that profane old creature who goes by the name of 'Jerry Growler.' To think that you, who bear your father's name, should have fallen so low! The daily and hourly mortification of thinking of all this, here, where for so many years there was not a speck upon our family reputation, is more than flesh and blood can endure. Our only course now is to go away where we are not known. Our best hope is to make you appear like what your father meant you should be, and try to forget that you have been anything else; and if you have any sense of obligation to us left you will do what you can to carry out our efforts. Dr. Marks thinks you have met with 'a change of heart.' I am sure yon can prove it in no better way than by a docile acquiescence in the wishes of one who has a natural right to control you, and whose teachings," she added complacently, "had they been followed, would have enabled you to hold up your head to-day among the proudest in the land."
Haldane buried his face in his hands, and fairly groaned, in his disappointment and sense of humiliation.
"Is it possible," asked one of his sisters "that you thought that we could all go out to church to-day as usual, and commence life to-morrow where he left off when you first went away from home?"
"I expected nothing of the kind," said her brother, lifting up a face that was pale from suppressed feeling; "the fact is, I have thought little about all this that is uppermost in your minds. I have been all through the phase of shrinking from the world's word and touch, as if my whole being were a diseased nerve. While in that condition I suffered enough, God knows; but even in the police court I was not made to feel more thoroughly that I was a disgraced criminal than I have been here, in my childhood's home. Perhaps you can't help your feeling; but the result is all the same. Through the influence of a woman who belongs to heaven rather than earth, I was led to forget the world and all about it; I was led to wish to form a good character for its own sake. I wanted to be rid of the debasing vices of my nature which she had made me hate, and which would separate me from such as she is. I wanted your forgiveness, mother. More than all, I wanted God's forgiveness, and that great change in my nature which he alone can bestow. I felt that Dr. Marks could help me, because I believed in him; and he did carry me, as it were, to the very gate of heaven. I expected, at least, a little sympathy from you all, and a God-speed as I went back to my work tomorrow. I even hoped that you might take me by the hand, and say to those who knew us here, 'My son was lost, but is found. He wishes to live a manly, Christian life, and all who are Christians should help him.' I find, on the contrary, that Christ and his words are forgotten; that I am regarded as a hideous and deformed creature, that must be disguised as far as possible, and spirited off to some remote corner of the earth, and there virtually buried alive. Thus different are the teachings of the Bible and the teachings of the world. I thought I could not endure my hard lot at Hillaton any longer, but I shall go back to it quite content."
As the youth uttered these words, with his usual impetuosity, his mother could only weep and tremble in her weak and nervous way; but his sisters exclaimed:
"Go back to your old mill-life at Hillaton!"
"Yes, by the first train, to-morrow."
"Well!" they chorused, with a long breath, but as all language seemed inadequate they added nothing to their exclamation.
Mrs. Haldane slowly wiped her eyes, and said, "Egbert is excited now, and does not realize how we feel. After he has thought it all over quietly he will see things in a different light, and will perceive that he should take counsel from his mother rather than from a stranger" (with peculiar emphasis on this word). "If he really wishes to do his duty as a Christian man, he will see that the first and most sacred obligations resting on him are to us and not to others, even though they may be more angelic than we are. You promised last evening that it would be your life-effort to make amends for the wrongs you have inflicted upon us; and going back to your old, sordid life and vulgar associations would be a strange way of keeping this pledge. I suggest that we all retire to our rooms, and in the after part of the day we shall be calmer, and therefore more rational;" and the ladies quietly glided out, like black shadows. Indeed, they and their lives had become little more than attenuated shadows.
There is nothing which so thoroughly depletes and robs moral character of all substance—there is nothing which so effectually destroys all robust individuality—as the continuous asking of the question, "What will, people say?"
Poor Haldane went to his room, and paced it by the hour. He had learned thus early that the Christian life was not made up of sacred and beatific emotions, under the influence of which duty would become an easy, sun-illumined path.
He already was in sore perplexity as to what his duty was in this instance. Ought he not to devote himself to his mother and sisters, and hope that time would bring a healthful change in their morbid feeling? Surely what they asked would not seem hard in the world's estimation—a trip to Europe, and a life of luxurious ease and amusement—for society would agree with his mother, that he could be as good and Christian-like as he pleased in the meantime. The majority would say that if he could in part make amends by acquiescence in so reasonable a request, and one that promised so much of pleasure and advantage to himself, he ought certainly to yield.
But all that was good and manly in the young fellow's nature rose up against the plan. In the first place, he instinctively felt that his mother and sisters' views on nearly all subjects would be continually at variance with his own, since they were coming to look at life from such totally different standpoints. He also believed that he would be an ever-present burden and source of mortification to them. As a child and a boy he had been their idol. They had looked forward to the time when he, with irreproachable manners and reputation, would become their escort in the exclusive circles in which they were entitled to move. Now he was and would continue to be the insuperable bar to those circles; and by their sighs and manner he would be continually reminded of this fact. Fallen idols are a perpetual offence to their former worshippers, as they ever remind of the downfall of towering hopes.
With all his faults, Haldane had too much spirit to go through life as one who must be tolerated, endured, kept in the background, and concerning whom no questions must be asked.
He did think the matter over long and carefully, and concluded that even for his mother and sisters' sake it would be best that they should live apart. If he could thoroughly retrieve his character where he had lost it, they would be reconciled to him; if he could not, he would be less of a burden and a mortification absent than present.
When he considered his own feelings, the thought of skulking and hiding through life made his cheek tingle with shame and disgust. Conscience sided with his inclination to go back to his old, hard fight at Hillaton; and it also appeared to him that he could there better maintain a Christian life, in spite of all the odds against him, than by taking the enervating course marked out by his mother. He also remembered, with a faint thrill of hope, that whatever recognition he could get at Hillaton as a changed, a better man, it would be based on the rock of truth.
He therefore concluded to go back as he had intended, and with the decision came his former, happy, mystical feeling, welling up in his heart like the sweet refreshing waters of a spring, the consciousness of which filled his heart with courage and confidence as to the future.
"Surely," he exclaimed, "I am a changed, a converted man. These strange, sweet emotions, this unspeakable gladness of heart in the midst of so much that is painful and distracting, prove that I am. I have not taken this journey in vain."
Haldane met only his sisters at dinner, for the scene of the morning had prostrated his mother with a nervous headache. In spite of his efforts, it was a constrained and dismal affair, and all were glad when it was over.
In the evening they all met in Mrs. Haldane's room, and the young man told them his decision so firmly and quietly that, while they were both surprised and angry, they saw it was useless to remonstrate. He next drew such a dreary picture of the future as they had designed it, that they were half inclined to think he was right, and that his presence would be a greater source of pain than of comfort to them. He also convinced them that it would be less embarrassing for them to go to Europe alone than with his escort, and that the plan of going abroad need not be given up.
But Mrs. Haldane was strenuous on the point that he should leave Hillaton, accept of her old offer, and live a quiet, respectable life in some retired place where he was not known.
"I will not have it said," she persisted, "that my son is working as a common factory hand, nor will I have our name associated with that wretched old creature whose profanity and general outlandishness are the town-talk and the constant theme of newspaper squibs. You at least owe it to us to let this scandal die out as speedily as possible. If you will comply with these most reasonable requirements, I will see that you have an abundant support. If you will not, I have no evidence of a change in your character; nor can I see any better way than to leave you to suffer the consequences of your folly until you do come to your senses."
"Mother, do you think a young fellow of my years and energy could go to an out-of-the-way place, and just mope, eat, and sleep for the sake of being supported? I would rather starve first. I fear we shall never understand each other; and I have reached that point in life when I must follow my own conscience. I shall leave to-morrow morning before any of you are up; and in my old working clothes. Good-by;" and before they could realize it he had kissed them and left the room.
They weakly sighed as over the inevitable; but one of his sisters said,"He will be glad enough to come to your terms before winter."
At an early hour Haldane, true to his purpose, departed from the home of his childhood in the guise of a laborer, as he had come. His mother heard his step on the stairs, for she had passed a sleepless night, agitated by painful emotions. She wished to call him back; she grieved over his course as a "dark and mysterious providence," as a misfortune which, like death, could not be escaped; but with the persistence of a little mind, capable of taking but a single and narrow view, she was absolutely sure she was right in her course, and that nothing but harsh and bitter experience would bring her wayward son to his senses.
Nor did it seem that the harsh experience would be wanting, for the morning was well advanced when he reached his place of work, and he received a severe reprimand from the foreman for being so late. His explanation, that he had received permission to be absent, was incredulously received. It also seemed that gibes, taunts, and sneers were flung at him with increasing venom by his ill-natured associates, who were vexed that they had not been able to drive him away by their persecutions.
But the object of their spite was dwelling in a world of which they knew nothing, and in which they had no part, and, almost oblivious of their existence, he performed his mechanical duty in almost undisturbed serenity.
Mr. Growther welcomed him back most heartily and with an air of eager expectation, and when Haldane briefly but graphically narrated his experience, he hobbled up and down the room in a state of great excitement.
"You've got it! you've got it! and the genuine article, too, as sure as my name is Jeremiah Growther!" he exclaimed; "I'd give the whole airth, and anything else to boot, that was asked, if I could only git religion. But it's no use for me to think about it; I'm done, and cooled off, and would break inter ten thousand pieces if I tried to change myself. I couldn't feel what you feel any more than I could run and jump as you kin. My moral j'ints is as stiff as hedge-stakes. If I tried to git up a little of your feelin', it would be like tryin' to hurry along the spring by buildin' a fire on the frozen ground. It would only make one little spot soft and sloppy; the fire would soon go out: then it would freeze right up agin. Now, with you it's spring all over; you feel tender and meller-like, and everything good is ready to sprout. Well, well! if I do have to go to old Nick at last, I'm powerful glad he's had this set-back in your case."
Long and earnestly did Haldane try to reason his quaint friend out of his despairing views of himself. At last the old man said testily:
"Now, look here; you're too new-fledged a saint to instruct a seasoned and experienced old sinner like me. You don't know much about the Lord's ways yet, and I know all about the devil's ways. Because you've got out of his clutches (and I'm mighty glad you have) you needn't make light of him, and take liberties with him as if he was nobody, 'specially when Scripter calls him 'a roarin' lion.' If I was as young as you be, I'd make a dead set to git away from him; but after tryin' more times than you've lived years, I know it ain't no use. I tell you I can't feel as you feel, any more than you can squeeze water out of them old andirons. A-a-h!"
Haldane was silent, feeling that the old man's spiritual condition was too knotty a problem for him to solve.
After a few moments Mr. Growther added, in a voice that he meant to be very solemn and impressive:
"But I want you to enjoy your religious feelin's all the same. I will listen to all the Scripter readin' and prayin' you're willin' to do, without makin' any disturbance. Indeed, I think I will enjoy my wittles more, now that an honest grace can be said over 'em. An' when you read the Bible, you needn't read the cussin' parts, if yer don't want to. I'll read 'em to myself hereafter. I'll give you all the leeway that an old curmudgeon like myself kin; and I expect to take a sight o' comfort in seein' you goin' on your way rejoicin'."
And he did seem to take as much interest in the young man's progress and new spiritual experiences as if he alone were the one interested. His efforts to control his irritability and profanity were both odd and pathetic, and Haldane would sometimes hear him swearing softly to himself, with strange contortions of his wrinkled face, when in former times he would have vented his spite in the harshest tones.
Haldane wrote fully to Mrs. Arnot of his visit to his native city and its happy results, and enlarged upon his changed feelings as the proof that he was a changed man.
Her reply was prompt and was filled with the warmest congratulations and expressions of the sincerest sympathy. It also contained these words:
"I fear that you are dwelling too largely upon your feelings and experiences, and are giving to them a value they do not possess. Not that I would undervalue them—they are gracious tokens of God's favor; but they are not the grounds of your salvation and acceptance with God."
Haldane did not believe that they were—he had been too well taught for that—but he regarded them as the evidences that he was accepted, that he was a Christian; and he expected them to continue, and to bear him forward, and through and over the peculiar trials of his lot, as on a strong and shining tide.
Mrs. Arnot also stated that she was just on the eve of leaving home for a time, and that on her return she would see him and explain more fully her meaning.
In conclusion, she wrote: "I think you did what was right and best in returning to Hillaton. At any rate, you have reached that age when you must obey your own conscience, and can no longer place the responsibility of your action upon others. But, remember, that you owe to your mother the most delicate forbearance and consideration. You should write to her regularly, and seek to prove that you are guided by principle rather than impulse. Your mother has much reason to feel as she does, and nothing can excuse you from the sacred duties you owe to her."
Haldane did write as Mrs. Arnot suggested. In a few days he received the following letter from his mother:
"We shall sail for Europe as soon as we can get ready for the journey. Our lawyer is making all the necessary arrangements for us. I will leave funds with him, and whenever you are ready in good faith to accept my offer, leave Hillaton, and live so that this scandal can die out, you can obtain from him the means of living decently and quietly. As it is, I live in daily terror lest you again do something which will bring our name into the Hillaton papers; and, of course, everything is copied by the press of this city. Will the time ever come when you will consider your mother's and sisters' feelings?"
For a time all went as well as could be expected in the trying circumstances of Haldane's life. His prayers for strength and patience were at first earnest, and their answers seemed assured—so assured, indeed, that in times of haste and weariness prayer eventually came to be hurried or neglected. Before he was aware of it, feeling began to ebb away. He at last became troubled, and then alarmed, and made great effort to regain his old, happy emotions and experiences; but, like an outgoing tide, they ebbed steadily away.
His face indicated his disquiet and anxiety, for he felt like one who was clinging to a rope that was slowly parting, strand by strand.
Keen-eyed Mr. Growther watched him closely, and was satisfied that something was amiss. He was much concerned, and took not a little of the blame upon himself.
"How can a man be a Christian, or anything else that's decent, when he keeps such cussed company as I be?" he muttered. "I s'pose I kinder pisen and wither up his good feelin's like a sulphuric acid fact'ry."
One evening he exclaimed to Haldane, "I say, young man, you had better pull out o' here."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll give you a receipt in full and a good character, and then you look for a healthier boardin'-place."
"Ah, I see! You wish to be rid of me?"
"No, you don't see, nuther. I wish you to be rid of me."
"Of course, if you wish me to go, I'll go at once," said Haldane, in a despondent tone.
"And go off at half-cock into the bargain? I ain't one of the kind, you know, that talks around Robin Hood's barn. I go straight in at the front door and out at the back. It's my rough way of coming to the p'int at once. I kin see that you're runnin' behind in speret'al matters, and I believe that my cussedness is part to blame. You don't feel good as you used to. It would never do to git down at the heel in these matters, 'cause the poorest timber in the market is yer old backsliders. I'd rather be what I am than be a backslider. The right way is to take these things in time, before you git agoin' down hill too fast. It isn't that I want to git rid of you at all. I've kinder got used to you, and like to have you 'round 'mazingly; but I don't s'pose it's possible for you to feel right and live with me, and so you had better cut stick in time, for you must keep a-feelin' good and pi'us-like, my boy, or it's all up with you."
"Then you don't want me to go for the sake of your own comfort?"
"Not a bit of it. I only want you to git inter a place that isn't so morally pisened as this, where I do so much cussin'; for I will and must cuss as long as there's an atom left of me as big as a head of a pin. A-a-h!"
"Then I prefer to take my chances with you to going anywhere else."
"Think twice."
"I have thought more than twice."
"Then yer blood be on yer own head," said Mr. Growther with tragic solemnity, as if he were about to take Haldane's life. "My skirts is clear after this warnin'."
"Indeed they are. You haven't done me a bit of harm."
"Where does the trouble come from then? Who is a-harmin' you?"
"Well, Mr. Growther," said Haldane, wearily, "I hardly know what is the matter. I am losing zest and courage unaccountably. My old, happy and hopeful feelings are about all gone, and in their place all sorts of evil thoughts seem to be swarming into my mind. I have tried to keep all this to myself, but I have become so wretched that I must speak. Mrs. Arnot is away, or she might help me, as she ever does. I wish that I felt differently; I pray that I may, but in spite of all I seem drifting back to my old miserable self. Every day I fear that I shall have trouble at the mill. When I felt so strong and happy I did not mind what they said. One day I was asked by a workman, who is quite a decent fellow, how I stood it all? and I replied that I stood it as any well-meaning Christian man could. My implied assertion that I was a Christian was taken up as a great joke, and now they call me the 'pi'us jail-bird.' As long as I felt at heart that I was a Christian, I did not care; but now their words gall me to the quick. I do not know what to think. It seems to me that if any one ever met with a change I did. I'm sure I wish to feel now as I did then; but I grow worse every day. I am losing self-control and growing irritable. This evening, as I passed liquor saloons on my way home, my old appetite for drink seemed as strong as ever. What does it all mean?"
Mr. Growther's wrinkled visage worked curiously, and at last he said in a tone and manner that betokened the deepest distress:
"I'm awfully afeerd you're a-backslidin'."
"I wish I had never been born," exclaimed the youth, passionately, "for I am a curse to myself and all connected with me, I know I shall have trouble with one man at the mill. I can see it coming, and then, of course, I shall be discharged. I seem destined to defeat in this my last attempt to be a man, and I shall never have the courage or hope to try again. If I do break down utterly, I feel as if I will become a very devil incarnate. O! how I wish that Mrs. Arnot was home."
"Now this beats me all out," said Mr. Growther, in great perplexity. "A while ago you felt like a saint and acted like one, now you talk and act as if Old Nick and all his imps had got a hold on ye. How do you explain all this, for it beats me?"
"I don't and can't explain. But here are the facts, and what are you going to do with them?"
"I ain't a-goin' to do nothin' with 'em except cuss 'em; and that's allI kin do in any case. You've got beyond my depth."
The sorely tempted youth could obtain but little aid and comfort, therefore, from his quaint old friend, and, equally perplexed and unable to understand himself, he sought to obtain such rest as his disquieted condition permitted.
As a result of wakefulness in the early part of the night, he slept late the following morning, and hastened to his work with scarcely a mouthful of breakfast. He was thus disqualified, physically as well as mentally, for the ordeal of the day.
He was a few minutes behind time, and a sharp reprimand from the foreman rasped his already jangling nerves. But he doggedly set his teeth and resolved to see and hear nothing save that which pertained to his work.
He might have kept his resolve had there been nothing more to contend with than the ordinary verbal persecution. But late in the afternoon, when he had grown weary from the strain of the day, his special tormentor, a burly Irishman, took occasion, in passing, to push him rudely against a pert and slattern girl, who also was foremost in the tacit league of petty annoyance. She acted as if the contact of Haldane's person was a purposed insult, and resented it by a sharp slap of his face.
Her stinging stroke was like a spark to a magazine; but paying no heed to her, he sprang toward her laughing ally with fierce oaths upon his lips, and by a single blow sent him reeling to the floor. The machinery was stopped sharply, as far as possible, by the miscellaneous workpeople, to whom a fight was a boon above price, and with shrill and clamorous outcries they gathered round the young man where he stood, panting, like a wounded animal at bay.
His powerful antagonist was speedily upon his feet, and at once made a rush for the youth who had so unexpectedly turned upon him; and though he received another heavy blow, his onset was so strong that he was able to close with Haldane, and thus made the conflict a mere trial of brute force.
As Haldane afterward recalled the scene, he was conscious that at the time he felt only rage, and a mad desire to destroy his opponent.
In strength they were quite evenly matched, and after a moment's struggle both fell heavily, and Haldane was able to disengage himself. As the Irishman rose, and was about to renew the fight, he struck him so tremendous a blow on the temple that the man went to the floor as if pierced by a bullet, and lay there stunned and still.
When Haldane saw that his antagonist did not move, time was given him to think; he experienced a terrible revulsion. He remembered his profanity and brutal rage, he felt that he had broken down utterly. He was overwhelmed by his moral defeat, and covering his face with his hands, he groaned "Lost, lost!"
"By jocks," exclaimed a rude, half-grown fellow, "that clip would have felled an ox."
"Do you think he's dead?" asked the slattern girl, now thoroughly alarmed at the consequences of the blow she had given.
"Dead!" cried Haldane, catching the word, and, pushing all aside, he knelt over his prostrate foe.
"Water, bring water, for God's sake!" he said eagerly, lifting up the unconscious man.
It was brought and dashed in his face. A moment later, to Haldane's infinite relief he revived, and after a bewildered stare at the crowd around him, fixed his eyes on the youth who had dealt the blow, and then a consciousness of all that had occurred seemed to return. He showed his teeth in impotent rage for a moment, as some wild animal might have done, and then rose unsteadily to his feet.
"Go back to your work, all on ye," thundered the foreman, who, now that the sport was over, was bent on making a great show of his zeal; "as for you two bull-dogs, you shall pay dearly for this; and let me say to you, Mister Haldane, that the pious dodge won't answer any longer."
A moment later, with the exception of flushed faces and excited whisperings, the large and crowded apartment wore its ordinary aspect, and the machinery clanked on as monotonously as ever.
Almost as mechanically Haldane moved in the routine of his labor, but the bitterness of despair was in his heart.
He forgot that he would probably be discharged that day; he forgot that a dark and uncertain future was before him. He only remembered his rage and profanity, and they seemed to him damning proofs that all he had felt, hoped, and believed was delusion.
When Haldane entered the cottage that evening his eyes were bloodshot and his face so haggard that Mr. Growther started out of his chair, exclaiming: "Lord a' massy! what's the matter?"
"Matter enough," replied the youth, with a reckless oath. "The worst that I feared has happened."
"What's happened?" asked the old man excitedly.
"I've been fighting in the work-room like a bull-dog, and swearing like a pirate. That's the kind of a Christian I am, and always will be. What I was made for, I don't see," he added, as he threw himself into a chair.
"Well, well, well!" said Mr. Growther dejectedly, "I was in hopes she'd git here in time; but I'm afeered you've just clean backslid."
"No kind of doubt on that score," replied the young man, with a bitter laugh; "though I now think I never had very far to slide. And yet it all seems wrong and unjust. Why should my hopes be raised? why should such feelings be inspired, if this was to be the end? If I was foreordained to go to the devil, why must an aggravating glimpse of heaven be given me? I say it's all cruel and wrong. But what's the use! Come, let's have supper, one must eat as long as he's in the body."
It was a silent and dismal meal, and soon over. Then Haldane took his hat without a word.
"Where are you goin'?" asked Mr. Growther, anxiously.
"I neither know nor care."
"Don't go out to-night, I expect somebody."
"Who, in the name of wonder?"
"Mrs. Arnot."
"I could as easily face an angel of light now as Mrs. Arnot," he replied, pausing on the threshold; for even in his reckless mood the old man's wistful face had power to restrain.
"You are mistaken, Egbert," said a gentle voice behind him. "You can face me much more easily than an angel of light. I am human like yourself, and your friend."
She had approached the open door through the dusk of the mild autumn evening, and had heard his words. He trembled at her voice, but ventured no reply.
"I have come to see you, Egbert; you will not leave me."
"Mrs. Arnot," he said passionately, "I am not worth the trouble you take in my behalf, and I might as well tell you at once that it is in vain."
"I do not regard what I do for you as 'trouble,' and I know it is not in vain," she replied, with calm, clear emphasis.
Her manner quieted him somewhat; but after a moment he said:
"You do not know what has happened to-day, nor how I have been feeling for many days past."
"Your manner indicates how you feel; and you may tell me what has happened if you wish. If you prefer that we should be alone, come with me to my carriage, and in the quiet of my private parlor you can tell me all."
"No," said Haldane gloomily; "I am not fit to enter your house, and for other reasons would rather not do so. I have no better friend than Mr. Growther, and he already knows it all. I may as well tell you here; that is, if you are willing to stay."
"I came to stay," said Mrs. Arnot quietly; and sitting down, she turned a grave and expectant face toward him.
"I cannot find words in which to tell you my shame, and the utterness of my defeat."
"Yes, you can, Egbert. I believe that you have always told me the truth about yourself."
"I have, and I will again," he said desperately; "and yet it seems like profanation to describe such a scene to you." But he did describe it, briefly and graphically, nevertheless. As he spoke of his last fierce blow, which vanquished his opponent, Mr. Growther muttered:
"Sarved him right; can't help feelin' glad you hit 'im so hard; but then that's in keepin' with the cussedness of my natur'."
A glimmer of a smile hovered around Mrs. Arnot's flexible mouth, but she only asked quietly:
"Is that all?"
"I should think that was enough, after all that I had felt and professed."
"I fear I shall shock you, Egbert, but I am not very much surprised at your course. Indeed I think it was quite natural, in view of the circumstances. Perhaps my nature is akin to Mr. Growther's, for I am rather glad that fellow was punished; and I think it was very natural for you to punish him as you did. So far from despairing of you, I am the more hopeful of you."
"Mrs. Arnot!" exclaimed the youth in undisguised astonishment
"Now do not jump to hasty and false conclusions from my words; I do not say that your action was right. In the abstract it was decidedly wrong, and for your language there is no other excuse save that an old, bad habit asserted itself at a time when you had lost self-control. I am dealing leniently with you, Egbert, because it is a trick of the adversary to tempt to despair as well as to over-confidence. At the same time I speak sincerely. You are and have been for some time in a morbid state of mind. Let my simple common-sense come to your aid in this emergency. The very conditions under which you have been working at the mill imposed a continuous strain upon your nervous power. You were steadily approaching a point where mere human endurance would give way. Mark, I do not say that you might not have been helped to endure longer, and to endure everything; but mere human nature could not have endured it much longer. It is often wiser to shun certain temptations, if we can, than to meet them. You could not do this; and if, taking into account all the circumstances, you could have tamely submitted to this insult, which was the culmination of long-continued and exasperating injury, I should have doubted whether you possessed the material to make a strong, forceful man. Of course, if you often give way to passion in this manner, you would be little better than a wild beast; but for weeks you had exercised very great forbearance and self-control—for one of your temperament, remarkable self-control—and I respect you for it. We are as truly bound to be just to ourselves as to others. Your action was certainly wrong, and I would be deeply grieved and disappointed if you continued to give way to such ebullitions of passion; but remembering your youth, and all that has happened since spring, and observing plainly that you are in an unhealthful condition of mind and body, I think your course was very natural indeed, and that you have no occasion for such despondency."
"Yes," put in Mr. Growther; "and he went away without his breakfast, and it was mighty little he took for lunch; all men are savages when they haven't eaten anything."
"Pardon me, Mrs. Arnot," said Haldane gloomily, "all this does not meet the case at all. I had been hoping that I was a Christian; what is more, it seems to me that I had had the feelings and experiences of a Christian."
"I have nothing to say against that," said the lady quietly; "I am very glad that you had."
"After what has occurred what right have I to think myself a Christian?"
"As good a right as multitudes of others."
"Now, Mrs. Arnot, that seems to me to be contrary to reason."
"It is not contrary to fact. Good people in the Bible, good people in history, and to my personal knowledge, too, have been left to do outrageously wrong things. To err is human; and we are all very human, Egbert."
"But I don't feel that I am a Christian any longer," he said sadly.
"Perhaps you are not, and never were. But this is a question that you can never settle by consulting your own feelings."
"Then how can I settle it?" was the eager response.
"By settling fully and finally in your mind what relation you will sustain to Jesus Christ. He offers to be your complete Saviour from sin. Will you accept of him as such? He offers to be your divine and unerring guide and example in your everyday life. Will you accept of him as such? Doing these two things in simple honesty and to the best of our ability is the only way to be a Christian that I know of."
"Is that all?" muttered Mr. Growther, rising for a moment from his chair in his deep interest in her words. She gave him an encouraging smile, and then turned to Haldane again.
"Mrs. Arnot," he said, "I know that you are far wiser in these matters than I, and yet I am bewildered. The Bible says we must be converted; that we must be born again. It seems to require some great, mysterious change that shall renew our whole nature. And it seemed to me that I experienced that change. It would be impossible for me to describe to you my emotions. They were sincere and profound. They stirred the very depths of my soul, and under their influence it was a joy to worship God and to do his will. Had I not a right to believe that the hour in which I first felt those glad thrills of faith and love was the hour of my conversion?"
"You had a right to hope it."
"But now, to-day, when every bad passion has been uppermost in my heart, what reason have I to hope?"
"None at all, looking to yourself and to your varying emotions."
"Mrs. Arnot, I am bewildered. I am all at sea. The Bible, as interpreted by Dr. Barstow and Dr. Marks, seems to require so much; and what you say is required is simplicity itself."
"If you will listen patiently, Egbert, I will give you my views, and I think they are correct, for I endeavor to take them wholly from the Bible. That which God requires is simplicity itself, and yet it is very much; it is infinite. In the first place, one must give up self-righteousness—not self-respect, mark you—but mere spiritual self-conceit, which is akin to the feeling of some vulgar people who think they are good enough to associate with those who are immeasurably beyond them, but whose superiority they are too small to comprehend. We must come to God in the spirit of a little child; and then, as if we were children, he will give to us a natural and healthful growth in the life that resembles his own. This is the simplest thing that can be done, and all can do it; but how many are trying to work out their salvation by some intricate method of human device, and, stranger still, are very complacent over the mechanical and abnormal results! All such futile efforts, of which many are so vain, must be cast aside. Listen to Christ's own words: 'Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart.' He who would enter upon the Christian life, must come to Christ as the true scientist sits at the feet of nature—docile, teachable, eager to learn truth that existed long before he was born, and not disposed to thrust forward some miserable little system of his own. Nothing could be simpler, easier, or more pleasing to Christ himself than the action of Mary as she sat at his feet and listened to him; but many are like Martha, and are bustling about in his service in ways pleasing to themselves; and it is very hard for them to give up their own way. I've had to give up a great deal in my time, and perhaps you will.
"In addition to all trust in ourselves, in what we are and what we have done, we must turn away from what we have felt; and here I think I touch your present difficulties. We are not saved by the emotions of our own hearts, however sacred and delightful they may seem. Nor do they always indicate just what we are and shall be. A few weeks since you thought your heart had become the abiding-place of all that was good; now, it seems to you to be possessed by evil. This is common experience; at one time the Psalmist sings in rapturous devotion; again, he is wailing in penitence over one of the blackest crimes in history. Peter is on the Mount of Transfiguration; again he is denying his master with oaths and curses. Even good men vary as widely as this; but Christ is 'the same, yesterday, to-day, and forever.' By good men I mean simply those who are sincerely wishing and trying to obtain mastery over the evil of their natures. If you still wish to do this, I have abundant hope for you—as much hope as ever I had."
"Of what value, then, were all those strange, happy feelings which I regarded as the proofs of my conversion?" Haldane asked, with the look of deep perplexity still upon his face.
"Of very great value, if you look upon them in their true light. They were evidences of God's love and favor. They showed how kindly disposed he is toward you. They can prove to you how abundantly able he is to reward all trust and service, giving foretastes of heavenly bliss even in the midst of earthly warfare. The trouble has been with you, as with so many others, that you have been consulting your variable emotions instead of looking simply to Christ, the author and finisher of our faith. Besides, the power is not given to us to maintain an equable flow of feeling for any considerable length of time. We react from exaltation into depression inevitably. Our feelings depend largely also upon earthly causes and our physical condition, and we can never be absolutely sure how far they are the result of the direct action of God's Spirit upon our minds. It is God's plan to work through simple, natural means, so that we may not be looking and waiting for the supernatural. And yet it would seem that many are so irrational that, when they find mere feeling passing away, they give up their hope and all relationship to Christ, acting as if the immutable love of God were changing with their flickering emotions."
"I have been just so irrational," said Haldane in a low, deep tone.
"Then settle it now and forever, my dear young friend, that Jesus Christ, who died to save you, wishes to save you every day and all the days of your life. He does not change a hair-breadth from the attitude indicated in the words, 'Come unto me; and whosoever cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.'"
"Do you mean to say he feels that way toward me all the time, in spite of all my cantankerous moods?" asked Mr. Growther eagerly.
"Most certainly."
"I wouldn't a' thought it if I'd lived a thousand years."
"What, then, is conversion?" asked Haldane, feeling as if he were being led safely out of a labyrinth in which he had lost himself.
"In my view it is simply turning away from everything to Christ as the sole ground of our salvation and as our divine guide and example in Christian living."
"But how can we ever know that we are Christians?"
"Only by the honest, patient, continued effort to obey his brief command, 'Follow me.' We may follow near, or we may follow afar off; but we can soon learn whether we wish to get nearer to him, or to get away from him, or to just indifferently let him drop out of our thoughts. The Christian is one who holds and maintains certain simple relations to Christ. 'Ye are my friends,' he said, not if you feel thus and so, but, 'if ye do whatsoever I command you;' and I have found from many years' experience that 'his commandments are not grievous.' For every burden he imposes he gives help and comfort a hundred times. The more closely and faithfully we follow him, the more surely do fear and doubt pass away. We learn to look up to him as a child looks in its mother's face, and 'his Spirit beareth witness with our spirit that we are his.' But the vital point is, are we following him? Feeling varies so widely and strangely in varied circumstances and with different temperaments that many a true saint of God would be left in cruel uncertainty if this were the test. My creed is a very simple one, Egbert; but I take a world of comfort in it. It contains only three words—Trust, follow Christ—that is all."
"It is so simple and plain that I am tempted to take it as my creed also," said Haldane, with a tinge of hope and enthusiasm in his manner.
"And yet remember," warned his friend earnestly, "there is infinite requirement in it. A child can make a rude sketch of a perfect statue that will bear some faint resemblance to it. If he persevere he can gradually learn to draw the statue with increasing accuracy. In taking this Divine Man as your example, you pledge yourself to imitate One whom you can ever approach but never reach. And yet there is no occasion for the weakest to falter before this infinite requirement, for God himself in spirit is present everywhere to aid all in regaining the lost image of himself. It is to no lonely unguided effort that I urge you, Egbert, but to a patient co-working with your Maker, that you may attain a character that will fit you to dwell at last in your kingly Father's house; and I tell you frankly, for your encouragement, that you are capable of forming such a character. I will now bid you good-night, and leave you to think over what I have said. But write to me or come to me whenever you wish."
"Good-night, Mr. Growther; hate yourself if you will, but remember that the Bible assures us that 'God is love'; you cannot hate him."
The power of truth can scarcely be overestimated, and the mind that earnestly seeks it becomes noble in its noble quest. If this can be said of truth in the abstract, and in its humbler manifestations, how omnipotent truth becomes in its grandest culmination and embodied in a being capable of inspiring our profoundest fear and deepest love. One may accept of religious forms and philosophies, and be little changed thereby. One may be perfectly saturated with ecclesiasticism, and still continue a small-natured man. But the man that accepts of Jesus Christ as a personal and living teacher, as did the fishermen of Galilee, that man begins to grow large and noble, brave and patient.
Egbert Haldane has been sketched as an ordinary youth. There are thousands like him who have been warped and marred by early influences, but more seriously injured by a personal and wilful yielding to whatever form of evil proved attractive. The majority are not so unwary or so unfortunate as he was; but multitudes, for whom society has comparatively little criticism, are more vitiated at heart, more cold-blooded and deliberate in their evil. One may form a base character, but maintain an outward respectability; but let him not be very complacent over the decorous and conventional veneer which masks him from the world. If one imagines that he can corrupt his own soul and make it the abiding-place of foul thoughts, mean impulses, and shrivelling selfishness, and yet go forward very far in God's universe without meeting overwhelming disaster, he will find himself thoroughly mistaken.
The sin of another man finds him out in swift sequence upon its committal, and such had been Haldane's experience. He had been taught promptly the nature of the harvest which evil produces inevitably.
The terrible consequences of sin prevent and deter from it in many instances, but they have no very great reformatory power it would seem. Multitudes to-day arein extremisfrom destroying vices, and recognize the fact; but so far from reacting upward into virtue, even after vice (save in the intent of the heart) has ceased to be possible, there seems to be a moral inertia which nothing moves, or a reckless and increasing impetus downward.
It would appear that, in order to save the sinful, a strong, and yet gentle and loving, hand must be laid upon them. The stern grasp of justice, the grip of pain, law—human and divine—with its severe penalties, and conscience re-echoing its thunders, all lead too often to despondency, recklessness, and despair. It would be difficult to imagine a worse hell than vice often digs for its votaries, even in this world; and in spite of all human philosophies, and human wishes to the contrary, it remains a fact that the guilty soul trembles at a worse hereafter, and yet no sufferings, no fears, no fate can so appall as to turn the soul from its infatuation with that which is destroying it. More potent than commands, threats, and their dire fulfilment, is love, which wins and entreats back to virtue the man whom even Omnipotence could not drive back.
In the flood God overwhelmed the sinful world in sudden destruction, but the race continued sinning all the same. At last God came among men, and shared in their lot and nature. He taught them, he sympathized with them, he loved them, he died for them, and when the wondrous story is told as it should be, the most reckless pause to listen, the most callous are touched, and those who would otherwise despair in their guilt are led to believe that there is a heart large and tender enough to pity and save even such as the world is ready to spurn into a dishonored grave.
The love of God as manifested in Christ of Nazareth is doing more for humanity than all other influences combined. The best and noblest elements of our civilization can be traced either directly or indirectly to him, and shadows brood heavily over both the lands and hearts that neither know nor care for him.
It would seem, then, that not the wrath of God, but his love, is most effective in separating men from the evil which would otherwise destroy them. God could best manifest this love by becoming a man "made like unto his brethren"; for the love of God is ever best taught and best understood, not as a doctrine, but when embodied in some large-hearted and Christlike person.
Such a person most emphatically was Mrs. Arnot; and because of these divine characteristics her gentle, womanly hand became more potent to save young Haldane than were all the powers of evil and the downward impetus of a bad life to destroy.
How very many, like him, might be saved, were more women of tact and culture, large-hearted also and willing to give a part of their time to such noble uses!
By a personal and human ministry, the method that has ever been most effective in God's providence, Haldane was at last brought into close, intimate relations with the Divine Teacher himself. He was led to look away from his own fitful emotions and vague experiences to One who was his strong and unchanging friend. He was led to take as his daily guide and teacher the One who developed Peter the fisherman, Paul the bigot, Luther the ignorant monk, into what they eventually became, and it was not strange, therefore, that his crude, misshapen character should gradually assume the outlines of moral symmetry, and that strength should take the place of weakness. He commenced to learn by experience the truth which many never half believe, that God is as willing to lovingly fashion the spiritual life of some humble follower as he is to shape the destiny of those who are to be famous in the annals of the church and the world.
To Haldane's surprise he was not discharged from his humble position in Mr. Ivison's employ, and the explanation, which soon afterward appeared, gave him great encouragement. The man whom he had so severely punished in his outburst of passion, vented his spite by giving to theMorning Courieran exaggerated and distorted account of the affair, in which the youth was made to exchange places with himself, and appear as a coarse, quarrelsome bully.
When Haldane's attention was called to the paragraph his face flushed with indignation as he read it; but he threw the paper down and went to his work without a word of comment. He had already about despaired of anything like justice or friendly recognition from the public, and he turned from this additional wrong with a feeling not far removed from indifference. He was learning the value of Mrs. Arnot's suggestion, that a consciousness of one's own integrity can do more to sustain than the world's opinion, and her words on the previous evening had taught him how a companionship, and eventually a character, might be won that could compensate him for all that he had lost or might suffer.
His persecutor was, therefore, disappointed in seeing how little annoyance his spite occasioned, nor was his equanimity increased by a message from Mr. Ivison ordering his instant discharge.
The following morning the foreman of the room in which Haldane worked came to him with quite a show of friendliness, and said:
"It seems ye're in luck, for the boss takes an interest in ye. Read that; I wouldn't a' thought it."
Hope sprang up anew in the young man's breast as he read the following words:
EDITOR COURIER.—Dear Sir:You will doubtless give space for this correction in regard to the fracas which took place in my factory a day or two since. You, with all right-minded men, surely desire that no injustice should be done to any one in any circumstances. Very great injustice was done to young Haldane in your issue of to-day. I have taken pains to inform myself accurately, and have learned that he patiently submitted to a petty persecution for a long time, and at last gave way to natural anger under a provocation such as no man of spirit could endure. His tormentor, a coarse, ill-conditioned fellow, was justly punished, and I have discharged him from my employ. I have nothing to offer in extenuation of young Haldane's past faults, and, if I remember correctly, the press of the city has always been fully as severe upon him as the occasion demanded. If any further space is given to his fortunes, justice at least, not to say a little encouraging kindness, should be accorded to him, as well as severity. It should be stated that for weeks he has been trying to earn an honest livelihood, and in a situation peculiarly trying to him I have been told that he sincerely wishes to reform and live a cleanly and decent life, and I have obtained evidence that satisfies me of the truth of this report. It appears to me that it is as mean a thing for newspapers to strike a man who is down, but who is endeavoring to rise again, as it is for an individual to do so, and I am sure that you will not consciously permit your journal to give any such sinister blow. Respectfully yours, John Ivison.
In editorial comment came the following brief remark:
We gladly give Mr. Ivison's communication a prominent place. It is not our intention to "strike" any one, but merely to record each day's events as they come to us. With the best intentions mistakes are sometimes made. We have no possible motive for not wishing young Haldane well—we do wish him success in achieving a better future than his past actions have led us to expect. The city would be much better off if all of his class were equally ready to go to work.
Here at least was some recognition. The fact that he was working, and willing to work, had been plainly stated, and this fact is an essential foundation-stone in the building up of a reputation which the world will respect.
Although the discharge of the leading persecutor, and Mr. Ivison's letter, did not add to Haldane's popularity at the mill, they led to his being severely let alone at first, and an increasingly frank and affable manner on the part of the young man, as he gained in patience and serenity, gradually disarmed those who were not vindictive and blind from prejudice.
Poor Mrs. Haldane seemed destined to be her son's evil genius to the end. When people take a false view of life there seems a fatality in all their actions. The very fact that they are not in accord with what is right and true causes the most important steps of their lives to appear ill-timed, injudicious, and unnatural. That they are well-meaning and sincere does not help matters much, if both tact and sound principles are wanting. Mrs. Haldane belonged to the class that are sure that everything is right which seems right to them. True, it was a queer little jumble of religious prejudices and conventional notions that combined to produce her conclusions; but when once they were reached, no matter how absurd or defective they appeared to others, she had no more doubt of them than of the Copernican system.
Her motherly feelings had made her willing to take her son to some hiding-place in Europe; but since that could not be, and perhaps was not best, she had thoroughly settled it in her mind that he should accept of her offer and live at her expense the undemonstrative life of an oyster in the social and moral ooze of the obscurest mud-bank he could find. In this way the terrible world might be led to eventually leave off talking and thinking of the Haldane family—a consummation that appeared to her worth any sacrifice. When the morning paper brought another vile story (copied from the Hillaton "Courier") of her son's misdoings, her adverse view of his plans and character was confirmed beyond the shadow of a doubt. She felt that there was a fatality about the place and its associations for him, and her one hope was to get him away.
She cut the article from the paper and inclosed it to him with the accompanying note:
"We go to New York this afternoon, and sail for Europe to-morrow. You send us in parting a characteristic souvenir, which I return to you. The scenes and associations indicated in this disgraceful paragraph seem more to your taste than those which your family have hitherto enjoyed as their right for many generations. While this remains true, you, of necessity, cut yourself off from your kindred, and we, who are most closely connected, must remain where our names cannot be associated with yours. I still cherish the hope, however, that you may find the way of the transgressor so hard that you will be brought by your bitter experience to accept of my offer and give the world a chance to forget your folly and wickedness. When you will do this in good faith (and my lawyer will see that it is done in good faith), you may draw on him for the means of a comfortable support. In bitter shame and sorrow, your mother,
This letter was a severe blow to her son, for it contained the last words of the mother that he might not see for years. While he felt it to be cruelly unjust to him and his present aims, he was calm enough now to see that the distorted paragraph which led to it fitted in only too well with the past, and so had the coloring of truth. When inclined to blame his mother for not waiting for his versions of these miserable events and accepting of them alone, he was compelled to remember that she was in part awakened from her blind idolatry of him by the discovery of his efforts to deceive her in regard to his increasing dissipation. Even before he had entered Mr. Arnot's counting-room he had taught her to doubt his word, and now she had evidently lost confidence in him utterly. He foresaw that this confidence could be regained only by years of patient well-doing, and that she might incline to believe in him more slowly even than comparative strangers. But he was not disposed to be very angry and resentful, for he now had but little confidence in himself. He had been led, however, by his bitter experience and by Mrs. Arnot's faithful ministry to adopt that lady's brief but comprehensive creed, He was learning to trust in Christ as an all-powerful and personal friend; he was daily seeking to grasp the principles which Christ taught, but more clearly acted out, and which are essential to the formation of a noble character. He had thus complied with the best conditions of spiritual growth; and the crude elements of his character, which had been rendered more chaotic by evil, slowly began to shape themselves into the symmetry of a true man.
In regard to his mother's letter, all that he could do was to inclose to her, with the request that it be forwarded, Mr. Ivison's defence of him, which appeared in the "Courier" of the following morning.
"You perceive," he wrote, "that a stranger has taken pains to inform himself correctly in regard to the facts of the case, and that he has for me some charity and hope. I do not excuse the wrong of my action on that occasion or on any other, but I do wish, and I am trying, to do better, and I hope to prove the same to you by years of patient effort. I may fail miserably, however, as you evidently believe. The fact that my folly and wickedness have driven you and my sisters into exile, is a very great sorrow to me, but compliance with your request that I should leave Hillaton and go into hiding would bring no remedy at all. I know that I should do worse anywhere else, and my self-respect and conscience both require that I should fight the battle of my life out here where I have suffered such disgraceful defeat."
About three weeks after the occasion upon which Haldane's human nature had manifested itself in such a disastrous manner as he had supposed, Mrs. Arnot, Dr. Barstow, and Mr. Ivison happened to find themselves together at an evening company.
"I have been wishing to thank you, Mr. Ivison," said the lady, "for your just and manly letter in regard to young Haldane. I think it encouraged him very much, and has given him more hopefulness in his work. How has he been doing of late? The only reply he makes to my questioning is, 'I am plodding on.'"
"Do you know," said Mr. Ivison, "I am beginning to take quite an interest in that young fellow. He has genuine pluck. You cannot understand, Mrs. Arnot, what an ordeal he has passed through. He is naturally as mettlesome as a young colt, and yet day after day he was subjected to words and actions that were to him like the cut of a whip."
"Mr. Ivison," said Mrs. Arnot, with a sudden moisture coming into her eyes, "I have long felt the deepest interest in this young man. In judging any one I try to consider not only what he does, but all the circumstances attending upon his action. Knowing Haldane's antecedents, and how peculiarly unfitted he was by early life and training for his present trials, I think his course since he was last released from prison has been very brave," and she gave a brief sketch of his life and mental states, as far as a delicate regard for his feelings permitted, from that date.
Dr. Barstow, in his turn, also became interested in the youth, not only for his own sake, but also in the workings of his mind and his spiritual experiences. It was the good doctor's tendency to analyze everything and place all psychological manifestations under their proper theological heads.
"I feel that I indirectly owe this youth a large debt of gratitude, since his coming to our church and his repulse, in the first instance, has led to decided changes for the better in us all, I trust. But his experience, as you have related it, raises some perplexing questions. Do you think he is a Christian?"
"I do not know. I think he is," replied Mrs. Arnot.
"When do you think he became a Christian?"
"Still less can I answer that question definitely."
"But would not one naturally think it was when he was conscious of that happy change in the study of good old Dr. Marks?"
"Poor Haldane has been conscious of many changes and experiences, but I do not despise or make light of any of them. It is certainly sensible to believe that every effect has a cause; and for one I believe that these strange, mystical, and often rich and rapturous experiences, are largely and perhaps wholly caused in many instances by the direct action of God's Spirit on the human spirit. Again, it would seem that men's religious natures are profoundly stirred by human and earthly causes, for the emotion ceases with the cause. It appears to me that if people would only learn to look at these experiences in a sensible way, they would be the better and wiser for them. We are thus taught what a grand instrument the soul is, and of what divine harmonies and profound emotions it is capable when played upon by any adequate power. To expect to maintain this exaltation with our present nature is like requiring of the athlete that he never relax his muscles, or of the prima donna that she never cease the exquisite trill which is but the momentary proof of what her present organization is capable. And yet it would appear that many, like poor Haldane, are tempted on one hand to entertain no Christian hope because they cannot produce these deep and happy emotions; or, on the other hand, to give up Christian hope because these emotions cease in the inevitable reaction that follows them. In my opinion it is when we accept of Christ as Saviour and Guide we become Christians, and a Christian life is the maintenance of this simple yet vital relationship. We thus continue branches of the 'true vine.' I think Haldane has formed this relationship."
"It would seem from your account that he had formed it, consciously, but a very brief time since," said Dr. Barlow, "and yet for weeks previous he had been putting forth what closely resembles Christian effort, exercising Christian forbearance, and for a time at least enjoying happy spiritual experiences. Can you believe that all this is possible to one who is yet dead in trespasses and sins?"
"My dear Dr. Barstow, I cannot apply your systematic theology to all of God's creatures any more than I could apply a rigid and carefully lined-out system of parental affection and government to your household. I know that you love all of your children, both when they are good and when they are bad, and that you are ever trying to help the naughty ones to be better. I am inclined to think that I could learn more sound theology on these points in your nursery and dining-room than in your study. I am sure, however, that God does not wait till his little bewildered children reach a certain theological mile-stone before reaching out his hand to guide and help them."
"You are both better theologians than I am," said Mr. Ivison, "and I shall not enter the lists with you on that ground; but I know what mill-life is to one of his caste and feeling, and his taking such work, and his sticking to it under the circumstances, is an exhibition of more pluck than most young men possess. And yet it was his only chance, for when people get down as low as he was they must take any honest work in order to obtain a foothold. Even now, burdened as he is by an evil name, it is difficult to see how he can rise any higher."
"Could you not give him a clerkship?" asked Mrs. Arnot.
"No, I could not introduce him among my other clerks. They would resent it as an insult."
"You could do this," said Mrs. Arnot with a slight flush, "but I do not urge it or even ask it. You are in a position to show great and generous kindness toward this young man. As he who was highest stooped to the lowliest, so those high in station and influence can often stoop to the humble and fallen with a better grace than those hearer to them in rank. If you believe this young man is now trustworthy, and that trusting him would make him still more so, you could give him a desk in your private office, and thus teach your clerks a larger charity. The influential and assured in position must often take the lead in these matters."
Mr. Ivison thought a moment, and then said: "Your proposition is unusual, Mrs. Arnot, but I'll think of it. I make no promises, however."
"Mr. Ivison," added Mrs. Arnot, in her smiling, happy way, "I hope you may make a great deal of money out of your business this year; but if, by means of it, you can also aid in making a good and true man, you will be still better off. Dr. Barstow here can tell you how sure such investments are."
"If I should follow your lead and that of Dr. Barstow, all my real estate would be in the 'Celestial City,'" laughed Mr. Ivison. "But I have a special admiration for the grace of clear grit, and this young fellow, in declining his mother's offer and trying to stand on his feet here in Hillaton, where every one is ready to tread him down, shows pluck, whatever else is wanting. I've had my eye on him for some time, and I'm about satisfied he's trying to do right. But it is difficult to know what to do for one with his ugly reputation. I will see what can be done, however."
That same evening chilly autumn winds were blowing without, and Mr. Growther's passion for a wood fire upon the hearth was an indulgence to which Haldane no longer objected. The frugal supper was over, and the two oddly diverse occupants of the quaint old kitchen glowered at the red coals in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. At last Haldane gave a long deep sigh, which drew to him at once Mr. Growther's small twinkling eyes.
"Tough old world, isn't it, for sinners like us?" he remarked.
"Well, Mr. Growther, I've got rather tired of inveighing against the world; I'm coming to think that the trouble is largely with myself."
"Umph!" snarled the old man, "I've allers knowed the trouble was with me, for of all crabbed, cranky, cantankerous, old—"
"Hold on," cried Haldane, laughing, "don't you remember what Mrs. Arnot said about being unjust to one's self? The only person that I have ever known you to wrong is Jeremiah Growther, and it seems to me that you do treat him outrageously sometimes."
At the name of Mrs. Arnot the old man's face softened, and he rubbed his hands together as he chuckled, "How Satan must hate that woman!"
"I was in hopes that her words might lead you to be a little juster to yourself," continued Haldane, "and it has seemed to me that you, as well as I, have been in a better mood of late."
"I don't take no stock in myself at all," said Mr. Growther emphatically. "I'm a crooked stick and allers will be—a reg'lar old gnarled knotty stick, with not 'nuff good timber in it to make a penny whistle. That I haven't been in as cussin' a state as usual isn't because I think any better of myself, but your Mrs. Arnot has set me a-thinkin' on a new track. She come to see me one day while you was at the mill, and we had a real speret'al tussel. I argufied my case in such a way that she couldn't git round it, and I proved to her that I was the driest and crookedest old stick that ever the devil twisted out o' shape when it was a-growin'. On a suddent she turned the argerment agin me in a way that has stumped me ever since. 'You are right, Mr. Growther,' she said, 'it was the devil and not the Lord that twisted you out of shape. Now who's the stronger,' she says, 'and who's goin' to have his own way in the end? Suppose you are very crooked, won't the Lord get all the more glory in making you straight, and won't his victory be all the greater over the evil one?' Says I, 'Mrs. Arnot, that's puttin' my case in a new light. If I should be straightened out, it would be the awfulest set-back Old Nick ever had; and if such a thing should happen he'd never feel sure of any one after that.' Then she turned on me kinder sharp, and says she, 'What right have you to say that God is allers lookin' round for easy work? What would you think of a doctor who would take only slight cases, and have nothing to do with people who were gittin' dangerous-like? Isn't Jesus Christ the great physician, and don't your common-sense tell you that he is jist as able to cure you as a little child?'