CHAPTER XIV.

"But Pippa—just one such mischance would spoilHer day that lightens the next twelve months' toilAt wearisome silk-winding, coil on coil!"

Nora's thoughts went back with a bound to poor Lizzie Mason, her sad, tired face and shabby dress, and wondered if such thoughts and fancies ever flitted vaguely through her brain on a holiday. But the little girl is dreaming now of what or whom she shall please to be to-day:

"To-morrow I must be Pippa who winds silk,The whole year round, to earn just bread and milk:But, this one day, I have leave to go,And to play out my fancy's fullest games."

Ah, poor Lizzie! far too heavily weighed down by serious and pressing cares, to have any wish to "play out fancy's games!" She glanced at Mrs. Pomeroy, who sat with clasped hands and attitude all attent, and at Miss Pomeroy, reclining with her cheek resting on her hand and an unusually softened expression in the lines of the somewhat hard face. She wondered if it occurred to them, how manyrealdramas might be going on about them, as worthy of their sympathy as this one, idealized by the power of the poet. She began to think how it would be, if she were, there and then, to go to Mr. Pomeroy with a petition to restore to his toiling maidens their full measure of wages. Strange that people should feel so much more for a girl in a book, than for the real flesh-and-blood ones, in daily life! But Mr. Pomeroy had apparently gone to sleep, and his son was whispering to Kitty, instead of listening. Ah, what was that? Was not this Kitty—to the life!

"For are not suchUsed to be tended, flower-like, every feature,As if one's breath would fray the lily of a creature?A soft and easy life these ladies lead:Whiteness in us were wonderful indeed."

Was that how their protected happy life looked to those who saw themde bas en haut? Was it any wonder that girls like Nelly were pert and discontented? With such thoughts drifting through her mind, she listened, swayed by the magic power of poetry over the souls that are open to its charm, to Pippa's pathetic yearning for the love which, after all, is the blessing of blessings—the warm, cherishing love of the brooding bird, the love of the mother for the child, ending in the cry,

"If I only knewWhat was my mother's face—my father's, too!"

But what are these lines that follow? Nora listens with caught breath to the passage which closes the reading, given in Mr. Chillingworth's most impressive manner.

"Nay, if you come to that, best love of allIs God's; then why not have God's love befallMyself as, in the palace by the Dome,Monsignor?—who to-night will bless the homeOf his dead brother; and God bless in turnThat heart which beats, those eyes which mildly burnWith love for all men! I, to-night at least,Would be that holy and beloved priest."Now wait!—even I already seem to shareIn God's love; what does New-year's hymn declare?What other meaning do these verses bear?"All service ranks the same with God:If now, as formerly he trodParadise, his presence fillsOur earth, each only as God willsCan work—God's puppets, best and worst,Are we; there is no last nor first."Say not 'a small event.' Why 'small'?Costs it more pain that this, ye callA 'great event,' should come to pass,Than that? Untwine me from the massOf deeds which make up life, one deedPower shall fall short in or exceed!"

"Now wait!—even I already seem to shareIn God's love; what does New-year's hymn declare?What other meaning do these verses bear?

"All service ranks the same with God:If now, as formerly he trodParadise, his presence fillsOur earth, each only as God willsCan work—God's puppets, best and worst,Are we; there is no last nor first.

"Say not 'a small event.' Why 'small'?Costs it more pain that this, ye callA 'great event,' should come to pass,Than that? Untwine me from the massOf deeds which make up life, one deedPower shall fall short in or exceed!"

And so poor Pippa passes on, consoled for the wearisome silk-winding, the scant food, scant raiment, scant human love.

"Oh yes—I will pass each, and see their happiness,And envy none—being just as great, no doubt,Useful to men, and dear to God, as they!"

Yes, that was the best thing after all. Surely poor self-denying Lizzie had this best blessing of loving service. Nora scarcely heard the finishing lines of the passage, so engrossed was she with that thought. Mr. Chillingworth closed the volume, and a chorus of thanks and admiration followed.

It was Nora's first introduction to Pippa. She was familiar with most of the poets of the century—Tennyson, Whittier, Wordsworth, Longfellow; but with Browning she had scarcely got beyond the outer husk which repels so many, and really knew only one or two of his minor Lyrics. But the new, strenuous, heart-searching note took her captive. And often as she afterwards read the poem, she never did so without seeming to see the pathetic picture of Lizzie Mason, side by side with the little dreaming Italian silk-winder.

After the guests took leave, Kitty asked her if she would not come to church with her on the following evening, to hear Mr. Chillingworth preach, as she was occasionally in the habit of doing—Mr. Alden's church being the one her brother regularly attended. Nora willingly promised, and a little meaning smile passed between Kitty and herfiancé, as well-informed people now considered Harold Pomeroy to be.

The Blanchards were an old Puritan family, and Dr. Blanchard, who inherited a good deal of the Puritan steadiness of temperament, held staunchly by the old ways, notwithstanding the fact of his having married an Episcopalian wife. Mrs. Blanchard's family were parishioners of Mr. Chillingworth, she herself having married shortly after he had entered on his present charge, and he had always been treated as a friend and welcome guest. But Mr. Alden had been Dr. Blanchard's minister since he had first come to Minton. He had owed much, as a young physician, to Mr. Alden's kind brotherly counsels and warm Christian influence; and his preaching just suited men like the doctor, to whom plain, downright, unpretentious, practical teaching was most acceptable.

Nobody ever heard Mr. Alden dealing with any abstract "plans" or "systems," or with purely commercial considerations of future "rewards and punishments"; or with a so-called "salvation," uncomprehended as to its real nature, to be procured by a certain vague assent to an equally uncomprehended formula. He gave his people, not scholastic theology, butreligion, as he found it in the Bible, warm, concrete, throbbing with the human heart. He showed them the Infinite as he saw Him in every page of his Bible, but especially in the Man of Nazareth; not as the cold, stern Law-giver, ready to make His creatures suffer for even intellectual shortcomings and mistakes, but as the infinitely loving—infinitely righteous Father, seeking to raise all His children to their highest possibilities; while, at the same time, he laid down the irreversible laws of spiritual and moral life and health, with the faithful candor of a true physician. And he was perpetually seeking, first to call out in the hearts of his people a grateful and loving response to that Infinite Love, so divine yet so human; and, next, to show how the truth of that response lay in real turning from sin, a willing and faithful obedience to the voice of God in duty, in every relation of life, and that duty nothing less than that of "loving our neighbor as ourselves." No one ever left his church without feeling more strongly impressed with some point of his duty to his brother man—without having had another lesson in the truth that "love is the fulfilling of the law." Some critics, especially clerical ones, who missed a certain familiar terminology, and a well-worn conventional way of putting things, shook their heads over what seemed to them "superficial" and "latitudinarian," but Mr. Alden only smiled quietly to himself. He knew that he was not superficial; that what he taught people went to the very root of the matter; that, if he sought to be "broad as God's love," he sought also to show, in its divine distinctness, the sharp line of demarcation between good and evil, love and selfishness. And he knew that, in the real and quickened life of many, his ministry was not without its fruit.

But Roland Graeme, with the best will in the world, could not find much material for a striking "report," as he sat next morning, note-book in hand, anxious to do Mr. Alden some justice in theMinerva. There were no high imaginative flights, like those in which Mr. Chillingworth indulged; though now and then there would be a burst of real eloquence, struck out of the tense emotion of a tender heart, yet almost impossible to summarize in a sentence. All Roland could do was to give the outline of the clear, practical teaching addressed to the heart and conscience, the appeals to do battle with the demon of selfishness, the close analysis of the base substratum of so many current usages and maxims, and the condemnation of them by a simple comparison of them with the teachings and example of Christ.

Miss Blanchard's quick eye soon noticed the young man, though he sat at some distance on the opposite side of the church. She recognized, at once, the slightly upward poise of the head, the clear candid eyes, the earnest, kindling look, as the preacher warmed to his subject. She observed, also, his pencil and note-book, and wondered if he were taking notes for his own benefit. For no one ever thought of "reporters" in Mr. Alden's church. Once Roland's eye caught the graceful figure andspirituelleface that he had by no means forgotten, and saw by its expression, that he too was recognized. Nora fancied that his glance wandered frequently, from the preacher to the sweet childlike face of Grace Alden, sitting with a troop of little ones in the minister's pew near the pulpit. She did not wonder at it, for she, herself, loved to look at Gracie, of whom she had grown very fond. There was in her fair face, such a heavenly purity, combined with a sunny brightness, of which the golden wavy hair seemed the natural outward expression, that she attracted Nora's eyes as if by a magnetic influence. And Nora knew, too, that the outward beauty was only a symbol of the genuine goodness and sweetness of a nature of rare gentleness and purity. Kitty was as fair in all external points—more exquisite and finished indeed; but her face could never "hold" Nora as did that of this child of sixteen.

As Miss Blanchard passed out, Grace pressed up to her as she usually did, for the affectionate greeting they always exchanged.

"Father wants you to come, to-morrow evening, to a private meeting of the 'Helping Hands,'" she said. "He's going to make arrangements for a Christmas festival. He wants you on the programme for a song or two, and you are to come to tea, of course, he says."

"You can depend on my coming, then," was Nora's ready reply. Few people lingered when Mr. Alden said "Come!"

That afternoon, Nora prepared for a visit to Lizzie Mason, with a little nervous trepidation. She had been accustomed from childhood to visiting among her poor friends in Rockland, and loved to do it. But, much as she was interested in Lizzie, she felt shy about going in among a set of strange faces, and into such a home as she could but dimly picture, with the formidable figure of "Jim" in it, too, as a subject for her exhortations. However, the thing must be done, and she braced herself to do it, accordingly.

It was not so hard, after all as she found when she reached the poor street, with the dingy unattractive houses, and stopped at the door to which Roland Graeme had guided her. Lizzie was on the lookout for her, and showed her into a little family sitting-room, where everything was poor and shabby enough, but yet clean and tidy. No one was there but "Jim," a rather good-looking young fellow, with a somewhat sullen brow and weak mouth and chin, who sat reading a newspaper, quite unconscious of the various little wiles whereby Lizzie had managed to detain him indoors till her expected visitor should arrive. He rose and saluted Miss Blanchard awkwardly, with evident surprise at her appearance, and then retreated into the background, where he could look at her at leisure without being observed. The children were out at Sunday-school, Lizzie explained, "and mother had gone in to see a neighbor." She herself looked rather better and much brighter than she had done the day before.

"After you were gone, yesterday afternoon," she said, "the nurse came in, and thought I wanted a tonic, so she went and got me one from the dispensary, and I declare I feel quite set up by it already; and she talked a good deal to us, too. My! it was just beautiful! it brightened me up ever so much to see her and you!"

Of course, thought Nora, the poor girl needed a tonic; she wondered she had not thought of it. Certainly Janie Spencerwascut out for a nurse. But it was not the tonic alone which had done Lizzie good; the kind sympathy and cheering talk had been quite as effectual.

Nora tried to draw "Jim" out a little, but it was hard work. He replied by monosyllables, chiefly negatives. He didn't care for reading; he didn't go to church, he didn't think it would do him any good if he did. As for approaching the special subject of Lizzie's dread, it would, of course, have been impossible without something to lead up to it. Nora was rather relieved when the door opened, and Nelly stepped in, very much "got up" for a Sunday walk, and looking prettier and more pert than ever. She was really a good deal taken aback at seeing Miss Blanchard seated there, but she nodded familiarly, and answered in a tone meant to assert the dignity and independence of one who felt herself "as good as anybody."

Nora did her best to try to get at the girl's real self—talked to her patiently and gently, overlooking the pertness that offended her fastidious sense of the fitness of things. At last she asked her if she ever went to church with her friend Lizzie.

"No," said Nelly, "I guess I've got enough of big stuffy rooms full of people, all the week! I want some gayer kind of a picnic than that!"

Jim laughed, and even Lizzie smiled a little. They evidently thought this a clever speech of Nelly's. Nora made no reply, indeed she was at a loss what to say; and presently Nelly rose, remarking that she must go on for her walk, as the afternoon was nearly over. Jim, of course, accompanied her. Nora could not help thinking of the tender-hearted, dreamy Pippa of the poem; and wondered what could be done with such a hard and frivolous specimen as this. Yet, had she only known it, her grace and gentleness and culture had had their effect on this girl, under all herinsouciance; had set her vaguely longing for something that as yet she only dimly felt, something better and nobler than anything she yet knew. We are not, as a rule, ready to show outwardly when our self-satisfaction has been upset, and more than half of the elevating influences of life arise out of mere contact of the higher with the lower; far more out of what weare, than out of what we say.

Nora remained a little longer with Lizzie, gently trying to raise her mind to the ideal that had so cheered herself in thinking about the poor overweighted life. The girl did, evidently, lay hold of it to some extent. She had that in her already, which prepared her for it, even if she could not yet comprehend the words in which the poet had put the truth, that:

"All service ranks the same with God."

But the anxious, loving little heart could at least grasp and hold something of the "best love of all."

After waiting to see and greet the mother—a tired-looking woman, prematurely broken down by ceaseless toil, Nora bade Lizzie good-by, putting into her hand Ruskin's touching little "Story of Ida," of which she herself was very fond, and which she thought Lizzie might be able to appreciate. Later, she was thankful that she had followed the impulse to do it—one of those instincts that are quicker and often truer than reason.

Mr. Chillingworth's evening sermon was the one on which he was wont to "lay himself out." Strangers often came to hear it, and it was frequently reported. Roland Graeme was there as usual, as reporter; and Miss Blanchard again, from her seat in the gallery, caught a glimpse of the young man scribbling away in his note-book. It was odd, she thought, how often he had seemed to cross her path since their accidental meeting. The sermon was one of Mr. Chillingworth's most eloquent ones, full of grand ideals, with no lack of fine and forcible expressions; here and there, Roland thought, somewhat too rhetorical for a thoroughly cultivated taste. There were touches in which Nora could recognize traces of the Browning reading, the evening before, for Mr. Chillingworth could hardly refrain from bringing into his sermons anything which had strongly impressed him. But, however fine Mr. Chillingworth's ideals might be, there was always a gap between these and the realities of common life, which he seemed unable to fill up. Their uplifting influence did not, in general, last longer than the concluding words, except in the case of the few who could supply what he failed to give them. In that of most of his audience, there was a period of transient exaltation, followed by a collapse of the artificial wings, and a sudden descent to the commonplace flats of average life and feeling. Neither did his hearers, in general, connect these ideals with the humble details of daily life; especially as his presentation of good and evil was often drawn with such melodramatic intensity of light and shade, that his hearers failed utterly to connect either with themselves. It never occurred to Mr. Pomeroy, for instance, that the "self-surrender" so glowingly advocated implied that he should devote time, thought and sacrifice to the interests of his work-people. To Mrs. Pomeroy the idea meant only increased devotion and generosity to her favorite "missionary enterprise." It never occurred to her that it might mean, also, a loving, motherly interest in the many comparatively friendless girls, whose toil was helping to gather in for her the wealth she had to bestow, but for whichshe"neither toiled nor spun." As for young Pomeroy, he never once even thought of any reason why he should ever put himself out for anybody. Miss Pomeroy was perhaps beginning to think a little, though she was naturally neither responsive nor expansive; but it was not Mr. Chillingworth who had made her begin.

Asthe seat occupied by the Pomeroy family was not far from that occupied by the Farrells, Harold Pomeroy joined Nora and Kittyasthey moved out. When they reached the foot of the stair, they encountered, in the full light of the vestibule, Roland Graeme, coming from the opposite side. Not being of the order of girls who can carelessly pass, without sign of recognition, a person with whom they have conversed, because they may not have been formally introduced, or because he or she may not be in "their set," Nora was glad of the opportunity of giving him a courteous salutation, and a pleasant "Good-evening," which was as courteously returned.

"Why, how on earth did you come to know that fellow?" exclaimed young Pomeroy in surprise, after Roland had passed on.

"Why should there be anything surprising in it?" returned Nora, rather stiffly. She cordially detested Mr. Pomeroy's "airs."

"Only I shouldn't have supposed you were likely to have met Graeme," he said, in a somewhat apologetic tone.

"Is that Roland Graeme!" she exclaimed, too much surprised to think of anything else for a moment. Kitty laughed heartily.

"So Nora, you didn't even know who it was that you were bowing to? Thatisfunny!"

"No, I didn't know his name, certainly, but I knowhim. That was the young man who escorted me to see the sick woman I went to help that evening, don't you remember? I had a good deal of talk with him on the way, and I liked him very much. So that is the Roland Graeme they were talking about last night. Well, I don't think he's a 'crank' in the least."

"Oh, even a crank can be sensible sometimes, you know," said young Pomeroy. "But I hope he isn't going to make a disciple of you."

"I shall certainly readThe Brotherhoodnow," replied Nora, maliciously. "I believe there's a copy in my brother's surgery."

"And I certainly shallnot" returned the young man, as he and Kitty bade her good-night at Dr. Blanchard's door.

When Miss Blanchard reached Mr. Alden's house the next evening, she met with the usual warm welcome from the whole family,—Grace as usual constituting herself her special attendant, and claiming a song from her friend before tea.

"For we shan't have any time, you know, after, on account of the meeting," she said, coaxingly.

But just as they were looking over the music, and deciding what song it should be, the door opened to admit Mr. Alden's cheery presence. And with him came in, to Nora's amused surprise, Mr. Roland Graeme.

"I met Mr. Graeme down town," Mr. Alden explained, "and we got so interested in the things we were talking about, that he walked nearly all the way up with me before we knew it, so I wouldn't let him go back. I told him he must come in and have tea with us, as I want him to come to our meeting. So now, my dear Miss Blanchard, please go on. I'm glad I came just in time. You know my favorites—give me one of them, please."

And he threw himself back in his easy chair, his face lighted up with its most genial smile. Miss Blanchard thought for a minute or two; then, with a significant smile, both at him and at Roland Graeme, she took a well-worn song that lay at hand, and sang with great spirit, "A Man's a Man for a' That." Mr. Alden listened with evident delight, his deep bass occasionally breaking into the chorus, till, when the last verse was reached, he turned to Roland:

"Come Mr. Graeme, I know you can join in that song. Gracie, let us all give that last verse in a ringing chorus." And they did—the four voices blending in very pleasant unison in the words:

"For a' that and a' that;It's coming, yet, for a' that;That man to man, the warld o'er,Shall brothers be for a' that!"

"Now, Miss Blanchard, I presume you gave us that as a delicate compliment to my likings and to my young friend's new venture—The Brotherhood!" Nora smiled and bowed. "But of course that song doesn't do your singing justice, for any tyro like me can sing it, in a way, if he only has the heart. Now, I want you to give us my favorite love-song, "Robin Adair," my mother's old-time lullaby.Thatdoes bring out her voice," he added, turning to Roland.

"It's a song I'm very fond of," Roland replied.

Nora sang the old, tender, Scotch love-song with a simple pathos that suited it as well as did her fine contralto. Roland, who like most emotional people, was exceedingly sensitive to the power of music, felt it float through his whole being—soothing the nervous system which had been on the strain all day, and taking him, for a moment, into that world of romance among whose bowery walks it is so pleasant, for even the most practical-minded, occasionally to wander. But the dream of romance was abruptly ended by the summons to tea. And Nora could not help noticing, all through that meal, how Roland's eyes followed every motion of Grace Alden with a quite unconscious devotion. It recalled to her Tennyson's line:

"And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung."

But Grace, she was sure, would never be the "shallow-hearted cousin Amy" in any event. Was she too much of a child, still, to be touched by this unspoken, though evident admiration on the part of a young man so attractive as Roland Graeme? Nora could not, at any rate, detect, in the frank ingenuous face, any trace of consciousness. And the father and mother seemed equally unconscious; which was scarcely to be wondered at, for they regarded Grace, at sixteen, as only a child still. Fathers and mothers are often the last to see that the nestlings are fledged.

Nora, as most people will have discerned, was a rather romantic young woman, and it did not take many minutes for this little possible romance to flash through her brain. Roland sat near her at tea, and his first remark was, naturally, an interested inquiry for the poor invalid to whom he had guided her.

"And how is the little girl getting on?" asked Mr. Alden, when Nora had given her report of the mother.

"Oh, she seems tolerably contented, now," was the reply. "But she is a strange child—rather; very variable in her moods, though very concentrated and self-contained. Under all her quietness, she seems nervous and excitable, with a passionate and self-willed nature—I can see very well—though her very shyness seems to keep it down."

"I have no doubt her mother must have a history," said Mr. Alden, thoughtfully. "I wish we could know what it is."

"Cecilia has a wonderfully good ear," Nora went on, "and a perfect passion for music. I shouldn't wonder if she were to turn out aprima-donnayet."

"And so you have taken charge of the child, yourself," said Roland, his eye lighting up with ready sympathy. "That was truly kind!"

The words were said with so much feeling, that Nora felt slightly embarrassed, but turned the matter off by declaring that, notwithstanding her peculiarities, she was a very interesting child, and they were all growing quite fond of her. She would be sorry when her mother could claim her again.

"Gracie must go and bring her here, some day soon. It would do her good to be with these noisy youngsters for a while," said Mr. Alden.

"She's a remarkably refined child," said Nora. "Her mother must have kept her very much to herself."

"Well, we mustn't lose sight of her. There's no knowing what may be made of her yet." And then Mr. Alden turned to Roland, and they resumed the discussion they had begun before. It was on some rather abstruse questions as to the relations of capital and labor; but Nora—with her intelligence on such matters quickened by the argument she had so recently heard—listened with attention enough to grasp, at least, the general position involved. Mr. Alden had taken a great interest in the enthusiastic and generous young reformer, and was genuinely anxious to keep him, if he could, from rushing into extreme or ill-considered views, however plausible they might at first sight appear. And though he had not the advantage of Roland's special reading on these subjects, his sound, common-sense experience and insight into human nature gave him a quick perception of the fallacy of any extreme position, such as Roland, in his inexperienced enthusiasm, was often too ready to embrace.

"The 'Knights' want me to give them a lecture by and by. I'm thinking of taking up the subject of 'Modern Miracles,'" said Roland, with a smile.

"Meaning, I suppose, the wonders science is perpetually astonishing us with?"

"Yes, especially as an agency at work in consolidating the human race into one organism; having common interests and common dangers, so that a famine in one quarter of the globe means scarcity in another. I don't want to take up the labor question directly, just now; I should get the name of an 'incendiary' or an 'agitator' at once, and I don't want to make the men any more discontented than they are. It's the employers we want to get at. But such a subject as the 'Miracles of Science' would afford plenty of opportunity for pointing out the benefits of coöperation, as being necessary for guiding these tremendous new forces for the good, not the ill, of humanity."

"Will any one besides 'Knights of Labor' be allowed to go?" asked Nora.

Mr. Alden looked at her with one of his broad, genial smiles. "Areyoutaking an interest in such matters, then?" he asked.

"I have been, lately," Nora said. "The subject seems to be 'in the air.' Everything I've heard or read lately seems to bring it up. And I know so little about it, really, that I want to learn."

"—The best possible frame of mind for getting wisdom," replied Mr. Alden. "I wish my people would only come to church in it! Well, I hope Mr. Graeme is not going to shut the public out; and then you and I can go together to hear him."

Roland's face had again lighted up with pleasure. "I believe it's to be an open meeting," he said. "Of course there's no reason for excluding the public, and I think they want to make a little by it. I'll ask 'Brother' Dunning, and let you know."

"You all call each other 'Brother,' in the order, do you?" asked Mr. Alden.

"Yes, 'Brother' or 'Sister,' as the case may be," he replied smiling. "It seems to be quite a matter of course, when you get used to it."

"Mr. Graeme," said Nora, as they walked together to the place of meeting, "would you mind telling me just why you became a 'Knight of Labor'?"

"Not in the least," he said. "It is very simple. I felt, as I think no entirely unprejudiced person can help feeling nowadays, that our working-classes do not get fair play in the great struggle going on about us; that here the 'battle' is emphatically 'to the strong,' and that the weaker are being, perforce, driven to the wall,—crushed beneath the great iron wheels of Progress, Capital, Combination, and Protection. And I always had an instinctive sympathy with the 'under dog in the fight.' Ever since, as a boy, I read Spenser's 'Faërie Queen,' it seemed to me the noblest task a man could devote himself to,—the fighting the battles of the weak against selfish tyrants,

'To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,'

or whatever corresponds to that in our prosaic age."

"Yes," said Nora, warmly, "but why, for that end, did you need to become a 'Knight' of that description?"

"For two reasons," he replied. "First, because the only way to thoroughly understand their position seemed to me to become one of them, as it were; to comprehend their feelings, aspirations, aims. And, secondly, because I think they need, above all things, some intelligent help and guidance from within. They are so apt to grow wrong-headed and unjust, simply from the perpetual pressure of the hardships of their position. Although I can honestly say, too, that I have often been deeply impressed by the patience and moderation that they show in very trying circumstances. I seldom attend one of their mass-meetings without feeling deeply touched by the vague, wistful sense of the possibilities toward which they are groping, burdened with a sense of tremendous difficulties in the way, and of their own inability to cope with them. And I often wish I could only inspire a whole army of intelligent, energetic, educated young men to take up their cross and help them to win the day. It would be the salvation, it seems to me, not only of this country, but, in a great measure, of the human race!"

Roland spoke with all the warmth of his intensely altruistic nature, and his voice thrilled with irrepressible feeling. Nora felt her own pulse quicken with the contagion of his enthusiasm. Mr. Alden, who overheard the last words, turned back to add:—

"Yes, Graeme, I believe it will be all that;ifonly you can, at the same time, raise this great mass of toiling humanity in the moral and spiritual scale, as well as in the material and intellectual one. However, do all you can for both!"

They had, by this time, arrived at the place where the "Helping Hands Society" usually held its meetings. The place had a history of its own. It had originally been a much frequented saloon, which had stood like a dragon in the way of Mr. Alden's mission work, in a very unpromising portion of his field of labor. It was the place, also, where many days' wages were sunk in ruinous indulgence, instead of being spent in comforts for hungry families. There men lured each other to destructive excesses that besotted them till there was apparently nothing of their better nature left to which to appeal. Mr. Alden conceived the idea of out-flanking the dragon, and carried out his design, with the aid of a few generous members of his congregation. At a time when the place was about to change hands, through the necessities of an owner, ruined by his own merchandise, the building was secured for a comparatively low price, and forthwith turned into a mission-centre of a peculiar kind. Mr. Alden had too much shrewdness to turn the old "Good-fellows' Hall" into anything like a church or mission-hall—the idea of some of his zealous helpers. He knew that this would only frighten away the oldhabitués, and that a successor to the extinct saloon would speedily spring up. So the "Good-fellows' Hall," it remained, with the same external attractions as before, apparently changed in only one respect—that coffee, lemonade, and other temperance beverages were the only things sold there. A respectable temperance man was installed as keeper, and conducted this part of it on his own responsibility. Men might come there and smoke, talk, or read the papers. They were not even prohibited from bringing their own ale with them, so long as they used it in moderation. But, as a matter of fact, they hardly ever chose to do so, feeling an unwritten law; and if they did bring it, the slightest tendency to excess was sternly repressed. But in all else they were free to do as they pleased. Care was, of course, taken that all the papers and other reading matter on the table should be of the best and most elevating character adapted to their taste and calibre. So most of the oldhabituéscontinued to frequent it; and if they grumbled at first, at the loss of the wonted dram, they gradually forgot to miss it, and met, and smoked, and told old yarns as readily as ever.

But behind this expurgated saloon—and divided from it by double doors—were two large rooms devoted to very different purposes. One was a reading-room, with shelves tolerably well filled with interesting books, history, travels, tales, and modern books relating to various industrial occupations. This room was furnished with comfortable chairs, and any one might enter and read to his heart's content, provided he would leave his pipe outside. The other was fitted with seats, and served as a lecture-room or a preaching hall. Here a Sunday-school was held weekly, and here Mr. Alden or some one of his helpers frequently held simple, short services which were generally well attended by the people of the neighborhood. Here it was, that the Christmas festival was to be given by the "Helping Hands Society," and a small committee-room adjoining was the place of the present meeting.

Its components were rather a heterogeneous group. There were two or three young business men, a shop-keeper and his wife, two or three mechanics and artisans who were "Knights" and acquaintances of Roland, and several girls in different occupations, two of them teachers, and almost all self-supporting. The festival was, of course, to be held for the benefit of the poor people of the neighborhood, who were not included in any other Christmas-keeping arrangements. Some of those present were representative of the people to be entertained, and to these Mr. Alden, as chairman, gave considerable heed in the preparation of the programme; but all could, in some way, assist in carrying it out. Finally it was arranged as follows:—

First, of course, there was to be a "Tree," laden with little gifts for the children; after that, Christmas music, including a violin solo from one of the young men; then a magic-lantern exhibition of Oriental views, followed by one of Mr. Alden's common-sense "Talks"; and last, but not least, a reading from Dickens' "Christmas Carol," by Roland Graeme.

The latter undertook to escort Miss Blanchard home, after the meeting was over. As they walked together under the clear, cold, winter starlight, Nora told the young man something of poor Lizzie Mason's story, and her anxiety for the brother, about whom she had also spoken to Mr. Alden.

"I'll look him up," said Roland, heartily, "and see if anything can be done with him. As for the girls whose wages have been 'cut,' that matter has been up before the 'Knights' and a deputation is to interview the manager."

"Oh, do you think it will do any good?" she exclaimed.

"That I can't say," he replied. "We can only try."

"Do you know, Mr. Graeme, if I were a man, I think I should be a 'Knight' too!"

He laughed. "But you know our modern 'Knights' are not alwaysmen!" he replied.

It need scarcely be said that, after this, Miss Blanchard always looked out forThe Brotherhood, and scanned its contents with much interest. She was pleased—even a little surprised—by the temperate and moderate tone in which it set forth existing wrongs and grievances, and appealed to the sense of justice and humanity of those with whom it lay to remedy them. She was not, of course, a very critical reader, and was happily ignorant of the practical difficulties that lie in the way of great reforms; and it seemed to her that such a cause, so advocated, must be sure to win the day. In particular, trained as she had been to look upon Christian practice as an essential part of Christianity, she could not believe that any professing Christian could withhold sympathy from pleadings which carried her own, as a matter of course. She had, from her childhood, been given to wondering how it was, that the very poor could bear the hardships of their lot as contentedly as they did; and now that, from the statistics and details which Roland Graeme industriously collected for his paper, she realized how much greater these hardships were, for many, than she had ever before imagined, she thought, in her simplicity, that every one who knew of them must desire to do something to lighten them. Her imagination was fired, too, by the idea, now presented to her for the first time, that hard, grinding poverty need not always prevail on the scale on which it now exists; that it is within the right and the duty of man to remove much of it. Such a hope, she thought, might well inspire to a new Crusade, far more truly Christian in its aims and methods than were those half-heathen wars of old, which took that sacred name.

But, except from her brother, whose experiences as a medical man had prepared him to agree with her on most of these questions, Nora found that she could secure little sympathy, or even toleration, for such "new-fangled notions." Most people would agree that, of course, there were many hard cases, just as there was misery of all kinds in the world, which could not be helped; but they would shake their heads discouragingly over each proposed remedy, which "was sure" to involve new evils greater than the disease, till she wondered if there must always be "a lion in the way" of every undertaking for the good of humanity.

She found she had not even Mr. Chillingworth on her side, when she somewhat timidly ventured to express herself to him on the subject ofThe Brotherhood, at a grand luncheon-party at Mrs. Farrell's, a few days after the dinner at Mr. Pomeroy's. It was chiefly a "ladies' luncheon," also given in honor of Miss Harley; but two or three gentlemen were especially privileged, including Mr. Chillingworth and Mr. Wharton, who were not supposed to be engaged at that early hour.

Mr. Chillingworth was a good deal surprised when he found that Miss Blanchard actually claimed Mr. Graeme as an acquaintance; and, furthermore, that she entered with so much sympathy into his views of social questions. Somehow, Mr. Chillingworth did not find it easy to reconcile his sense of her grace, refinement and culture, with a "movement" that he vaguely associated with vulgar "strikes," violence, and other democratic developments, from which his æsthetic sensitiveness shrank with utter repugnance.

"Undoubtedly, my dear Miss Blanchard," he said, "there are many directions in which reform is needed. The poverty about us is but one, and reform cannot come by any sudden or artificial means; the only cure for this, as for all evils, is the radical cure from within—the spirit of Christ acting on individual hearts. Much of the poverty, also, arises from the faults of the poor themselves. Many of them would be miserable in any case. And, you know, even our divine Master said, 'The poor ye have always with you.'"

"But He could never have meant that other people were tokeepthem poor," replied Nora, her cheek flushing. "And you know He told the young man 'to sell all his goods and give to the poor.'"

"Ah, but that was only in one case! He wanted to try him,—test whether he really loved his neighbor as himself, as he thought he did."

"And don't you think there are many people who need the same test, now?" Nora could not help replying.

"Oh, certainly, certainly;" he replied, dreamily; "but it seems to me you are forgetting to enjoy your luncheon. Let me help you to some of this delicious cream."

Nora could see very well that the subject they had been discussing only bored the clergyman, so she dropped it; listening, however, as well as she could, through intervening droppings of talk, to a discussion that Mr. Wharton and Miss Harley were carrying on, as to the differences of aspect presented by the labor question in England and in America. And she could not help wondering again and again, as she surveyed the luncheon-table, profusely supplied with expensive delicacies, whether that same Lord who had bidden the rich young man "sell all that he had and give to the poor," might not have had something to say to people who "had fared sumptuously every day," while Lazarus starved at their gates. And then, with a fastidious sense of honor, she checked a thought that seemed like ungenerous treachery to her hospitable entertainers. Only,—if poor Lizzie Mason could have had a share of the superfluous luxury, how good it would have been forher!

Mr. Chillingworth, too, both puzzled and disappointed her. His eloquent altruistic appeals—his exaltation of the high Christian ideal—so stirred her enthusiastic nature that she felt herself irresistibly drawn toward the man who could so well express the idealism of Christianity. But, out of the pulpit—when it came to the practical application of his own principles—he often brought her up short in wonder at what she felt to be the inconsistency of his remarks about the details of ordinary life. There seemed to her a strange gap between the glowing enthusiasm on the one side, and a chilling narrowness and lack of sympathy on the other. Like an electrical influence under different conditions, he sometimes attracted and sometimes repelled her. When she compared him with Mr. Alden, she felt the great difference, though she could not analyze it. Briefly put, however, the main differences were these: it was not that Mr. Chillingworth was insincere; he was as sincere, in his own way, as Mr. Alden. But to his conception, religion consisted mainly in emotion—in a high-strung ideality, and in adoration of the supreme, Infinite Love. To Mr. Alden on the other hand, religion, though winged by emotion, must have its solid basis in obedience—righteousness—the service of God manifesting itself in the service ofman. To Mr. Chillingworth—a natural egoist—a clergyman was primarily a "ruler" of the flock, though its shepherd as well. To Mr. Alden, long sitting at his Master's feet had taught the lesson that the minister must be—if the leader—also the "servant of all." Mr. Chillingworth could sympathize only with what harmonized with his own ideals and opinions. Mr. Alden, though himself a man of strong convictions, could adopt the heathen poet's declaration, that nothing that concerned humanity was alien to him. In a word, Mr. Chillingworth was an ecclesiastic; Mr. Alden was, or sought to be, in all things, a simple follower of Christ. Which view was the more in accordance with the New Testament ideal, each must decide for himself.

Nora was feeling these differences dimly in her own mind, with a vague sense of pain and disappointment that she scarcely cared to admit, when Mr. Chillingworth turned to her with his most persuasive air, saying that he had a great favor to ask. "But I know your generosity," he added, "so I don't think you will refuse!" Nora, smiling, waited to hear what it was.

"One of the members of our quartette has been laid up with a severe cold, and I fear it is out of the question that she can take her part at our Christmas evening Service of Song. I don't very well see how we are to replace her, unless—a certain kind friend of mine will come to my help!"

His voice was soft and low, as he could make it when he chose, and his eyes sought Miss Blanchard's with even more persuasive earnestness than the occasion seemed to call for. She colored, turned her eyes away, and replied, in a tone as low as his, that she was very sorry—but it was impossible. She had promised to sing at Mr. Alden's "Helping Hands" entertainment, on Christmas evening.

Mr. Chillingworth looked more annoyed than she had ever seen him look before.

"I really think," He said, "that Mr. Alden might spare you to us for that evening. It can't make much difference to those people what sort of singing they have. They can't appreciate anything very good, so you will be quite thrown away on them. And your voice is just what we want. I think you might beg off, for our sake!"

"I have promised," replied Nora gently, and with real regret in her tone.

"Ah, you hold to the good old Puritan rules, I see. Well, it does seem too bad! We shall have to put up with some very inferior voice that could have pleased that sort of audience just as well. Alden's very good and zealous, I know, and I quite understand his desire to give people like that some rational enjoyment, to keep them out of mischief; still, I think he would do better to keep to old-established ways. And that 'Helping Hands Society' of his is a curiousomnium gatherumaffair. I am told he's got all sorts and conditions of people in it, Unitarians, Socialists, Knights of Labor, Agnostics!"

"I don't think-it's quite so bad asthat!" Nora exclaimed, in amaze.

"Well, I'm told that this agitator, this Roland Graeme, actually belongs to it, and I believe he's a rank agnostic, if not an atheist."

"Oh, I am sure he can't be an atheist!" said Nora.

"An agnostic then, at any rate! Archer told me so. After all, there isn't much to choose between them. The atheist will tell you there's no God—the agnostic, that he doesn't know of one. Practically, there's no difference."

Nora was a good deal shocked. To her, as to the large majority of earnest, reverent Christians, the position of an "agnostic" implied something very terrible—a wilful throwing away of truth and walking in darkness. To think of the gentle, generous, enthusiastic Roland as such a one, seemed to her impossible. Presently she said, rather timidly:

"Mr. Graeme seems to me to have a large share of the Christian spirit."

"Oh, no doubt—no doubt," said Mr Chillingworth, impatiently, "thanks to his Christian education! 'Train up a child in the way he should go'—you know. But there is no class so dangerous as these half Christian agnostics, regular wolves in sheep's clothing! They go about, putting people off their guard by plausible talk, and then ensnare them unawares. I consider that young man's influence most dangerous to this community I beg you to listen to him as little as possible!"

Nora had a tolerably quick sense of humor, and, notwithstanding the shock it gave her to hear such things of Mr. Graeme, she could hardly resist a smile at what seemed to her the curiously inappropriate epithet of "a wolf in sheep's clothing," applied to the altruistic young reformer. It occurred to her that the metaphor might, in his case, be reversed—that "a sheep in wolf's clothing" would surely be more appropriate.

"What are you two looking so serious about?" asked Kitty, teasingly, as they all rose to adjourn into the drawing room. Then, as she linked her arm into Nora's, and drew her away into a quiet corner, she added, "I've been watching you both for some time, and I really thought Mr Chillingworth must be proposing! He was talking in such a low voice, and looking so irresistible. Only I suppose people don't usually propose at luncheons."

"Kitty!" exclaimed Nora, with reproachful severity.

"Well, you know very well he likes you, one always does!" she added, somewhat obscurely.

"I should be sorry to think hedisliked me," replied Nora. "But he was only proposing—that I should sing in the quartette, at his Service of Song on Christmas evening, in some one else's place."

"Which, of course, you promised to do, like a dear."

"Which I can't possibly do, as I have promised to be elsewhere."

"Oh, poor Mr. Chillingworth! No wonder he looked so sad and serious! Oh, don't you know, I've always thought his eyes had a sort of melancholy look, as if he had had some great sorrow in his life? Well, Miss Harley says she is almost sure that she once heard him preach in England, and that she heard some tragic story about him, she couldn't remember exactly what, only she knew it was very sad!"

"Really!" exclaimed Nora, looking much interested.

"Yes, and do you know, I've always had an idea—a sort of instinct you know—that he may be a widower. He has that sort of look, some way!"

"Whatsort of look? I didn't know you could tell widowers by looking at them."

"Well, I can't exactly describe it, but I know it when I see it. And you know he might easily have been married in England, andweshouldn't know it. Lots of men have been—likethatyou know—and they don't think it necessary to talk about it."

Nora disliked the idea, she scarcely knew why, but set it down as one of Kitty's fancies. There might be many kinds of tragedy in a man's life. If Mr. Chillingworth had suffered, it seemed to give him a stronger claim on her sympathy.

But Kitty wanted to know where she was going on Christmas evening.

"Oh, I've heard about that," she said, when Nora had told her. "Mr. Waldberg told me about it. He says that Mr. Graeme—you know—was to read at it; he lives in the same house with him, and they are great friends. Hermann says he's the best fellow he ever knew."

Nora had no very high estimate of Waldberg's judgment; still, after Mr. Chillingworth's condemnation, even this tribute was pleasant to hear. But she caught up Kitty at once.

"I didn't know you had got on quite so far as to call Mr. Waldberg,Hermann." she remarked.

"Well, you see the poor fellow is away from home and everybody belonging to him, so he likes to have some one to call him by his old home name. You know Germans have such nice romantic ideas!"

"Kitty, Kitty! You ought really to take care! You don't know what mischief you may do!"

"Oh, he knows all aboutthat!" she said, laughing and coloring, but holding out her finger, on which flashed and sparkled asolitairediamond. "And look here," she added, holding out, for Nora's inspection, a new acquisition, a ring set with sapphire and pearls. "Isn't this lovely? It was a birthday gift from Harold this morning."

Nora looked "serious," as Kitty called it. She had been afraid about Kitty of late, and still more afraid for young Waldberg. "Well, be sure you know your own mind, and stick to it," she said, gravely. "Remember, Kitty dear, it really isn't worth while to be a Lady Clara Vere de Vere, even if you could; and flirting is a dangerous amusement!"

"Never fear," laughed Kitty, "I'm not going to hurt anybody, that I know of. But do look at Mr. Wharton and Miss Harley—at it still! I declare it looks as if there was going to be——"

"'An International Episode'!" suggested Nora, smiling.

The weather was growing colder and more wintry, as Christmas drew near. The usual bustle of Christmas preparations had begun, and the shop windows were gayer and more tempting than ever to people who had any money to spend, as well as—alas!—to those who had none. Nora had not forgotten Lizzie Mason and her needs, though the jacket was supplied in an unexpected way. Mrs. Blanchard, easy-going as she was, was really kind-hearted when her sympathy was awakened. So, when Nora told her the sad little story, she dived into her limbo of slightly old-fashioned wearing-apparel, and produced a jacket, which with a little remodelling and a good deal of contraction, to which Nora's expert band was quite equal, turned out just the thing Lizzie needed. It was gratefully accepted, and Nora was gratified by seeing her at church in it on the next Sunday evening, and, to her surprise, Nelly too. The interest Miss Blanchard had already aroused in the girl's untrained mind had called forth a vague curiosity to see the inside of the church she attended.

Grace Alden had come and carried off little Cecilia for a day, and the latter had at once become her devoted worshipper. Her sunny face and voice, as well as her beauty, seemed to attract the child like a magnet. She shyly begged Grace to take her that day to see her mother, who seemed as much captivated by her visitor as Cecilia had been. Grace sang hymns to her, in her joyous, bird like voice, Cecilia now and then joining in, till the invalid, turning her head away, buried her face in the pillow and burst into tears.

"I suppose it reminded her too strongly of old times," said Janet Spencer, as she told Nora about it. "She says, perhaps she will tell me her story by and by, when she is stronger. I'm sure it's a sad one. But I was glad when Grace asked her if she wouldn't like to see her father again, and she said 'Yes!' for, when I wanted her to let me ask Mr Chillingworth to come and see her, she wouldn't hear of it. The very idea of seeing a clergyman seemed to upset her."

"But you think she is really gaining, don't you?" asked Nora.

"Oh yes! I think she will get round, though it will be a good while before she is strong again. But I wish she could get on without the brandy."

"Oh, do you think—" Nora asked, and she stopped.

"Yes, I am almost sure that that's been at the root of all her troubles. I shouldn't wonder if it were a case of dipsomania. I've seen such a case here, already. Some times she seems to have a nervous dread of it—to shrink from taking it—and then again she will take it so greedily that I have to be very careful not to leave it about, lest she might help herself when I am not looking."

"Oh dear, how dreadful!" Nora exclaimed.

"Yes, it is dreadful! God help such poor creatures, formancan do little! Still, good care and nourishment will do something for her. She's safe in here, for the present."

But the thought haunted Nora, and she watched little Cecilia more closely than ever. Dr. Blanchard told her that this malady was hereditary, and she found herself often wondering whether this child could have been born to such a fatal inheritance. Meantime she was teaching her at home, finding her a very apt pupil, and she also gave her a short music lesson daily, and was much pleased with her progress. There was no doubt as tothisinheritance, at any rate, and Nora could only hope that, in the worst event, the higher passion might overpower the lower.

Christmas-day came, as it always does, before people are quite ready for it. Nora had planned several little Christmas surprises and pleasures for the people in whom she was most interested—such as a new dress for Lizzie Mason, to "go with" the jacket she did not need to buy. Then there was a pretty and comfortable invalid's wrapper lying on Mrs. Travers' bed, when she awoke from a tranquil sleep on Christmas morning, ready to be put on as soon as the doctor should pronounce her able to try sitting up. It was long since the poor woman had had anything pretty to wear—longer still since she had had anything supplied by tender and thoughtful care—and the tears that rose to her eyes at the sight, were tears that seemed to refresh and moisten a parched life and a thirsting heart.

There were appropriate little gifts, too, ready for Mrs. Alden and Grace, as well as for the home-circle; and not least for the children, who were jubilant over the usual Christmas offertory of toys, picture-books and pictures, that were scattered about the nursery in the confusion they delighted in. Cecilia, of course, had not been forgotten. For her, Nora had provided a little accordion, on which she could play, to her heart's content, all the tunes she had already picked up; accompanying them with her voice whenever she thought herself unnoticed. Instigated by Eddie's eager persuasions, the three children organized a little "minstrel band," he and Daisy accompanying the accordion with drum and bugle, and producing an amount of noise which vastly delighted themselves, if not other people. As Nora, unseen, caught a glimpse of them, marching along the passages, she thought Cecilia, with her graceful poise of head and figure, and absorbed, serious eyes, would make a picturesque study for a painter who wanted a model for a little strolling musician. Every step and motion seemed to express the child's strong artistic instinct and impulse. Nora had her own private pleasures, too, besides the great one of contributing to the happiness of other people. She had her own Christmas letters from Rockland, from her father and Aunt Margaret, sympathizing with her interests and pleasures, and rejoicing that so large a portion of the time of her absence was now over. And, among her own gifts—each one expressive of the love she prized for itself—there was a small box, most neatly put up, and addressed in Mr. Chillingworth's characteristic handwriting, which, on being opened, disclosed a charmingly arranged bouquet of mingled roses and lilies. It brought the color to her cheek, and made her feel almost remorseful for the disappointment she had been obliged to give him, about his Christmas evening music. She had, however, taken the edge off the disappointment, by volunteering to assist in the morning music, when she and Kitty took their share in the Christmas anthem assigned to the quartette. Roland Graeme was present in his capacity of reporter, and his rendering of the sermon gratified Mr. Chillingworth so much, when he saw it next day, that he ordered a number of copies of the paper to send to his English friends. Waldberg was in his place as organist, a post to which he had been recently appointed through the influence of Mr. Chillingworth, who did not seem particular about religious qualifications in the matter of musicians, at any rate. Nora noticed that the young man was waiting at the door of the church, to exchange a Christmas greeting with Kitty, who was unattended, herfiancénot having "put in an appearance," as he himself would have expressed it And she saw, too, with some uneasiness, that as soon as Kitty had disengaged herself from a lively group of saluting friends, the two strolled off together in a leisurely,insouciantfashion. Roland Graeme, taking his solitary way homeward, noticed the same thing with much the same feeling. And yet, he thought, in the dreamy poetic vein into which he often relapsed, when not spurred on by his dominant philanthropic impulse, if Kitty had only been some simple rustic Phyllis, and Hermann a corresponding Corydon, what a charming bright pair of Arcadian lovers they would have made to figure in a pretty poetic idyl. What a pity, he thought, that we cannot always live in Arcadia!

The lecture-room of the "Good-fellows' Hall" that evening was anything but an Arcadian scene. The bare whitewashed walls, relieved only by the ubiquitous portraits of Washington and Lincoln, Jefferson and Garfield, the flaring gas-jets, the straight-backed rows of benches filled with what Kitty would have relentlessly styled "very common-looking people," in the "common looking" finery which many of them affected, did not seem a particularly inspiring assemblage. Nevertheless, Nora scanned the benches eagerly, till she espied Lizzie and Nellie and Jim, and then the gathering was interesting toher, at least. As for Roland, wherever men and women with human hearts were gathered, there was interest for him, and to Mr. Alden each meeting here was part of an intensely interesting experiment, freighted, in his mind, with wider, more weighty issues than were present to the minds of any one else present—even of his own Grace, who, with her instinctive divination, could, in her simple way, sympathize with him more fully than any one else there.

The programme seemed to be fully appreciated by almost all the audience, though here and there a hard-looking "tough" would occasionally grow tired of sitting still, and would accordingly retire, with scant ceremony and carelessness as to making a somewhat noisy exit, that would have set all Mr. Chillingworth's nerves on edge. But Mr. Alden took no notice. It was understood that no compulsion of any kind was exercised; and, generally speaking, the absentees would return after a while; having, in the meantime, had a smoke, which restored them to better humor. There were one or two comic recitations, in the earlier part of the entertainment, by young workingmen like Jim, given with great spirit and some dramatic effect. Nora's music, and the magic-lantern slides led up gradually to Mr. Alden's simple colloquial address, setting before the audience, as vividly as possible, the great event whichmadeChristmas, and some of its chief bearings on human life. And then bringing his talk to a close, before any one had had time to grow tired of it, he introduced the reading of "My friend, Mr. Roland Graeme."

Roland took his place on the platform, with the quick, energetic motion habitual with him, yet with the dreamy remoteness of eye of a man absorbed in the pictures he is going to present. His fine, well-proportionedphysique, and his candid, open face, enlisted the sympathy of the audience in the reading, in the preparation of which he had taken as much pains as if it were to be given before the most select and fashionable audience in Minton. He had taken the "Christmas Carol" of Dickens, and arranged it for a reading which should bring out the episodes and scenes most likely to carry the sympathy of his readers, bridging the gaps by a slender thread of narrative. He kept the audience alternately amused and touched by the mingled humor and pathos of the earlier scenes. He introduced them to the lonely boy at school, in whom early neglect was sowing the seeds of future churlishness; then to the youth, in whom the canker of worldliness was already beginning to work; then carried them on to the home of the Cratchits, their famous Christmas dinner, and the pathetic picture of "Tiny Tim." He kept the younger portion of his audience, at least, convulsed over his spirited rendering of the anxiety of the Cratchits as to the success of their Christmas goose and Christmas pudding, and the final satisfaction of everybody, even the "ubiquitous young Cratchits," at the result. Then he put all the tense feeling of his own nature into the satirical reply of the "Spirit" to the miser's agonized inquiry whether Tiny Tim would live:—

"'What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population!'"

Roland ought, in the exercise of a judicious discretion, to have stopped here; but he was a young man with a young man's heat of impulse, and he let himself be carried on into the words that follow, giving them with a stirring emphasis that vibrated through every chord in Nora's sensitive heart.

"'Man,' said the ghost, 'if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant till you have discovered what that surplus is, and where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that, in the sight of Heaven you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child! O God! to hear the insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!'"

Nora could not help glancing about her, to see whether such words might not have too much effect on that particular audience. She was reassured, however, by the discovery that it did not seem to produce much effect of any kind. The audience was not reflective enough to take in the satire. A little farther on, Roland introduced the lean, gaunt, wretched boy and girl who appear at the edge of the robe of the Spirit of Christmas Presents, "yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish, but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful Youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of Age, had pinched and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked and jibed out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity in any guise, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread!"

"'Spirit, are they yours?' Scrooge could say no more. 'They areman's,' said the Spirit, looking down upon them, 'and they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware of them both, and all of their degree; but, most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!' cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand to the city. 'Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes and make it worse! and bide the end!'"

There was no mistaking the genuine emotion in Roland's voice as these words rang out in tones of indignant warning. Just such children had he seen, and the very fact of their existence seemed to him a wrong, not to man only, but to the God who gave their grand possibilities, abased, stunted and thwarted by man's sin and neglect. Something of this he stopped to say, in a few strenuous, burning words, ending with a strong appeal to the fathers and mothers, "by all the holy memories of the day," to guard their children from evil, and ignorance, and do for them at least the best they could!

"It is clear, then, he can't be an agnostic!" thought Nora to herself, unaware of how indefinite is the term, and how indefinite too—as well as inconsistent—a position can be which has no basis but "I don't know." She looked around her again to see what the effect might have been, but again she saw that it counted for very little. The high-wrought, poetical description and the invective had gone over the heads of most of the listeners. One pale-faced, slender man, with dark, deep-set eyes riveted in breathless attention on the speaker, caught her eye and her interest. But in general, little more than the stirring tones and dramatic gestures had been taken in by ears unaccustomed to intelligent listening, and chiefly on the watch for something "funny."

Roland, knowing something of the taste of his hearers, passed lightly and rapidly over the sadder scenes of the last part of the story, touching them a little, however, by the fate of "Tiny Tim," in whom he centred the interest of the story. Then, after a glance at the gloomy churchyard, where the remorseful miser beholds his own grave, he hastened to the cheerful reality of Christmas Present, of the delight of Scrooge as he sees himself once more possessed of the possibilities of life, and of the heart to generously use them. And then, after depicting the altered fortunes of the Cratchit family, under the auspices of a regenerated master, he threw all his heart into bringing out the meaning of the closing sentences:

"'Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them, for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened in this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter at the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind any way, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive form. His own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for him.

"'He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one!'"

There was a great deal of applause, as the reader concluded, made his bow and left the platform, and there was more, again, when Mr. Alden in due form put a vote of thanks to Mr. Graeme for the pleasure he had given them, adding a few words on true Christmas-keeping, in his own terse and characteristic way.

Nora found her particular trio as the assemblage broke up. "Oh, wasn't it splendid!" was Lizzie's enthusiastic verdict, as Miss Blanchard asked how they had enjoyed it. "My! doesn't Mr. Graeme read beautiful! It was just like as if we could see it all!"

And Lizzie's eyes were glistening still, with the pleasure caused by the new mental pictures called up by the reading that had carried her, for a brief space, out of the ruts and grooves of her monotonous life. Nelly, too, looked as if she had, for once, been interested in something outside of herself, and even Jim admitted, in a sort of reluctant, awkward way, that the entertainment was "first-class."

"Yes, indeed, miss," added Lizzie, who thought Jim was hardly effusive enough in his appreciation, "Jim was real tickled at that Christmas dinner Mr. Graeme read about—and all the rest of it."

"I was afraid you were giving us a little too much of what was intended for a different class of readers," said Mr. Alden to Roland, as they all walked home together, while Grace, arm in arm with Nora, was artlessly expressing her enjoyment of Mr. Graeme's reading.

"I suppose it mightn't have been a good thing if we had had a more thoughtful audience; as it was, it didn't hurt them, and it pleased me to do it!" replied Roland, laughing. "But, anyhow, if we can't wake up the rich, why mayn't we wake up the poor?"

"Let the horrors of the French Revolution answer that question, once for all!" returned Mr. Alden. "'That boy Ignorance,' you know, can be a real devil when he is roused, and though a thunder-storm may sometimes have to come, we don't want to play tricks to bring it down. There is enough to wake up the poor to, in regard to their own shortcomings. Let us try to wake each class up as to what lies in its own power to reform!"

Roland again undertook to escort Miss Blanchard from Mr. Alden's house to her own door.

"I've been trying to get hold of your friend Jim," he remarked, "but he isn't a very promising specimen, unless it be of 'that boy, Ignorance'! He's never had any education to speak of, been at work ever since he was old enough to make a few cents a day, has got into a bad set of companions, and, besides, seems to have a rather sulky disposition. However, I'm going to try to get him into the 'Knights of Labor'; that will wake him up a little bit, besides keeping him in order, for he's rather of the turbulent kind."

Nora laughed a little. "One is generally led to suppose that 'The Knights of Labor' are generally disposed to encourage turbulence, rather than to repress it!" she said.

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