by Pansy
CHAPTER XIV.
BLIND.
I SUPPOSE there was never a project that went forward on swifter wingsthan did this one, born of the stranger's sermon preached that nightin the little neglected church at South Plains. Sometimes I am sadover the thought that he knew nothing about it. Nobody, so far as I amaware, ever took time to tell him that he was the prime mover in theentire scheme.
The numerous plans for making money made progress with the rest.Prospered, indeed, to a degree that filled the young workers withamazement--I might almost say, with awe. They grew into the feelingthat Miss Benedict was right, and that God himself smiled on theirscheme, and gave it the power of his approval.
As the days went by, the reading spirit in the enterprise grew almosttoo busy to write her daily hurried postals to her mother. These samepostals were gradually filled with items that astonished and somewhatbewildered the mother and daughter who watched so eagerly for them.
"Would mamma be so kind as to call on Mr. Parkhurst, the one who waschief man at the carpet factory up there by papa's old mill, you know?Would she, on the next bright day, take the blue car line and ride upthere and talk with him? The ride would do her good, and it would besuch a help to the girls. They would need only a little carpeting, itwas true; but if Mr. Parkhurst would be so kind as to sell to them atwholesale, factory prices, it would make a great difference with theirpurses, and she was sure he would be pleased to do it if mamma wouldask him, because you know, mamma, he felt very grateful to papa forhelp years ago."
This was the substance of one postal.
"One would think that Claire had bought the little old church, and wasfitting it up for her future home," commented Dora, a trifle annoyed.The truth was, her sister seemed almost unpardonably satisfied andhappy away from them.
Another day would bring further petitions: "Would it be too much formamma to look at wall-papers, something very neat and plain, not atall expensive, but suited to a small church; and make an estimate ofthe expense in round numbers?" Then would follow a line of figures,indicating length and breadth and height.
"What a child she is!" would the mother say, sighing and thensmiling--the smiles came last and oftenest in speaking of Claire. "Shewas always very much like your father, and it grows on her. Well,we must see about the wall-paper; perhaps this afternoon will be agood time to give to it." And the commissions were executed promptlyand with painstaking care; and Claire could see that both mother andDora were becoming interested in the old church at South Plains, andwere absorbing a good many of their otherwise leisure and sad hoursin travelling hither and thither in search of shades and grades thatwould be likely to give her satisfaction. Samples were sent to her, andastonishingly low figures accompanied some of them; figures which werecommunicated with shining eyes to the deeply-interested girls, and theysent messages of thanks to the mother and daughter far away.
Meantime, the Ansteds were not forgotten. There was a special committeemeeting one evening in Miss Benedict's room. A letter had come "fromthe foreign member of our firm," Miss Benedict had explained, laughing,meaning her mother, and its contents were to be discussed and votedupon. In the midst of the interest came a message from Mrs. Foster:"Would Miss Benedict be kind enough to come to the parlor for a fewminutes, to see Mr. and Miss Ansted?"
"I must go, girls," Claire said, rising quickly. "This is the thirdattempt Miss Ansted has made to call on me since their kindness tome, and I have either been out or engaged in giving lessons. You willhave to excuse me for a little while. I will return as soon as I can.Meantime, I am going to see if I can't secure help in that directionfor our enterprise."
"You won't," said Mary Burton, emphatically. "They say Alice Ansted isa good singer, but she has been heard to say that she would as soonthink of singing in a barn as in our church; and that the one time sheheard our organ, she thought it was some mice squealing in the ceiling."
"Wait until we get it tuned, and the pedals oiled," said Ruth Jennings;"I don't believe it will be such a bad-sounding instrument. At least,it is my opinion that Alice Ansted will find herself able to endure inthat line what Miss Benedict is. Girls, I heard last night that she isa beautiful singer. Isn't it queer that she has never sung for us?"
This last was after Claire had left them, but as she was about to closethe door, Ruth Jennings had made a remark which had drawn her back:
"Get Louis Ansted to pledge us the money which he spends in wines eachyear, and that will do us good and him too."
"Does he use wines freely?" Claire said, turning back.
"Yes, indeed he does; altogether too freely for his good, if thevillage boys can be believed. I heard that he came home intoxicatedonly night before last."
"Why, that is nothing new!" added Nettie Burdick; "he often comes homein that condition. Dick Fuller says it is a common experience; and hewould know what he is talking about, for he has to be at the depot whenthe last train comes in. Besides, he makes his money in that way; whyshouldn't he patronize himself?"
"What do you mean?" Claire asked, her face troubled.
"Why, his money is all invested in one of the distilleries. He has afortune in his own right, Miss Benedict, left him by his grandmother,and he invested it in Westlake's distillery. He is one of the owners,though his name does not appear in the firm; the Ansted pride wouldnot like that; but I know this is true, for my uncle transacted thebusiness for him."
Claire started again, making no comment, but this time she moved moreslowly. There were reasons why the news gave her a special thrust.
The callers greeted her with evident pleasure, and expressed theirdisappointment at having failed to see her in their other attempts,and gave her messages from their mother to the effect that she was toconsider their house one of her homes. Fanatic though she was, it wasplainly to be seen that they had resolved to tolerate the fanaticismfor the sake of the pleasure of her society.
There were other callers, and in a few minutes the conversation, whichhad been general, dropped into little side channels. Alice Ansted,occupying a seat near Miss Benedict, turned to her and spoke low:
"I have wanted to see you. What you said to me that day has mademe more dissatisfied than ever, and that was unnecessary; I wasuncomfortable enough before. I did not understand you. What is therethat you want me to do?"
"How do you know I want you to do anything?" Claire could not resistthe temptation to ask the question, and to laugh a little; herquestioner's tone was so nervous, so almost rebellious, and at the sametime so pettish.
"Oh, I know well enough. You expressed surprise, and well--almostbewilderment--that I did not find absorbing work in a channel aboutwhich I know nothing. Suppose I am a Christian, what then? What do youwant me to do?"
"But, my dear Miss Ansted, I am not the one of whom that inquiry shouldbe made. If you belong to the Lord Jesus, surely he has work for you,and is able to point it out, and to fill your heart with satisfactionwhile you do his bidding."
There was a gesture almost of impatience.
"I tell you I don't understand such talk. It sounds like 'cant' to me,and nothing else; that is, it does when other people say it, but youseem different; you live differently, some way, and interest yourselfabout different matters from those which absorb the people whom I haveheard talk that way. Now I ask you a straightforward question: What doyou want me to do? What do you see that I could do, if I were what youmean by being a Christian?"
Claire's face brightened.
"Oh, that is such a different question!" she said. "I am really veryglad of an opportunity to answer it. I know a dozen things that youcould do. For instance, you could throw yourself into the life of thisneglected, almost deserted church, and help to make it what it shouldbe; you could give your time, and your money, and your voice, to makingit arise and shine."
"How? What on earth is there that I could do, even if I wanted to doanything in that direction, which I don't?"
"I know it, but that doesn't hinder me from seeing what you _could_ do.Why,
if you want me to be very specific, if you have no better planthan we are working on to propose, you could join us with all yourheart, and work with us, and worship with us on Sabbaths, and help usin our preparations for a concert."
"And sing in that stuffy room, to the accompaniment of that horridlittle organ, and for the benefit of such an audience as South Plainswould furnish! Thank you, I don't mean to do it! What else?"
"Of what special use is it for me to suggest ways, since you receivethem with such determined refusals?"
"That I may have the pleasure of seeing how far your enthusiasmreaches. I would call it fanaticism if I dared, Miss Benedict, but thatwould be rude. Tell me what next?"
Claire considered, Miss Ansted meantime watching her closely. When atlast she spoke, her tone dropped lower, and was graver:
"I wish with all my soul that you would interest yourself in Bud."
"In Bud!" It was impossible not to give a start of surprise, not tosay dismay. "Now, Miss Benedict, that passes comprehension! What onearth is there that I could do for a great, ignorant, blundering clodlike Bud? He has plenty to eat, and is decently clothed without anyassistance from me. What more can you imagine he wants?"
"He wants God," said Claire, solemnly, "and the knowledge of him in theface of Jesus Christ. He is to live forever, Miss Ansted, as certainlyas you are; and the time hastens when food and clothing for the soulwill be a necessity for him as well as to you, or he will appear beforeGod naked and starved, and you will have to meet him there, and bearsome of the blame."
"I never heard a person talk so in my life. Bud is not more thanhalf-witted. I doubt whether he knows that there is such a being asGod. What can you fancy it possible for me to do for him?"
"Do you think, then, that he has no soul?"
"Why, I did not say that! I suppose he has, of course. He is not ananimal, though I must say he approaches very nearly to the level ofone."
"And don't you think that he will have to die, and go to the judgment,and meet God?"
"How dreadful all these things are! Of course he will! but how can Ihelp it?"
"Do you suppose he is ready?"
"I don't suppose he ever thought of such a thing in his life. He hasn'tmind enough, probably, to comprehend."
"Do you really think so? Don't you believe the boy to whom you cansay, 'Close the blinds on the north side, to shut out the wind,' couldunderstand if you said: 'Bud, God is as surely in the world as the windis, though you can not see either. He has said that when you die youshall see him, and that you shall live with him in a beautiful home, ifyou will love him here, and obey his orders; and what he wants you todo is all printed in a book that you can learn to read?' Do you thinkBud could not comprehend as much as that?"
"I never heard of such an idea in my life!" said Miss Ansted. "I don'tknow how to teach such things." And she turned away and talked with acaller about the travelling opera company who were to sing in the cityon the following evening.
Mr. Ansted had changed his seat, meantime, and was waiting for hisopportunity. He turned to Claire the moment his sister withdrew.
"I came to ask a favor of you this evening; two of them, in fact; butthe first is on such strange ground for me, that I have been studyingall day how to put it."
"And have you decided?"
"No, left it in despair; only praying that the Fates would be favorableto me, and grant me opportunity and words. Here is the opportunity, butwhere are the words?"
"I have always found it comfortable to be as simple and direct aspossible with all communications. Suppose you see how fully you can putthe thought before me in a single sentence."
The gentleman laughed.
"That would be one way to make an interview brief, if such were mydesire. I can not say, however, that that phase of the subject troublesme any. Well, I will take your advice, and put a large portion of mythought into a short sentence: I wish you could and would do somethingfor Harry Matthews."
It was not in the least what she had expected. She supposed hiswords were to preface a flattering invitation, or something of thatcharacter. An apparently earnest sentence, concerning a merry youngfellow in whom she was already somewhat interested, filled her withsurprise, and kept her silent.
"Is that brief and abrupt enough?" he asked, and then, without waitingfor answer, continued: "I mean it, strange as it may seem; and I sorarely do unselfish things that I can imagine it seems strange enough.I haven't a personal thought in the matter. Harry is a good fellow;a little fast, the old ladies say, and shake their heads, but theydon't know what they mean by that. The boy is a favorite of mine;and he is one who has a good deal of force of character without anywill-power, if that is not a contradiction. I fancy you know what Imean. I am going to speak more plainly now. Away back in some formergeneration--no, I am going to tell the naked truth. Do you knowanything of his family, Miss Benedict?"
"Not anything."
"Well, his father was a good man and a drunkard. You think that isanother contradiction of terms. Perhaps it is, as you would mean it,but not as I do. He was a good, warm-hearted, whole-souled man, and hedrank himself into his grave; shipwrecked his property, and left hiswidow and this boy dependant on wealthy relatives, or on themselves.Harry is trying to be a man, and works hard, and is specially temptedin the line at which I have hinted. I feel afraid for him, and the onlyperson in this little wretch of a village whom I think might help himis yourself. Will you try?"
"Mr. Ansted, why don't you help him?"
It was his turn to be taken aback. He had not expected this answer.He had looked for an instant and interested affirmative, and he hadexpected to tell her more of Harry Matthews, and of his peculiarassociations and temptations.
"I!" he said, and then he laughed. "Miss Benedict, you are mostremarkable as regards your talent for asking strange questions. It isevident that you are a stranger in South Plains; and I don't know whatthe gossips have been about, that they have not posted you better. Youshould know that I am really the last person in the neighborhood who isexpected to help anybody; least of all, can I help Harry Matthews. Themost helpful thing that I can think of for the boy is to keep away fromme. My influence over him is altogether bad, and growing worse. Whathe needs is to be drawn away from present associations entirely, and,indeed, from his present associates, of which I am often one. I fancythat this organization of yours, in which he is already interested,might be managed in a way to help him, and it occurred to me toenlighten you in regard to him, and ask for your helping hand."
"Mr. Ansted, I hope you will pardon the rudeness, but your wordssound to me almost like those of an insane person. You recognizeyour influence over a young man to be evil, realize it to the extentthat you make an effort to have him withdrawn from it, and yet ifI understand you, make no attempt to change the character of theinfluence which you have over him. That can not possibly be yourmeaning!"
"I think it is, about that. Don't you understand? What is a mereentertainment to me--a passing luxury, which I can afford, and whichdoes me no harm--is the very brink of a precipice to poor Harry, owingto his unfortunate inherited tendencies. I would like to see him saved,but there is nothing in particular that I can do."
"Oh," she said in genuine distress, "I wonder if it is possible fora soul to be so blind! You can do _everything_, Mr. Ansted; and,moreover, how can you think you have a right to say that you are notpersonally in danger from the same source? Men as assured in positionand as strong in mental power as you have fallen by the hundreds.Surely you know that there is no safety from such a foe save in havingnone of him."
"Do you think so? In that we would differ. I am not fanatical in thismatter. I recognize Harry's danger, but I recognize equally that I ambuilt in a different mold, and have different antecedents."
"And have no responsibilities connected with him?"
"Oh, yes, I have," he said in utmost good humor; "I assumedresponsibility when I came here to ask you to help him. It was the bestthing I could think of to do for the bo
y. You think I am playing apart, but upon honor, I am not. I know his mother is anxious."
She wondered afterward whether it were not an unwise question to ask,but said:
"Is not your mother anxious, Mr. Ansted?"
"Not in the least!" he answered smilingly.