AFTERNOON VISITORS.
The days seem to go on faster after the winter solstice is turned, and so, too, often do the life and work of men. Roland Graeme, at all events, found the days fly past with an increasing rapidity. He had, indeed, no idle time on his hands. His law-studies and office-work absorbed the best part of his day. His reporting and journalizing filled in all the intervals, and several evenings. The meetings of the "Knights of Labor" always occupied one evening in the week, and sometimes more; for besides his regular attendance at the Assembly to which he belonged, his intelligence and ability were frequently called into requisition, either in getting new assemblies into working order, or in helping to settle difficult matters that came up for consideration. Roland's influence had already made itself felt among the men, with whom a combination of honest enthusiasm, energy and ability like his, speedily becomes a power. Dunning, the head of the Minton organization, himself a shrewd, intelligent man, had soon recognized Graeme's value, and frequently sought his counsel. And with the men generally, his ready sympathy, genial address, and persuasive eloquence had gained an influence that often surprised him, almost as much as did the fair and moderate views and temperate and sensible speeches that he often heard from them. He would laughingly remark to Mr. Alden, that, if the masters, generally, were only as fair and reasonable in their attitude as were most of the men, there need never be a "strike" or a "lock-out." To which Mr. Alden would reply, that, as it had been from the beginning, so it was still, most difficult for "a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
Then, in addition to all his other work, Roland had his editorials for The Brotherhood to write, as well as all the rest of its editorial management on his hands; and though it was only a small weekly sheet, this work often kept his lamp burning till far into the night. With all these things on his mind, it is no wonder if he began sometimes to feel the pressure—if his color was somewhat less fresh and his face more lined and worn than on his first arrival in Minton. Both Sandy Dunlop and his friend Dick Burnet sometimes warned him that he was "burning the candle at both ends," but his own enthusiasm was like a spirited steed that will carry its rider on, at full gallop, almost in spite of himself.
As for The Brotherhood, it could not be called a very brilliant success, financially at least. This, however, had not been expected by any one concerned, and was a matter of least concern to Sandy Dunlop, who supplied most of the funds, with a grim satisfaction in feeling that he was thereby doing a little toward "the keeping in order" of bland autocrats like Mr. Pomeroy, for whom the rugged Scotchman had little love. Dick Burnet helped his friend materially, by printing the paper as economically as possible, at the office of the Minerva; though this was, for obvious reasons, kept very quiet. The new paper found, of course, its largest circulation among the workingmen, being a sort of recognized "Organ" in their interests; and a good many business men, who wanted their patronage, used it as an advertising medium, its principal source of profit. But, of the people Roland most desired to reach, few read it, or cared to do so. Burnet, however, went as far as he thought he safely could, in reprinting portions of Roland's best articles on general subjects, as well as some of his selections; and the very fact of the existence of such a paper with such a title and such principles, was not without its effect in the community. Managers became somewhat more pliant; concessions were somewhat more readily gained; negligence of precautions was less common, now that the employers knew, at least, that there was "a chiel amang them, takin' notes," though it need scarcely be said that the "note-taking" individual was not particularly agreeable to the subjects of his notes. For this, however, Roland cared little. His own affairs and the estimation in which he was held, did not, happily, weigh heavily on his mind. He had too many other people to think about, and, as yet, he had no engrossing personal interests; moreover, he could now always find a haven of rest and refreshment in Mr. Alden's pleasant home. The sight of Grace, indeed, always refreshed him, in itself, as did a fine poem or picture. He was content simply to sit and watch her acting "little mother" to the other children, while he talked with Mr. Alden, and his boyish friend, Frank. Mr. Alden smiled a little to himself, as he began to notice the magnetic attraction that drew Roland's eyes constantly in the direction of Grace's girlish figure. It reminded him of his own young days; and he knew that Roland was as romantic as any young troubadour. He, however, had too much real faith to be a fussy or fidgety man, and he could see that Grace was as unconscious of Roland's silent devotion as any prudent father could desire. He knew that, in some things, she was even younger than her years, owing, in part, to her quiet and healthy up-bringing; and he was not afraid of a premature love affair. Nor, indeed, was Roland's the kind of devotion that easily finds expression in "love-making"—though among his papers there were scattered various fragments of verse which sometimes came to him, even in his busy life, and which owed their inspiration to Grace Alden. He would have felt it a desecration of the reverent emotion with which he regarded her, to say a word which would have broken or disturbed the childlike unconsciousness, the calm, even current of her life. Grace was used to having people love her. She could not have fancied what it would be to live without what was to her the very breath of life, but it never occurred to her to think of it, or about herself in connection with it.
So Mr. Alden reassured the slight uneasiness of his wife, and took no notice; but continued to give Roland the benefit of his kindly sympathy and friendly counsel. He was, indeed, with the exception of Sandy Dunlop, the only man Roland knew in Minton to whom he could talk with perfect freedom and confidence in his honest impartiality. And, though Mr. Alden never forced on his young friend his own strong religious convictions, the latter often felt them; and, without his knowing it, they helped him to keep up heart and hope even in his discouragements, by the recognition of the "Divinity that shapes the ends" of men to other issues than they themselves have designed. Roland's faith in this respect had never quite given way; and the influence of Mr. Alden's strong and happy realization of it very much helped his own.
Roland was not likely, however, to forget his promise of calling to see Miss Blanchard and the little girl whom he had first befriended. Early in the new year, he called, late one snowy afternoon, when he thought he would be pretty sure of finding Miss Blanchard at home. She was alone in the drawing-room, reading by the window. She expressed great pleasure at seeing him again, and sent at once for the three children; having noticed Roland's predilection for the society of the little Aldens. Eddie, who had by no means forgotten him, rushed at him with a familiar "Hallo!" which rather shocked Nora's ideas of propriety. But Roland responded in the same fashion, and Eddie and he were soon in a merry flow of talk, while Daisy, on his knee, was trying to introduce "Tatters" and give a catalogue of his accomplishments. Cecilia, shy and grave as usual, recognized Roland with evident pleasure, and soon seemed so much at home with him, that she willingly went, at his suggestion, to get her accordion and play him a tune on it.
"She is really quite useful, now," said Miss Blanchard, in Cecilia's absence. "She has great influence over these two, who think her the most wonderful musician that ever was."
"The little Aldens seemed greatly taken with her, too," said Roland, laughing. "Mrs. Alden says she has made quite a conquest of Frank."
"Well, Grace has certainly made a conquest of her," replied Nora; "the child has taken the greatest fancy to her, and I don't wonder. She is such a lovely girl, isn't she, Mr. Graeme?" and as she spoke she looked up, a half mischievous smile hovering about her lips and in her eyes.
"She is, indeed!" replied Roland, with straightforward warmth. He never had any self-conscious impulse to conceal his admiration for Grace. But Cecilia had returned with her accordion, and surprised him a good deal by her correct rendering of a number of airs which she had picked up entirely by ear.
"Why, you are going to be a modern St. Cecilia!" he said. "Do you know who she was?" he added.
"Yes," said the child, smiling, and looking up at Miss Blanchard comprehendingly.
"She says her mother told her she was named after her father," remarked Nora; "of course his name must have been Cecil."
"Does she speak as if he were dead?" he asked, in a low tone, as the child began playing another air.
"She doesn't seem to know anything about him," she replied, in the same tone. "Miss Spencer has an idea her mother may be a deserted wife," she added.
"Poor thing!" said Roland; then turning to another subject, one of the objects of his visit: "I am going to give that lecture of mine that I was talking of, on 'Modern Miracles,' next week," he said, smilingly. "You said you would like to hear it, so I've brought you two or three tickets for yourself and any friends of yours who might do me the honor of coming. The price of admission is a merely nominal one," he added, disclaiming thanks, "simply to keep out 'roughs,' as the lecture is designed mainly for the men themselves. There will be a few seats reserved, for admission to which these tickets are intended; but I don't know that they will have many occupants. Mr. Alden and Miss Grace are going, so in any case you will have them for company, if you care to come."
"Oh, indeed, I want very much to go," replied Nora, eagerly, "and I think my brother will go, too, if he possibly can. He reads your paper regularly, and is much interested in your work."
"I am glad to hear it," he said. "I wish he could influence Mr. Pomeroy a little to be reasonable in meeting the reasonable requests of the men. I am afraid there may be trouble if he does not. We have been doing our best to stave off a strike, but it may have to come. By the way, that young fellow, Mason, seems to have a desperate grudge against young Pomeroy. One of our men says that there's a girl in the case,—that it's jealousy that makes him so set on mischief."
"Oh, impossible!" exclaimed Nora. "Mr. Harold Pomeroy is engaged to Miss Farrell, an intimate friend of mine."
"So I've heard," said he. "But that hardly proves the contrary. Young men do all sorts of silly and wicked things for a little amusement, I'm sorry to say," he continued, gravely. "And sometimes young ladies do so, too! However, there may be nothing in it. I only give it as I heard it."
Nora's mind had been going back to the things that Lizzie Mason had told her, in the beginning of their acquaintance. Was it possible that Harold Pomeroy could be the unknown "gentleman" who "turned Nelly's head with compliments and attention",—who had so upset Jim and poisoned poor Lizzie's piece of mind? The thought made her cheek burn with intense indignation. This would be worse than anything else.
Meantime Roland's thoughts had been taking a different direction; and he presently remarked:
"Waldberg's going to relieve the dryness of the lecture with a little music. He offered, and I thought it a good idea."
"Mr. Waldberg is a friend of yours, isn't he?" remarked Nora.
"Yes, Waldberg and I started a friendship when I first met him, along with a party of jolly students, while I was taking a walking-tour in Germany. He and I spent some happy days, roaming about the Black Forest together; and as I found that he was just about to start for the New World to seek his fortune, I gave him a note to my friend Burnet, the editor of the Minerva, you know. So when I arrived here, I found he had cast anchor in Minton; and we have kept together ever since. He and I recall to each other a good many pleasant associations, as we often talk over the 'Fatherland;' and I keep my German a little in practice. He likes to talk it now and then, of course, though he speaks English so well. He and I and my old friend, Mr. Dunlop, get on very comfortably together. Dunlop has rather a fancy for Waldberg, though he thinks him a little reckless. I sometimes wish he had a little more of Dunlop's sound Scotch principle."
"Oh, I suppose that Mr. Dunlop is the old gentleman I took such a fancy to," said Nora.
"Where did you meet him?" he asked.
"At Mr. Pomeroy's; there happened a discussion there about these labor questions, and he spoke out so strongly!"
"Oh, yes, Dunlop's sound enough on that head, and he's by no means afraid of saying what he thinks. You see, he's rich enough to be able to take liberties, though he likes to live quietly in his own old-fashioned way. He has plenty of time on his hands, and it has been a great interest to him to read this thing up. I should not have been able to start The Brotherhood without his help, and he's as much interested in this lecture of mine as I am."
"Is he all alone in the world, then?" asked Nora.
"Yes—he seems so. His wife and only child died long ago, and he doesn't care to live by himself. He has his own two comfortable rooms, and he sometimes has Waldberg and me in to dine with him. He has taken up some idea that I must be a distant relation of his, a Scotch cousin of some remote degree, because my mother's name was Dunlop. He has been writing to her about it, to see if he can establish some link of relationship."
Evidently Mr. Graeme must be a great favorite of this old gentleman, Nora thought.
Presently she took up another subject that had been occupying her mind. "Do you know, Mr. Graeme, an idea has come to me about something we might do for some of these poor girls. I was asking Mr. Alden if we couldn't start some sort of club for them, such as I've read about—a place where they could spend the evenings when they chose, where they could have books or music, or anything else they liked. Don't you think that would brighten up their lives a little?"
"Yes, if you could get them to use it," he replied.
"Mr. Alden thinks we might manage it," she said. "And he said he would let us have that committee-room where the 'Helping Hands' meet, and they could use it always, except when there are meetings. So I am going to get it nicely fitted up by some of the young ladies I know here. Miss Farrell's going to help, and I think Miss Pomeroy will, too, if I ask her."
"It would be a capital thing, if you could only bring these young ladies into direct contact with the working-girls, so that they might know something of their lives, and realize their circumstances. That's what people really need, most of all."
"Well, I'm going to try," said Nora, decidedly.
Roland rose as if he thought it time for him to go. He took up the volume of Lowell's poems that Miss Blanchard had laid down on his entrance, and opened it where she had laid a geranium leaf to keep her place.
"Ah, I see, you are reading 'The Vision of Sir Launfal'! That is one of my favorites," he said.
"Yes, I think it is a lovely poem," she said.
He glanced at the open page, then out of the window, where, as the daylight was fading, the soft falling snow, clinging to the trees, was conjuring up a ghostly, spectral white forest without.
"We might alter these lines just a little," he said, "to describe that fairy scene:
"'Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt,
Long gleaming aisles of snow-clad trees,
Bending to simulate a breeze.'"
They were still talking over the poem, when the door opened, and Mrs. Blanchard entered, fresh from an afternoon siesta, in her pale-green "tea-gown." Nora introduced "Mr. Graeme," whom Mrs. Blanchard expressed herself as much pleased to meet, having heard so much about him of late.
"But why haven't you lights?" she asked. "You're almost in the dark!"
"That's what I like, you know, at this hour, and it seemed a pity to shut out that white world!" said Nora.
"That dreary world!" said Mrs. Blanchard, turning up the gas, while Roland courteously lighted it for her. He declined the offered cup of tea, and was just about to take leave, when the door opened again, admitting Mr. Chillingworth. The clergyman looked surprised at seeing Roland there, though not by any means discomposed by his recollection of the previous meeting. He only remarked, as Mrs. Blanchard was about to introduce him, "I have met Mr. Graeme before," greeting him with something of his former stiffness, as Roland, bidding the ladies a courteous good-evening, took his leave.
"I wish he wouldn't have gone quite so soon," said Mrs. Blanchard. "I'd really have liked to hear him talk a little. He seems quite a mild young man, doesn't he now, Mr. Chillingworth?"
"What did you expect, Sophy?" said Nora, laughing.
"Oh, I expected a beard, at least, and he has only a moustache, and doesn't look a bit fierce or revolutionary! And what has he been talking to you about, all this time, Nora, for Eddie told me he had been here a good while?"
"He kindly brought us some tickets for a lecture he's going to give next week. Will you have one, Mr. Chillingworth?" she asked, audaciously. "If you'll go, I'll give you one."
"Thanks very much, Mrs. Blanchard," said the clergyman, taking the offered cup of tea. "I'm afraid I must decline the pleasure," he said, returning the ticket. "I see he calls his lecture 'Modern Miracles.' Very possibly it is just a pretext for bringing out some of his sceptical views."
"Oh no!" replied Nora. "It's nothing of that kind. I heard him talking to Mr. Alden about it. He only means to give a sketch of the scientific wonders of the age, and show how human ingenuity has almost annihilated space and time. It is chiefly for workingmen, but I had said I should like to go."
"Ah well, you never can tell," Mr. Chillingworth replied, doubtfully. "People bring in their attacks on Christianity under cover of all sorts of things."
"Well, we'll go to the lecture, and give you a full report," said Mrs. Blanchard, lightly.
"By the way," said Mr. Chillingworth, glad to get away from the subject of Mr. Graeme and his lecture, "you'll be happy to hear that Mr. Pomeroy sent me, the other day, a cheque for five thousand dollars, for our new church."
"Oh, isn't that splendid!" said Mrs. Blanchard. "It was very handsome of him! And I've no doubt he'll give more, by and by."
Nora said nothing, but thought of poor Lizzie Mason, and her overworked, starved life, and wondered whether, after all, it had been his own money that Mr. Pomeroy had bestowed.
"Now Nora, let us have some music," said Mrs. Blanchard. "I know that's what Mr. Chillingworth wants."
"You always comprehend my wishes, Mrs. Blanchard," he replied, moving at once toward the piano.
"Oh, Cecilia," said Mrs. Blanchard, "it's time to take the children away for their tea."
The little girl proceeded to comply, rather reluctantly, for she wanted to stay for the music. Mr. Chillingworth had never happened to hear her name before; since, mindful of her first encounter with him, she had generally kept out of his way. He looked round at her now, and said, smiling graciously, as he held out his hand:
"So your name is Cecilia! Why, you are almost a namesake of mine!"
The little girl did not seem to find this a very interesting circumstance, however, and only seemed glad to escape further notice by a speedy retreat, while Mr. Chillingworth luxuriously resigned himself to the enjoyment of the softly flowing "Songs without Words" which Miss Blanchard played so well. By and by, he asked her to sing for him a song with words, naming one of his favorites, "My Queen." And, as he listened to her rich, clear voice, and watched, with æsthetic pleasure, the graceful poise of her head and figure, he thought that she seemed no inapt illustration of "that sweet calm" which was just his own ideal.