CROSSING THE RUBICON.
The path seemed perfectly clear to Dorothy, and she announced to her parents that she must join the Baptist church. The decision was a blow to them. It is true that the discussions of the past two weeks and the remarks dropped by Dorothy had indicated that she was moving towards that point and yet neither of the parents had believed that she would actually take the step. The father had been greatly surprised at the facts that had been brought out in favor of the Baptists, but when the thought of Dorothy identifying herself with the little Baptist band in the town came into his mind his prejudice assumed control and he became rebellious. To him and his wife the announcement of their daughter put a blighting disappointment on their ambitions regarding her future. They had rejoiced in her growing popularity in the best social circles of the town. Besides, they were not entirely unaware of the admiration of the young Presbyterian millionaire for Dorothy and a union with that influential family was a prospect not unpleasant to them. That their daughter should cut herself off from social opportunities and tie herself up with an obscure people that held meetings in one of the cheaper parts of the town—that was to them almost worse than her funeral. They said nothing to her when she announced her decision. She understood what it would probably mean for her, but her convictions pressed her forward. In fact, she felt an eagerness to see and get acquainted with the little Baptist band, for she felt sure that, while that particular church might for some reason be obscure and ignorant, yet they came of royal lineage with an illustrious record behind them and she was glad to link herself with such a people. The parents did not forbid her joining the Baptists, but their silence, their lack of sympathy and their manifest disappointment and grief over it made her burden far heavier than if they had openly opposed it. She felt that she could have braced herself against such opposition and thereby showed her love for Christ above her love for her parents, but their suffering multiplied her own.
A pall of gloom seemed to have settled over the thought of their daughter picking her way along the narrow streets around to the cheap section of the town and down the rough steps from the sidewalk and into the plain chapel to mingle with the even plainer people was a humiliation that seemed crushing, and they were speechless. This was an experience that Dorothy had never counted on. Her joy in finding what seemed to her the truth, and in following it had not knew what church she expected to attend. The home on that Sunday morning when Dorothy came down to the library dressed for church. The parents prepared her for this cross that rose up in her path. At first she was inclined to resent such lack of sympathy from her parents; but the sight of their disappointed faces put a lock on her lips and a load on her heart. She wavered not, however, in her sense of duty. On to the little Baptist church she wended her way, and it was a sensation indeed for the members when the door of the little chapel opened and in walked the beautiful daughter of the rich and honored, though worldly, Mr. Page. Her entrance was not met by intrusive and impertinent glances. The worshipers were stunned by her arrival, for they had no idea what it meant. But they were too well trained in worship to be ill-mannered in their wonderment. The simplicity of their worship went to her heart and she found herself entering into the spirit of the hymns, although she was not familiar with many of them. In fact, the entire service gave her much joy.
At the close of the service Mr. Walton walked down to Dorothy, gave her a hearty welcome and proceeded to introduce her to some of his members. How genuine seemed their welcome! The thought that their faith was her faith made her feel at home. It is true that the plain room and the exceedingly plain attire of nearly all the people presented an almost shocking contrast to what she was accustomed to. It made her wince under it, but her better thoughts soon got the mastery. Her sense of duty held her firm and gave her a peace and even a joy in what she was doing.
She told the pastor she had come to ask for baptism and membership in his church. He was not greatly surprised, though much delighted. He stated that he would be glad at the conclusion of the night service to receive her for baptism.
That evening, when she started down the steps of her house to go to church, she found the automobile at the curb at the front of the house and the chauffeur told her that her father had told him to have the machine ready to take her to the church, that he did not wish her to walk around to that section alone. She was touched at the thoughtfulness of her father, and yet the silence of it all cut her to the heart. She felt that she was almost an outcast from her parents; but then she judged that they could not understand her and that they were simply keeping aloof with their disappointment. The meals had been eaten in almost perfect silence that day. The mother did not care for dinner and the father ate and talked but little, and then to the other members of the family.
That night Dorothy was received for baptism and it was announced that, on the following Sunday night she would be baptized. By the next Sunday her parents began to relent. At first they were inclined to be indignant with the Baptist preacher, as if he were largely responsible for their daughter's action; but as they recalled the discussions of the past month they realized that their daughter had reached her conclusions largely through her own study of the Bible.
Gradually they came to see that she must have her convictions and they ought not to interfere with her religion. They saw that she was firm, and they decided to accept the inevitable. Husband and wife talked it over and the husband said: "Wife, I think it is a clear proposition. Dorothy has taken the step and the die is cast. It is not according to our fancy or hope, but it is according to her convictions, and I guess we would rather she should be a woman of convictions than for her to be one with no convictions, but tossed about by every kind of influence. I think we must try to make the most of it. Opposition, I fear, would only make matters worse for her and for us. Let us tell her we shall not oppose her."
And so it was agreed, and that evening Mr. and Mrs. Page talked frankly with Dorothy and the burden rolled from her heart. The parents said they never could attend that church, but that they would not stand in her way.
How her heart yearned to have them present at her baptism, but she dared not ask them, and she knew they would not come! Two of her girl friends went with her, partly out of curiosity and partly out of devotion to Dorothy. Mr. Page told the chauffeur to take Dorothy and her friends to the church first and then to return and take him and his wife for a ride.
As Mr. and Mrs. Page were being driven home in the automobile, after their ride something impelled the father to tell the chauffeur to turn the corner and go up the third street. The little Baptist chapel was on that street. It was a summer evening and the windows of the church were raised and the door was open, and as they approached the church Mr. Page told the chauffeur to slow up. They heard singing, and there through the open door they saw the pulpit and the open baptistry. The machine stopped and they sat quiet as they listened to the singing, and soon they saw a picture that chained them to their seats. Out into the water to the front moved Dorothy at the side of the pastor. The parents were sure that Dorothy never looked lovelier than at that moment, and on her face was a happiness that they had never seen before. It smote them to the heart. They heard the words of the minister as he said: "Dorothy Page, do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ as your Savior?"
She bowed her head in assent and they saw her lips move. The pastor then said: "Upon a profession of your faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in obedience to his command I baptize you, my sister, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen."
They saw her fade from their sight under the water, and then from the water they saw her rise as the congregation struck up the hymn:
"O happy are they Who their Savior obey And have laid up their treasures above."
That was all. Dorothy turned and was led by the pastor out of the baptismal waters and the father bade the chauffeur move on; but an arrow had entered the hearts of the parents.
A new light shone in Dorothy's eyes after that Sunday. Those who saw her as she emerged from the baptismal waters declared that her face looked like that of an angel. Many times during the week she was heard singing in happy tones. The thought that she had put obedience to Christ's commands above every earthly consideration filled her with peace and gladness. To her parents her new joy was a mystery. Association with a band of poor and obscure people suggested to their minds not happiness, but isolation and almost disgrace.
Dorothy's chief thought now seemed to be her church. Not a day passed that she was not in conference with the pastor or some of the members seeking to familiarize herself with the condition of the church, its needs and its work. To the request of the superintendent that she would take a class in the Sunday school she replied with a startled expression: "Oh, Mr. Randall, I must have someone teach me the Bible before I can teach others." She finally yielded to his appeal and decided to go out among the poor and neglected of the town and gather some girls into a class.
It was an interesting spectacle that she presented on the next Sunday morning as she marched into the Sunday school with four girls whom she had ferreted out during the week, and who had promised to come with her on the following Sunday if she would come for them. The sight of Dorothy—beautiful in face but far more beautiful in soul—bending with such loving tenderness over her little quartette, put new zeal into the other teachers.
At the first visit that Dorothy made to the church she noticed its bare furnishings, but she gave no sign that she saw these things. Many plans had already begun to form in her mind as to improvements that might be made. When she heard the pastor announce a meeting of the Ladies' Aid Society for the next Tuesday afternoon she determined to be on hand. At the meeting she asked the ladies to tell her what work the society sought to do. They replied that they tried to raise money for different purposes; sometimes for coal, sometimes for pastor's salary, and that they had been hoping to raise something for improving the church building, but the other expenses were so heavy their money was needed to meet them.
At the next meeting she suggested that they make special effort to raise money for painting the church, and the plan she advised was that they make bonnets and aprons for sale. They agreed to this and set about the task. The women said they had very little money to give. They decided that in addition to the little money that they could donate they would also give some of their time and labor that could be turned into money. They determined to rent an empty store and offer their goods for sale. This was done. It had already been well advertised and the whole town was talking about the enterprise of the little Baptist church, and the happiest of all was Dorothy as she labored with the other women.
It was the announced purpose of the society that every article must be up to the standard in quality and that every purchaser must get the full worth of his money. They asked no buyer to be a benefactor. The women considered they were giving as much, if not more, than they were receiving. The giving and the sacrifice were not on the part of the buyers, but on the part of those women who had given their time and labor. When they counted up their gains they found they netted over a hundred dollars. But some good news awaited them. A paint dealer in the town, hearing of their brave purpose to paint their chapel, asked the privilege of donating a part of the paint. Two of their own members agreed to do the painting by working in the early hours of each day. 'Twas a happy day for Dorothy and for the church when the last touch of the brush was put on the church and the work was completed. They next decided that the church building must be lifted to the level of the street, and the ladies assumed that as their task. The men promised their labor at their off hours. A lumber merchant heard of their valiant struggle and made them a large gift of lumber, and thus the skies brightened for them. Dorothy's fingers, as well as the fingers of the older ladies, were busy making garments to be sold. Without going into details, let it be stated that the little church found itself at last on a level with the street and with an excellent Sunday school room in the basement.
Dorothy's class had grown to a band of twenty girls and it was a picture worth going far to see—that of Dorothy surrounded by her girls, and herself the happiest of them all.
During all this time Sterling was wrestling with a racking experience. It had become apparent to him that convictions had arisen within his soul that were at variance with the cardinal doctrines of his church. He loved his church and her history; he was devoted to the work in his Sunday school and his church. He determined, however, to remain with his people, even though he felt that his church was in error on certain points.
Thoughts of Dorothy filled his mind day and night. The past few weeks had been doleful ones for him. When Dorothy joined the Baptists he felt as if he had lost her forever. A gulf seemed to open between her and himself. In a way she seemed to have stepped into a higher realm, far above him.
Her work for her church and her Sunday school occupied the largest part of her time, and it was only occasionally that he had the pleasure of a tennis game with her.