CHAPTER XXIII.
MISS JENNINGS' FUNERAL.
The rest of the day passed very pleasantly to Faith. She was so over-joyed at Mr. Denton's expressions in the morning that it seemed as if nothing could depress her spirits. The "peace that passeth understanding," had come into her heart, and even Maggie Brady's glances of hatred failed to cause her more than a passing sorrow.
That evening she hurried home, and had tea with her mother; then, taking little Dick between them, they went to the undertaker's establishment to be present at the funeral of Miss Jennings. As they reached the place Faith was surprised to see Mr. Day. He was standing on the steps talking to two young men, whose appearance indicated that they were newspaper reporters.
Both Faith and her mother were heavily veiled, and as they mounted the steps it was apparent to Faith that she was not recognized by her employer. As they passed she heard him speaking in a most affable manner. There were only a few words, but they made Faith shudder.
"We hope this sad occurrence will prove beneficial to our employees," he said blandly, "for they are apt to be thoughtless in religious matters."
"Did you hear that, mother?" Faith whispered the question softly.
"He's a hypocrite," answered her mother, with a moan of horror. "Just think, Faith, he is one of the men who ruined your father."
The room in which the casket lay was well filled with young women, but not half of their faces were familiar to Faith, although she concluded rightfully that they had all known Miss Jennings.
"Can you sing, miss?" asked a gentleman in black whom Faith saw at once was the undertaker. "I have secured a minister, but they did not allow me for singers."
"I'll try," said Faith, with a sob in her throat. "I can sing some of the Moody and Sankey hymns if you think they will be suitable."
"One will do," said the gentleman. "Sing it right after the prayer. I expect the others will all join in if you select a familiar one."
Faith nodded her head and looked around the room again. She soon saw Miss Fairbanks, Miss Jones and one or two others with whom she had spoken during her brief period of service. Mr. Gibson came in just then with another reporter. The young man was taking down in shorthand what Mr. Gibson told him.
"It is the first death that has ever occurred in the store, and consequently the firm is much distressed over it," said Mr. Gibson. "They are remarkably considerate of their employees, and this poor girl was a consumptive; she was ill when we hired her."
"Do you pay all the expenses?" asked the reporter, without looking up.
"Certainly, certainly!" said Mr. Gibson. "The firm is extremely generous in all such matters."
The reporter left just as the minister entered. It was apparent that for some reason Mr. Gibson intended to remain as representative of the firm.
Poor little Dick cried miserably for the first few minutes, but he finally fell asleep on Mrs. Marvin's bosom.
After the clergyman had spoken a few simple words, and offered a fervent prayer, there was a moment of solemn, breathless silence. Some one entered softly. It was Mr. Denton. Faith had no opportunity to look at his face, for Mr. Davis, the undertaker, signaled her that it was time for the hymn.
Almost without realizing it the young girl rose and went over to the coffin. As she caught sight of the dead girl's face she seemed to receive an inspiration direct from heaven.
Her voice was a soft, sweet contralto, and had been carefully trained. As she sounded the first note the silence in the room seemed deeper than ever. Not a voice joined in to help her with the hymn, for the girls were all spell-bound at such unexpected music.
With her eyes bent lovingly on her dead friend's face, Faith finished the verse of the hymn she had selected, but as she reached the refrain she raised her eyes beseechingly, and her glance fell directly upon the bowed head of Mr. Denton.
"It profiteth nothing, and fearful the cost
To gain the Whole world if thy soul shall be lost—"
The words rang from her lips like the peal of a bell. There was prayer, supplication, eagerness in every intonation.
As the last note died away several of the girls burst out crying, and Mr. Denton raised his head and looked at her.
Faith took her seat calmly. The inspiration had not left her. She felt lifted up in soul into a higher atmosphere, where there was no pain or sorrow—only tenderness and rejoicing.
The rest followed swiftly. The last farewell to the departed; with poor Dick moaning and sobbing, the ladies turned their footsteps homeward.
Faith caught a glimpse of Mr. Denton walking rapidly down the street. The next moment she heard her name spoken, and turned to greet Miss Dean, the store inspector.
"Am I too late?" asked Miss Dean, extending her hand cordially. "I was detained at the last moment. I intended being present at the funeral."
"I am sorry you were not," said Faith sincerely, then, after introducing her mother and little Dick, she made an eager communication.
"I really believe, Miss Dean, that poor Mary's death has accomplished great things! I am sure that Mr. Denton has felt it keenly, and that her dying words have awakened his sleeping conscience."
Miss Dean looked surprised, but did not reply, so Faith went on to tell why she thought so.
After she had related her conversation with Mr. Denton in the morning, the lady suddenly put her hand on her arm and looked at her searchingly.
"If you have accomplished that, you have indeed worked a miracle," she said, decidedly; "but deeds speak louder than words. We shall see how Mr. Denton puts his conversation into practice."
"Oh, that's it," said Mrs. Marvin, quickly. "Practice and precept are quite different things. Why, those men are all church members, do you know, Miss Dean; yet see how little their religion is allowed to influence their lives. It seems as if it was kept only for funerals and Sundays."
"That has been my observation in nearly every instance," said Miss Dean, slowly. "I have often said that if I could see a conscientious Christian I would be willing to give up some of my present theories."
"Do tell us one of your theories," said Mrs. Marvin. "I, too, am very bitter against hypocrisy in the church. I shall be glad if some one else feels the same as I do, for my daughter is constantly reproving me for my distrust and bitterness."
"Well, for one thing," said Miss Dean, "I think religion impracticable. No person can follow Christ and succeed in any line of business."
"I agree with you," exclaimed Mrs. Marvin, promptly. "The principles of Christianity oppose success at every turn. To be Christ-like one must always be poor, always weak and, consequently, always downtrodden."
"Your daughter does not believe that," said Miss Dean, smiling.
Faith was so in earnest when she answered that she stopped on the sidewalk and faced them.
"Is there any success greater than this," she asked, eagerly, "to earn those precious words from the lips of our Saviour, 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant,' and to receive at the end of life that joy everlasting that is promised to those who follow Him, even though they bear the cross of worldly failure?"
Miss Dean stared at the young girl in honest admiration. While she questioned her reasoning, she almost envied her. If a simple faith was so satisfying it was certainly worth having, but to natures like hers this simple faith was impossible.