“But you don’t know,” said Elsie seriously; “it was no whim on my part, for I seemed to belong here to this work. I could not give it up and be happy.”
“Ah, well, Herbert Lynn has lost the best of his life, and yet it is only a few months ago that I looked through his spectacles. It is strange how contact with sorrow opens our eyes to the true value of qualities we did not notice before. Elsie, you must let me work beside you, under the guidance of this wise sister of yours, and try to find the same peace you are seeking. We seem to have met here from widely-different paths. I gave up all for love—you, dear child, gave up love for all humanity, and now we join hands in the same search for the peace that passeth understanding. Will you show me the way, my little girl?”
It needed no words from Elsie, Margaret, or Gilbert to prove how heartily and gladly they welcomed the proffered aid, even as they strove to recompense in some measure the faltering and hungering spirit of their benefactress. With intuitive quickness she became one of them in the earnestness of her efforts, and the line of distinction so often made apparent in the manner of those who seek the welfare of the oppressed was entirely absent. Side by side with Margaret and Elsie she walked among that class of women whose hands Herbert had said it was pollution to touch; but when she saw the glow of appreciation lighting up the dulled, imbruted faces, and heard the wails of penitence from sore hearts, and the promises to gather up the remnants of shattered lives and dedicate them henceforth to righteous living, she felt something of the joy of the Master who thought it no disgrace to eat with publicans and sinners. She was not long in following Gilbert from door to door and inspecting the homes where, Gilbert said, a self-respecting man would be ashamed to house his cattle. The absolute disregard of sanitation in many of these herding places—for they were little else—shamed with a burning blush the boasted nineteenth-century civilization. The names of the owners of these tenement hovels were listed by Alice Houghton and found in the majority of cases to be those of men of wealth and prominence in the community, who never gave any thought to their property except as regarded its monthly income. Ordering her carriage and horses and dressing herself in her finest raiment, Alice presented herself at the doors of these men. Without any preliminaries she told them of her discoveries, the deplorable condition of their tenants, and begged that something be done to improve their condition. Her handsome presence, her dress, equipage, all bespeaking her a person of consequence, she met with the usual courtesy which such externals command; but in the majority of cases she was listened to with that air of constraint betokened by elevated eyebrows and idly drumming fingers. More than once she was given to understand, sometimes broadly and sometimes indirectly, that she might better be minding her own business. For all such she had a parting shot in saying: “I am preparing for publication in the city press a series of articles on the condition of our poor. I really hope, sir, I shall not be compelled to include your name in the list of inhuman landlords.”
The stroke told, and invariably elicited a promise of looking into the matter, supplemented with at least some slight attempt at repairs. With Alice Houghton conspicuous in such work, society became at once interested. It might be a delightful fad to investigate this labor question and exploit one’s charity in behalf of these poor dear creatures. But whenever this desire was submitted, it met ignominious and instant death. Only those who felt the earnestness of the work were permitted any share in it. It soon became apparent, however, that the latent impulses of human nature, veneered as they may be by false ideas as to wealth and social position, are in the main generous and humane ones. Under the influence of Alice Houghton wealth came to the succor of the newly-formed and still chaotic society. Gilbert’s reading class became possessed of a room for its exclusive use, where all the current periodicals and papers and some of the best books could be found and read by any one. It became a sort of poor man’s club-room where living topics were discussed, and where twice a year a banquet was given at which the speeches and toasts emanated from the growing minds of those who had risen from the ranks.
The parlors of several well-known society ladies were also thrown open once a week to the orchestra formed by Antoine, but now placed under the tutelage of a more proficient master. The Mother’s Class, the Daughters of the Carpenter, and the Busy Fingers Club had each a fund from which to draw in emergencies, and better than all else, it seemed to Gilbert, the five great principles lying back of all these efforts had been submitted to a council and a code of rules drawn up under the general plan, which bade fair to make the society cohesive and enduring. Yet it was by no means free from turbulent elements, nor had it come to its present prosperity without encountering many well-nigh overwhelming obstacles. As long as human nature is content to remain on the low plane of self-indulgence, just so long will every good and unselfish impulse find a bitter warfare waged against it, and not every one of those who were to be most benefited by the movement was in favor of it. There seems to exist in some natures a wolfish opposition to everything high and holy, and Gilbert had long been aware, without in the least understanding the reason, that he had incurred the enmity of one of their number known as “Red Handed Mike.” If the fellow possessed any patronymic it had long since passed into oblivion, and he was known only by his sobriquet, and feared accordingly. Gilbert had been warned that Mike was only waiting an opportunity to “make it hot for him”; but thinking the threat, for lack of cause, merely the idle boast of a bully, he passed it unnoticed.
It was the morning of a day in early autumn. Margaret was made glad by the sight of Aunt Liza and Eph, who, climbing to her sky-parlor with many “oh’s” and “ah’s” and rheumatic squeaks of the joints, had greeted her with the old-time effusion and affection which absence had not dulled.
“I was jes longin’ so fer de sight ob your face, Miss Margaret, I couldn’t stay away no longer, and Eph heah has been a heap wuss’n me,” exclaimed Aunt Liza.
“Sho!” said Eph, fumbling with his hat and trying to hide his feet under the rounds of his chair. “I only jes wanted to tell yer we’uns has done a heap ob savin’ this heah summer. Mammy heah’s got a new red gown, an’ I’s got a whole suit of store clothes, and besides, Ma’am Minaud’s banked money fo’ us, too.”
“Well done!” cried Margaret. “I couldn’t hear better news.”
“I knowed you’d be tickled!” exclaimed Eph, delightedly displaying a couple of rows of ivory teeth. “I done tol’ mammy dar wa’n’t no use backslidin’ in this yere business when all you’uns had got to be jes perfeck angels.”