“I am willing you should lecture. I will give you a subject: ‘The rich and poor meet together, and the Lord is Maker of them all.’”
“There, Fan!” And it was my turn to laugh.
Fan shook her head solemnly.
“It did not frighten him a bit,” she said.
“No, my dear; since there is room for so much work in the world. I have often wished the Churchills and several others would come out of their shells, or their beautiful Edens, and go at some of the thistles beyond their gates.”
“Poor people have such splendid ideas—don’t they, papa? But then rich people have all the money.”
“There is something needed besides money. If rich people could only see how many nice and pleasant gifts and favors they could bestow without lowering themselves, which so many people are afraid of, ladies especially. The majority of the poor and ignorant are no more anxious to come up to their level, than they are to have them.”
“We are lucky to be on the middle ground,” said Fan. “We cannot be accused of undue ambition, or be snubbed very severely. And yet I do think it just lovely to be rich, and I always shall.”
“My dear, so do I,” returned papa, gravely. “And we should endeavor not to array wealth against us. We may in time soften some of the prejudices on both sides. People need to see soul to soul, and not stop at the burr outside.”
The tinkle of a small bell reached me. I rose, sorely against my will, not daring to linger in the family bosom of temptation. The young man up stairs was continually interfering in some way. Just when you were having a nice talk, you were compelled to leave off in the middle and run away, or some one ran away from you. Why, it was as bad as parish visiting. But there was the money at the end of it—mercenary little wretch that I had become!