“Little Augustus was terribly frightened just before we sailed, his grand-pa told me; one of them impudent workmen who had been sick and out of work for a spell rushed up to little Augustus, who was feeding cakes to his pony and Italian greyhound, and demanded him to give him some. The man’s fierce looks was such that Augustus dropped the cakes and ran away to his tutor. The man had the impudence to pick up the pieces and rush away with them, muttering that his own boy was dying for want of food, while this boy was throwing it away. What business was it to him, I would like to know. The man was turned off, I believe. Mudd-Weakdew will stand no impudence; he builds up a wall of separation between himself and them that can’t be broke down, just as he has a right to.”
Sez I, “Mebby it can’t be broke down, but the wrongs and sufferin’s of one class is apt to react on the other.”
“But it cannot here,” sez she, “for Mudd-Weakdew is not like Robert, mingling with his workmen, breaking down the wall of separation, that always has and I believe always should exist between the genteel wealthy and the poor.”
“Well,” sez I, “time will tell.” And she went on.
“You ought to see the elegance of their house, thirty house servants and Robert has only two; and won’t let them 319 be called servants; he calls them helpers. Oh, they are so genteel! they mingle with the very first, and Robert might do just so, but he actually seems happier amongst his workmen trying to make them happier than he does with the titled aristocracy. Mudd-Weakdew would no more mingle with his workmen as Robert does, than he would fly.”
I murmured onbeknown to myself, “The poor received Him gladly;” “Except ye do these things ye cannot be my disciples.” And I sez to Miss Meechim, “How would the Mudd-Weakdews receive the carpenter’s Son if he should stop at their gate some afternoon while they wuz givin’ a garden party to nobility. If Jesus should enter there with his chosen companions, the fishermen and the poor, all dusty from weary walks and barefooted; if he should look through their luxury to the squalid homes beyend with reproach and sorrow in his divine face, how would they greet him?”
Miss Meechim said she didn’t really know, they wuz so very, very exclusive, but she felt that they would act genteel anyway. “And,” sez she, “they worship in a magnificent church built by millionaires and used by them almost exclusively, for of course poor people wouldn’t feel at home there amongst the aristocracy.”
But Arvilly said––I guess she had to say it––“Yes, they kneel and worship the Christ they crucified while they tromple on his teachings; hypocrites and Pharisees, the hull caboodle on ’em, Rev. Weakdew and all!” I d’no but Arvilly wuz too hash, but mebby my groans spoke as loud as her words; I felt considerable as she did and she knowed it.
“Oh! oh!” Miss Meechim fairly squeeled the words out, “Rev. Weakdew is very thoughtful and charitable to the poor always. I have wept to hear him tell of their home above, right in with the rich you know, mingling with them; I have heard him say it, exclusive as he and his family is, and how after starvation here how sweet the bread of life would seem to them.”
“In my opinion,” sez Arvilly, “he better spend his 320 strength tryin’ to feed ’em on earth; when they git to that country the Lord can take care on ’em.”