IF you please, now, go back with me to the early summer in which the first spasm of interest in regard to the library took hold of the young people. The new superintendent, unwittingly, perhaps, set the ball to rolling, by remarking that the library had been closed and locked by vote of the executive committee of the school, until such time as there were found to be any books worth giving out. Then, among those who had looked at each other and shaken their heads in disapproval of such a state of things, were the young ladies in Mrs. Jones's class,—ten of them. They occupied the corner down by the door, between the door and the east window; a corner that was cold in winter and warm in summer; a corner that other classes shunned. Perhaps that will give you a hint in regard to Mrs. Jones's class. They were young ladies belonging to a certain clique. None of them wealthy, none of them even well-to-do, in the sense which you probably mean by that term. They represented comfortable homes, where the fathers worked hard, daily, for daily needs, where the mothers took their share of daily burdens, where the daughters did what they could to help lighten the burdens of both.
For instance, one was a sewing girl, and went every day among the fine houses on the fashionable streets to do plain sewing. Another was a milliner's apprentice, and in the busy season worked over bonnets from seven o'clock of a Monday morning often until twelve o'clock of a Saturday night. The fact was, she knew some of the Penn Avenue Sabbath-school teachers who had their bonnets sent home in the gray dawn of the Sabbath morning, because they must have them for that day's worship. Another managed the entire culinary and kitchen department for a large family, in order that the mother might sit all day, and sew (on the many garments which were brought to her, to cut and fit, and repair and make). Still another was clerk in a fancy store, and knew much about the pretty things that less busy girls than she were fond of making. Two were teachers in the graded school and spent their Saturdays in helping with the family ironing, to relieve an over-burdened mother. Workers they were, every one; not a drone in the hive. By common consent they were almost entirely counted out of the "fancy department," as they had named the young ladies' society. They had not time for fancy work, neither did they move in the same circle with the fancy workers. Oh, they attended the same church, and were on friendly enough terms with the young people, at least with those whom they knew sufficiently to exchange bows when they met on the street; they met nowhere else save in church. I am sure you know all about those subtle, oftentimes mysterious, yet plainly defined, society distinctions. They are to be found in every village, however small, as well as in our largest cities.
This corner class looked at each other and shook their heads with the rest, but they did one thing more. Sarah Potter said, "Girls, let us do something. Mrs. Jones, let us have a Sabbath-school library."
"Well," said Mrs. Jones, briskly, heartily, "I'm agreed. Let us, by all means." Then they laughed a little. Mrs. Jones was a tailoress, and worked hard all day, and every day, and was devoted to her ten young ladies.
But Sarah Potter had more to say: "Oh, now I mean it. It is high time something was done. Let us meet to-morrow evening at Jennie's and talk it over."
Now Jennie was one of the ten, and all meetings to discuss ways and means were always held at her house. In fact it was the settled place of meeting for anything connected with this class. It had been two years since Jennie had met with them elsewhere than in her own room. Yet the class was always counted as numbering ten. One glance at her pale, bright face would have told you the story. She never left her room, nor her bed, and looked forward now to but one way of leaving that spot, which would be when they carried her out into the world once more, in her coffin! Yet Jennie was the strong bond of union in that class. "She is the class soul!" affirmed Mrs. Jones in her strong and somewhat quaint language, and the one to whom she spoke understood, and did not controvert it.
Workers are very apt to move promptly in whatever line they take up. The next evening the ten met in Jennie's room. She was eager to receive them, ready to further their plans to the best of her powers. But had they any plans? "Sarah began it," they said, "she must tell us what she wants."
"I want a new library; and I say, let's get one, somehow."
"Very well, I'll be secretary and put that down. So much decided. 'A library somehow.'" Hannah Wood wrote the sentence in large letters, the others gleeful meanwhile. "Now, Sarah, proceed. We are all ready for the plans."
"I haven't any plans; only that the thing must be done. It has been talked long enough. Yes, I have plans. Look at the Woman's Board; see how much money they are raising with ten cents a month. Why couldn't we draw up pledges for ten cents a month and get signers? There are ten of us to work; ten cents a month from everybody that we can wheedle into giving it. A regular decimal performance."