"Louise is good, mamma, and I am not, you know; you mustn't expect me to be Louise. I can no more take her place in that way than I can in a hundred others."
"Oh yes, you can, my child; it doesn't require any special skill to hand a card of invitation to a passer-by, or even to speak a word of encouragement to the half persuaded."
"But, mamma, how would it look for me to invite people to the meetings? I am not one of the church members. It wouldn't be very consistent, I think."
The mother's eyes were sorrowful and questioning as they rested on the face of her fair young daughter. She seemed not to know just what would be well to answer to this. At last she said,—
"Estelle dear, even though you refuse Christ yourself, don't you wish that many others might come to him? Poor, sad hearts who have not your opportunities, nor know the way as you do—shouldn't they have their chance to choose, and aren't you willing to extend the invitation?"
The young girl's cheeks flushed a deeper pink, and her eyes drooped, but she answered steadily,—
"Certainly I am, mamma."
Then she went forward and received from the pastor a package of the beautiful cards, turning them over curiously in her hand, wondering much how it would seem to pass them out to people, and whether the cards would be accepted or refused.
Simple little cards they were; nothing pretentious or formidable about them; just an announcement of daily religious services, giving the hours of meetings and the name of the preacher; then, on the reverse side, in the most exquisite penmanship, this simple quotation, "The Master is come, and calleth for thee." Estelle read it, and the glow on her cheeks did not lessen. There was certainly something very solemn in the suggestion. Estelle could hardly help giving a moment's attention to the inquiry whether the Master really were calling for her. Could she have brought her heart to the point of believing that such was the case, it would have been well with Estelle, for she could not have said the Master nay. The sin in her case was that she would not study the subject long enough to be able to believe that she was personally included in the call. Nevertheless she went her way up Fairmount Street on her unusual errand, a little touch of vexation in her face over the thought that Louise would have done all this so well, and would so have delighted in it, while she must bunglingly try to supply her place. It was about this time that John Morgan turned into Fairmount Street, much wondering where he was and what he could be expected to do next.
"Will you have a card, please?" And a vision of loveliness fell on his astonished gaze, and a delicately-gloved hand was stretched forth with the fair bit of pasteboard. "It is just an invitation to the meetings; we hope you will come." And still the card was outstretched, and still John stood and stared. What was there about that face and voice that seemed familiar to him as one whom he had met in a dream or in the far-away unreality of some other existence? It bewildered him to the extent that he forgot either to decline or accept the card, but stood looking and wondering. Estelle felt the importance of saying something further to this silent starer. "They have very good singing, and great crowds come every evening. I think you will like it. Will you take the card?"