(In His Steps) Chapter Twenty-six - Twenty-eight MEANWHILE, Nazareth Avenue Church was experiencing something never known before in all its history. The simple appeal on the part of its pastor to his members to do as Jesus would do had created a sensation that still continued. The result of that appeal was very much the same as in Henry Maxwells church in Raymond, only this church was far more aristocratic, wealthy and conventional. Nevertheless when, one Sunday morning in early summer, Dr. Bruce came into his pulpit and announced his resignation, the sensation deepened all over the city, although he had advised with his board of trustees, and the movement he intended was not a matter of surprise to them. But when it become publicly known that the Bishop had also announced his resignation and retirement from the position he had held so long, in order to go and live himself in the centre of the worst part of Chicago, the public astonishment reached its height. But why? the Bishop replied to one valued friend who had almost with tears tried to dissuade him from his purpose. Why should what Dr. Bruce and I propose to do seem so remarkable a thing, as if it were unheard of that a Doctor of Divinity and a Bishop should want to save lost souls in this particular manner? If we were to resign our charge for the purpose of going to Bombay or Hong Kong or any place in Africa, the churches and the people would exclaim at the heroism of missions. Why should it seem so great a thing if we have been led to give our lives to help rescue the heathen and the lost of our own city in the way we are going to try it? Is it then such a tremendous event that two Christian ministers should be not only willing but eager to live close to the misery of the world in order to know it and realize it? Is it such a rare thing that love of humanity should find this particular form of expression in the rescue of souls? And however the Bishop may have satisfied himself that there ought to be nothing so remarkable about it at all, the public continued to talk and the churches to record their astonishment that two such men, so prominent in the ministry, should leave their comfortable homes, voluntarily resign their pleasant social positions and enter upon a life of hardship, of self-denial and actual suffering. Christian America! Is it a reproach on the form of our discipleship that the exhibition of actual suffering for Jesus on the part of those who walk in His steps always provokes astonishment as at the sight of something very unusual? Nazareth Avenue Church parted from its pastor with regret for the most part, although the regret was modified with a feeling of relief on the part of those who had refused to take the pledge. Dr. Bruce carried with him the respect of men who, entangled in business in such a way that obedience to the pledge would have ruined them, still held in their deeper, better natures a genuine admiration for courage and consistency. They had known Dr. Bruce many years as a kindly, conservative, safe man, but the thought of him in the light of sacrifice of this sort was not familiar to them. As fast as they understood it, they gave their pastor the credit of being absolutely true to his recent convictions as to what following Jesus meant. Nazareth Avenue Church never lost the impulse of that movement started by Dr. Bruce. Those who went with him in making the promise breathed into the church the very breath of divine life, and are continuing that life-giving work at this present time. * * It was fall again, and the city faced another hard winter. The Bishop one afternoon came out of the Settlement and walked around the block, intending to go on a visit to one of his new friends in the district. He had walked about four blocks when he was attracted by a shop that looked different from the others. The neighborhood was still quite new to him, and every day he discovered some strange spot or stumbled upon some unexpected humanity. The place that attracted his notice was a small house close by a Chinese laundry. There were two windows in the front, very clean, and that was remarkable to begin with. Then, inside the window, was a tempting display of cookery, with prices attached to the various articles that made him wonder somewhat, for he was familiar by this time with many facts in the life of the people once unknown to him. As he stood looking at the windows, the door between them opened and Felicia Sterling came out. Felicia! exclaimed the Bishop. When did you move into my parish without my knowledge? How did you find me so soon? inquired Felicia. Why, dont you know? These are the only clean windows in the block. I believe they are, replied Felicia with a laugh that did the Bishop good to hear. But why have you dared to come to Chicago without telling me, and how have you entered my diocese without my knowledge? asked the Bishop. And Felicia looked so like that beautiful, clean, educated, refined world he once knew, that he might be pardoned for seeing in her something of the old Paradise. Although, to speak truth for him, he had no desire to go back to it. Well, dear Bishop, said Felicia, who had always called him so, I knew how overwhelmed you were with your work. I did not want to burden you with my plans. And besides, I am going to offer you my services. Indeed, I was just on my way to see you and ask your advice. I am settled here for the present with Mrs. Bascom, a saleswoman who rents our three rooms, and with one of Rachels music pupils who is being helped to a course in violin by Virginia Page. She is from the people, continued Felicia, using the words from the people so gravely and unconsciously that her hearer smiled, and I am keeping house for her and at the same time beginning an experiment in pure food for the masses. I am an expert and I have a plan I want you to admire and develop. Will you, dear Bishop? Indeed I will, he replied. The sight of Felicia and her remarkable vitality, enthusiasm and evident purpose almost bewildered him. Martha can help at the Settlement with her violin and I will help with my messes. You see, I thought I would get settled first and work out something, and then come with some real thing to offer. Im able to earn my own living now. You are? the Bishop said a little incredulously. How? Making those things? Those things! said Felicia with a show of indignation. I would have you know, sir, that those things are the best-cooked, purest food products in this whole city. I dont doubt it, he replied hastily, while his eyes twinkled, Still, the proof of the pudding--you know the rest. Come in and try some! she exclaimed. You poor Bishop! You look as if you hadnt had a good meal for a month. She insisted on his entering the little front room where Martha, a wide-awake girl with short, curly hair, and an unmistakable air of music about her, was busy with practice. Go right on, Martha. This is the Bishop. You have heard me speak of him so often. Sit down there and let me give you a taste of the fleshpots of Egypt, for I believe you have been actually fasting. So they had an improvised lunch, and the Bishop who, to tell the truth, had not taken time for weeks to enjoy his meals, feasted on the delight of his unexpected discovery and was able to express his astonishment and gratification at the quality of the cookery. I thought you would at least say it is as good as the meals you used to get at the Auditorium at the big banquets, said Felicia slyly. As good as! The Auditorium banquets were simply husks compared with this one, Felicia. But you must come to the Settlement. I want you to see what we are doing. And I am simply astonished to find you here earning your living this way. I begin to see what your plan is. You can be of infinite help to us. You dont really mean that you will live here and help these people to know the value of good food? Indeed I do, she answered gravely. That is my gospel. Shall I not follow it? Aye, Aye! Youre right. Bless God for sense like yours! When I left the world, the Bishop smiled at the phrase, they were talking a good deal about the new woman. If you are one of them, I am a convert right now and here. Flattery! Still is there no escape from it, even in the slums of Chicago? Felicia laughed again. And the mans heart, heavy though it had grown during several months of vast sin-bearing, rejoiced to hear it! It sounded good. It was good. It belonged to God. Felicia wanted to visit the Settlement, and went back with him. She was amazed at the results of what considerable money an a good deal of consecrated brains had done. As they walked through the building they talked incessantly. She was the incarnation of vital enthusiasm, and he wondered at the exhibition of it as it bubbled up and sparkled over. They went down into the basement and the Bishop pushed open a door from behind which came the sound of a carpenters plane. It was a small but well equipped carpenters shop. A young man with a paper cap on his head and clad in blouse and overalls was whistling and driving the plane as he whistled. He looked up as the two entered, and took off his cap. As he did so, his little finger carried a small curling shaving up to his hair and it caught there. Miss Sterling, Mr. Stephen Clyde, said the Bishop. Clyde is one of our helpers here two afternoons in the week. Just then the bishop was called upstairs and he excused himself a moment, leaving Felicia and the young carpenter together. We have met before, said Felicia looking at Clyde frankly. Yes, back in the world, as the Bishop says, replied the young man, and his fingers trembled a little as they lay on the board he had been planing. Yes. Felicia hesitated. I am very glad to see you. As good as! The Auditorium banquets were simply husks compared with this one, Felicia. But you must come to the Settlement. I want you to see what we are doing. And I am simply astonished to find you here earning your living this way. I begin to see what your plan is. You can be of infinite help to us. You dont really mean that you will live here and help these people to know the value of good food? Indeed I do, she answered gravely. That is my gospel. Shall I not follow it? Aye, Aye! Youre right. Bless God for sense like yours! When I left the world, the Bishop smiled at the phrase, they were talking a good deal about the new woman. If you are one of them, I am a convert right now and here. Flattery! Still is there no escape from it, even in the slums of Chicago? Felicia laughed again. And the mans heart, heavy though it had grown during several months of vast sin-bearing, rejoiced to hear it! It sounded good. It was good. It belonged to God. Felicia wanted to visit the Settlement, and went back with him. She was amazed at the results of what considerable money an a good deal of consecrated brains had done. As they walked through the building they talked incessantly. She was the incarnation of vital enthusiasm, and he wondered at the exhibition of it as it bubbled up and sparkled over. They went down into the basement and the Bishop pushed open a door from behind which came the sound of a carpenters plane. It was a small but well equipped carpenters shop. A young man with a paper cap on his head and clad in blouse and overalls was whistling and driving the plane as he whistled. He looked up as the two entered, and took off his cap. As he did so, his little finger carried a small curling shaving up to his hair and it caught there. Miss Sterling, Mr. Stephen Clyde, said the Bishop. Clyde is one of our helpers here two afternoons in the week. Just then the bishop was called upstairs and he excused himself a moment, leaving Felicia and the young carpenter together. We have met before, said Felicia looking at Clyde frankly. Yes, back in the world, as the Bishop says, replied the young man, and his fingers trembled a little as they lay on the board he had been planing. Yes. Felicia hesitated. I am very glad to see you. As good as! The Auditorium banquets were simply husks compared with this one, Felicia. But you must come to the Settlement. I want you to see what we are doing. And I am simply astonished to find you here earning your living this way. I begin to see what your plan is. You can be of infinite help to us. You dont really mean that you will live here and help these people to know the value of good food? Indeed I do, she answered gravely. That is my gospel. Shall I not follow it? Aye, Aye! Youre right. Bless God for sense like yours! When I left the world, the Bishop smiled at the phrase, they were talking a good deal about the new woman. If you are one of them, I am a convert right now and here. Flattery! Still is there no escape from it, even in the slums of Chicago? Felicia laughed again. And the mans heart, heavy though it had grown during several months of vast sin-bearing, rejoiced to hear it! It sounded good. It was good. It belonged to God. Felicia wanted to visit the Settlement, and went back with him. She was amazed at the results of what considerable money an a good deal of consecrated brains had done. As they walked through the building they talked incessantly. She was the incarnation of vital enthusiasm, and he wondered at the exhibition of it as it bubbled up and sparkled over. They went down into the basement and the Bishop pushed open a door from behind which came the sound of a carpenters plane. It was a small but well equipped carpenters shop. A young man with a paper cap on his head and clad in blouse and overalls was whistling and driving the plane as he whistled. He looked up as the two entered, and took off his cap. As he did so, his little finger carried a small curling shaving up to his hair and it caught there. Miss Sterling, Mr. Stephen Clyde, said the Bishop. Clyde is one of our helpers here two afternoons in the week. Just then the bishop was called upstairs and he excused himself a moment, leaving Felicia and the young carpenter together. We have met before, said Felicia looking at Clyde frankly. Yes, back in the world, as the Bishop says, replied the young man, and his fingers trembled a little as they lay on the board he had been planing. Yes. Felicia hesitated. I am very glad to see you. Are you? The flush of pleasure mounted to the young carpenters forehead. You have had a great deal of trouble since--since--then, he said, and then he was afraid he had wounded her, or called up painful memories. But she had lived over all that. Yes, and you also. How is it that youre working here? It is a long story, Miss Sterling. My father lost his money and I was obliged to go to work. A very good thing for me. The Bishop says I ought to be very grateful. I am. I am very happy now. I learned the trade, hoping some time to be of use, I am night clerk at one of the hotels. That Sunday morning when you took the pledge at Nazareth Avenue Church, I took it with the others. Did you? said Felicia slowly. I am glad. Just then the Bishop came back, and very soon he and Felicia went away leaving the young carpenter at his work. Some one noticed that he whistled louder than ever as he planed. Felicia, said the Bishop, did you know Stephen Clyde before? Yes, back in the world, dear Bishop. He was one of my acquaintances in Nazareth Avenue Church. Ah! said the Bishop. We were very good friends, added Felicia. But nothing more? the Bishop ventured to ask. Felicias face glowed for an instant. Then she looked her companion in the eyes frankly and answered: Truly and truly, nothing more. It would be just the way of the world for these two people to come to like each other, though, thought the man to himself, and somehow the thought made him grave. It was almost like the old pang over Camilla. But it passed, leaving him afterwards, when Felicia had gone back, with tears in his eyes and a feeling that was almost hope that Felicia and Stephen would like each other. After all, he said, like the sensible, good man that he was, is not romance a part of humanity? Love is older than I am, and wiser. The week following, the Bishop had an experience that belongs to this part of the Settlement history. He was coming back to the Settlement very late from some gathering of the striking tailors, and was walking along with his hands behind him, when two men jumped out from behind an old fence that shut off an abandoned factory from the street, and faced him. One of the men thrust a pistol in his face, and the other threatened him with a ragged stake that had evidently been torn from the fence. Hold up your hands, and be quick about it! said the man with the pistol. Chapter Twenty-seven Righteousness shall go before him and shall set us in the way of his steps. THE Bishop was not in the habit of carrying much money with him, and the man with the stake who was searching him uttered an oath at the small amount of change he found. As he uttered it, the man with the pistol savagely said, Jerk out his watch! We might as well get all we can out of the job! The man with the stake was on the point of laying hold of the chain where there was a sound of footsteps coming towards him. Get behind the fence! We havent half searched him yet! Mind you keep shut now, if you dont want-- The man with the pistol made a significant gesture with it and, with his companion, pulled and pushed the Bishop down the alley and through a ragged, broken opening in the fence. The three stood still there in the shadow until the footsteps passed. Now, then, have you got the watch? asked the man with the pistol. No, the chain is caught somewhere! and the other man swore again. Break it then! No, dont break it, the Bishop said, and it was the first time he had spoken. The chain is the gift of a very dear friend. I should be sorry to have it broken. At the sound of the Bishops voice the man with the pistol started as if he had been suddenly shot by his own weapon. With a quick movement of his other hand he turned the Bishops head towards what little light was shining from the alleyway, at the same time taking a step nearer. Then, to the amazement of his companion, he said roughly: Leave the watch alone! Weve got the money. Thats enough! Enough! Fifty cents! You dont reckon-- Before the man with the stake could say another word he was confronted with the muzzle of the pistol turned from the Bishops head towards his own. Leave that watch be! And put back the money too. This is the Bishop weve held up--the Bishop--do you hear? And what of it! The President of the United States wouldnt be too good to hold up, if-- I say, you put the money back, or in five seconds Ill blow a hole through your head thatll let in more sense than you have to spare now! said the other. For a second the man with the stake seemed to hesitate at this strange turn in events, as if measuring his companions intention. Then he hastily dropped the money back into the rifled pocket. You can take your hands down, sir. The man lowered his weapon slowly, still keeping an eye on the other man, and speaking with rough respect. The Bishop slowly brought his arms to his side, and looked earnestly at the two men. In the dim light it was difficult to distinguish features. He was evidently free to go his way now, but he stood there making no movement. You can go on. You neednt stay any longer on our account. The man who had acted as spokesman turned and sat down on a stone. The other man stood viciously digging his stake into the ground. Thats just what I am staying for, replied the Bishop. He sat down on a board that projected from the broken fence. You must like our company. It is hard sometimes for people to tear themselves away from us, and the man standing up laughed coarsely. Shut up! exclaimed the other. Were on the road to hell, though, thats sure enough. We need better company than ourselves and the devil. If you would only allow me to be of any help, the Bishop spoke gently, even lovingly. The man on the stone stared at the Bishop through the darkness. After a moment of silence he spoke slowly like one who had finally decided upon a course he had at first rejected. Do you remember ever seeing me before? No, said the Bishop. The light is not very good and I have really not had a good look at you. Do you know me now? The man suddenly took off his hat and getting up from the stone walked over to the Bishop until they were near enough to touch each other. The mans hair was coal black except one spot on the top of his head about as large as the palm of the hand, which was white. The minute the Bishop saw that, he started. The memory of fifteen years ago began to stir in him. The man helped him. Dont you remember one day back in 81 or 82 a man came to your house and told a story about his wife and child having been burned to death in a tenement fire in New York? Yes, I begin to remember now. The other man seemed to be interested. He ceased digging his stake in the ground and stood still listening. Do you remember how you took me into your own house that night and spent all next day trying to find me a job? And how when you succeeded in getting me a place in a warehouse as foreman, I promised to quit drinking because you asked me to? I remember it now. I hope you have kept your promise. The man laughed savagely. Then he struck his hand against the fence with such sudden passion that he drew blood. Kept it! I was drunk inside of a week! Ive been drinking ever since. But Ive never forgotten you nor your prayer. Do you remember the morning after I came to your house, after breakfast you had prayers and asked me to come in and sit with the rest? That got me! But my mother used to pray! I can see her now kneeling down by my bed when I was a lad. Father came in one night and kicked her while she was kneeling there by me. But I never forgot that prayer of yours that morning. You prayed for me just as mother used to, and you didnt seem to take count of the fact that I was ragged and tough-looking and more than half drunk when I rang your door bell. Oh, what a life Ive lived! The saloon has housed me and homed me and made hell on earth for me. But that prayer stuck to me all the time. My promise not to drink was broken into a thousand pieces inside of two Sundays, and I lost the job you found for me and landed in a police station two days later, but I never forgot you nor your prayer. I dont know what good it has done me, but I never forgot it. And I wont do any harm to you nor let any one else. So youre free to go. Thats why. The Bishop did not stir. Somewhere a church clock struck one. The man had put on his hat and gone back to his seat on the stone. The Bishop was thinking hard. How long is it since you had work? he asked, and the man standing up answered for the other. Moren six months since either of us did anything to tell of; unless you count holding up work. I call it pretty wearing kind of a job myself, especially when we put in a night like this and dont make nothin. Suppose I found good jobs for both of you? Would you quit this and begin all over? Whats the use? the man on the stone spoke sullenly. Ive reformed a hundred times. Every time I go down deeper. The devils begun to foreclose on me already. Its too late. No! said the Bishop. And never before the most entranced audience had he felt the desire for souls burn up in him so strongly. All the time he sat there during the remarkable scene he prayed, O Lord Jesus, give me the souls of these two for Thee! I am hungry for them. Give them to me! No! the Bishop repeated. What does God want of you two men? It doesnt so much matter what I want. But He wants just what I do in this case. You two men are of infinite value to Him. And then his wonderful memory came to his aid in an appeal such as no one on earth among men could make under such circumstances. He had remembered the mans name in spite of the wonderfully busy years that lay between his coming to the house and the present moment. Burns, he said, and he yearned over the men with an unspeakable longing for them both, if you and your friend here will go home with me tonight I will find you both places of honorable employment. I will believe in you and trust you. You are both comparatively young men. Why should God lose you? It is a great thing to win the love of the Great Father. It is a small thing that I should love you. But if you need to feel again that there is love in the world, you will believe me when I say, my brothers, that I love you, and in the name of Him who was crucified for our sins I cannot bear to see you miss the glory of the human life. Come, be men! Make another try for it, God helping you. No one but God and you and myself need ever know anything of this tonight. He has forgiven it the minute you ask Him to. You will find that true. Come! Well fight it out together, you two and I. Its worth fighting for, everlasting life is. It was the sinner that Christ came to help. Ill do what I can for you. O God, give me the souls of these two men! and he broke into a prayer to God that was a continuation of his appeal to the men. His pent-up feeling had no other outlet. Before he had prayed many moments Burns was sitting with his face buried in his hands, sobbing. Where were his mothers prayers now? They were adding to the power of the Bishops. And the other man, harder, less moved, without a previous knowledge of the Bishop, leaned back against the fence, stolid at first. But as the prayer went on, he was moved by it. What force of the Holy Spirit swept over his dulled, brutal, coarsened life, nothing but the eternal records of the recording angel can ever disclose. But the same supernatural Presence that smote Paul on the road to Damascus, and poured through Henry Maxwells church the morning he asked disciples to follow in Jesus steps, and had again broken irresistibly over the Nazareth Avenue congregation, now manifested Himself in this foul corner of the mighty city and over the natures of these two sinful sunken men, apparently lost to all the pleadings of conscience and memory and God. The prayer seemed to red open the crust that for years had surrounded them and shut them off from divine communication. And they themselves were thoroughly startled by it. The Bishop ceased, and at first he himself did not realize what had happened. Neither did they. Burns still sat with his head bowed between his knees. The man leaning against the fence looked at the Bishop with a face in which new emotions of awe, repentance, astonishment and a broken gleam of joy struggled for expression. The Bishop rose. Come, my brothers. God is good. You shall stay at the Settlement tonight, and I will make good my promise as to the work. The two men followed him in silence. When they reached the Settlement it was after two oclock. He let them in and led them to a room. At the door he paused a moment. His tall, commanding figure stood in the doorway and his pale face was illuminated with the divine glory. God bless you, my brothers! he said, and leaving them his benediction he went away. Chapter Twenty-eight IT WAS the afternoon of that morning when Burns was installed in his new position as assistant janitor that he was cleaning off the front steps of the Settlement, when he paused a moment and stood up to look about him. The first thing he noticed was a beer sign just across the alley. He could almost touch it with his broom from where he stood. Over the street immediately opposite were two large saloons, and a little farther down were three more. Suddenly the door of the nearest saloon opened and a man came out. At the same time two more went in. A strong odor of beer floated up to Burns as he stood on the steps. He clutched his broom handle tightly and began to sweep again. He had one foot on the porch and another on the steps just below. He took another step down, still sweeping. The sweat stood on his forehead although the day was frosty and the air chill. The saloon door opened again and three or four men came out. A child went in with a pail, and came out a moment later with a quart of beer. The child went by on the sidewalk just below him, and the odor of the beer came up to him. He took another step down, still sweeping desperately. His fingers were purple as he clutched the handle of the broom. Then suddenly he pulled himself up one step and swept over the spot he had just cleaned. He then dragged himself by a tremendous effort back to the floor of the porch and went over into the corner of it farthest from the saloon and began to sweep there. O God! he cried, if the Bishop would only come back! The Bishop had gone out with Dr. Bruce somewhere, and there was no one about that he knew. He swept in the corner for two or three minutes. His face was drawn with the agony of his conflict. Gradually he edged out again towards the steps and began to go down them. He looked towards the sidewalk and saw that he had left one step unswept. The sight seemed to give him a reasonable excuse for going down there to finish his sweeping. He was on the sidewalk now, sweeping the last step, with his face towards the Settlement and his back turned partly on the saloon across the alley. He swept the step a dozen times. The sweat rolled over his face and dropped down at his feet. By degrees he felt that he was drawn over towards that end of the step nearest the saloon. He could smell the beer and rum now as the fumes rose around him. It was like the infernal sulphur of the lowest hell, and yet it dragged him as by a giants hand nearer its source. He was down in the middle of the sidewalk now, still sweeping. He cleared the space in front of the Settlement and even went out into the gutter and swept that. He took off his hat and rubbed his sleeve over his face. His lips were pallid and his teeth chattered. He trembled all over like a palsied man and staggered back and forth as if he was already drunk. His soul shook within him. He had crossed over the little piece of stone flagging that measured the width of the alley, and now he stood in front of the saloon, looking at the sign, and staring into the window at the pile of whiskey and beer bottles arranged in a great pyramid inside. He moistened his lips with his tongue and took a step forward, looking around him stealthily. The door suddenly opened again and someone came out. Again the hot, penetrating smell of liquor swept out into the cold air, and he took another step towards the saloon door which had shut behind the customer. As he laid his fingers on the door handle, a tall figure came around the corner. It was the Bishop. He seized Burns by the arm and dragged him back upon the sidewalk. The frenzied man, now mad for a drink, shrieked out a curse and struck at his friend savagely. It is doubtful if he really knew at first who was snatching him away from his ruin. The blow fell upon the Bishops face and cut a gash in his cheek. He never uttered a word. But over his face a look of majestic sorrow swept. He picked Burns up as if he had been a child and actually carried him up the steps and into the house. He put him down in the hall and then shut the door and put his back against it. Burns fell on his knees sobbing and praying. The Bishop stood there panting with his exertion, although Burns was a slightly-built man and had not been a great weight for a man of his strength to carry. He was moved with unspeakable pity. Pray, Burns--pray as you never prayed before! Nothing else will save you! O God! Pray with me. Save me! Oh, save me from my hell! cried Burns. And, the Bishop knelt by him in the hall and prayed as only he could pray. After that they rose and Burns went to his room. He came out of it that evening like a humble child. And the Bishop went his way older from that experience, bearing on his body the marks of the Lord Jesus. Truly he was learning something of what it means to walk in His steps. But the saloon! It stood there, and all the others lined the street like so many traps set for Burns. How long would the man be able to resist the smell of the damnable stuff? The Bishop went out on the porch. The air of the whole city seemed to be impregnated with the odor of beer. How long, O Lord, how long? he prayed. Dr. Bruce came out, and the two friends talked about Burns and his temptation. Did you ever make any inquiries about the ownership of this property adjoining us? the Bishop asked. No, I havent taken time for it. I will now if you think it would be worth while. But what can we do, Edward, against the saloon in this great city? It is as firmly established as the churches or politics. What power can ever remove it? God will do it in time, as He has removed slavery, was the grave reply. Meanwhile I think we have a right to know who controls this saloon so near the Settlement. Ill find out, said Dr. Bruce. Two days later he walked into the business office of one of the members of Nazareth Avenue Church and asked to see him a few moments. He was cordially received by his old parishioner, who welcomed him into his room and urged him to take all the time he wanted. I called to see you about that property next the Settlement where the Bishop and myself now are, you know. I am going to speak plainly, because life is too short and too serious for us both to have any foolish hesitation about this matter. Clayton, do you think it is right to rent that property for a saloon? Dr. Bruces question was as direct and uncompromising as he had meant it to be. The effect of it on his old parishioner was instantaneous. The hot blood mounted to the face of the man who sat there beneath a picture of business activity in a great city. Then he grew pale, dropped his head on his hands, and when he raised it again Dr. Bruce was amazed to see a tear roll over his face. Doctor, did you know that I took the pledge that morning with the others? Yes, I remember. But you never knew how I have been tormented over my failure to keep it in this instance. That saloon property has been the temptation of the devil to me. It is the best paying investment at present that I have. And yet it was only a minute before you came in here that I was in an agony of remorse to think how I was letting a little earthly gain tempt me into a denial of the very Christ I had promised to follow. I knew well enough that He would never rent property for such a purpose. There is no need, Dr. Bruce, for you to say a word more. Clayton held out his hand and Dr. Bruce grasped it and shook it hard. After a little he went away. But it was a long time afterwards that he learned all the truth about the struggle that Clayton had known. It was only a part of the history that belonged to Nazareth Avenue Church since that memorable morning when the Holy Spirit sanctioned the Christ-like pledge. Not even the Bishop and Dr. Bruce, moving as they now did in the very presence itself of divine impulses, knew yet that over the whole sinful city the Spirit was brooding with mighty eagerness, waiting for the disciples to arise to the call of sacrifice and suffering, touching hearts long dull and cold, making business men and money-makers uneasy in their absorption by the one great struggle for more wealth, and stirring through the church as never in all the citys history the church had been moved. The Bishop and Dr. Bruce had already seen some wonderful things in their brief life at the Settlement. They were to see far greater soon, more astonishing revelations of the divine power than they had supposed possible in this age of the world. Within a month the saloon next the Settlement was closed. The saloon-keepers lease had expired, and Clayton not only closed the property to the whiskey men, but offered the building to the Bishop and Dr. Bruce to use for the Settlement work, which had now grown so large that the building they had first rented was not sufficient for the different industries that were planned. One of the most important of these was the pure-food department suggested by Felicia. It was not a month after Clayton turned the saloon property over to the Settlement that Felicia found herself installed in the very room where souls had been lost, as head of the department not only of cooking but of a course of housekeeping for girls who wished to go out to service. She was now a resident of the Settlement, and found a home with Mrs. Bruce and the other young women from the city who were residents. Martha, the violinist, remained at the place where the Bishop had first discovered the two girls, and came over to the Settlement certain evenings to give lessons in music. Felicia, tell us your plan in full now, said the Bishop one evening when, in a rare interval of rest from the great pressure of work, he was with Dr. Bruce, and Felicia had come in from the other building. Well, I have long thought of the hired girl problem, said Felicia with an air of wisdom that made Mrs. Bruce smile as she looked at the enthusiastic, vital beauty of this young girl, transformed into a new creature by the promise she had made to live the Christ-like life. And I have reached certain conclusions in regard to it that you men are not yet able to fathom, but Mrs. Bruce will understand me. We acknowledge our infancy, Felicia. Go on, said the Bishop humbly. Then this is what I propose to do. The old saloon building is large enough to arrange into a suite of rooms that will represent an ordinary house. My plan is to have it so arranged, and then teach housekeeping and cooking to girls who will afterwards go out to service. The course will be six months long; in that time I will teach plain cooking, neatness, quickness, and a love of good work. Hold on, Felicia! the Bishop interrupted, this is not an age of miracles! Then we will make it one, replied Felicia. I know this seems like an impossibility, but I want to try it. I know a score of girls already who will take the course, and if we can once establish something like an esprit de corps among the girls themselves, I am sure it will be of great value to them. I know already that the pure food is working a revolution in many families. Felicia, if you can accomplish half what you propose it will bless this community, said Mrs. Bruce. I dont see how you can do it, but I say, God bless you, as you try. So say we all! cried Dr. Bruce and the Bishop, and Felicia plunged into the working out of her plan with the enthusiasm of her discipleship which every day grew more and more practical and serviceable. It must be said here that Felicias plan succeeded beyond all expectations. She developed wonderful powers of persuasion, and taught her girls with astonishing rapidity to do all sorts of housework. In time, the graduates of Felicias cooking school came to be prized by housekeepers all over the city. But that is anticipating our story. The history of the Settlement has never yet been written. When it is Felicias part will be found of very great importance. The depth of winter found Chicago presenting, as every great city of the world presents to the eyes of Christendom the marked contrast between riches and poverty, between culture, refinement, luxury, ease, and ignorance, depravity, destitution and the bitter struggle for bread. It was a hard winter but a gay winter. Never had there been such a succession of parties, receptions, balls, dinners, banquets, fetes, gayeties. Never had the opera and the theatre been so crowded with fashionable audiences. Never had there been such a lavish display of jewels and fine dresses and equipages. And on the other hand, never had the deep want and suffering been so cruel, so sharp, so murderous. Never had the winds blown so chilling over the lake and through the thin shells of tenements in the neighborhood of the Settlement. Never had the pressure for food and fuel and clothes been so urgently thrust up against the people of the city in their most importunate and ghastly form. Night after night the Bishop and Dr. Bruce with their helpers went out and helped save men and women and children from the torture of physical privation. Vast quantities of food and clothing and large sums of money were donated by the churches, the charitable societies, the civic authorities and the benevolent associations. But the personal touch of the Christian disciple was very hard to secure for personal work. Where was the discipleship that was obeying the Masters command to go itself to the suffering and give itself with its gift in order to make the gift of value in time to come? The Bishop found his heart sing within him as he faced this fact more than any other. Men would give money who would not think of giving themselves. And the money they gave did not represent any real sacrifice because they did not miss it. They gave what was the easiest to give, what hurt them the least. Where did the sacrifice come in? Was this following Jesus? Was this going with Him all the way? He had been to members of his own aristocratic, splendidly wealthy congregations, and was appalled to find how few men and women of that luxurious class in the churches would really suffer any genuine inconvenience for the sake of suffering humanity. Is charity the giving of worn-out garments? Is it a ten-dollar bill given to a paid visitor or secretary of some benevolent organization in the church? Shall the man never go and give his gift himself? Shall the woman never deny herself her reception or her party or her musicale, and go and actually touch, herself, the foul, sinful sore of diseased humanity as it festers in the great metropolis? Shall charity be conveniently and easily done through some organization? Is it possible to organize the affections so that love shall work disagreeable things by proxy? All this the Bishop asked as he plunged deeper into the sin and sorrow of that bitter winter. He was bearing his cross with joy. But he burned and fought within over the shifting of personal love by the many upon the hearts of the few. And still, silently, powerfully, resistlessly, the Holy Spirit was moving through the churches, even the aristocratic, wealthy, ease-loving members who shunned the terrors of the social problem as they would shun a contagious disease.
Posted on: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 14:08:16 +0000
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