An Unwilling Guest (14 page)

She hurried down, declining her mother's offer of some tea, saying she must be there early to find someone to play and arrange about the hymns.

"Perhaps Miss Rutherford would go if you asked her," suggested Mrs. Grey.

There it was again! Mother and conscience! Allison turned with an impatient frown.

"O mother! She would not go, and I could not lead, if she did. I really must hurry. Good-b
ye. Are you coming to church to
night? There goes the first bell," and Allison
was off down the front path be
fore her mother could say more.

It was perhaps five minutes after this that Mrs. Grey heard her guest's door open and the soft swish of descending skirts. The sounds halted several times, and at last Miss Rutherford peeped cautiously into the room, dressed to go out

"Is she really gone?" she asked merrily, coming in and sitting down to button her dainty gloves.

"Who? Allison? Did you intend going with her? Why, that is too
bad-
" began Mrs. Grey, with a troubled expression.

"Oh, no, indeed, I was not going with her. I have been avoiding her all the afternoon lest she should ask me. You see I'm in league with that absurd boy of hers, and we were going to give her a little surprise. He and I are goin
g to play for her to
night, and she doesn't know it yet. It is all right for me to do it, is it not, Mrs. Grey? I never did such a thing before in my life, but he said he would go to church and play as she had asked him if I would go with him and play the
accompani
ments. It's really very funny, and I don't know how I came to say 'yes,' but I did. And then I thought it would be rather interesting to surprise her. There he comes now. Is it surely all right for me to go? Is it very public? Will many be there?"

"It is all right, dear, and I am very glad you are trying to help that boy too. Allison will be so glad. She has put a good deal of work and prayer on him."

Mrs. Grey put out her hand with that inviting motion she had and Evelyn before she realized what she was going to do stooped gracefully and kissed her hostess on the forehead. Then she went to the door to meet her young escort, who was resplendent in a new necktie and well plastered hair.

But Evelyn, as she walked beside him in the twilight, was marveling why she had given that kiss. Whence had come that impulse? Were there depths in her nature which she knew not of, which had never been sounded as yet? And what was i
t that was stirring her so unex
pectedly among these strange people?

They walked demurely into the chapel, those two who had planned the surprise. The room was fast filling up but no one had come yet who could play. Allison sat doubtfully regarding the piano stool at her left, and wondering if she must take up her cross and play too, as well as lead. There were none of her boys there. Bert must have been joking when he told Miss Rutherford he was coming. She had hoped one or two others would come, but she had not seen them hovering around the gate .when she came in, as they would have been sure to, she thought, if they were coming. Her heart felt heavy and discouraged. She did not raise her eyes to see w
ho was coming down the aisle to
ward the front seats; she was intent on finding a hymn that she could play for an opening without giving much thought to her music. She wanted to be able to think what to do next. It was very embarrassing to have to play and lead
at the same time. If only some
one would come! She bent her head over her Bible in a little desperate prayer that Mamie Atkins or someone who could play just a little even would be sent quickly. Then she raised her eyes to behold suddenly before her, sitting as composedly as if they were accustomed to that seat on every Sabbath evening, Miss Rutherford and Bert
J
udkins
! And Miss Ruth
erford was taking off her gloves! Could it be possible? And the young lady was smiling, a really merry smile. Was this the Miss Rutherford who could be so cold and haughty?

Suddenly Allison's cheek grew crimson. She remembered her goa
d
ing conscience and her undone duty, the invitation
ungiven
, and the intention ungracious. And here ha
d been help and a degree of sym
pathy, and God had been trying to
show it to her through her con
science, and she would not hear nor answer the call to duty. She looked at Bert, saw his expression of sheepish delight in pleasing her, flashed him a happy smile of thanks
and then another at Miss Ruther
ford. Allison was one who forgave royally when she saw she ought to do so. She came at once to the young woman's side:

"How good of you to come," she said in a low tone. "And I never even asked you if you would like to. Will y
ou forgive me?" Then to Bert: "O
Bert, I am so glad!" and the boy looked down at his violin and felt fully repaid in his heart for all the embarrassment among his kind that this had occasioned, and resolved to do it again if it made her as glad as that.

The
evening was to Evelyn a remarkable experience. In the first place had come her surprise at Allison's "Will you forgive me?" When had any one ever asked her forgivenes
s before? She could see that Al
lison was really in earnest, and about so trivial a thing too, as a neglect to invite her to go to church. It gave her a little inkling of the place that meeting held in Allison's heart. It
also showed her that Allison re
garded her for some reason as outside the sacred, privileged circle who might enter here.

She and Bert did their part well. The piano and violin together sounded a grand keynote for the
singing, and the many fresh, un
trained voices took up the music and sang with a will. At first Evelyn felt almost inclined to stop playing a
nd turn around to watch and lis
ten. It seemed her playing was not needed. The music swept on in high, sweet melody, even though the voices were some of them harsh and most of them more or less crude.
There was in the singing a qual
ity of true praise that rose above all little discords as if the sound of angel voices mingled in the air above
their heads. Evelyn almost fan
cied there was a wonderful hidden inst
rument above somewhere like an
E
olian
harp, and in spite of herself raised her head to look when the song was over. She had never played for a large company to sing before and was astonished at the result. And how suddenly they hushed as they took their seats again. Allison was standing by the little table up in front talking, with her head bowed. Why, she was praying! Actually, a girl—a woman—praying before others! Evelyn felt the blood tingle in her own veins at the very idea. How dreadful it must be to do that! How could she? But her voice was sweet and clear: "Father
in heaven, forgive us for our mistakes and our foolish willfulness, and undo any harm we may have done, and help us to show others that we love thee."

There it was again—that same loyalty to the One, Christ Jesus. The brother had talked that way too. She began to perceive the possibility of the wideness and the sweetness of such a tie.

Of the reading, songs, and prayers which followed, and the part taken actively and eagerly by many of the young people, Evelyn had very indistinct ideas afterward. It was a series of surprises. It was as new to her, nay, more novel, than to the wide-awake, interested boy by her side. He had been there before, though five years ago. He knew well who took part
.
To Evelyn it was like being set down in another world.

She and Bert
Judkins
played, when Allison gave them a sign, and though they had not
practiced
together, the result was very sweet
.
Evelyn entered into the music; especially did she do so when, at the close of a series of exceedingly brief prayers, Allison motioned to them to play "Just as I am, without one plea." They had known she would call for it soon and were seated, ready. Very softly the unexpected strains floated out, like far-away, heavenly music. Allison rejoiced in her heart that Evelyn knew when to play softly, and had in some way succeeded in toning down Bert and his violin, which loved to soar loudly. Perhaps Bert too, was softened by the hour and the spirit of the meeting. The tender music filled the room and every head remained bowed. Just where the last note lingered tremblingly, Allison's sweet voice, tremulous with suppressed feeling, took the key and started them softly singing:

Just as I am,
thy
love unknown,

Hath broken every barrier down;

Now to be
thine
, yea,
thine
alone,

O Lamb of God, I come!

Evelyn was not familiar with the words of this hymn; it was not an old household, church-time, childhood memory. More quickly to her lips would rise the phrases of the latest opera. But she had
practiced
this tune over and over, for the melody had caught her as being very
tender, and though she had not realized it, the words had been before her and fixed thems
elves in her mind. Now, as she li
stened to them, voiced in what seemed a sweet and earnest prayer, she realized that the words had become her own property. '
Thy
love unknown,
thy
love unknown," kept going over in her mind during the remainder of the evening. Yes, that was the love Doctor Grey had told her about. She began to feel that there was an unrecognized relation between herself and Christ. Would that love unknown some day break down every barrier and bring her to him? It was the first time the possibility of such a happening really had come to her and it startled her. She tried to put it aside to study this curious gat
hering, but it would keep recur
ring to her from time to time.

When the meeting was out and Allison stood a moment talkin
g to the pastor, who had come in
toward the close, Evelyn turned to Bert: "Now, I want you to stay to church,"
she told him with an air of com
mand which evidently pleased that young gentleman. He smiled a knowing smile and twinkled his eyes in a mischievous way.

"All right. I'm in
fer
the whole business," he remarked jauntily. "Got the rest of the gang outside waiting
fer
me to come
fer
'
em
. I made '
em
all come and we're
goin
' to occupy a front seat. Guess she'll get enough of us
fer
once," and he looked toward his teacher with that mingling of reverence and impudence which can only be possible on the face of a boy of that age and class.

Sure enough! The opening hymn was just being read when
in
filed twelve boys led by Bert
Judkins
, who had disencumbered himself of his violin. Down the long side aisle they came,
embarrassed and grin
ning and almost falling over one another's feet in the long transit, but into a side seat near the front they all finally got themselves noisily seated, drawing the attention of many an astonished pillar of the church.

Allison had quickly bowed her head when she first saw them, and when a moment later she raised it, there were tears
in her eyes, min
gled with the pleasure in her face she could not conceal. They each in turn stole furtive glances back to th
eir teacher and received her an
swering welcome smile and thereafter sat like twelve statues, listening
respectfully, save during the singing, in which they joined with fervor.

Evelyn looked and wondered and pondered. What did it all mean, this new world into which she had come? It was not without interest to her. She felt that she had some part in it. She even caught the spirit and exulted the least little bit when all those boys came in. Anyway, it was less dull than any church service she had ever attended before. One service a day was as much as she ever forced herself to attend, and even that was often merely a Sabbath evening "sacred" concert.

Later that evening Allison stole timidly to Miss Rutherford's door and knocked. Evelyn, in pretty negligee of soft pink cashmere, opened the door and invited her in with a look of surprise.

Allison's golden-hued hair was all down about her shoulders in a shining wealth of waves, and Evelyn sat watching the delicate face in its lovely setting that looked like the halo of some saint.

"I couldn't sleep," said Allison, "till I had come and told you how wicked I have been. I did not want to invite you to go to the meeting with me lest you would laugh at me. And now you have been so good as to come without asking and influenced my boys, at least one of them, to come, and I want to thank you."

"You absurd child," said Evelyn, laughing; "you needn't trouble your conscience about that. It was quite a lark. I was richly repaid when I saw your face as those great hulking boys stumbled into church. No
w go to bed and don't worry any
more."

"But there is something else," said Allison hesitating and twisting a long lock of bright hair around her finger. "I want to ask you if you are a Christian?" The ready crimson mantled her face as she said it, but she looked bravely up at Evelyn. That young lady laughed.

"No," she answered
gayly
; "I'm a heathen. Bert and I are about alike. You'll have to think of some
way to get hold of me." Then an
other swift impulse seized her for which she could not account and she stooped and kissed the pure white forehead and said in a voice of smothered feeling: "You are a dear little girl, and I wish I were half as good as you, Allison."

Her duty done, the worn-out little Christian slipped back to her bed, marveling much at this strange girl who had so many different sides to
her nature. And she had called her "Allison" with something tender in the accent and had said she wished she were good. There must be more in
her after all than one would think.
Perhaps there were in most peo
ple. There were her rough, uncouth boys. It was easy for her to see the good hid beneath their unpolished exterior; but when it came to a girl of the world like Miss Rutherford, Allison had felt there was little good there to look for. She had been mistaken surely. She was wrong. Her brother was right, as he always used to be when they were children and any question came up for discussion. H
e always took the mild, charita
ble side and his sister the impulsive, prejudiced, critical. Well, at least she had done her duty at last. The other girl had admitted that she was not a Christian, and now it became her duty to pray for her; yes, and to work for her too, if there was any way in which she could work. Why was it that it was not so easy to try to influence her as it was that class of boys? She must examine into this. Of course it was God's work just as much. And it was apparent from what Miss Rutherford—could she ever call her Evelyn?—had said that
she had been wrong too, in sup
posing she had no influence with her.

She fell asleep at last, weary with turning the problem over in her mind. Tomorrow she would try to do better.

"To
morro
w,'
whispereth
weakness, and to
morrow
findeth
him the weaker. Tomorrow,'
promiset
h
conscience; and behold, no to
day for a fulfillment."

Allison found those lines not long after and remembered and searched out some others she had known a long time and printed them together on a card which she placed on her wall for her reminder in the duties that should come to her in future:

To-morrow, oh 'twill never be

If we should live a thousand years!

Our time is all to-day, to-day,

The same, though changed; and while it flies,

With still small voice the moments say,

"To-day, to-day, be wise, be wise."

The morning dawned bright and clear, and the early mail brought a letter for Evelyn. She took it up to her r
oom to read. It bore a Philadel
phia postmark, and was written in a cramped hand, as if the writer were in an uncomfortable position. It read as follows:

DEAR SISTER: Your letter with its plaint
has just reached me. I had for
gotten the outlandish name of the place where Aunt Joan resides or I would have sent for you a week ago. I am in a worse fix than you even. In short, I'm laid up in a dismal hotel room with a broken leg. I slipped on a miserable little piece of orange peel and fell down three small stone steps right here in the hotel. I never knew before that legs broke so easily, and I didn't believe them when they told me it
was broken, except for the abom
inable pain that made me faint dead away several times. If I had had my sense about me I would have been sent straight to the hospital, but they had me up in my room and the bones set before I knew what I was about, and here I am with a
man to look after me. I have sent for John, but I am not sure I can reach him, as he went off to some back country place to visit his mother. If you have a mind to come on and stay here at the
hotel
I'll do my level best at chaperoning you as well as I can from my bed. It would be a relief at least to me to see a familiar face once a day. I have not sent a word to any of our acquaintances here, for the simple reason that I feel too simple at my accident to have them know about it. If I had been thrown from a horse or hurt in rescuing a young lady from a burning building there would be a halo of glory about me, and I could afford to hold soirees for my friends and be admired and pitied; but a man who can't stand up on a level landing and avoid a single squar
e inch of orange peel is too in
significant even for pity.

Of course, if your quarantine is raised and you have found someone to
flirt with and don't want to come, do as you please. But I thought this
might be a little better than smallpox. I shall doubtless get on my feet
some
day if I live long enough, or don't get desperate and shoot myself. In
the meantime this is the best I can do for you, and I guess daddy will excuse you for coming to nurse your broken-up brother. If he doesn't, I'll
shoulder all blame.
             
Yours dismally,
        
DICK.