Hanover; Or The Persecution of the Lowly Part 10

ther balance of ma days at ease, but had ter sell ma house an' git out."

"You say you are a carpenter--house builder?" "Yes, sir." "You mean to say that you took contracts, planned and built houses?" "Oh, yes,"

replied the colored man. "I never saw a colored architect. Say, George!"

to a man who had just entered, "here's a colored architect and house-builder from the South." "Architect and builder?" queried the other, drawing nigh. "Well, Mr.--what is your name?" "William--William Sikes." "Mr. Sikes, are you looking for work at your trade in the North?

The Trades Union and so forth make it pretty hard for a colored man to get in here; and then you can't work, you are lame." "I am a little lame," replied Bill, looking down at his palsied arm. "I had a paralytic stroke some time er go. I am goin' in for treatment, an' if I git well, I won't ask Trade Union an' labor unions no boot. Where there's er will there's er way." "But I am afraid you will never recover sufficient strength to work again at your trade, my man," answered Mr. Lewis, tenderly; "but you can try." "Good day," said Bill, rising to go. "Good day," said Mr. Lewis.

But Mrs. Sikes, still vigorous and strong, found in New York abundant opportunities for women to be useful. There was day's work, general house work, chamber work and cooking situations to be had without very much effort on the part of the seeker. Mrs. Sikes, whose work had chiefly been dressmaking and plain sewing, found the new field of labor quite irksome. The money realized from the sale of her property she must not let dwindle away too swiftly; her husband was helpless, and she must work, and the children must work. She found the North a place where a day's work meant a day's work in full; there was no let up; the pound of flesh was exacted. So she often tugged home to her apartments very tired and discouraged.

They had been in New York quite a year, and Mrs. Sikes had quite gotten used to Northern ways (everything seeming easier accomplished), when one evening at the dinner table she noticed that her husband watched her more than usual. "What's the matter, William?" she asked, tenderly. "I'm awful discouraged," he said. "I--I don't get any better, an' hate ter see you an' children strugglin' so hard an' I can't help." "Now, don't worry about that, William; it will do no good." "I was thinkin'," he went on, "that we might try it again in Wil--" "Now, don't mention Wilmington to me again, William!" broke in Mrs Sikes, sharply. "If you wish to go back to that h.e.l.l, I'll put you on the train and you can go; but I, never! Life is not so easy here, but I can walk the streets as a lady, and my children are free to play and romp without fear of being killed for accidentally or purposely treading upon the toe of a white child. I have been free too long to endure slavery for one moment.

Wilmington is not what it used to be, and I fear it never will be. I have just received a letter from Mrs. Cole saying that the situation has not changed. On Castle street about a month ago a black child's body was found full of bruises. It is supposed he was killed by white boys in sport. A young man was called to his door a few nights ago and shot down because he had driven his horse over a gentleman's (?) dog. She says to appeal to the law is useless. She says further that the poor whites are preparing for another raid. Now, I would rather live here free in poverty than to live there a slave in comfort. The children are all away, the property is sold, and there is nothing to be gained by going."

Bill said no more to his wife upon the subject; he knew her too well to misunderstand her words.

Molly's Final Step.

It was Sunday evening in New York. Bethel Church was crowded to the doors. The sermon had been concluded, and the choir and congregation had solemnly chanted the Lord's Prayer. "As I looked over this audience to-night," said Dr. Henderson, descending from the pulpit, "I think of the words of the blessed Saviour, 'The fields are white and ready to harvest,' so I'm going to open the doors of the church. Who here is ready to make a start for heaven to-night? Come, sinner! G.o.d's not calling the righteous, but you. There is a prodigal child here to-night who has wandered from home. Come home; there is bread and to spare, and a warm welcome there. Here comes one, thank G.o.d!" A young man went forward and took the minister's hand, followed by two others. "Who else will come? There is some one that is almost persuaded. Remember that to be almost persuaded is to be lost. Come, sinner.

"'Will you scorn the message Sent in mercy from above?

Every sentence, oh how tender!

Every line is full of love.'

"Listen to it: 'Every line is full of love.' G.o.d requires no preparation; come just as you are. Just surrender yourself, yourself to--" "I surrender, Lord." This exclamation startled the audience, and all eyes were turned upon a tall and stately woman, who suddenly arose in the centre of the church and started forward. This was Molly Pierrepont, making the final step. "Poor Magdalene," she whispered as she took Dr. Henderson's hand. "But G.o.d is gracious, my child," returned the minister.

A month went by. It was Sunday evening, and again Bethel was filled to overflowing; but, large as that audience was, a serene stillness prevailed, for out from the choir loft a rich soprano voice, pathetic and appealing in its tone, fell serenely upon listening ears.

"Just as I am thou wilt receive, Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve; Because thy promise I believe Oh Lamb of G.o.d, I come.

"Just as I am, thy love unknown, Hath broken every barrier down, Now to be Thine, yea Thine alone, Oh Lamb of G.o.d, I come."

Molly has done her part n.o.bly and well, so I close the story with Molly.