The Forerunner Part 62

The house opened in September, full of eager girls with large appet.i.tes long unsatisfied. The place was new-smelling, fresh-painted, beautifully clean. The furnishing was cheap, but fresh, tasteful, with minor conveniences dear to the hearts of women.

The smallest rooms were larger than hall bedrooms, the big ones were shared by friends. Martha and her mother had a chamber with two beds and s.p.a.ce to spare!

The dining-room was very large, and at night the tables were turned into "settles" by the wall and the girls could dance to the sound of a hired pianola. So could the "mealers," when invited; and there was soon a waiting list of both s.e.xes.

"I guess I can make a livin'," said Mrs. Joyce, "allowin' for bad years."

"I don't understand how you feed us so well--for so little," said Miss Podder, who was one of the boarders.

"'Sh!" said Mrs. Joyce, privately. "Your breakfast don't really cost more'n ten cents--nor your dinner fifteen--not the way I order! Things taste good 'cause they're _cooked_ good--that's all!"

"And you have no troubles with your help?"

"'Sh!" said Mrs. Joyce again, more privately. "I work 'em hard--and pay 'em a bonus--a dollar a week extra, as long as they give satisfaction.

It reduces my profits some--but it's worth it!"

"It's worth it to us, I'm sure!" said Miss Podder.

Mrs. MacAvelly called one evening in the first week, with warm interest and approval. The tired girls were sitting about in comfortable rockers and lounges, under comfortable lights, reading and sewing. The untired ones were dancing in the dining-room, to the industrious pianola, or having games of cards in the parlor.

"Do you think it'll be a success?" she asked her friend.

"It _is_ a success!" Miss Podder triumphantly replied. "I'm immensely proud of it!"

"I should think you would be," aid Mrs. MacAvelly.

The doorbell rang sharply.

Mrs. Joyce was hopping through the hall at the moment, and promptly opened it.

"Does Miss Martha Joyce board here?" inquired a gentleman.

"She does."

"I should like to see her," said he, handing in his card.

Mrs. Joyce read the card and looked at the man, her face setting in hard lines. She had heard that name before.

"Miss Joyce is engaged," she replied curtly, still holding the door.

He could see past her into the bright, pleasant rooms. He heard the music below, the swing of dancing feet, Martha's gay laugh from the parlor.

The little lady on crutches blocked his path.

"Are you the housekeeper of this place?" he asked sharply.

"I'm more'n that!" she answered. "I'm Martha's mother."

Mr. Ba.s.set concluded he would not wait.

FOR FEAR

For fear of prowling beasts at night They blocked the cave; Women and children hid from sight, Men scarce more brave.

For fear of warrior's sword and spear They barred the gate; Women and children lived in fear, Men lived in hate.

For fear of criminals to-day We lock the door; Women and children still to stay Hid evermore.

Come out! You need no longer hide!

What fear ye now?

No wolf nor lion waits outside-- Only a cow.

Come out! The world approaches peace, War nears its end; No warrior watches your release-- Only a friend.

Come out! The night of crime his fled-- Day is begun; Here is no criminal to dread-- Only your son!

The world, half yours, demands your care, Waken, and come!

Make it a woman's world, safe, fair, Garden and home!

NURSERY-MINDEDNESS

Where do we get our first training in the field of common behavior, our earliest and strongest impressions of ethics?

In the nursery, in the early environment of the little child, in the daily influences that affect the opening mind; or, to put it in a phrase hallowed by poetic imagery, "at our mother's knee." We are accustomed to think highly of these early influences. Almost any man will say that his mother taught him what was right--it was his own evil nature that drove him wrong. So believing, we perpetuate these influences unchanged from age to age, and it is small wonder we think human nature to be inherently perverse if it continues to show such poor results from such good education.

Suppose for a moment we take down one more old idol, and look into his record, examining the environment of the little child as dispa.s.sionately as we would examine the environment of a college student.

The child is born into an atmosphere of personality, which is essential, and reared continuously in that atmosphere, which is not so essential.

Owing to these early impressions; so deep and ineffaceable, he grows to look at human life with a huge "I," and an almost as large "My Family,"

in his immediate foreground; so out of drawing as to throw the whole world into false perspective, seen as a generality, dim, confused and distant.

In this atmosphere of unbroken personality, he repeats continually the mistakes of the early savage, the animistic tendency we should as a race have long since outgrown. The family with the male head was the great hotbed of early religions.

In this primitive group, unchecked by any higher authority of king or governor, arose ancestor-worship--that unnatural religion which erases the laws of life and bids the chicken feed the hen--or rather the rooster. No matriarchal cult would have made that mistake. The patriarch owned his women, owned his children, owned all the property; he gave and took away at his pleasure. Therefore, looming vast in unchecked pride, he erected sacrificial religions all his own, demanding sons to perform sacred rites in his honor; and grew so inflated with superiority that he thanked his patriarchal G.o.d and Father every day that he was not born a woman.

This Personality has cast its shadow across heaven. It has deified its own traits and worships them. Through blind and selfish eyes it has mis-seen and misrepresented G.o.d, and forced dark dogmas on its children, age after age. Each child of us, though really born to the broad light of a democratic age, is reared in the patriarchate. Each child of us sees the father, dispenser of benefits, arbiter and ruler of the family; and, so reared, each child of us repeats from generation to generation the mistakes of personality.

The basic law of the patriarchal system was obedience, and is yet. The child's first ethical lesson is in the verb "to obey." Not with any convincing instance of right or wrong, though life bristles with them, but as the duty of submission. He is not taught to observe, to relate, to make his inference, to act, and to note results. He is taught that his one duty is not to think, observe, or experiment, but to do what he is told.

This is a convenient habit for those in authority; but not conducive to any true development of the ethical sense. We are turned out into a world of cause and effect, with no knowledge, no experience, no guide whatever, but the painfully acquired habit of doing what some one else tells us. We are not taught to study right and wrong conduct, to understand it, to see the wisdom of the one and the folly of the other.

The child's first notion of "being good" is either sheer inaction or prompt submission. What we call "a good baby" is one who does absolutely nothing. Here we have an explanation of the amazing inertia of people in general; of the smug immobility of those shining lights "the best people." We all have been taught--rigorously taught in our infancy--that to "keep quiet" was a virtue; and we keep quiet through life. This is one clear instance of our nursery-mindedness.