The Witness Part 20

said Mother Marshall, looking up suddenly over the top of the _Sunday school Times_.

"I'll bring them down the first thing in the morning!" said Father, with his finger on a promise in the Psalms. Then there was silence for some time.

Mother Marshall's eyes suddenly lighted on an article headed, "My Cla.s.s of Boys."

"Seth!" she said, with a beautiful light in her eyes. "You don't suppose maybe she'd be willing to take Stephen's cla.s.s of boys in Sunday-school when she gets better? I can't bear to see them begin to stay away, and Deacon Grigsby admits he don't know how to manage them."

"Why, sure!" said Father, tenderly. "She'll take it, I've no doubt.

She's that kind, I should think. And if she isn't now, Mother, she will be after she's been with you awhile!"

"Oh, now, Father!" said Mother, turning pink with pleasure. "Come, let's go up and see how the room looks at sunset!"

So arm in arm they climbed the front stairs and stood looking about on the glorified rosy background with its wilderness of cherry bloom about the frieze. Such a transformation of the dingy old room in such a little time! Arm in arm they went over to the window-seat and sat leaning stiffly against the two pink silk cushions, and looking out across the rosy sunset snow in the orchard, thinking wistfully of the boy that used to come whistling up that way and would never come to them so again.

Then, just as Father drew a sigh, and a tear crept out on Mother's cheek (the side next the window), a long-hoped-for, unaccustomed sound burst out below-stairs! The telephone was ringing! It was Sunday evening at sunset, and the telephone was ringing!

Wildly they both sprang to their feet and clutched each other for a moment.

"I'll go, Mother," said Father, in an agitated voice. "You just sit right here and rest till I get back!"

"No! I'll go, too!" declared Mother, trotting after. "You might miss something and we ought to write it down!"

In breathless silence they listened for the magic words, Mother leaning close to catch them and trying to scratch them down on a corner of the telephone book with the stump of a pencil she kept for writing recipes:

"Your wonderful invitation accepted with deep grat.i.tude!"

"What's that, Father? Make him say it over again!" cried Mother, scribbling away. "'Your wonderful invitation--(Oh, she liked it, then!) accepted'--She's coming, Father!"

"Will start as soon as possible!"

("Then she's really coming!")

"Probably Wednesday night."

("Then I'll have time to get some pink velvet and make a cushion for the little rocker. They do have pink velvet, I'm sure!")

"Will write."

("Then we'll really know what she's like if she writes!")

Mother Marshall's happy thoughts were in a tumult, but she had her head about her yet.

"Now, make him say it all over from the beginning again, Father, and see if we've got it right. You speak the words out as he says 'em, and I'll watch the writing."

And so at last the message was verified and the receiver hung up. They read the message over together, and they looked at each another with glad eyes.

"Now let us pray, Rachel!" said Father, with solemn, shaken voice of joy. And the two lonely old people knelt down by the little table on which stood the telephone and gave thanks to G.o.d for the child He was about to send to their empty home.

"Now," said Father Marshall, when they had risen, "I guess we better get a bite to eat. Seems like a long time since dinner. Any of that cold chicken left, Mother? And a few doughnuts and milk? And say, Mother, we better get the ch.o.r.es done up and get to bed early. I don't think you slept much last night, and we've got to get up early. There's a whole lot to do before she comes. We need to chirk up the rest of the house a bit. Somehow we've let things get down since Stephen went away."

Said Mother, as she landed the platter of cold chicken on the table, "How soon do you s'pose she'll write? I'm just aching to get that letter!"

CHAPTER XX

Gila had counted on an easy victory that evening. She had furnished for the occasion her keenest wit, her sweetest laughter, her finest derision, her most sparkling sarcasm; and as she and her escort joined the motley throng who were patiently making their way into the packed doorway she whetted them forth eagerly.

Even while they took their turn among the crowd she began to make keen little remarks about the company they were keeping, drawing her velvet robes away from contact with the throng.

Courtland, standing head and shoulders above her, his fine profile outlined against the brightness of the lighted doorway, was looking about with keen interest on the faces of the people, and wondering why they had come. Were they in search of the Presence? Had they, too, felt it there within those dingy walls? He glanced down at Gila with a hope that she, too, might see and understand to-night. What friends they might be--how they might talk these things over together--if only Gila would understand!

He wished she had had better sense than to array herself in such startling garments. He could see the curious glances turned her way; glances that showed she was misunderstood. He did not like it, and he reached down a protecting hand and took her arm, speaking to her gravely, just to show the bold fellows behind her that she was under capable escort. He did not hear her keen sallies at the expense of their fellow-worshipers. He was annoyed and trying by his serious mien to shelter her.

The singing was already going on as they entered. Just plain old gospel songs, sung just as badly, though with even more fervor, than in the morning. Courtland accepted the tattered hymn-book and put Gila into the seat the shabby usher indicated. He was wholly in the spirit of the gathering, and anxious only to feel the spell once more that had been about him in the morning. But Gila was so amused with her surroundings that she could scarcely pay attention to where she was to sit, and almost tripped over the end of the pew. She openly stared and laughed at the people around her, as though that was what Courtland had brought her there for, and kept nudging him and calling his attention to some grotesque figure.

Courtland was singing, joining his fine tenor in with the curious a.s.sembly and enjoying it. Gila recalled him each time from a realm of the spirit, and he would earnestly give attention to what she said, bending his ear to listen, then look seriously at the person indicated, try to appreciate her amus.e.m.e.nt with a nod and absent smile, and go on singing again! He was so absorbed in the gathering that her talk scarcely penetrated to his real soul.

If he had been trying to baffle Gila he could have used no more effective method, for the point of her jokes seemed blunted. She turned her eyes at last to her escort and began to study him, astonishment and chagrin in her countenance. Gradually both gave way to a kind of admiration and curiosity. One could not look at Courtland and not admire. The fine strength in his handsome young face and figure were always noticeable among a company anywhere, and here among these foreigners and wayfarers it was especially so. She was conscious of a thrill of pleasure in his presence that was new to her. Usually her att.i.tude was to make others thrill at her presence! No man before had caught her fancy and held it like this rare one. What secret lay behind that grave strength of his that made him successfully resist those arts of hers that had readily lured other victims?

She watched him while he bowed his head in prayer, and noted how his rich, close-cut hair waved and crept about his temples; noted the curve of his chin and the curl of his lashes on his cheek. More and more she coveted him. And she must set herself to find and break this other power that had him in its clutches. She perfectly recognized the fact that it was entirely possible that she would not care for him after the other power was broken, and that she might have to toss him aside after he was fully hers. But what of that? Had she not so tossed many a hapless soul that had come like a moth to singe his wings in her candle-flame, then laughed at him gaily as he lay writhing in his pain; and tossed after him, torn and trampled, his own ideals of womanhood, too; so that all other women might henceforth be blighted in his eyes. Ah! What of that, so that unquenchable flame in her soul, that restlessly pursued and conquered and cast aside, might be satisfied? Was that not what women were made for, to conquer men and toss them away? If they did not would not men conquer them and toss them away? She was but fulfilling her womanhood as she had been taught to look upon it.

But there was something puzzling about Courtland that interested her deeply. She was not sure but it was half his charm. He really seemed to _want_ to be good, to _desire_ to resist evil. Most of the other men she knew had been all too ready to fall as lightly with as little earnestness as she into whatever doubtful paths her dainty feet had chanced to lead. Many of them would have led further than she would go, for she had her own limitations and conventions, strange as it may seem.

So Gila sat and meditated, with a strange, sweet thrill in the thought of a new experience; for, young as she was, she had found the pleasures of her existence pall upon her many times.

Suddenly her ear was caught by the sermon. The ugly little man in the pulpit, with the strange eyes that seemed to look through you, was telling a story of a garden, with One calling, and a pair of naked souls guilty and in fear before Him. It was as though she had been one of them! What right had he to flaunt such truths before a congregation?

She was not familiar enough with Bible truths to know where he got the story. It did not seem a story. It was just her Eden where she walked and ate what fruit she might desire every day without a thought of any command that might have been issued. She recognized no commands. What right had G.o.d to command her? The serpent had whispered early to her, "Thou shalt not surely die." Her only question was ever whether the fruit was pleasant to the eyes and a tree to be desired to make one wise. Till now there had been no Lord G.o.d walking in her garden in the cool of the day. Only her mother, and she was easy to evade. She had never been really afraid, nor felt her little soul naked till now, with the ugly little man's bright brown eyes upon her, and his words shivering through her like winds about the unprotected. Hideous things she had forgotten flung into view and challenged her; and somewhere in the room there seemed to be One who dared to call her to account. She looked fiercely back to the speaker, her delicate brows drawn darkly, her great blue-black eyes fierce in their intensity, her whole face and att.i.tude a challenge to the sermon. Courtland, absorbed as he was in what the speaker had to say, thrilling with the message that came to his soul welcomely, became aware of the tense little figure by his side, and, looking down, was pleased that she had forgotten her nonsense and was listening, and somehow missed the defiance in her att.i.tude.

Gila did not smile when service was over. She went out haughtily, impatiently, looking about on the throng contemptuously. When Courtland asked her if she would like to stop a minute and meet the preacher she threw up her chin with a toss and a "No, indeed!" that left no doubt for lingering.

Out in the street, away from the crowd somewhat, she suddenly stopped and stamped her little foot: "I think that man is perfectly _disgusting_!" she cried. "He ought to be _arrested_! I don't know why such a man is allowed at large!"

She was fairly panting in her anger. It was as if he had put her to shame before an a.s.sembly.

Courtland turned wonderingly toward her.

"He is outrageous!" she went on. "He has no _right_! I _hate_ him!"

Courtland watched her in amazement. "You can't mean the minister!"

"Minister! He's no minister!" declared Gila. "He's a fanatic! One of the worst kind. He's a fake! He's uncanny! The idea of daring to talk about G.o.d that way as if He was always around every where! I think it's _awful_! I should think he'd have everybody in hysterics!"

Gila's voice sounded as if she were almost there herself. She flung along by his side with a vindictive little click of her high-heeled boots and a prance of her whole elaborate little person that showed she was fairly bristling with wrath.

But Courtland's voice was sad with disappointment. "Then you didn't feel it, after all! I was hoping you did."