IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL BY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON AUTHOR OF 'JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE;" "THE STORY OF THE RESURREC- TION;" "Bio BROTHER;" "THE LITTLE COLONEL." CINCINNATI: CURTS & JENNINGS NEW YORK: EATON & MAINS 1896 COPYRIGHT BY CURTS & JENNINGS, 1896. TO THE EFWORTH LEAGUE. What Paul was to the Gentiles, may you, the Young Apostle of our Church, become to the Jews. Surely, not as the priest or the Levite have you so long passed them by u on the other side." Haply, being a messenger on the King's business, which requires haste, you have never noticed their need. But the world sees, and, re-reading an old parable, cries out: ""Who is thy neighbor ? Is it not even Israel also, in thy midst ?" 2229442 fcnowest tbou wbat argument life to tbB neighbor's creeo bas lent. EMERSON. 4 CONTENTS. PAGE. CHAPTER I. THE RABBI'S PROTEGE, 7 CHAPTER II. ON TO CHATTANOOGA, 23 CHAPTER III. THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON "LOOKOUT," 43 CHAPTER IV. AN EPWORTH JEW, 65 CHAPTER V. "TRUST," 86 CHAPTER VI. Two TURNINGS IN BETHANY'S LANE 105 CHAPTER VII. JUDGE HAUut of the depot. "Any one would know this is a Methodist crowd," said Mrs. Marion laughingly, as a dozen happy young voices began to sing an old revival hymn, and it was caught up all over the car. "That reminds me," said her husband, reach- ing into his coat pocket, "I have something here that will prevent any mistake if doubt should arise." He drew out a little box of ribbon badges and a paper of pins. "Here," he said, "put one ON TO CHATTANOOGA. 27 on, Ray; we must all show our colors this week. You, too, Bethany." "O no, Cousin Frank," she protested. "I am not a member of the League." ''That makes no difference," he answered, in his hearty, persistent way. "You ought to be one, and you will be by the time you get back from this conference." ''But, Cousin Frank, I never wore a badge in my life," she insisted. "I have always had the greatest antipathy to such things. It makes one so conspicuous to be branded in that way." He held out the little white ribbon, threaded with scarlet, and bearing the imprint of the Mal- tese cross. The light, jesting tone was gone. He was so deeply in earnest that it made her feel uncomfortable. "Do you know what the colors mean, Beth- any?" Then he paused reverently. "The purity and the blood! Surely, you can not refuse to wear those." He laid the little badge in her lap, and passed down the aisle, distributing the others right and left. She looked at it in silence a moment, and then pinned it on the lapel of her traveling coat. 28 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "Cousin Ray, did*you ever know another such persistent man?" she asked. "How is it that he can always make people go in exactly the opposite way from the one they had in- tended? When he first planned for me to come on this excursion, I thought it was the most preposterous idea I ever heard of. But he put aside every objection, and overruled every ar- gument I could make. I did not want to come at all, but he planned his campaign like a gen- eral, and I had to surrender." "Tell me how he managed," said Mrs. Marion. "You know I did not get home from Chicago until yesterday morning, and I have been too busy getting ready to come on this excursion to ask him anything." "When he had urged all the reasons he could think of for my going, but without suc- cess, he attacked me in my only vulnerable spot, little Jack. The child has considered Cousin Frank's word law and gospel ever since he joined the Junior League. So, when he was told that my health would be benefited by the trip, and it would arouse me from the despondent, low- Spirited state I had fallen into, he gave me no rest until I promised to go. Jack showed gen- ON TO CHATTANOOGA. 29 eralship, too. He waited until the night of his birthday. I had promised him a little party, but he was so much worse that day, it had to be postponed. I was so sorry for him that I could have promised him almost anything. The little rascal knew it, too. While I was helping him undress, he put his arms around my neck, and began to beg me to go. He told me that he had been praying that I might change my mind. Ever since he has been in the League he has seemed to get so much comfort out of the belief that his prayers are always answered that I could n't bear to shake his faith. So I promised him." "The dear little John Wesley," said Mrs. Marion; "you ought to give him the full benefit of his name, Bethany." "Mamma did intend to, but papa said it was as much too big for him as the huge old- fashioned silver watch that Grandfather Brad- ford left him. He suggested that both be laid away until he grew up to fit them." "Who is taking care of him in your ab- sence?" was the next question. "O, he and Cousin Frank arranged that, too. They sent for his old nurse. She came last 30 IN LEAGUE WITH night with her little nine-year-old grandson. Just Jack's age, you see; so he will have some- body to make the time pass very quickly." Mrs. Marion stopped her with an exclama- tion of surprise. "Well, I wish you 'd look at Frank! What will he do next? He is actually pinning an Epworth League badge on that young Jew!" Bethany turned her head a little to look. "What a fine face he has!" she remarked. "It is almost handsome. He must feel very much out of place among such an aggressive set of Christians. I wonder what he thinks of all these songs?" Mr. Marion came back smiling. As super- intendent of both Sunday-school and Junior League, he had won the love of every one con- nected with them. His passage through the ca.', as he distributed the badges, was attended by many laughing 'remarks and warm hand- clasps. There was a happy twinkle in his eyes when he stopped beside his wife's seat. She smiled up at him as he towered above her, and motioned him to take the seat in front of them. "I 'm not going to stay," he said. "I want ON TO CHATTANOOGA. 31 to bring a young man up here, and introduce him to you. He 's having a pretty lonesome time, I 'm afraid." "It must be that Jew," remarked Mrs. Marion. "I know every one else on the car. I do n't see that we are called on to entertain him, Frank. He came with us, simply to take advantage of the excursion rates. I should think he would prefer to be let alone. He must have thought it presumptuous in you to pin that badge on him. What did he say when you did it?" Mr. Marion bent down to make himself heard above the noise of the train. "I showed him our motto, 'Look up, lift up,' and told him if there was any people in the world who ought to be able to wear such a motto worthily, it was the nation whose Moses had climbed Sinai, and whose tables of stone lifted up the highest standard of morality known to the race of Adam." Mrs. Marion laughed. "You would make a fine politician," she exclaimed. "You always know just the right chord to touch." "Cousin Frank," asked Bethany, "how does it happen you have taken such an intense in- terest in him?" 32 IN L,EAGUE WITH ISRAEL. He dropped into the seat lacing theirs, and leaned forward. "Well, to begin with, he 's a tine fellow. I have had several talks with him, and have been wonderfully impressed with his high ideals and views of life. But I am free to confess, had I met him ten years ago, I could not have seen any good traits in him at all. I was blinded by a prejudice that I am unable to account for. It must have been hereditary, for it has existed since my earliest recollection, and entirely without reason, as far as I can see. I some- how felt that I was justified in hating the Jews. I had unconsciously acquired the opinion that they were wholly devoid of the finer sensibilities, that they were gross in their manner of living, and petty and mean in business transactions. I took Fagin and Shylock as fair specimens of the whole race. It was, really, a most un- accountable hatred I had for them. My teeth would actually clinch if I had to sit next to one on a street-car. You may think it strange, but I was not alone in the feeling. I know it to be a fact that there are hundreds and hundreds of Church members to-day that have the same inexplicable antipathy." ON TO CHATTANOOGA. 33 Bethany looked up quickly. u My father's reading and training," she said, "has caused me to have a great admiration and respect for Jews in the abstract. I mean such as the Old Testament heroes and the Mac- cabees of a later date. But in the concrete, I must say I like to have as little intercourse with them as possible. And as to modern Israelites, all I know of them personally is the almost cringing obsequiousness of a few wealthy mer- chants with whom 1 have dealt, and the dirty swarm of repulsive creatures that infest the tenement districts. We used to take a short cut through those streets sometimes in driving to the market. Ugh! It was dreadful!" She gave a little shiver of repugnance at the recol- lection. "Yes, I know," he answered. "I had that same feeling the greater part of my life. But ten years ago I spent a summer at Chautauqua, studying the four Gospels. It opened my eyes, Bethany. I got a clearer view of the Christ than I ever had before. I saw how I had been misrepresenting him to the world. The incon- sistencies of my life seemed like the lanterns the pirates used to hang on the dangerous cliffs 3 S4 IN t,EAGim WITH ISRAEL. along the coast, that vessels might be wrecked by their misleading light. Do you suppose a Jew could have accepted such a Christ as I rep- resented then? No wonder they fail to recog- nize their Messiah in the distorted image that is reflected in the lives of his followers." "But they rejected Christ himself when he was among them," ventured Bethany. "Yes," answered Mr. Marion, "it was like the old story of the man with a muck rake. Do you remember that picture that was shown to Christian at the interpreter's house in 'Pilgrim's Progress?' As a nation, Israel had stooped so much to the gathering of dry traditions, had bent so long over the minute letter of the law, that it could not straighten itself to take the crown held out to it. It could not even lift its eyes to discern that- there was a crown just over its head." "It always made me think of the blind Samson," said Mrs. Marion. "In trying to over- throw something it could not see, spiritually I mean, it pulled down the pillars of prophecy on its own head." Mr. Marion turned to Bethany again. "Yes, Israel, as a nation, rejected Christ; ON TO CHATTANOOGA. 35 but who was it that wrote those wonderful chronicles of the Nazarene? Who was it that went out ablaze with the power of Pentecost to spread the deathless story of the resurrection? Who were the apostles that founded our Church ? To whom do we owe our knowledge of God and our hope of redemption, if not to the Jews? A\ r e forget, sometimes, that the Savior himself belonged to that race we so reproach." He was talking so earnestly, he had for- gotten his surroundings, until a light touch on his shoulder interrupted him. "What 's the occasion of all this eloquence, Brother Marion?" asked the minister's genial voice. He turned quickly to smile into the frank, smooth-shaven face bending over him. "Come, sit down, Dr. Bascom. We 're dis- cussing my young friend back there, David Herschel. Have you met him?" "Yes, I was talking with him a little while ago," answered the minister. "He seems very reserved. Queer, what an intangible barrier seems to arise when we talk to one of that race. I just came in to tell you that Cragmore is in the next car. He got on at the last station." 36 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "What, George Cragmore!" exclaimed Mr. Marion, rising quickly. "I have n't seen him for two years. 1 '11 bring him in here, Kay, after awhile." "That 's the last we '11 see of him till lunch- time," said Mrs. Marion, as the door banged behind the two men. "Frank will never think of us again when he gets to spinning yarns with Mr. Cragmore. I want you to meet him, Bethany. He is one of the most original men I ever heard talk. He 's a young minister from the 'auld sod.' They called him the 'wild Irishman ' when he first came over, he was so fiery and impetuous. There is enough of the brogue left yet in his speech to spice everything he says. He and Frank are a great deal alike in some things. They are both tall and light-haired. They both have a deep vein of humor and an inordinate love of joking. They are both so terribly in earnest with their Christianity that everybody around them feels the force of it; and when they once settle on a point, they are so tenacious nothing can move them. I often tell Frank he is worse than a snapping-turtle. Tradition says they do let go when it thunders, but noth- ON TO CHATTANOOGA. 37 ing will make him let go when his mind is once clinched." There was a stop of twenty minutes at noon. At the sound of a noisy gong in front of the station restaurant, Mr. Clarion came in with his friend. Capacious lunch-baskets were opened out on every side, with the generous abundance of an old-time camp-meeting. "Where is Herschel?" inquired Mr. Marion. "I intended to ask him to lunch with us." "I saw him going into the restaurant," re- plied his wife. "You must have a talk with him this after- noon, George," said Mr. Marion. "I 've been all up and down this train trying to get people to be neighborly. I believe Dr. Bascom is the only one who has spoken to him. They were all having such a good time when I interrupted them, or they did n't know what to say to a Jew, and a dozen different excuses." "O, Frank, do n't get started on that sub- ject again!" exclaimed Mrs. Marion. "Take a sandwich, and forget about it." Bethany Hallam laughed more than once during the merry luncheon that followed. She could not remember that she had laughed be- 38 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. fore since her father's death. The young Irish- man's ready wit, his droll stories, and odd ex- pressions were irresistible. He seemed a mag- net, too, drawing constantly from Frank Mari- on's inexhaustible supply of fun. "You have seen only one side of him," re- marked Mrs. Marion, when her husband had taken him away to introduce David. "While he was very entertaining, I think he has shown us one of the least attractive phases of his character." David had felt very much out of place all morning. It was one thing to travel among ordinary Gentiles, as he had always done, and another to be surrounded by those who were con- stantly bubbling over with religious enthusiasm. He did not object to sitting beside a hot-water tank, he said to himself, but he did object to its boiling over on him. His neighbors would have been very much surprised could they have known he was study- ing them with keen insight, and finding much to criticise. Even some of their songs were ob- jectionable to him, their catchy refrains remind- ing him of some he had heard at colored min- strel shows. ON TO CHATTANOOGA. 39 With such an exalted idea of worship as the old rabbi had inculcated in him, it did not seem fitting to approach Deity in song unless through such sonorous utterances as the psalms. Some of these little tinkling, catch-penny tunes seemed profanation. He ventured to say as much to George Crag- more. He had very unexpectedly found a con- genial friend in the young minister. It was not often he met a man so keenly alert to nature, so versed in his favorite literature, or of his same sensitive temperament. He felt himself opening his inner doors as he did to no one else but the rabbi. A drizzling rain was falling when they be- gan to wind in and out among the mountains of Tennessee, and for miles in their journey a rain- bow confronted them at every turn in the road. It crowned every hilltop ahead of them. It reached its shining ladder of light into every valley. It seemed such a prophecy of what awaited them on the mountain beyond, that some one began to sing, "Standing on the Promises." As the full glory of the rainbow flashed on Cragmore's sight, he stopped abruptly in the middle of a sentence. The expression of his face 40 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL,. seemed to transfigure it. When he turned to David, there were tears in his eyes. "O, the covenants of the Old Testament!" he said, in a low tone, that thrilled David with its intensity of feeling. "The Bethels! The Mizpahs! The Ebenezers! See, it is like a pillar of fire leading us to a veritable land of promise." Then, with his hand resting on David's knee, he began to talk of the promises of the Bible, till David exclaimed, impulsively: "You make me forget that you are a Christian. You enter into Israel's past even more fully than many of her own sons." Cragmore thrust out his hand, in his quick, nervous way, with an impetuous gesture. "Why, man!" he cried, relapsing uncon- sciously into the broad brogue of his childhood, "we hold sacred with you the heritage of your past. We look up with you to the same God, the Father; we confess a common faith till we stand at the foot of the cross. There is no great barrier between us only a step one step farther for you to take, and we stand side by side!" He laid his hand on David's, and looked into ON TO CHATTANOOGA. 41 his eyes with an expression of tender pleading as he added: "O, my friend, if you could only see my Savior as he has revealed himself to me! I pray you may! I^do pray you may !" It was the first time in David's life any one had ever said such a thing to him. He sat back in his corner of the seat, at loss for an answer. It put an end to their conversation for a while. Cragmore felt that his sympathy had carried him to the point of giving offense. He was relieved when Dr. Bascom beckoned him to share his seat. After a while, as the train sped on into the darkness, the passengers subsided in to sleepy indifference. It seemed hours afterward when Mr. Marion clapped him on the shoulder, say- ing briskly, "Wake up, old fellow, we are get- ting into Chattanooga." "Let us go in with banners flying," said Dr. Bascom. "I understand that every car-full that has come in, from Maine to Mexico, has corne singing." The lights of the city, twinkling through the car-windows, aroused the sleepy passengers with a sense of pleasant anticipations, and when 42 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. they steamed slowly into the crowded depot, it was as "pilgrims singing in the night." In the general confusion of the arrival, Mr. Marion lost sight of David. "It's too bad!" he exclaimed, in a disap- pointed tone. "I intended to ask him to drive to Missionary Ridge with us to-morrow, and I wanted to introduce him to you, Bethany." "I 'in very glad you did n't have the oppor- tunity, Cousin Frank," she said, as she followed him through the depot gates. "He may be very agreeable, and all that, but he 's a Jew, and I do n't care to make his acquaintance." The handle of the umbrella she was carry- ing came in collision with some one behind her. "I beg your pardon," she said, turning in her gracious, high-bred way. The gentleman raised his hat. It was David Herschel. A stylish-looking little school- girl was clinging to his arm, and a gray-bearded man, whom she recognized as Major Herrick, was walking just behind him. They had come down from the mountain to meet him, and take him to Lookout Inn. As their eyes met, Beth- any was positive that he had overheard her re- mark. CHAPTER III. THE SUNRISE "SERVICE ON "LOOKOUT." ) Y some misunderstanding, Bethany and her cousins had been assigned to different homes. "It is too late to make any change to-night," said Mrs. Marion, as they left her. "We are only one block further up on this same street. "We will try to make some ar- rangement to-morrow to have you with us." Bethany followed her hostess into the wide reception-hall. One of the most elegant homes of the South had opened its hospitable doors to receive them. Ten delegates had preceded her, all as tired and travel-stained as herself. During the introductions, Bethany mentally classified them as the most uninteresting lot of people she had seen in a long time. "I believe you are the odd one of this party, Miss Hallam," said the hostess, glancing over the assignment cards she held; "so I shall have to ask you to take a very small room. It is 43 44 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. one improvised for the occasion; but you will probably be more comfortable here alone than in a larger rbom with several others." It had never occurred to Bethany that she might have been asked to share an apartment with some stranger, and she hastened to assure her hostess of her appreciation of the little room, which, though very small indeed com- pared with the great dimensions of the others, was quite comfortable and attractive. "I have always been accustomed to being by myself," she said, "and it makes no difference at all if it is so far away from the other sleep- ing-rooms. I am not at all timid." Yet, when she had wearily locked her door, she realized that she had never been so entirely alone before in all her life. Home seemed so very far away. Her surroundings were so strange. Her extreme weariness intensified her morbid feeling of loneliness. She remembered such a sensation coming to her one night in mid-ocean, but she had tapped on her state-room wall, and her father had come to her imme- diately. Now she might call a weary lifetime. No earthly voice could ever reach him. With a throbbing ache in her throat, and THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON LOOKOUT. 45 hot tears springing to her eyes, she opened her valise and took out a little photograph case of Russia leather. Four pictured faces looked out at her. She was kneeling before them, with her arms resting on the low dressing-table. As she gazed at them intently, a tear splashed down on her black dress. "O, it isn't right! It isn't right," she sobbed, passionately, "for God to take every- thing! It would have been so easy for him to let me keep them. How could he be so cruel? How could he take away all that made my life worth living, and then let little Jack suffer so?" She laid her head on her arms in a paroxysm of sobbing. Presently she looked up again at her mother's picture. It was a beautiful face, very like her own. It brought back all her happy childhood, that seemed almost glorified now by the remembered halo of its devoted mother-love. The years had softened that grief, but it all came back to-night with its old-time bitter- ness. The next face was little Jack's a sturdy, wide-awake boy, with mischievous dimples and laughing eyes. But the recollection of all he 46 IN LEAGUE; WITH ISRAEL. had suffered since his accident, made her feel that she had lost him also, in a way. The physician had assured her that he would be the same vigorous, romping child again; but she found that hard to believe when she thought of his present helpless condition. She pressed the next picture to her lips with trembling fingers, and then looked lov- ingly into the eyes that seemed to answer her gaze with one of steadfast, manly devotion. "O, it isn't right! It isn't right!" she sobbed again. How it all came back to her the happy June-time of her engagement! the summer days when she dreamed of him, the summer twilights when he came. Every detail was burned into her aching memory, from the first bunch of violets he brought her, to the judge's tender smile when she spread out all her bridal array for him to see. Such shim- mering lengths of the white, trailing satin; such filmy clouds of the soft, white veil, destined never to touch her fair hair! For there was the telegram, and afterward the darkened room, and the darker hour, when she groped her way to a motionless form, and knelt beside it alone. O, how she had clung to the cold hands, and THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON LOOKOUT. 47 kissed the unresponsive lips, and turned away in an agony of despair! But as she turned, her father's strong arms were folded about her, and his broken voice whispered comfort. The dear father! It had been doubly deso- late since he had gone, too. Kneeling there, with her head bowed on her arms, she seemed to face a future that was ut- terly hopeless. Except that Jack needed her, she felt that there was absolutely no reason why she should go on living. The ticking of her watch reminded her that it was nearly midnight. In a mechanical way, she got up and began to arrange her hair for the night. After she had extinguished the light, she pulled aside the curtain, and looked out on the unfamiliar streets. The moon had come up. In the dim light the crest of old Lookout towered grimly above the horizon. A verse of one of the Psalms passed through her mind: "I will lift up mine eyesuntothehills,fromwhence cometh my help " "No," she whispered, bitterly, "there is no help. God does n't care. He is too far away." As she went back to the bed, the words of 48 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. the novice in Muloch's ''Benedetta Minelli" came to her: "O weary world, O heavy life, farewell! Like a tired child that creeps into the dark To sob itself asleep where none will mark, So creep I to my silent convent cell." <4 I wish I could do that," she thought; "lock myself away with my memories, and not be obliged to keep up this empty pretense of living, just as if nothing were changed. It might not be so hard. How I dread to-morrow, with its crowds of strange faces! O, why did I ever come?" Next morning, the guests gathered out on the vine-covered piazza to discuss their plans for the day. There were two theological students from Boston, a young doctor from Texas, and the son of a wealthy Louisiana planter. A Kansas farmer's wife and her sister, a bright little schoolteacher from an Iowa village, and three pretty Georgia girls, completed the party. Bethany sat a little apart from them, won- dering how they could be so greatly interested in such thiners as the most direct car-line to THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON I^OOKOUT. 49 Missionary Ridge, or the time it would take to "do" the old battle-grounds. The youngest Georgia girl was about her own age. She had made several attempts to include Bethany in the conversation, but mis- taking her reserve and indifference for haughti- ness, turned to the Louisiana boy with a remark about unsociable Northerners. Their frequent laughter reached Bethany, and she wondered, in a dull way, how anybody could be light-hearted enough even to smile in such a world full of heart-aches. Then she re- membered that she had laughed herself, the day before, when Mr. Cragmore was with them. It rather puzzled her now to know how she could have done so. Her wakeful night had left her unusually depressed. An open, two-seated carriage stopped at the gate. Mrs. Marion and George Cragmore were on the back seat. Mr. Marion and Dr. Bascom sat with the driver. Bethany had been waiting for them some time with her hat on, so she went quickly out to meet them. Mr. Cragmore leaped over the wheel to open the gate, and assist her to a seat between himself and Mrs. Marion. 4 50 IN L,EAGUE WITH ISRAEL. They drove rapidly out towards Missionary Ridge. To Bethany's great relief, neither of her companions seemed in a talkative mood. Mr. Marion, who was an ardent Southener, had been deep in a political discussion with Dr. Bas- com. As they stopped on the winding road, half way up the ridge, to look down into the beautiful valley below, and across to the purple summit of Lookout, Mr. Marion drew a long breath. Then he took off his hat, saying, rev- erently, "The work of His fingers! What is man, that Thou art mindful of him?" Then, after a long silence: "How insignificant our little differences seem, Bascom, in the sight of these everlasting hills! Let's change the sub- ject." Mrs. Marion, absorbed in the beauty on every side, did not notice Bethany's continued silence or Cragmore's spasmodic remarks. The fresh air and brisk motion had somewhat aroused Bethany from her apathy. First, she began to be interested in the constantly-chang- ing view, and then she noticed its effect on the erratic man beside her. From the time they commenced to ascend the ridge he had not spoken to any one directly. THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON LOOKOUT. 51 but everything he saw seemed to suggest a quo- tation. He repeated them unconsciously, as if he were all alone; some -of them dreamily, some of them with startling force, and all with the slight brogue he spoke so musically. "Every common bush afire with God," he murmured in an undertone, looking at a dusty wayside weed, with his soul in his eyes. Bethany thought to herself, afterwards, that if any other man of her acquaintance had kept up such a steady string of disjointed quotations, it would have been ridiculous. She never heard him do it again after that day. It seemed as if the old battle-fields suggested thoughts that could find no adequate expression save in words that immortal pens had made deathless. The warm odor of ripe peaches floated out to them from grassy orchards, where the trees were bent over with their wealth of velvety, sun- reddened fruit. Seemingly, Cragmore had taken no notice of Bethany's depression when she joined them, or of the soothing effect na- ture was having on her sore heart. But she knew that he had seen it, when he turned to her abruptly with a quotation that fitted her as well as his first one had the wayside weed. He 52 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. half sang it, with a tender, wistful smile, as he watched her face. " the green things growing, the green things grow- ing The faint, sweet smell of the green things growing! I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing, For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, With the soft, mute comfort of green things growing." Bethany wondered if her cousin Frank had told him of all she had suffered, or if he had guessed it intuitively. Somehow she felt that he had not been told, but that he had divined it. Yet when they stopped on the Chickamauga battle-field, and she saw him go leaping across the rough fields like an overgrown boy, she thought of her cousin Ray's remark, "They used to call him the wild Irishman," and wondered at the contradictory phases his character pre- sented. She saw him pause and lay his hand reverently on the largest cannon, and then come running back across the furrows with long, awk- ward jumps. "What on earth did you do that for, Crag- THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON LOOKOUT. 53 more?" asked Mr. Marion, in his teasing way. "The idea of keeping us waiting while you were racing across a ten-acre lot to pat an old gun." "Old gun, is it?" was the laughing answer, yet there was a .flash in his eyes that belied the laugh. "Odds, man! it is one of the greatest orators that ever roused a continent. I just wanted to lay my hands on its dumb lips." He waved his arm with an exulting gesture. "Aye, but they spoke in thunder-tones once, the day they spoke freedom to a race." He did not take his seat in the carriage for a while, but followed at a little distance, rang- ing the woods on both sides; sometimes plung- ing into a leafy hollow to examine the bark of an old tree where the shells had plowed deep scars; sometimes dropping on his knees to brush away the leaves from a tiny wild-flower, that any one but a true woodsman would have passed with unseeing eyes. Once he brought a rare specimen up to the carriage to ask its name. He had never seen one like it before. That was the only one he gathered. "It 's a pity to tear them up, when they would wither in just a few hours," he said; "the solitary places are so glad for them." 54 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "He 's a queer combination," said Dr. Bas- com, as he watched him break a little sprig of cedar from the stump of a battle-broken tree to put in his card-case. "Sometimes he is the veriest clown; at others, a child could not be more artless; and I have seen him a few times when he seemed to be aroused into a spiritual giant. He fairly touched the stars." Bethany was so tired by the morning's drive that she did not go to the opening services in the big tent that afternoon. "Well, you missed it!" said Mr. Marion, when he came in after supper, "and so did David Herschel." "Missed what?" inquired Bethany. "The mayor's address of welcome, this after- noon. You know he is a Jew. Such a broad, fraternal speech must have been a revelation to a great many of his audience. I tell you, it was fine! You 're going to-night, are n't you, Bethany?" "]STo," she answered, "I want to save myself for the sunrise prayer-meeting on the mountain to-morrow. I saw the sun come up over the Tfigi once. It is a sight worth staying up all night to see." THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON LOOKOUT. 55 It was about two o'clock in the morning when they started up the mountain by rail. The cars were crowded. People hung on the straps, swaying back and forth in the aisles, as the train lurched around sudden curves. Nothwith- standing the early hour, and the discomfort of their position, they sang all the way up the mountain. "Cousin Ray," said Bethany, "do tell me how these people can sing so constantly. The last thing I heard last night before I went to sleep was the electric street-car going past the house, with a regular hallelujah chorus on board. Do you suppose they really feel all they sing? How can they keep worked up to such a pitch all the time?" "You should have been at the tent last night, dear," answered Mrs. Marion. "Then you would have gotten into the secret of it. There is an inspiration in great numbers. The audi- ences we are having there are said to be the greatest ever gathered south of the Ohio. Our League at home has been doing very faithful work, but I could n't help wishing last night that every member could have been present. To see ten thousand faces lit up with the same 56 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. interest and the same hope, to hear the battle- cry, 'All for Christ,' and the Amen that rolled out in response like a volley of ten thousand musketry, would have made them feel like a little, straggling company of soldiers suddenly awakened to the fact that they were not fight- ing single-handed, but that all that great army were re-enforcing them. More than that, these were only the advance-guard, for over a million young people are enlisted in the same cause. Think of that, Bethany a million leagued to- gether just in Methodism! Then, when "you count with them all the Christian Endeavor forces, and the Baptist Unions, and the King's Daughters and Sons, and the Young Men's Chris- tian Associations, and the Brotherhood of St. Andrew, it looks like the combined power ought to revolutionize the universe in the next decade." "Then you think it is an inspiration of the crowds that makes them sing all the time," said Bethany. "By no means!" answered Mrs. Marion. "To be sure, it has something to do with it; but to most of this vast number of young people, their religion is not a sentiment to be fanned into spasmodic flame by some excitement. It THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON LOOKOUT. 57 is a vital force, that underlies every thought and every act. They will sing at home over their work, and all by themselves, just as heartily as they do here. I remember seeing in Westminster Abbey, one time, the profiles of J ohn and Charles Wesley put side by side on the same medallion. I have thought, since then, it is only a half- hearted sort of Methodism that does not put the spirit of both brothers into its daily life that does not wing its sermons with its songs." Hundreds of people had already gathered on the brow of the mountain, waiting the ap- pointed hour. Mr. Marion led the way to a place where nature had formed a great amphi- theater of the rocks. They seated themselves on a long, narrow ledge, overlooking the valley. They were above the clouds. Such billows of mist rolled up and hid the sleeping earth below that they seemed to be looking out on a bound- less ocean. The world and its petty turmoils were blotted out. There was only this one gray peak raising its solitary head in infinite space. It was still and solemn in the early light. They spoke together almost in whispers. "I can not believe that any man ever went up into a mountain to pray without feeling him- 58 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. self drawn to a higher spiritual altitude," said Dr. Bascom. Frank Marion looked around on the assem- bled crowds, and then said slowly: "Once a little Land of five hundred met the risen Lord on a mountain-side in Galilee, and were sent away with the promise, 'Lo, I am with you alway!' Think what they accomplished, and then think of the thousands here this morn- ing that may go back to the work of the valley with the same. promise and the same power! There ought to be a wonderful work accom- plished for the Master this year." Cragmore, who had walked away a little distance from the rest, and was watching the eastern sky, turned to them with his face alight. "See!" he cried, with the eagerness of a child, and yet with the appreciation of a poet shining in his eyes; "the wings of the morn- ing rising out of the uttermost parts of the sea." He pointed to the long bars of light spread- ing like great naming pinions above the horizon. The dawn had come, bringing a new heaven and a new earth. In the solemn hush of the sunrise, a voice began to sing, "Nearer, my God, to thee." THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON LOOKOUT. 59 It was as in the days of the old temple. They had left the outer courts and passed up into an inner sanctuary, where a rolling cur- tain of cloud seemed to shut them in, till in that high Holy of Holies they stood face to face with the Shekinah of God's presence. Bethany caught her breath. There had been times before this when, carried along by the im- petuous eloquence of some sermon or prayer, every fiber of her being seemed to thrill in re- sponse. In her childlike reaching out towards spiritual things, she had had wonderful glimpses of the Fatherhood of God. She had gone to him with every experience of her young life, just as naturally and freely as she had to her earthly father. But when beside the judge's death-bed she pleaded for his life to be spared to her a little longer, and her frenzied appeals met no response, she turned away in rebellious silence. She would pray no more to a dumb heaven," she said bitterly. Her hope had been vain. Now, as she listened to songs and prayers and testimony, she began to feel the power that emanated from them, the power of the Spirit, showing her the Father as she had never known 60 IN LEAGUE; WITH ISRAEL. him before: the Father revealed through the Son. Below, the mists began to roll away until the hidden valley was revealed in all its morn- ing loveliness. But how small it looked from such a height! Moccasin Bend was only a sil- ver thread. The outlying forests dwindled to thickets. Bethany looked up. The mists began to roll away from her spiritual vision, and she saw her life in relation to the eternities. Self dwindled out of sight. There was no bitterness now, no childish questioning of Divine purposes. The blind Bartimeus by the wayside, hearing the cry, "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by," and, grop- ing his way towards "the Light of the world," was no surer of his dawning vision than Beth- any, as she joined silently in the prayer of con- secration. She saw not only the glory of the June sunrise; for her the "Sun of righteous- ness had arisen, with healing in his wings." People seemed loath to go when the serv- ices were over. They gathered in little groups on the mountain-side, or walked leisurely from one point of view to another, drinking in the rare beauty of the morning. THE; SUNRISE; SERVICE; ON L,OOKOUT. 61 Bethany walked on without speaking. She was a little in advance of the others, and did not notice when the rest of her party were stopped by some acquaintances. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she turned aside at Prospect Point, and walked out to 'the edge. As she looked down over the railing, the refrain of one of the songs that had been sung so constantly during the last few days, unconsciously rose to her lips. She hummed it softly to herself, over and over, "O, there 's sunshine in my soul to-day." So oblivious was she of all surroundings that she did not hear Frank Marion's quick step behind her. He had come to tell her they were going down the mountain by the incline. "O, there's sunshine, blessed sunshine!" The words came softly, almost under her breath ; but he heard them, and felt with a quick heart- throb that some thing unusual must have oc- curred to bring any song to her lips. "O Bethany!" he exclaimed, "do you mean it, child? Has the light come?" The face that she turned towards him was radiant. She could find no words wherewith to tell him her great happiness, but she laid her 62 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. hands in his, and the tears sprang to her eyes. "Thank God! Thank God!" he exclaimed, Avith a tremor in his strong voice. "It is what I have been praying for. Now you see why I urged you to come. I knew what a mountain- top of transfiguration this would be." Standing on the outskirts of the crowd, David Herschel had looked around with great curiosity on the gathering thousands. It was only a little distance from the inn, and he had come down hoping to discover the real motive that had brought these people together from such vast distances. He wondered what power their creed contained that could draw them to this meeting at such an early hour. He had felt as keenly as Cragmore the sub- limity of the sunrise. He felt, too, the uplift- ing power of the old hymn, that song drawn from the experience of Jacob at Bethel, that seemed to lift every heart nearer to the Eternal. He was deeply stirred as the leader began to speak of the mountain scenes of the Bible, of Abraham's struggles at Moriah, of Horeb's burning bush, of Sinai and ^ebo, of Mount Zion with its thousand hallowed memories. So THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON LOOKOUT. 63 far the young Jew could follow him, but not to the greater heights of the Mountain of Beati- tudes, of Calvary, or of Olivet. He had never heard such prayers as the ones that followed. Although there can be found no sublimer utterances of worship, no humbler confessions of penitence or more lofty concep- tions of Jehovah, than are bound in the rituals of Judaism, these simple outpourings of the heart were a revelation to him. There came again the fulfillment of the deathless words, "And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me!" O, how the lowly Nazarene was lifted up that morning in that great gathering of his people! How his name was exalted! All up and down old Lookout Mountain, and even across the wide valley of the Tennessee, it was echoed in every song and prayer. When the testimony service began, David turned from one speaker to another. What had they come so far to tell? From every State in the Union, from Canada, and from foreign shores, they brought only one story "Behold the Lamb of God!" In spite of him- self, the young Jew's heart was strangely drawn 64 IN L,EAGUE WITH ISRAEL. to this uplifted Christ. Suddenly he was startled by a ringing voice that cried: "I am a converted Jew. 1 was brought to Christ by a little girl a member of the Junior League. I have given up wife, mother, father, sisters, brothers, and fortune, but I have gained so much that I can say from the depths of my soul, 'Take all the world, but give me Jesus.' I have con- secrated my life to his service." David changed his position in order to get a better view of the speaker. He scrutinized him closely. He studied his face, his dress, even his attitude, to determine, if possible, the character of this new witness. He saw a man of medium height, broad forehead, arid firm mouth ovci- which drooped a heavy, dark mus- tache. There was nothing fanatical in the calm face or dignified bearing. His eyes, which were large, dark, and magnetic, met David's with a steady gaze, and seemed to hold them for a moment. With a lawyer-like instinct, David longed to probe this man with questions. As he went back to the inn, he resolved to hunt up his his- tory, and find what had induced him to turn away from the faith. CHAPTER IV. AN EPWORTH JEW. i EARLY every northern-bound mail- train, since Bethany's arrival in Chat- tanooga, had carried something home to Jack a paper, a postal, souve- nirs from the battle-fields, or views of the moun- tain. Knowing how eagerly he watched for the postman's visits, she never let a day pass with- out a letter. Saturday morning she even missed part of the services at the tent in order to write to him. " I have just come back from Grant Uni- versity," she wrote. "Cousin Frank was so in- terested in the Jew who spoke at the sunrise meeting yesterday, because he said a little Jun- ior League girl had been the means of his conversion, that he arranged for an interview with him. His name is Lessing. Cousin Frank asked me to go with him to take the conver- sation do\vn in shorthand for the League. I 5 65 66 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL,. have n't time now to give all the details, but will tell them to you when I come home." Bethany had been intensely interested in the man's story. They sat out on one of the great porches of the university, with the moun- tains in sight. They had drawn their chairs aside to a cool, shady corner, where they would not be interrupted by the stream of people con- stantly passing in and out. "It is for the children you want my story," he said; "so they must know of my childhood. It was passed in Baltimore. My father was the strictest of orthodox Jews, and I was very faith- fully trained in the observances of the law. He taught me Hebrew, and required a rigid ad- herence to all the customs of the synagogue." Bethany rapidly transcribed his words, as he told many interesting incidents of his early home life. He had come to Chattanooga for business reasons, married, and opened a store in St. Elmo, at the foot of Mount Lookout. He was very fond of children, and made friends with all who came into the store. There was one little girl, a fair, curly-haired child, who used to come oftener than the others. She grew to love him dearly, and, in her baby fashion, AN EPWORTH JEW. 67 often talked to him of the Junior League, in which she was deeply interested. Her distress when she discovered that he did not love Christ was pitiful. She insisted so on his going to _Church, that one morning he finally consented, just to please her. The ser- mon worried him all day. It had been an- nounced that the evening service would be a continuation of the same subject. He went at night, and was so impressed with the truth of what he heard, that when the child came for him to go to prayer-meeting with her the next week, he did not refuse. Towards the close of the service the min- ister asked if any one present wished to pray for friends. The child knelt down beside Mr. Lessing, and to his great embarrassment began to pray for him. "O Lord, save Brother Les- sing!" was all she said, but she repeated it over and over with such anxious earnestness, that it went straight to his heart. He dropped on his knees beside her, and began praying for himself. It was not long until he was on his feet again, joyfully confess- ing the Christ he had been taught to despise. In the enthusiasm of this new-found happiness 68 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL,. he went home and tried to tell his wife of the Messiah he had accepted, but she indignantly refused to listen. Eor months she berated and ridiculed him. When she found that not only were tears and arguments of no avail, but that he felt he must consecrate his life to the min- istry, she declared she would leave him. He sold the store, and gave her all it brought; and she went back to her family in Florida. In order to prepare for the ministry he entered the university, working outside of study hours at anything he could find to do. In the meantime he had written to his parents, know- ing how greatly they would be distressed, yet hoping their great love would condone the offense. His father's answer was cold and business- like. He said that no disgrace could have come to him that could have hurt him so deeply as the infidelity of his trusted son. If he would renounce this false faith for the true faith of his fathers, he would give him forty thousand dollars outright, and also leave him a legacy of the same amount. But should he refuse the offer, he should be to him as a stranger the AN EPWORTH JEW. 69 doors of both his heart and his house should be forever barred against him. His mother, with a woman's tact, sent the pictures of all the family, whom he had not seen for several years. Their faces called up so many happy memories of the past that they pleaded more eloquently than words. It was a sweet, loving letter she wrote to her boy, re- minding him of all they had been to each other, and begging him for her sake to come back to the old faith. But right at the last she wrote: "If you insist on clinging to this false Christ, whom we have taught you to despise, the heart of your father and of your mother must be closed against you, and you must be thrust out from us forever with our curse upon you." 1 He knew it was the custom. He had been present once when the awful anathema was hurled at a traitor to the faith, withdrawing every right from the outlaw, living or dead. He knew that his grave would be dug in the Jewish cemetery in Baltimore; that the rabbi would read the rites of burial over his empty coffin, and that henceforth his only part in the fam- ily life would be the blot of his disgraceful memory. 70 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. He spread the pictures and the letters on the desk before him. A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead, as he realized the hopeless- ness of the alternative offered him. One by one he took up the photographs of his brothers and sisters, looked at them long and fondly, and laid them aside; then his father's, with its strong, proud face. He put that away, too. At last he picked up his mother's picture. She looked straight out at him, with such a world of loving tenderness in the smiling eyes, with such trustful devotion, as if she knew he could not resist the appeal, that he turned away his head. The trial seemed greater than he could bear. He was trembling with the force of it/ Then he looked again into the dear, pa- tient face, till his eyes grew too dim to see. It was the same old mother who had nursed him, who had loved him, who had borne with his waywardness and forgiven him always. He seemed to feel the soft touch of her lips on his forehead as she bent over to give him a good- night kiss. All that she had ever done for him came rushing through his memory so over- whelmingly that he broke down utterly, and began to sob like a child. "0, I can't give her AN EPWORTH JEW. 71 up," lie groaned. "My dear old mother! I can't grieve her so!" All that morning he clung to her picture, sometimes walking the floor in his agony, some- times falling on Jiis knees to pray. "God in heaven have pity," he cried. "That a man should have to choose between his mother and his Christ!" At last he rose, and, with one more long look at the picture, laid it reverently away with shaking hands. He had surrendered every- thing. He did not tell all this to his sympathizing listeners. They could read part of the pathos of that struggle in his face, part in the voice that trembled occasionally, despite his strong effort to control it. Frank Marion's thoughts went back to his own gentle mother in the old homestead among the green hills of Kentucky. As he thought of the great pillar of strength her unfaltering faith had been to him, of how from boyhood it had upheld and comforted and encouraged him, of how much he had always depended upon her love and her prayers, his sympathies were stirred to their depths. He reached out and took Les- sing's hand in his strong grasp. 72 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "God help you, brother!" he said, fervently. Bethany turned her head aside, and looked away into the hazy distances. She knew what it meant to feel the breaking of every tie that bound her best beloved to her. She knew what it was to have only pictured faces to look into, and lay away with the pain of passionate long- ing. The question flashed into her mind, could she have made the voluntary surrender that he had made? She put it from her with a throb of shame that she was glad that she had not been so tested. Some acquaintance of Mr. Marion, passing down the steps, recognized him, and called back: "What time does your speech come on the program, Frank? I understand you are to hold forth to-day." Mr. Marion hastily excused himself for a moment, to speak to his friend. Bethany sat silent, thinking intently, while she drew unmeaning dots and dashes over the cover of her note-book. Mr. Lessing turned to her abruptly. "Did you ever speak to a Jew about your Savior?" he asked, with such startling directness, that Bethany was confused. AN EPWORTH JEW. 73 "No," she said, hesitatingly. "Why?" he asked. He was looking at her with a penetrating gaze that seemed to read her thoughts. "Really," she -answered, "I have never con- sidered the question. I am not very well ac- quainted with any, for one reason; besides, I would have felt that I was treading on forbidden grounds to speak to a Jew about religion. They have always seemed to me to be so in- trenched in their beliefs, so proof against argu- ment, that it would be both a useless and thank- less undertaking." "They may seem invulnerable to argu- ments," he answered, "but nobody is proof against a warm, personal interest. Ah, Miss Hallam, it seems a terrible thing to me. The Church will make sacrifices, will cross the seas, will overcome almost any obstacle to send the gospel to China or to Africa, anywhere but to the Jews at their elbows. O, of course, I know there are a few Hebrew missions, scattered here and there through the large cities, and a few earnest souls are devoting their entire energy to the work. But suppose every Christian in the country became an evangel to the little 74 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL,. community of Jews within the radius of his in- fluence. Suppose a practical, prayerful, indi- vidual effort were made to show them Christ, with the same zeal you expend in sending 'the old story' to the Hottentots. What would be the result? O, if I had waited for a grown person to speak to me about it, I might have waited until the day of my death. I was rest- less. I was dissatisfied. I felt that I needed something more than my creed could give me. For what is Judaism now? I read an answer not long ago: *A religion of sacrifice, to which, for eighteen centuries, no sacrifice has been possible; a religion of the Passover and the Day of Atonement, on which, for well-nigh two mil- lenniums, no lamb has been slain and no atone- ment offered; a sacerdotal religion, with only the shadow of a priesthood; a religion of a temple which has no temple more; its altar is quenched, its ashes scattered, no longer kind- ling any enthusiasm, nor kindled by any hope.'* No man ever took me by the hand and told me about the peace I have now. ~No man ever shared with me his hope, or pointed out the way for me to find it. If it had not been for the * Archdeacon Farrar. AN EPWORTH JEW. 75 blessed guiding influence of a little child, my hungry heart might still be crying out un- satisfied." He went on to repeat several conversations he had had with men of his own race, to show her how this indifference of Christians was reckoned against them as a glaring inconsistency by the Jews. Almost as if some one had spoken the words to her, she seemed to hear the con- demnation, "I was a hungered, and ye gave me no meat. I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink. I was a stranger, and ye took me not in. Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it not to me." Strange as it may seem, Bethany's interpre- tation of that Scripture had always been in a temporal sense. More than once, when a child, she had watched her mother feed some poor beggar, with the virtuous feeling that that con- demnation could not apply to the Hallam fam- ily. But now Lessing's impassioned appeal had awakened a different thought. Who so hun- gered as those who, reaching out for bread, grasped either the stones of a formal ritualism or the abandoned hope of prophecy unfulfilled? Who such "strangers within the gates" of the 76 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. nations as this race without a country? From the brick-kilns of Pharaoh to the willows of Babylon, from the Ghetto of Rome to the fagot-fires along the Rhine, from Spanish cruelties to English extortions, they had been driven exiles and aliens. The New World had \velcomed them. The New World had opened all its avenues to them. Only from the door of Christian society had they turned away, say- ing, "I was a stranger, and ye took me not in." In the pause that followed, Bethany's heart went out in an earnest prayer: "O God, in the great day of thy judgment, let not that con- demnation be mine. Only send me some op- portunity, show me some way whereby I may lead even one of the least among them to the world's Redeemer!" Mr. Marion came back from his interview, looking at his watch as he did so. It was so near time for services to begin at the tent, that he did not resume his seat. "We may never meet again, Mr. Lessing," said Bethany, holding out her hand as she bade him good-bye. "So I want to tell you before I go, what an impression this conversation has made upon me. It has aroused an earnest de- AN EPWORTH JEW. 77 sire to be the means of carrying the hope that comforts me, to some one among your people." "You will succeed," he said, looking into her earnest upturned face. Then he added softly, in Hebrew, the old benediction of an olden day "Peace be unto you." All that day, after the sunrise meeting, David Herschel had been with Major Herrick, going over the battle-fields, and listening to per- sonal reminiscences of desperate engagements. A monument was to be erected on the spot where nearly all the major's men had fallen in one of the most hotly-contested battles of the war. He had come down to help locate the place. "It 's a very different reception they are giving us now," remarked the major, as they drove through the city. Epworth League colors were flying in all di- rections. Every street gleamed with the white and red banners of the North, crossed with the white and gold of the South. "Chattanooga is entertaining her guests royally; people of every denomination, and of no faith at all, are vying with each other to show the kindliest hospitality. We are missing 78 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. it by being at the hotel. I told Mrs. Herrick and the girls I would meet them at the tent this evening. Will you come, too?" "No, thank you," replied David, "my curi- osity was satisfied this morning. I '11 go on up to the inn. I have a letter to write." The major laughed. "It 's a letter that has to be written every day, isn't it?" he said, banteringly. "Well, I can sympathize with you, my boy. I was young myself once. Conferences are n't to be taken into account at all when a billet-doux needs answering." The next day David kept Marta with him as much as possible. He could see that she was becoming greatly interested, and catching much of Albert Herrick's enthusiasm. The boy was a great League worker, and attended every meeting. David took Marta a long walk over the mountain paths. They sat on the wide, vine- hung veranda of the inn, and read together. Then, as it was their Sabbath, he took her up to his room, and read some of the ritual of the day, trying to arouse in her some interest for the old customs of their childhood. AN EPWORTH JEW. 79 To his great dismay, he found that she had drifted away from him. She was not the yield- ing child she had been, whom he had been able to influence with a word. She showed a disposition to question and contend, that annoyed him. The rabbi was right. She had been left too long among con- taminating influences. It.was with a feeling of relief that he woke Sunday morning to hear the rain beating vio- lently against the windows. He was glad on her account that the storm would prevent them going down into the city. But toward evening the sun came out, and Frances Herrick began to insist on going down to the night service in the tent. "It is the last one there will be!" she ex- claimed. "I would n't miss it for anything." "Neither would I," responded Marta. "There is something so inspiring in all that great chorus of voices." When David found that his sister really in- tended to go, notwithstanding his remonstrances, and that the family were waiting for her in the hall below, he made no further protest, 80 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. but surprised her by taking his hat, and tuck- ing her hand in his arm. "Then I will go with you, little sister," he said. "I want to have as much of your com- pany as possible during my short visit." Albert Herrick, who was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, divined David's pur- pose in keeping his sister so close. He lifted his eyebrows slightly as he turned to take his mother's wraps, leaving Frances to follow with the major. The tent was crowded when they reached it. They succeeded with great difficulty in ob- taining several chairs in one of the aisles. "Herschel and I will go back to the side," said Albert. "The audience near the entrance is constantly shifting, and we can slip into the first vacant seat; some will be sure to get tired and go out before long. They always do." It was the first time David had been in the tent, and he was amazed at the enormous audience. He leaned against one of the side supports, watching the people, still intent on crowding forward. Suddenly his look of idle curiosity changed to one of lively interest. He recognized the face of the Jew who had at- AN EPWORTH JEW. 81 tracted him in the mountain meeting. Isaac Lessing was in the stream of people pressing slowly towards him. Nearer and nearer he came. The crowd at the door pushed harder. The fresh impetus jostled them almost off their feet, and in the crush Lessing was caught and held directly in front of David. Some magnetic force in the eyes of each held the gaze of the other for a moment. Then Lessing, recognizing the com- mon bond of blood, smiled. That ringing cry, "I am a converted Jew," had sounded in David's ears ever since it first startled him. He felt confident that the man was laboring under some strong delusion, and he wished that he might have an opportunity to dispel it by skillful arguments, and win him back to the old faith. Seized by an impulse as sudden as it was irresistible, he laid his hand on the stranger's arm. "I want to speak with you," he said, hur- riedly, and in a low tone. "Come this way. I will not detain you long." He drew him out of the press into one of the side aisles, and thence towards the exit. 6 82 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "Will you walk a few steps witli me?" lie asked; "I want to ask you several questions." Lessing complied quietly. The sound of a cornet followed them with the pleading notes of an old hymn. It was like the mighty voice of some archangel sound-, ing a call to prayer. Then the singing began. Song after song rolled out on the night air across the common to a street where two men paced back and fortli in the darkness. They were arm in arm. David was listening to the same story that Bethany and Frank Marion had heard the day before. He could not help but be stirred by it. Lessing's voice was so earnest, his faith was so sure. When he was through, David was utterly silenced. The ques- tions with which he had intended to probe this man's claims were already answered. "We might as well go back," he said at last. As they walked slowly towards the tent, he said: "I can't understand you. I feel all the time that you have been duped in some way; that you are under the spell of some mysterious power that deludes you." Just as they passed within the tent, the AN EPWORTH JEW. 83 cornet sounded again, the great congregation rose, and ten thousand voices went up as one: " All hail the power of Jesus' name, Let angels prostrate fall !" The sight was a magnificent one; the sound like an ocean-beat of praise. Lessing seized David's arm. "That is the power!" he exclaimed. "Not only does it uplift all these thousands you see here, but millions more, all over this globe. It is nearly two thousand years since this Jesus was known among men. Could he transform lives to-night, as mine has been transformed, if his power were a delusion? What has brought them all these miles, if not this same power? Look at the class of people who have been duped, as you call it." He pointed to the plat- form. "Bishops, college presidents, editors, men of marked ability and with world-wide rep- utation for worth and scholarship." At the close of the hymn some one moved over, and made room for David on one of the benches. Lessing pushed farther to the front. David listened to all that was said with a sort of pitying tolerance, until the sermon 84 IN LEAGUE; WITH ISRAEL. began. The bishop's opening words caught his attention, and echoed in his memory for months afterward. "Paul knew Christ as he had studied him, and as he appeared to him when he did not believe in him when he despised him. Then he also knew Christ after his surrender to him; after Christ had entered into his life, and changed the character of his being; after new meanings of life and destiny filled his horizon, after the Divine tenderness filled to complete- ness his nature; then was he in possession of a knowledge of Christ, of an experience of his presence and of his love that was a benediction to him, and has through the centuries since that hour been a blessing to men wherever the gospel has been preached. "It is such a man speaking in this text. A man with a singularly strong mind, well disci- plined, with great will-power; a man with a great ancestry; a man with as mighty a soul as ever tabernacled in flesh and blood. He pro- claimed everywhere that, if need be, he was ready to die for the principles out of which had come to him a new life, and which had brought to his heart experiences so rich and so over- AN EPWORTH JEW. 85 whelming in happiness, that he was led to do and undertake what he knew would lead at the last to a martyr's death and crown. Why? Hear him: Tor the love of Christ constrain- eth us.' " There was a testimony service following the sermon. As David watched the hundreds ris- ing to declare their faith, he wondered why they should thus voluntarily come forward as wit- nesses. Then the text seemed to repeat itself in answer, "For the love of Christ constrain- eth us!" He dreamed of Lessing and Paul all night. He was glad when the conference was at an end; when the decorations were taken down from the streets, and the last car-load of irre- pressible enthusiasts went singing out of the city. Albert Herrick went to the seashore that week. David proposed taking Marta home with him; but her objections were so heartily re- enforced by the whole family that he quietly dropped the subject, and went back to Kabbi Barthold alone. CHAPTER V. " TRUST." " Alas ! we can not draw habitual breath in the thin air of life's supremer heights. We can not make each meal a sacrament." Lowell. T had seemed to Bethany, in the experience of that sunrise on Look- out Mountain, she could never feel despondent again; but away from the uplifting influences of the place, back among the painful memories of the old home, she fought as hard a fight with her returning doubts as ever Christian did in his Valley of Humiliation. For a week since her return the weather had been intensely warm. It made Jack irri- table, and sapped her own strength. There came a day when everything went wrong. She had practiced her shorthand exer- cises all morning, until her head ached almost be- yond endurance. The grocer presented a bill much larger than she had expected. While he 86 TRUST. 87 was receipting it, a boy came to collect for the gas, and there were only two dimes left in her purse. Then Jack upset a little cut-glass vase that was standing on the table beside him. It was broken beyond repair, and the water ruined the handsome binding of a borrowed book that would have to be replaced. About noon Dr. Trent called to see Jack. He had brought a new kind of brace that he wanted tried. "It will help him amazingly," he said, "but it is very expensive." Bethany's heart sank. She thought of the pipes that had sprung a leak that morning, of the broken pump, and the empty flour-barrel. She could not see where all the money they needed was to come from. "It 's too small," said the doctor, after a careful trial of the brace. "The size larger will be just the thing. I will bring it in the morning." He wiped his forehead wearily as he stopped on the threshold. "A storm must be brewing," he remarked. "It is so oppressively sultry." It was not many hours before his predic- 88 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. tion was verified by a sudden windstorm that came up with terrific force. The trees in the avenue were lashed violently back and forth until they almost swept the earth. Huge limbs were twisted completely off, and many were left broken and hanging. It was followed by hail and a sudden change of temperature, that suggested winter. The roses were all beaten off the bushes, their pink petals scattered over the soaked grass. The porch was covered with broken twigs and wet leaves. As night dropped down, the trees bordering the avenue waved their green, dripping boughs shiveringly towards the house. "How can it be so cold and dreary in July?" inquired Jack. "Let 's have a fire in the library and eat supper there to-night." Bethany shivered. It had been the judge's favorite room in the \Vinter, on account of its large fireplace, with its queer, old-fashioned tiling. She rarely went in there except to dust the books or throw herself in the big arm-chair to cry over the perplexities that he had always shielded her from so carefully. But Jack in- sisted, and presently the flames went leaping up the throat of the wide chimney, filling the room TRUST. 89 with comfort and the cheer of genial com- panionship. "Look!" cried Jack, pointing through the window to the bright reflection of the fire in the garden outside. "Do n't you remember what you read me in 'Snowbound?' 1 Under the tree, When fire outdoors burns merrily, There the witches are making tea.' This would be a fine night for witch stories. The wind makes such queer noises in the chim- ney. Let 's tell 'em after supper, all the awful ones we can think of, 'specially the Salem ones." As usual, Jack's wishes prevailed. After- ward, when Bethany had tucked him snugly in bed, and was sitting alone by the fire, listening to the queer noises in the chimney, she wished they had not dwelt so long on such a grewsome subject. She leaned back in her father's great arm-chair, with her little slippered feet on the brass fender, and her soft hair pressed against the velvet cushions. Her white hands were clasped loosely in her lap; small, helpless look- ing hands, little fitted to cope with the burdens and responsibilities laid upon her. 90 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL The judge had never even permitted her to open a door for herself when he had been near enough to do it for her. But his love had made him short-sighted. In shielding her so carefully, he did not see that he was only making her more keenly sensitive to later troubles. that must come when he was no longer with her. Every one was surprised at the course she determined upon. "I supposed, of course," said Mrs. Marion, "that you would try to teach drawing or water- colors, or something. You have spent so much time on your art studies, and so thoroughly en- joy that kind of work. Then those little dinner- cards, and german favors you do, are so beau- tiful. I am sure you have any number of friends who would be glad to give you orders." "]STo, Cousin Ray," answered Bethany de- cidedly; "I must have something that briiigs in a settled income, something that can be de- pended on. While I have painted some very acceptable things, I never was cut out for a teacher. I 'd rather not attempt anything in which I can never be more than third-rate. I 've decided to study stenography. I am sure I can master that, and command a first-class TRUST. 91 position. I have heard papa complain a great many times of the difficulty in obtaining a really good stenographer. Of the hundreds who at- tempt the work, such a small per cent are really proficient enough to undertake court reporting." "You 're just like your father," said Mrs. Marion. "Uncle Richard would never be any- thing if he could n't be uppermost." It had been nearly a year since that conver- sation. Bethany had persevered in her under- taking until she felt confident that she had ac- complished her purpose. She was ready for any position that offered, but there seemed to be no vacancies anywhere. The little sum in the bank was dwindling away with frightful rapidity. She was afraid to encroach on it any furthej, but the bills had to be met constantly. Presently she drew her chair over to the library table, and spread out her check-book and memoranda under the student-lamp, to look over the accounts for the month just ended. Then she made a list of the probable expenses of the next two months. The contrast between their needs and their means was appalling. "It w 7 ill take every cent!" she exclaimed, in a distressed whisper. "When the first of Sep- 92 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. tember comes, there will be nothing left but to sell the old home and go away somewhere to a strange place." The prospect of leaving the dear old place, that had grown to seem almost like a human friend, was the last drop that made the day's cup of misery overflow. The old doubt came back. "I wonder if God really cares for us in a temporal way?" she asked herself. The frightful tales of witchcraft that Jack had been so interested in, recurred to her. Many of the people who had been so fearfully tor- tured and persecuted as witches were Chris- tians. God had not interfered in their behalf, she told herself. Why should he trouble him- self about her? She went back to her seat by the fender, and, with her chin resting in her hand, looked drearily into the embers, as if they could an- swer the question. She heard some one come up on the porch and ring the bell. It was Dr. Trent's quick, imperative summons. "Jack in bed?" he asked, in his brisk way, as she ushered him into the library. "Well, it makes no difference; you know how to adjust TRUST. 93 the brace anyway. He will be able to sit up all day with that on." He gave an appreciative glance around the cheerful room, and spread his hands out towards the fire. "Ah, that looks comfortable!" he exclaimed, rubbing them together. "I wish I could stay and enjoy it with you. I have just come in from a long drive, and must answer another call away out in the country. You 'd be surprised to find how damp and chilly it is out to-night." "I venture you never stopped at the boarding-house at all," answered Bethany, "and that you have not had a mouthful to eat since noon. I am going to get you something. Yes, I shall," she insisted, in spite of his protesta- tions. Luckily, Jack wanted the kettle hung on the crane to-night, so that he could hear it sing as he used to. "The water is boiling, and you shall have a cup of chocolate in no time." Before he could answer, she was out of the room, and beyond the reach of his remonstrance. He sank into a big chair, and laying his gray head back on the cushions, wearily closed his eyes. He was almost asleep when Bethany came back. 94 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "The fire made me drowsy," lie said, apol- ogetically. "I was quite exhausted by the in- tense heat of this morning. These sudden changes of temperature are bad for one." "Why, my child!" he exclaimed, seeing the heavy tray she carried, "you have brought me a regular feast. You ought not to have put yourself to such trouble for an old codger used to boarding-house fare." "All the more reason why you should have a change once in a while," said Bethany, gayly, as she filled the dainty chocolate-pot. The sight of the doctor's face as she entered the room had almost brought the tears. It looked so worn and haggard. She had not no- ticed before how white his hair was growing, or how deeply his face was lined. He had been such an intimate friend of her father's that she had grown up with the feeling that some strong link of kinship certainly ex- isted between them. She had called him "Uncle Doctor" until she was nearly grown. He had been so thoughtful and kind during all her troubles, and especially in Jack's illness, that she longed to show her appreciation by some of TRUST. 95 the tender little ministrations of which his life was so sadly 'bare. "This is what I call solid comfort," he re- marked, as he stretched his feet towards the fire and leisurely sipped his chocolate. "I did n't realize I was so tired until I sat down, or so hungry until I began to eat." Then he added, wistfully, "Or how I miss my own fire- side until I feel the cheer of others'." The doubts that had been making Bethany miserable all evening, and that she had forgotten in her efforts to serve her old friend, came back with renewed force. "Does God really care?" she asked herself again. Here was this man, one of the best she had ever known, left to stumble along under the weight of a living sorrow, the things he cared for most, denied him. "Baxter Trent is one of the world's heroes," she had heard her father say. There were two things he held dearer than life the honor of the old family name that had come down to him unspotted through genera- tions, and his little home-loving wife. For fif- teen years he had experienced as much of the 96 IN LEAGUE; WITH ISRAEL. happiness of home-life as a physician with a large practice can know. Then word came to him from another city that his only brother had killed a man in a drunken brawl, and then taken his own life, leaving nothing but the memory of a wild career and a heavy debt. He had borrowed a large amount from an unsus- pecting old aunt, and left her almost penniless. When Dr. Trent recovered from the first shock of the discovery, he quietly set to work to wipe out the disgraceful record as far as lay in his power, by assuming the debt. He could eradicate at least that much of the stain on the family name. It had taken years to do it. Beth- any was not sure that it was yet accomplished, for another trial, worse than the first, had come to weaken his strength and dispel his courage. The idolized little wife became affected by some nervous malady that resulted in hopeless insanity. Bethany had a dim recollection of the doc- tor's daughter, a little brown-eyed child of her own age. She could remember playing hide-and- seek with her one day in an old peony-garden. But she had died years ago. There was only one other child Lee. He had grown to be a big TRUST. 97 boy of ten now, but he was too young to feel his mother's loss at the time she was taken away. Bethany knew that she was still living in- a pri- vate asylum near town, and that the doctor saw her every day, no matter how violent she was. Lee was the one bright spot left in his life. Busy night and day with his patients, he saw very little of the boy. The child had never known any home but a boarding-house, and was as lawless and unrestrained as some little wild animal. But the doctor saw no fault in him. He praised the reports brought home from school of high per cents in his studies, knowing nothing of his open defiance to authority. He kissed the innocent-looking face on the pillow next his own when he came in late at night, never dreaming of the forbidden places it had been during the day. Everybody said, "Poor Baxter Trent! It 's a pity that Lee is such a little terror;" but no one warned him. Perhaps he would not have believed them if they had. The thought of all this moved Bethany to sudden speech. "Uncle Doctor," she broke out impetu- ously she had unconsciously used the old name as she sat down on a low stool near his 7 98 Ix LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. knee, *"I was piling up my troubles to-night before yon came. Xot tbe old ones. 7 ' she added, quickly, as she saw an expression of sympathy cross his face, "bin the new ones that confront inc." She gave a mournful little smile. " "Coming events cast their shadow before,' you know, and these Amdami look so dark and threatening. I see no possible way but to sell this home. Yon have had so much to bear your- self that it seems mean to worry you with my troubles; but I do n't know what to do, and I do n't know what *s the matter with me " She stopped abruptly, and choked back a sob. He laid his hand softly on her shining hair. "Tell me all about it. child,*' he said, in a soothing tone. Then he added, lightly, "I can't make a diagnosis of the case until I know all the symptoms." When he had heard her little outburst of worry and distrust, he said, slowly: "You have done all in your power to prepare yourself for a position as stenographer. You have done all yon could to secure such a posi- tion, and have been unsuccessful. But you still TRUST. M have a roof over jour bead, yam still lave enough on hands to keep JOB two months lomyn with- out f^jfag the boose or even renting it am ar- rangement that has not seemed to occur to you." He gMVd down into her disconsolate ace. "It strikes me that a certain little lass I know has been praying, ''Give us this day omr III omnmm% bread.' O Bethany, child, cam jam never learn to trust!" "But isn't it right lor me to be anxious about providing some way to keep the house f she cried. ""Isn't it right to plan and pray for the future! You can 't reoEae kov it would hurt me to give up this place." ^thinklcan^^heanswcrad.ajentlT. "You forget I have been called am to make just such a sacrifice. Ton can do it, toft, if it is what the All-wise Father sees is best for jou. Folks may not think me orach of aCmtioliom.- They rawlv see me in Church my profession does not al- low it. I am mot demonstrative. It is hard for me to speak of these amul things, unless it is when I see seme poor soul about to sfip into eternity; but I thank the good Father I know how to trust. 5To matter how he has hurt me, I have been able to hang on to his promises, 100 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. and say, 'All right, Lord. The case is entirely in your hands. Amputate, if it is necessary; cut to the very heart, if you will. You know what is best.' ' He pushed the long tray of dishes farther on the .table, and, rising suddenly, walked over to the book-shelves nearest the chimney. After several moments' close scrutiny, he took out a well-worn book. "Ah, I thought it was here," he remarked. "I want to read you a passage that caught my eyes in here once. I remember showing it to your father." He turned the pages rapidly till he found the place. Then seating himself by the lamp again, he began to read: "It came to my mind a week or two ago, so full an' sweet an' precious that I can hardly think of anything else. It was during them cold, northeast winds; these winds had made my cough very bad, an' I was shook all to bits, and felt very ill. My wife was sitting by my side, an' once, when I had a sharp fit of it, she put down her work, an' looked at me till her eyes filled with tears, an' she says, Trankie, Frankie, whatever will become of us when you be gone?' TRUST. 101 She was making a warm little petticoat for the little rnaid; so, after a minute or two, I took hold of it, an' says, 'What are 'ee making, my dear?' She held it up without a word; her heart was too full to speak. Tor the little maid?' I says. 'An' a nice, warm thing, too. How comfortable it will keep her! Does she know about it yet?' " 'Know about it? Why, of course not,' said the wife, wondering. 'What should she know about it for?' "I waited another minute, an' then I said: 'What a wonderful mother you must be, wifie, to think about the little maid like that!' " 'Wonderful, Frankie? Why, it would be more like wonderful if I forgot that the cold weather was a-coming, and that the little maid would be a-wanting something warm.' "So, then, you see, I had got her, my friends, and Frankie smiled. 'O wife, says I, 'do you think that you be going to take care o' the little maid like that an' your Father in heaven be a-going to forget you altogether? Come now (bless him!), isn't he as much to be trusted as you are! An' do you think that he 'd see the winter coming up sharp and cold, an' not have something waiting for you, an' just what you 102 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL,. want, too? An' I know, dear wine, that you would n't like to hear the little maid go a-fret- ting, and saying: "There the cold winter be a-coming, an' whatever shall I do if my mother should forget me?" Why, you 'd be hurt an' grieved that she should doubt you like that. She knows that you care for her, an' what more does she need to know? That 's enough to keep her from fretting about anything. "Your heav- enly Father know.eth that you have need of all these things." That be put down in his book for you, wine, and on purpose for you; an' you grieve an' hurt him when you go to fretting about the future, an' doubting his love.' ' Dr. Trent closed the book, and looked into his listener's thoughtful eyes. "There, Bethany," he said, "is the lesson I have learned. Nothing is withheld that we really need. Sometimes I have thought that I was tried beyond my power of endurance, but when His hand has fallen the heaviest, His in- finite fatherliness has seemed most near; and often, when I least expected it, some great bless- ing has surprised me. I have learned, after a long time, that when we put ourselves unre- TRUST. 103 servedly in His hands, lie is far kinder to us than we would be to ourselves. 1 Always hath the daylight broken, Always hath he comfort spoken, Better hath he been for years Thau my fears.' I can say from the bottom of my heart, Beth- any, Though he slay me, yet will I trust him." The tears had gathered in Bethany's eyes as she listened. Xow she hastily brushed them aside. The face that she turned toward her old friend reminded him of a snowdrop that had caught a gleam of sunshine in the midst of an April shower. "You have brushed away my last doubt and foreboding, Uncle Doctor!" she exclaimed. "Really, I have been entertaining an angel un- awares." The old clock in the hall sounded the half- hour chime, and he rose to go. "You have beguiled me into staying much longer than I intended," he answered. "What will my poor patients in the country think of such a long delay?" "Tell them you have been opening blind 104 IN L/KAGUE WITH ISRAEI*. eyes," she said, gravely. "Indeed, Uncle Doc- tor, the knowledge that, despite all you have suffered, you can still trust so implicitly, strengthens my faith more than you can im- agine." At the hall door he turned and took both her hands in his: "There is another thing to remember," he said. "You are only called on to live one day at a time. One can endure almost any ache until sundown, or bear up under almost any load if the goal is in sight. Travel only to the mile- post you can see, my little maid. Do n't worry about the ones that mark the to-morrows." CHAPTER VI. TWO TURNINGS IN BETHANY'S LANE. " Sunshine and hope are comrades." HE early morning light streaming into Bethany's room, aroused her to a vague consciousness of having been in a storm the night before. Then she remembered the garden roses beaten to earth by the hail, and the flood of doubt and perplex- ity that had swept through her heart with such overwhelming force. The same old problems confronted her; but they did not assume such gigantic proportions in the light of this new day, with its infinite possibilities. All the time she was dressing she heard Jack singing lustily in the next room. He was impatient to try the new brace, and paused be- tween solos to exhort her to greater haste. She knelt just an instant by the low window-seat. The prayer she made was one of the shortest she had ever uttered, and one of the most heart- 105 106 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. felt: "Give me this day my daily bread." That was all; yet it included everything strength, courage, temporal help, disappointments or bless- ings anything the dear Father saw she needed in her spiritual growth. When she arose from her knees, it was with a feeling of perfect se- curity and peace. Xo matter what the day might bring forth, she would take it trustingly, and be thankful. About an hour after breakfast she wheeled Jack to a front window. It was growing very warm again. "It does n't hurt me at all to sit up with this brace on," he said. "If you like, I '11 help you practice, while I watch people go by on the street." He had often helped her gain steno- graphic speed by dictating rapid sentences. He read too slowly to be of any service that way, but he knew yards of nursery rhymes that he could repeat with amazing rapidity. "I know there is n't a lawyer living that can make a speech as fast as I can say the piece about 'Who killed Cock Robin,' " he remarked when he first proposed such dictation; "and I can say the 'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers' verse fast enough to make you dizzy." Two TURNINGS IN BETHANY'S LANE. 107 Bethany's pencil was flying as rapidly as the boy's tongue, when they heard a cheery voice in the hall. "It's Cousin Ray!" cried Jack. "I have felt all morning that something nice was going to happen, and now it has." Then he called out in a tragic tone, " 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.' ' "You saucy boy!" laughed Mrs. Marion, as she appeared in the doorway. "I think he is de- cidedly better, Bethany; you need not worry about him any longer." She stooped to kiss his forehead, and drop a great yellow pear in his lap. "No; I have n't time to stay," she said, when Bethany insisted on taking her hat. "I am to entertain the Missionary Society this afternoon, and Dr. Bascom has given me an unusually long list of the 'sick and in prison' kind to look after this month. It gives me an 'all out of breath' sensation every time I think of all that ought to be attended to." She dropped into a chair near a window, and picked up a fan. "You never could guess my errand," she began, hesitatingly. 108 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "I know it is something nice," said Jack, "from the way your eyes shine." "I think it is fine," she answered; "but I do n't know how it will impress Bethany." She plunged into the subject abruptly. "The Courtney sisters want to come here to live." "The Courtney sisters!" echoed Bethany, blankly. "To live! In our house? O Cousin Ray! I have realized for some time that we might have to give up the dear old place; but I did hope that it need not be to strangers." "Why, they are not strangers, Bethany. They went to school with your mother for years and years. You have heard of Harry and Carrie Morse, I am sure." "O yes," answered Bethany, quickly. "They were the twins who used to do such out- landish things at Forest Seminary. I remem- ber, mamma used to speak of them very often. But I thought you said it was the Courtney sisters who wanted the house." "I did. They married brothers, Joe and Ralph Courtney, who were both killed in the late war. They have been widows for over Two TURNINGS IN BETHANY'S LANE. 109 thirty years, you see. They are just the dearest old souls! They have been away so many, many years, of course you can't remem- ber them. I did not know they were in the city until last night. But just as soon as I heard that they had come to stay, and wanted to go to housekeeping, I thought of you immediately. I could n't wait for the storm to stop. I went over to see them in all that rain." "Well," prompted Bethany, breathlessly, as Mrs. Marion paused. She gave a quick glance around the room. She felt sick and faint, now that the prospect of leaving stared her in the face. Yet she felt that, since it had been unsolicited, there must be something providential in the sending of such an opportunity. "O, they will be only too glad to come," resumed Mrs. Marion, "if you are willing. They remembered the arrangement of the house per- fectly, and we planned it all out beautifully. Since Jack's accident you sleep down-stairs any- how. You could keep the library and the two smaller rooms back of it, and may be a couple of rooms up-stairs. They would take the rest 110 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. of the house, and board you and Jack for the rent. Your bread and butter would be assured in that way. They are model housekeepers, and such a comfortable sort of bodies to have around, that I could n't possibly think of a nicer arrangement. Then you could devote your time and strength to something more profitable than taking care of this big house." "O, Cousin Ray!" was all the happy girl could gasp. Her voice faltered from sheer glad- ness. "You can't imagine what a load you have lifted from me. I love every inch of this place, every stone in its old gray walls. I could n't bear to think of giving it up. And, just to think! last night, at the very time I was most despondent, the problem was being solved. I can never thank you enough." "The idea!" exclaimed Mrs. Marion, as she rose to go. "No thanks are due me, child. And Miss Caroline and Miss Harriet, as everybody still calls them, are just as anxious for such an arrangement as you can possibly be. They '11 be over to see you to-morrow, for they are quite anxious to get settled. They have roamed about the world so long they begin to feel that 'there 's no place like home.' Jack, they 've been in Two TURNINGS IN BETHANY'S LANE. Ill China and Africa and the South Sea Islands. Think of the charming tales in store for you!" "Goodness, Bethany!" exclaimed Jack, when she came back into the room after walking to the gate with Mrs. Marion. ''Your face shines as if there was a light inside of you." "O, there is, Jackie boy," she answered, giving him an ecstatic hug. "I am so very happy! It seems too good to be true." "Cousin Ray is awful good to us," remarked the boy, thoughtfully. "Seems to me she is always busy doing something for somebody. She never has a minute for herself. I remem- ber, when I used to go up there, people kept coming all day long, and every one of them wanted something. Why do you suppose they all went to her? Did she tell them they might?" "Jack, do you remember the plant you had in your window last winter?" she replied. "No matter how many times I turned the jar that held it, the flower always turned around again towards the sun. People are the same way, dear. They unconsciously spread out their leaves towards those who have help and comfort to give. They feel they are welcome, with- out asking." 112 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "She makes me think of that verse in 'Mother Goose,' " said Jack. " 'Sugar and spice and everything nice.' Does n't she you, sister?" "No," said Bethany, with an amused smile. "Lowell has described her: ' So circled lives she with love's holy light, That from the shade of self she walketh free.' " " I do n't 'zactly understand," said Jack, with a puzzled expression. She explained it, and he repeated it over and over, until he had it firmly fixed in his mind. Then they went back to the dictation exer- cises. It was almost dark when they had an- other caller. Mr. Marion stopped at the door on his way home to dinner. "I have good news for you, Bethany," he said, with his face aglow with eager sympathy. "Did Ray tell you?" "About the house?" she said. "Yes. I've been on a mountain-top all day because of it." "O, I don't mean that!" he exclaimed, hastily. "It 's better than that. I mean about Porter & Edmunds." "I do n't see how anything could be better than the news she brought," said Bethany. "Well, it is. Mr. Porter asked me to see Two TURNINGS IN BETHANY'S L,ANE. 113 their new law-office to-day. They have just moved into the Clifton Block. They have an elegant place. As I looked around, making mental notes of all the fine furnishings, I thought of you, and wished you had such a po- sition. I asked him if he needed a stenographer. It was a random shot, for I had no idea they did. The young man they have has been there so long, I considered him a fixture. To my surprise he told me the fellow is going into bus- iness for himself, and the place will be open next week. I told him I could fill it for him to his supreme satisfaction. He promised to give you the refusal of it until to-morrow noon. I leave to-night on a business-trip, or I would take you over and introduce you." "O, thank you, Cousin Frank!" she ex- claime.d. "I know Mr. Edmunds very well. He was a warm friend of papa's." Then she added, impulsively: "Yesterday I thought I had come to such a dark place that I could n't see my hand before my face. I was just so blue and discouraged I was ready to give up, and now the way has grown so plain and easy, all at once, I feel that I must be living in a dream." 8 114 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. "Bless your brave little soul!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "Why did n't yo.u conic to me with your troubles? Remember I atn al- ways glad to smooth the way for you, just as much as lies in my power." When he had gone, Bethany crept away into the quiet twilight of the library, and, kneeling be- fore the big arm-chair, laid her head in its cush- ioned seat. "O Father," she whispered, "I am so ashamed of myself to think I ever doubted thee for one single moment.' Forgive me, please, and help me through every hour of every day to trust unfalteringly in thy great love and goodness." CHAPTER VII. JUDGE HAU,AM'S DAUGHTER, STENOGRAPHER. HERE was so much to be done next morning, setting the rooms all in or- der for the critical inspection of Miss Caroline and Miss Harriet, that Beth- any had little time to think of the dreaded in- terview with Porter & Edmunds. She wheeled Jack out into the shady, vine- covered piazza, and brought him a pile of things for him to amuse himself with in her absence. ".Ring your bell for Mena if you need any- thing else," she said. "I will be back before the sun gets around to this side of the Louse, maybe in less than an hour." He caught at her dress with a detaining grasp, and a troubled look came over his face. "O sister! I just thought of it. If you do get that place, will I have to stay here all day by myself?" "O no," she answered. "Mena can wheel 115 116 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. you around the garden, and wait on you; and I will think of all sorts of things to keep you busy. Then the old ladies will be here, and I am sure they will be kind to you. I '11 be home at noon, and we '11 have lovely long evenings to- gether." "But if those people come, Mena will have so much more to do, she '11 never have any time to wheel me. Could n't you* take me with you?" he asked, wistfully. "I would n't be a bit of bother. I 'd take my books and study, or look out of the window all the time, and keep just as quiet! Please ask 'em if I can't come too, sister!" It was hard to resist the pleading tone. "Maybe they '11 not want me," answered Bethany. "I '11 have to settle that matter be- fore making any promises. But never mind, dear, we '11 arrange it in some way." It was a warm July morning. As Bethany Avalked slowly toward the business portion of the town, several groups of girls passed her, evidently on their way to work, from the few words she overheard in passing. Most of them looked tired and languid, as if the daily routine of such a treadmill existence was slowly drain- JUDGE HALLAM'S DAUGHTER. 117 ing their vitality. Two or three had a pert, bold air, that their contact with business life had given them. One was chewing gum and re- peating in a loud voice some conversation she had had with her "boss." Bethany's heart sank as she suddenly real- ized that she was about to join the great work- ing-class of which this ill-bred girl was a mem- ber. Not that she had any of the false pride that pushes a woman who is an independent wage-winner to a lower social scale than one whom circumstances have happily hedged about with home walls; but she had recalled at that moment some of her acquaintances who would do just such a thing. In their short-sighted, self-assumed superiority, they could make no discrimination between the girl at the cigar- stand, who flirted with her customer, and the girl in the school-room, who taught her pupils more from her inherent refinement and gentle- ness than from their text-books. She had remembered that Belle Romney had said to her one day, as they drove past a great factory where the girls were swarming out at noon: "Do you know, Bethany dear, I would rather lie down and die than have to 118 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. work in such a place. You can't imagine what a horror I have of being obliged to work for a living, no matter in what way. I would feel utterly disgraced to come down to such a thing; but I suppose these poor creatures are so accus- tomed to it they never mind it." Bethany's eyes blazed. She knew Belle Romney's position was due entirely to the tol- erance of a distant relative. She longed to an- swer vehemently: "Well, I would starve before I would deliberately sit down to be a willing de- pendent on the charity of my friends. It 's only a species of genteel pauperism, and none the less despicable because of the purple and fine linen it flaunts in." She had not made the speech, however. Belle leaned back in the carriage, and folded her daintily-gloved hands, as they passed the fac- tory-girls, with an air of complacency that amused Bethany then. It nettled her now to remember it. She turned into the street where the Clif- ton Block stood, an imposing building, whose first two floors were occupied by lawyers' offices. Porter & Edmunds were on the second floor. The elevator-boy showed her the room. The JUDGE HALLAM'S DAUGHTER. 119 door stood open, exposing an inviting interior, for the walls were lined with books, and the rugs and massive furniture bespoke taste as well as wealth. An elderly gentleman, with his heels on the window-sill and 'his back to the door, was vig- orously smoking. He was waiting for a back- woods client, who had an early engagement. His feet came to the floor with sudden force, and his cigar was tossed hastily out of the win- dow when he heard Bethany's voice saying, timidly, "May I come in, Mr. Edmunds?" He came forward with old-school gallantry. It was not often his office was brightened by such a visitor. "Why, it is Miss Hallam!" he exclaimed, in surprise, secretly wondering what had brought her to his office. . He had met her often in her father's house, and had seen her the center of many an admir- ing group at parties and receptions. She had always impressed him as having the air of one who had been surrounded by only the most re- fined influences of life. He thought her un- usually charming this morning, all in black, 120 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL,. with such a timid, almost childish expression in her big, gray eyes. "Take this seat by the window, Miss Hal- lam," he said, cordially. "I hope this cigar smoke does not annoy you. I had no idea I should have the honor of entertaining a lady, or I should not have indulged." "Did n't Mr. Marion tell you I was coming this morning?" asked Bethany, in some em- barrassment. "No, not a word. I believe he said some- thing to Mr. Porter about a typewriter-girl that wants a place, but I am sure he never men- tioned that you intended doing us the honor of calling." Bethany smiled faintly. "I am the typewriter-girl that wants the place," she answered. "You!" ejaculated Mr. Edmunds, standing up in his surprise, and beginning to stutter as he always did when much excited. "You! w'y- w'y-w'y, you do n't say so!" he finally managed to blurt out "What is it that is so astonishing?" asked Bethany, beginning to be amused. "Do you think it is presumptuous in me to aspire to such JUDGE HALLAM'S DAUGHTER. 121 a position? I assure you I have a very fair speed." "No," answered Mr. Edmunds, "it 's not that; but I never any more thought of your going out in the world to make a living than a-a-a pet canary,"* he added, in confusion. He seated himself again, and began tapping on the table with a paper-knife. "Can't you paint, or give music lessons, or teach French?" he asked, half impatiently. "A girl brought up as you have been has no busi- ness jostling up against the world, especially the part of a world one sees in the court-room." Bethany looked at him gravely. "Yes," she answered, "I can do all those things after a fashion, but none of them well enough to measure up to my standard of pro- ficiency, which is a high one. I do understand stenography, and I am confident I can do thor- ough, first-class work. I think, too, Mr. Ed- munds, that it is a mistaken idea that the girl who has had the most sheltered home-life is the one least fitted to go into such places. Papa used to say we are like the planets; we carry our own atmosphere with us. I am sure one may carry the same personality into a reporter's 122 IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL. stand that she would into a drawing-room. We need not necessarily change with our surround- ings." As she spoke, a slight tinge of pink flushed her cheeks, and she unconsciously raised her chin a trifle haughtily. Mr. Edmunds looked at her admiringly, and then made a gallant bow. "I am sure, Miss Hallam would grace any position she might choose to fill," he said courteously. "Then you will let me try," she asked, eagerly. She slipped off her glove, and took pencil and paper from the table. "If you will only test my speed, maybe you can make a de- cision sooner." He dictated several pages, which she wrote to his entire satisfaction. "You are not half as rapid as Jack," she said, laughingly; and then she told him of the prac- tice she had had writing nursery rhymes. He seemed so interested that she went on to tell him more about the child, and his great desire to be in the office with her. "I told him I would ask you," she said, finally; "but that it was a very unusual thing JUDGE HAL,I