Roland Graeme. Agnes Maule Machar
at once, while his keen observant glance took in every point of his visitor's appearance, and read his character with a correctness that would have amazed him, could he have known it.
"Sit down, sir, sit down! No intrusion in the world. I am always glad to see young men, and to do anything I can to serve them."
It may be remarked in passing that Mr. Alden's congregation usually contained more young men than any other in Minton. Perhaps this remark partly explained it.
Roland had soon unfolded his errand, less systematically and more discursively than he had done to Mr. Chillingworth. Mr. Alden listened attentively, read the prospectus with his head bent toward his visitor, and one arm resting on the back of his chair; then folded it up, and handed it back to him, with a twinkle of both sympathy and fun in his kindly eyes.
"Well, my dear fellow, I heartily sympathize with your object. I don't know that I can give you much help other than sympathy; but whatever I can do to promote your aims, I shall do with pleasure. Anything that can promote the true brotherhood of man must always enlist the sympathy of a minister of Christ."
"I wish all ministers felt as you do, sir," replied Roland, thinking of his last visit.
"Well, you see, I fear some of us have to be converted yet—to that doctrine, anyhow. As for me, I've had special advantages. My mother was a Scotch lassie, and used to rock my cradle to Burns' grand song,"—and the minister hummed the chorus:—
"For a' that and a' that,
It's comin' yet, for a' that
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brithers be, for a' that!"
"My parents were both Scotch," said Roland, with quick pleasure. "But I suppose you guessed that from my name."
"Yes, a good old Border name it is! I dip into Sir Walter and the Border ballads now and then, and I think we've made some progress toward Burns' idea since those days! Well, I believe that time is coming, but it won't be in your day or mine; and only one thing will bring it about—the growth of the brother-love. I preach, that in my way, and I bid you God-speed if you preach it in yours. Send along your paper! We've got enough and to spare already, but I couldn't shut my door against one started on that platform. And if I conscientiously can, I will recommend it to others, and give you any other help you may need. Only, my dear fellow, don't be disappointed if you don't accomplish all you hope for. Many of us are apt to think at twenty-five, that if 'the world is out of joint,' we, in particular, were 'born to set it right.' I know I did, and though I have not done a hundredth part of what I hoped to do, I probably shouldn't have done that percentage, if I had not started with great expectations. Only don't be discouraged, if they are not all realized! Now—is this little girl with you?" he added, glancing out into the hall where another girl, somewhat older than the boy who had opened the door, was filling the child's hands with cake and fruit.
Roland, suddenly recollecting the child, told all he knew about her, while Mr. Alden listened with evident sympathy and interest.
"Ah! Another of the sad cases of hidden misery that one is constantly stumbling on," he said, his voice and eye grown soft with compassion. "That child doesn't look like one accustomed to beg. If the poor woman wants a minister, why shouldn't I go with you? I am at your service."
"If it's quite convenient," said Roland, "it would be very kind if you would."
"Oh, as for that, ministers and doctors mustn't stand too much on convenience. I've learned a good many lessons from my medical friend Blanchard. We both own the same Master, and I've no more right to be careful of my convenience than he has. Well, my dear, come away!"
For, as he talked in his rapid energetic manner, he had been as rapidly donning overcoat and gloves, and, hat in one hand, now extended the other to the little girl.
"That's right, Gracie, wrap her well up! Tell Mother that I'll be back as soon as I can, but you needn't keep tea waiting for me, if you are all too hungry. Now then, you can shut the door."
Roland courteously raised his hat to the young girl, as she stood looking after them with a smile very like her father's, while her long, wavy, golden hair was rippled by the cold December wind. He felt a wistful regret at leaving the warm, homelike atmosphere behind, when the door at last closed upon them.
Mr. Alden drew a few more particulars from the child as they hastened on. Her mother had been ill a good many days, she couldn't tell how many. No, there had not been any doctor to see her. Mother said she hadn't money enough. They had bread, but no tea, and mother could take nothing but tea!
Mr. Alden darted into a little grocery and came out carrying two small brown parcels. Frequent practice had made him equal to all such emergencies. They had gone a good way past the better class of houses, into a region of unpromising and dingy tenements—a region long ago deserted by all who could afford to leave it. At last the child stopped at an entry door.
"It's here—up-stairs," she said, looking up at her companions. They went up a rickety stair, black with years of unwashed footmarks, and followed the child into the room. She entered; but they stood still on the threshold, while Roland's brow contracted as if with a sharp sensation of physical pain.
It was a wretched little room, bare beyond anything Roland had ever seen in Minton. There was no table, only one dilapidated chair and a low wooden stool. On a shake-down on the floor lay the slender form of a young woman, nearly covered by an old shawl which did not quite conceal her poor and shabby attire. There was scarcely any fire in the rusty little stove. On an old trunk near the window were an evidently much-used box of water-colors, a few brushes, and a card or two, with flower designs painted sketchily, yet with some spirit;—objects so much out of keeping with the rest of the apartment that they at once attracted the eye. The young woman, who eagerly pushed the shawl aside and looked up the moment the door opened, was evidently very ill indeed. Her face was slightly flushed, though the room was far from warm, and her labored breathing told Mr. Alden's experienced ear that it was a severe case of bronchitis.
The little girl ran up to her mother at once, throwing her arms around her neck with a passionate clasp. Then in answer to the eager inquiring eyes that met hers, she explained:
"Here's a minister, Mammy! That one wouldn't come—but he did! So now you'll be better—won't you?"
As the mother remained for a moment in the child's close embrace, Roland, absorbed as he was in the distressing scene, could not help thinking that it was very evident whence the latter had derived her unusual type of beauty. The mother had the same dark rings of clustering curls—tangled now with the restless tossing of illness; the same large liquid eyes of dark gray, under long, dark lashes; the same exquisite curves of mouth and chin, even though suffering—physical and mental—had dimmed a beauty that must once have been bewitching. But the eyes had a restless, pining look; and now, all at once, the fevered flush ebbed away, leaving her deadly pale, while she seemed to struggle for breath, unable to speak.
Mr. Alden rushed to her assistance, and raised her a little, with difficulty detaching the clinging arms of the child; then, glancing around the room, his quick eye fell on a small flask that stood in a corner cupboard, otherwise empty enough. He motioned to Roland, who followed his glance, and brought him the flask. Mr. Alden seized a cup that stood near containing a little water, and, pouring into it some of the spirits that the flask contained, put it to her lips. She drank it down eagerly, and then lay back on the pillow, in a sort of exhausted stupor.
"She must have medical attendance at once," said Mr. Alden. "She is dying from neglect and exhaustion. I suppose you don't know any doctor near?"
"No," said Roland, "I am a stranger here as yet."
"Then I must go for my friend, Blanchard. Or stay—it won't do to leave this poor woman alone with that child! She might have died just now. And you'll make better time than I should. I'm sure you won't think it too much trouble to take a note to Doctor Blanchard, and to pilot him here."
Roland willingly assented. Mr. Alden tore a leaf out of his note-book, on which he hastily