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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/44796-0.txt b/44796-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..790981e --- /dev/null +++ b/44796-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3037 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44796 *** + +THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE + +A Christmas Tale + + +_By_ +IRVING BACHELLER + +_Author of_ +THE LIGHT IN THE CLEARING +A MAN FOR THE AGES, Etc. + + +INDIANAPOLIS +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY +PUBLISHERS + + +COPYRIGHT 1920 +AMERICAN NATIONAL RED CROSS + + +COPYRIGHT 1920 +IRVING BACHELLER + + +_Printed in the United States of America_ + + +PRESS OF +BRAUNWORTH & CO. +BOOK MANUFACTURERS +BROOKLYN, N. Y. + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + I WHICH INTRODUCES THE SHEPHERD OF THE BIRDS 1 + + II THE FOUNDING OF THE PHYLLISTINES 18 + + III WHICH TELLS OF THE COMPLAINING COIN AND THE MAN + WHO LOST HIS SELF 68 + + IV IN WHICH MR. ISRAEL SNEED AND OTHER WORKING MEN + RECEIVE A LESSON IN TRUE DEMOCRACY 91 + + V IN WHICH J. PATTERSON BING BUYS A NECKLACE OF PEARLS 103 + + VI IN WHICH HIRAM BLENKINSOP HAS A NUMBER OF ADVENTURES 117 + + VII IN WHICH HIGH VOLTAGE DEVELOPS IN THE CONVERSATION 137 + +VIII IN WHICH JUDGE CROOKER DELIVERS A FEW OPINIONS 146 + + IX WHICH TELLS OF A MERRY CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE LITTLE + COTTAGE OF THE WIDOW MORAN 163 + + + + +THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +WHICH INTRODUCES THE SHEPHERD OF THE BIRDS + + +The day that Henry Smix met and embraced Gasoline Power and went up Main +Street hand in hand with it is not yet forgotten. It was a hasty +marriage, so to speak, and the results of it were truly deplorable. +Their little journey produced an effect on the nerves and the remote +future history of Bingville. They rushed at a group of citizens who were +watching them, scattered it hither and thither, broke down a section of +Mrs. Risley's picket fence and ran over a small boy. At the end of their +brief misalliance, Gasoline Power seemed to express its opinion of Mr. +Smix by hurling him against a telegraph pole and running wild in the +park until it cooled its passion in the fountain pool. In the language +of Hiram Blenkinsop, the place was badly "smixed up." Yet Mr. Smix was +the object of unmerited criticism. He was like many other men in that +quiet village--slow, deliberate, harmless and good-natured. The action +of his intellect was not at all like that of a gasoline engine. Between +the swiftness of the one and the slowness of the other, there was a wide +zone full of possibilities. The engine had accomplished many things +while Mr. Smix's intellect was getting ready to begin to act. + +In speaking of this adventure, Hiram Blenkinsop made a wise remark: "My +married life learnt me one thing," said he. "If you are thinkin' of +hitchin' up a wild horse with a tame one, be careful that the tame one +is the stoutest or it will do him no good." + +The event had its tragic side and whatever Hiram Blenkinsop and other +citizens of questionable taste may have said of it, the historian has no +intention of treating it lightly. Mr. Smix and his neighbor's fence +could be repaired but not the small boy--Robert Emmet Moran, six years +old, the son of the Widow Moran who took in washing. He was in the +nature of a sacrifice to the new god. He became a beloved cripple, known +as the Shepherd of the Birds and altogether the most cheerful person in +the village. His world was a little room on the second floor of his +mother's cottage overlooking the big flower garden of Judge Crooker--his +father having been the gardener and coachman of the Judge. There were in +this room an old pine bureau, a four post bedstead, an armchair by the +window, a small round nickel clock, that sat on the bureau, a rubber +tree and a very talkative little old tin soldier of the name of Bloggs +who stood erect on a shelf with a gun in his hand and was always looking +out of the window. The day of the tin soldier's arrival the boy had +named him Mr. Bloggs and discovered his unusual qualities of mind and +heart. He was a wise old soldier, it would seem, for he had some sort of +answer for each of the many questions of Bob Moran. Indeed, as Bob knew, +he had seen and suffered much, having traveled to Europe and back with +the Judge's family and been sunk for a year in a frog pond and been +dropped in a jug of molasses, but through it all had kept his look of +inextinguishable courage. The lonely lad talked, now and then, with the +round, nickel clock or the rubber-tree or the pine bureau, but mostly +gave his confidence to the wise and genial Mr. Bloggs. When the spring +arrived the garden, with its birds and flowers, became a source of joy +and companionship for the little lad. Sitting by the open window, he +used to talk to Pat Crowley, who was getting the ground ready for +sowing. Later the slow procession of the flowers passed under the boy's +window and greeted him with its fragrance and color. + +But his most intimate friends were the birds. Robins, in the elm tree +just beyond the window, woke him every summer morning. When he made his +way to the casement, with the aid of two ropes which spanned his room, +they came to him lighting on his wrists and hands and clamoring for the +seeds and crumbs which he was wont to feed them. Indeed, little Bob +Moran soon learned the pretty lingo of every feathered tribe that camped +in the garden. He could sound the pan pipe of the robin, the fairy flute +of the oriole, the noisy guitar of the bobolink and the little piccolo +of the song sparrow. Many of these dear friends of his came into the +room and explored the rubber tree and sang in its branches. A colony of +barn swallows lived under the eaves of the old weathered shed on the far +side of the garden. There were many windows, each with a saucy head +looking out of it. Suddenly half a dozen of these merry people would +rush into the air and fill it with their frolic. They were like a lot of +laughing schoolboys skating over invisible hills and hollows. + +With a pair of field-glasses, which Mrs. Crooker had loaned to him, Bob +Moran had learned the nest habits of the whole summer colony in that +wonderful garden. All day he sat by the open window with his work, an +air gun at his side. The robins would shout a warning to Bob when a cat +strolled into that little paradise. Then he would drop his brushes, +seize his gun and presently its missile would go whizzing through the +air, straight against the side of the cat, who, feeling the sting of it, +would bound through the flower beds and leap over the fence to avoid +further punishment. Bob had also made an electric search-light out of +his father's old hunting jack and, when those red-breasted policemen +sounded their alarm at night, he was out of bed in a jiffy and sweeping +the tree tops with a broom of light, the jack on his forehead. If he +discovered a pair of eyes, the stinging missiles flew toward them in the +light stream until the intruder was dislodged. Indeed, he was like a +shepherd of old, keeping the wolves from his flock. It was the parish +priest who first called him the Shepherd of the Birds. + +Just opposite his window was the stub of an old pine partly covered with +Virginia creeper. Near the top of it was a round hole and beyond it a +small cavern which held the nest of a pair of flickers. Sometimes the +female sat with her gray head protruding from this tiny oriel window of +hers looking across at Bob. Pat Crowley was in the habit of calling +this garden "Moran City," wherein the stub was known as Woodpecker +Tower and the flower bordered path as Fifth Avenue while the widow's +cottage was always referred to as City Hall and the weathered shed as +the tenement district. + + +What a theater of unpremeditated art was this beautiful, big garden of +the Judge! There were those who felt sorry for Bob Moran but his life +was fuller and happier than theirs. It is doubtful if any of the world's +travelers saw more of its beauty than he. + +He had sugared the window-sill so that he always had company--bees and +wasps and butterflies. The latter had interested him since the Judge had +called them "stray thoughts of God." Their white, yellow and blue wings +were always flashing in the warm sunlit spaces of the garden. He loved +the chorus of an August night and often sat by his window listening to +the songs of the tree crickets and katydids and seeing the innumerable +firefly lanterns flashing among the flowers. + +His work was painting scenes in the garden, especially bird tricks and +attitudes. For this, he was indebted to Susan Baker, who had given him +paints and brushes and taught him how to use them, and to an unusual +aptitude for drawing. + +One day Mrs. Baker brought her daughter Pauline with her--a pretty +blue-eyed girl with curly blonde hair, four years older than Bob, who +was thirteen when his painting began. The Shepherd looked at her with an +exclamation of delight; until then he had never seen a beautiful young +maiden. Homely, ill-clad daughters of the working folk had come to his +room with field flowers now and then, but no one like Pauline. He felt +her hair and looked wistfully into her face and said that she was like +pink and white and yellow roses. She was a discovery--a new kind of +human being. Often he thought of her as he sat looking out of the window +and often he dreamed of her at night. + +The little Shepherd of the Birds was not quite a boy. He was a spirit +untouched by any evil thought, unbroken to lures and thorny ways. He +still had the heart of childhood and saw only the beauty of the world. +He was like the flowers and birds of the garden, strangely fair and +winsome, with silken, dark hair curling about his brows. He had large, +clear, brown eyes, a mouth delicate as a girl's and teeth very white and +shapely. The Bakers had lifted the boundaries of his life and extended +his vision. He found a new joy in studying flower forms and in imitating +their colors on canvas. + +Now, indeed, there was not a happier lad in the village than this young +prisoner in one of the two upper bedrooms in the small cottage of the +Widow Moran. True, he had moments of longing for his lost freedom when +he heard the shouts of the boys in the street and their feet hurrying by +on the sidewalk. The steadfast and courageous Mr. Bloggs had said: "I +guess we have just as much fun as they do, after all. Look at them +roses." + +One evening, as his mother sat reading an old love tale to the boy, he +stopped her. + +"Mother," he said, "I love Pauline. Do you think it would be all right +for me to tell her?" + +"Never a word," said the good woman. "Ye see it's this way, my little +son, ye're like a priest an' it's not the right thing for a priest." + +"I don't want to be a priest," said he impatiently. + +"Tut, tut, my laddie boy! It's for God to say an' for us to obey," she +answered. + +When the widow had gone to her room for the night and Bob was thinking +it over, Mr. Bloggs remarked that in his opinion they should keep up +their courage for it was a very grand thing to be a priest after all. + + +Winters he spent deep in books out of Judge Crooker's library and +tending his potted plants and painting them and the thick blanket of +snow in the garden. Among the happiest moments of his life were those +that followed his mother's return from the post-office with _The +Bingville Sentinel_. Then, as the widow was wont to say, he was like a +dog with a bone. To him, Bingville was like Rome in the ancient world or +London in the British Empire. All roads led to Bingville. The _Sentinel_ +was in the nature of a habit. One issue was like unto another--as like +as "two chaws off the same plug of tobaccer," a citizen had once said. +Its editor performed his jokes with a wink and a nudge as if he were +saying, "I will now touch the light guitar." Anything important in the +_Sentinel_ would have been as misplaced as a cannon in a meeting-house. +Every week it caught the toy balloons of gossip, the thistledown events +which were floating in the still air of Bingville. The _Sentinel_ was a +dissipation as enjoyable and as inexplicable as tea. It contained +portraits of leading citizens, accounts of sundry goings and comings, +and teas and parties and student frolics. + +To the little Shepherd, Bingville was the capital of the world and Mr. +J. Patterson Bing, the first citizen of Bingville, who employed eleven +hundred men and had four automobiles, was a gigantic figure whose shadow +stretched across the earth. There were two people much in his thoughts +and dreams and conversation--Pauline Baker and J. Patterson Bing. Often +there were articles in the _Sentinel_ regarding the great enterprises of +Mr. Bing and the social successes of the Bing family in the metropolis. +These he read with hungry interest. His favorite heroes were George +Washington, St. Francis and J. Patterson Bing. As between the three he +would, secretly, have voted for Mr. Bing. Indeed, he and his friends and +intimates--Mr. Bloggs and the rubber tree and the little pine bureau and +the round nickel clock--had all voted for Mr. Bing. But he had never +seen the great man. + +Mr. Bing sent Mrs. Moran a check every Christmas and, now and then, some +little gift to Bob, but his charities were strictly impersonal. He used +to say that while he was glad to help the poor and the sick, he hadn't +time to call on them. Once, Mrs. Bing promised the widow that she and +her husband would go to see Bob on Christmas Day. The little Shepherd +asked his mother to hang his best pictures on the walls and to decorate +them with sprigs of cedar. He put on his starched shirt and collar and +silk tie and a new black coat which his mother had given him. The +Christmas bells never rang so merrily. + + +The great white bird in the Congregational Church tower--that being +Bob's thought of it--flew out across the valley with its tidings of good +will. + +To the little Shepherd it seemed to say: +"Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing! Com-ing, Com-ing, Com-ing!!" + +Many of the friends of his mother--mostly poor folk of the parish who +worked in the mill--came with simple gifts and happy greetings. There +were those among them who thought it a blessing to look upon the sweet +face of Bob and to hear his merry laughter over some playful bit of +gossip and Judge Crooker said that they were quite right about it. Mr. +and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing were never to feel this blessing. The +Shepherd of the Birds waited in vain for them that Christmas Day. Mrs. +Bing sent a letter of kindly greeting and a twenty-dollar gold piece +and explained that her husband was not feeling "quite up to the mark," +which was true. + +"I'm not going," he said decisively, when Mrs. Bing brought the matter +up as he was smoking in the library an hour or so after dinner. "No +cripples and misery in mine at present, thank you! I wouldn't get over +it for a week. Just send them our best wishes and a twenty-dollar gold +piece." + +There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes when his mother helped him into +his night clothes that evening. + +"I hate that twenty-dollar gold piece!" he exclaimed. + +"Laddie boy! Why should ye be sayin' that?" + +The shiny piece of metal was lying on the window-sill. She took it in +her hand. + +"It's as cold as a snow-bank!" she exclaimed. + +"I don't want to touch it! I'm shivering now," said the Shepherd. "Put +it away in the drawer. It makes me sick. It cheated me out of seeing Mr. +Bing." + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +THE FOUNDING OF THE PHYLLISTINES + + +One little word largely accounted for the success of J. Patterson Bing. +It was the word "no." It saved him in moments which would have been full +of peril for other men. He had never made a bad investment because he +knew how and when to say "no." It fell from his lips so sharply and +decisively that he lost little time in the consideration of doubtful +enterprises. Sometimes it fell heavily and left a wound, for which Mr. +Bing thought himself in no way responsible. There was really a lot of +good-will in him. He didn't mean to hurt any one. + +"Time is a thing of great value and what's the use of wasting it in idle +palaver?" he used to say. + +One day, Hiram Blenkinsop, who was just recovering from a spree, met +Mr. Bing at the corner of Main and School Streets and asked him for the +loan of a dollar. + +"_No sir!_" said Mr. J. Patterson Bing, and the words sounded like two +whacks of a hammer on a nail. "No _sir_," he repeated, the second whack +being now the more emphatic. "I don't lend money to people who make a +bad use of it." + +"Can you give me work?" asked the unfortunate drunkard. + +"No! But if you were a hired girl, I'd consider the matter." + +Some people who overheard the words laughed loudly. Poor Blenkinsop made +no reply but he considered the words an insult to his manhood in spite +of the fact that he hadn't any manhood to speak of. At least, there was +not enough of it to stand up and be insulted--that is sure. After that +he was always racking his brain for something mean to say about J. +Patterson Bing. Bing was a cold-blooded fish. Bing was a scrimper and a +grinder. If the truth were known about Bing he wouldn't be holding his +head so high. Judas Iscariot and J. Patterson Bing were off the same +bush. These were some of the things that Blenkinsop scattered abroad and +they were, to say the least of them, extremely unjust. Mr. Bing's +innocent remark touching Mr. Blenkinsop's misfortune in not being a +hired girl, arose naturally out of social conditions in the village. +Furthermore, it is quite likely that every one in Bingville, including +those impersonal creatures known as Law and Order, would have been much +happier if some magician could have turned Mr. Blenkinsop into a hired +girl and have made him a life member of "the Dish Water Aristocracy," as +Judge Crooker was wont to call it. + +The community of Bingville was noted for its simplicity and good sense. +Servants were unknown in this village of three thousand people. It had +lawyers and doctors and professors and merchants--some of whom were +deservedly well known--and J. Patterson Bing, the owner of the pulp +mill, celebrated for his riches; but one could almost say that its most +sought for and popular folk were its hired girls. They were few and +sniffy. They exercised care and discretion in the choice of their +employers. They regulated the diet of the said employers and the +frequency and quality of their entertainments. If it could be said that +there was an aristocracy in the place they were it. First, among the +Who's Who of Bingville, were the Gilligan sisters who worked in the big +brick house of Judge Crooker; another was Mrs. Pat Collins, seventy-two +years of age, who presided in the kitchen of the Reverend Otis +Singleton; the two others were Susan Crowder, a woman of sixty, and a +red-headed girl with one eye, of the name of Featherstraw, both of whom +served the opulent Bings. Some of these hired girls ate with the +family--save on special occasions when city folk were present. Mrs. +Collins and the Gilligans seemed to enjoy this privilege but Susan +Crowder, having had an ancestor who had fought in the Revolutionary War, +couldn't stand it, and Martha Featherstraw preferred to eat in the +kitchen. Indeed there was some warrant for this remarkable situation. +The Gilligan sisters had a brother who was a Magistrate in a large city +and Mrs. Collins had a son who was a successful and popular butcher in +the growing city of Hazelmead. + +That part of the village known as Irishtown and a settlement of Poles +and Italians furnished the man help in the mill, and its sons were also +seen more or less in the fields and gardens. Ambition and Education had +been working in the minds of the young in and about Bingville for two +generations. The sons and daughters of farmers and ditch-diggers had +read Virgil and Horace and plodded into the mysteries of higher +mathematics. The best of them had gone into learned professions; others +had enlisted in the business of great cities; still others had gone in +for teaching or stenography. + +Their success had wrought a curious devastation in the village and +countryside. The young moved out heading for the paths of glory. Many a +sturdy, stupid person who might have made an excellent plumber, or +carpenter, or farmer, or cook, armed with a university degree and a +sense of superiority, had gone forth in quest of fame and fortune +prepared for nothing in particular and achieving firm possession of it. +Somehow the elective system had enabled them "to get by" in a state of +mind that resembled the Mojave Desert. If they did not care for Latin or +mathematics they could take a course in Hierology or in The Taming of +the Wild Chickadee or in some such easy skating. Bingville was like many +places. The young had fled from the irksome tasks which had roughened +the hands and bent the backs of their parents. That, briefly, accounts +for the fewness and the sniffiness above referred to. + +Early in 1917, the village was shaken by alarming and astonishing news. +True, the sinking of the _Lusitania_ and our own enlistment in the World +War and the German successes on the Russian frontier had, in a way, +prepared the heart and intellect of Bingville for shocking events. +Still, these disasters had been remote. The fact that the Gilligan +sisters had left the Crookers and accepted an offer of one hundred and +fifty dollars a month from the wealthy Nixons of Hazelmead was an event +close to the footlights, so to speak. It caused the news of battles to +take its rightful place in the distant background. Men talked of this +event in stores and on street corners; it was the subject of +conversation in sewing circles and the Philomathian Literary Club. That +day, the Bings whispered about it at the dinner table between courses +until Susan Crowder sent in a summons by Martha Featherstraw with the +apple pie. She would be glad to see Mrs. J. Patterson Bing in the +kitchen immediately after dinner. There was a moment of silence in the +midst of which Mr. Bing winked knowingly at his wife, who turned pale as +she put down her pie fork with a look of determination and rose and went +into the kitchen. Mrs. Crowder regretted that she and Martha would have +to look for another family unless their wages were raised from one +hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars a month. + +"But, Susan, we all made an agreement for a year," said Mrs. Bing. + +Mrs. Crowder was sorry but she and Martha could not make out on the +wages they were getting--everything cost so much. If Mary Gilligan, who +couldn't cook, was worth a hundred dollars a month Mrs. Crowder +considered herself cheap at twice that figure. + + +Mrs. Bing, in her anger, was inclined to revolt, but Mr. Bing settled +the matter by submitting to the tyranny of Susan. With Phyllis and three +of her young friends coming from school and a party in prospect, there +was nothing else to do. + +Maggie Collins, who was too old and too firmly rooted in the village to +leave it, was satisfied with a raise of ten dollars a month. Even then +she received a third of the minister's salary. "His wife being a swell +leddy who had no time for wurruk, sure the boy was no sooner married +than he yelled for help," as Maggie was wont to say. + +All this had a decided effect on the economic life of the village. +Indeed, Hiram Blenkinsop, the village drunkard, who attended to the +lawns and gardens for a number of people, demanded an increase of a +dollar a day in his wages on account of the high cost of living, +although one would say that its effect upon him could not have been +serious. For years the historic figure of Blenkinsop had been the +destination and repository of the cast-off clothing and the worn and +shapeless shoes of the leading citizens. For a decade, the venerable +derby hat, which once belonged to Judge Crooker, had survived all the +incidents of his adventurous career. He was, indeed, as replete with +suggestive memories as the graveyard to which he was wont to repair for +rest and recuperation in summer weather. There, in the shade of a locust +tree hard by the wall, he was often discovered with his faithful dog +Christmas--a yellow, mongrel, good-natured cur--lying beside him, and +the historic derby hat in his hand. He had a persevering pride in that +hat. Mr. Blenkinsop showed a surprising and commendable industry under +the stimulation of increased pay. He worked hard for a month, then +celebrated his prosperity with a night of such noisy, riotous joy that +he landed in the lockup with a black eye and a broken nose and an empty +pocket. As usual, the dog Christmas went with him. + +When there was a loud yell in the streets at night Judge Crooker used to +say, "It's Hiram again! The poor fellow is out a-Hiraming." + +William Snodgrass, the carpenter, gave much thought and reflection to +the good fortune of the Gilligan girls. If a hired girl could earn +twenty-five dollars a week and her board, a skilled mechanic who had to +board himself ought to earn at least fifty. So he put up his prices. +Israel Sneed, the plumber, raised his scale to correspond with that of +the carpenter. The prices of the butcher and grocer kept pace with the +rise of wages. A period of unexampled prosperity set in. + +Some time before, the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice that +its services would no longer be required. It had been an industrious and +faithful Old Spirit. The new generation did not intend to be hard on it. +They were willing to give it a comfortable home as long as it lived. Its +home was to be a beautiful and venerable asylum called The Past. There +it was to have nothing to do but to sit around and weep and talk of +bygone days. The Old Spirit rebelled. It refused to abandon its +appointed tasks. + +The notice had been given soon after the new theater was opened in the +Sneed Block, and the endless flood of moving lights and shadows began to +fall on its screen. The low-born, purblind intellects of Bohemian New +York began to pour their lewd fancies into this great stream that flowed +through every city, town and village in the land. They had no more +compunction in the matter than a rattlesnake when it swallows a rabbit. +To them, there were only two great, bare facts in life--male and female. +The males, in their vulgar parlance, were either "wise guys" or +"suckers"! The females were all "my dears." + +Much of this mental sewage smelled to heaven. But it paid. It was cheap +and entertaining. It relieved the tedium of small-town life. + + +Judge Crooker was in the little theater the evening that the Old Spirit +of Bingville received notice to quit. The sons and daughters and even +the young children of the best families in the village were there. +Scenes from the shady side of the great cities, bar-room adventures with +pugilists and porcelain-faced women, the thin-ice skating of illicit +love succeeded one another on the screen. The tender souls of the young +received the impression that life in the great world was mostly +drunkenness, violence, lust, and Great White Waywardness of one kind or +another. + +Judge Crooker shook his head and his fist as he went out and expressed +his view to Phyllis and her mother in the lobby. Going home, they called +him an old prude. The knowledge that every night this false instruction +was going on in the Sneed Block filled the good man with sorrow and +apprehension. He complained to Mr. Leak, the manager, who said that he +would like to give clean shows, but that he had to take what was sent +him. + +Soon a curious thing happened to the family of Mr. J. Patterson Bing. It +acquired a new god--one that began, as the reader will have observed, +with a small "g." He was a boneless, India-rubber, obedient little god. +For years the need of one like that had been growing in the Bing family. +Since he had become a millionaire, Mr. Bing had found it necessary to +spend a good deal of time and considerable money in New York. Certain of +his banker friends in the metropolis had introduced him to the joys of +the Great White Way and the card room of the Golden Age Club. Always he +had been ill and disgruntled for a week after his return to the homely +realities of Bingville. The shrewd intuitions of Mrs. Bing alarmed her. +So Phyllis and John were packed off to private schools so that the good +woman would be free to look after the imperiled welfare of the lamb of +her flock--the great J. Patterson. She was really worried about him. +After that, she always went with him to the city. She was pleased and +delighted with the luxury of the Waldorf-Astoria, the costumes, the +dinner parties, the theaters, the suppers, the cabaret shows. The latter +shocked her a little at first. + + * * * * * + +They went out to a great country house, near the city, to spend a +week-end. There was a dinner party on Saturday night. One of the ladies +got very tipsy and was taken up-stairs. The others repaired to the music +room to drink their coffee and smoke. Mrs. Bing tried a cigarette and +got along with it very well. Then there was an hour of heart to heart, +central European dancing while the older men sat down for a night of +bridge in the library. Sunday morning, the young people rode to hounds +across country while the bridge party continued its session in the +library. It was not exactly a restful week-end. J. Patterson and his +wife went to bed, as soon as their grips were unpacked, on their return +to the city and spent the day there with aching heads. + +While they were eating dinner that night, the cocktail remarked with the +lips of Mrs. Bing: "I'm getting tired of Bingville." + +"Oh, of course, it's a picayune place," said J. Patterson. + +"It's so provincial!" the lady exclaimed. + +Soon, the oysters and the entree having subdued the cocktail, she +ventured: "But it does seem to me that New York is an awfully wicked +place." + +"What do you mean?" he asked. + +"Godless," she answered. "The drinking and gambling and those dances." + +"That's because you've been brought up in a seven-by-nine Puritan +village," J. Patterson growled very decisively. "Why shouldn't people +enjoy themselves? We have trouble enough at best. God gave us bodies to +get what enjoyment we could out of them. It's about the only thing we're +sure of, anyhow." + +It was a principle of Mrs. Bing to agree with J. Patterson. And why not? +He was a great man. She knew it as well as he did and that was knowing +it very well indeed. His judgment about many things had been +right--triumphantly and overwhelmingly right. Besides, it was the only +comfortable thing to do. She had been the type of woman who reads those +weird articles written by grass widows on "How to Keep the Love of a +Husband." + +So it happened that the Bings began to construct a little god to suit +their own tastes and habits--one about as tractable as a toy dog. They +withdrew from the Congregational Church and had house parties for sundry +visitors from New York and Hazelmead every week-end. + +Phyllis returned from school in May with a spirit quite in harmony with +that of her parents. She had spent the holidays at the home of a friend +in New York and had learned to love the new dances and to smoke, +although that was a matter to be mentioned only in a whisper and not in +the presence of her parents. She was a tall, handsome girl with blue +eyes, blonde hair, perfect teeth and complexion, and almost a perfect +figure. Here she was, at last, brought up to the point of a coming-out +party. + + +It had been a curious and rather unfortunate bringing up that the girl +had suffered. She had been the pride of a mother's heart and the +occupier of that position is apt to achieve great success in supplying a +mother's friends with topics of conversation. Phyllis had been flattered +and indulged. Mrs. Bing was entitled to much credit, having been born of +poor and illiterate parents in a small village on the Hudson a little +south of the Capital. She was pretty and grew up with a longing for +better things. J. Patterson got her at a bargain in an Albany department +store where she stood all day behind the notion counter. "At a bargain," +it must be said, because, on the whole, there were higher values in her +personality than in his. She had acquired that common Bertha Clay habit +of associating with noble lords who lived in cheap romances and had a +taste for poor but honest girls. The practical J. Patterson hated that +kind of thing. But his wife kept a supply of these highly flavored +novels hidden in the little flat and spent her leisure reading them. + +One of the earliest recollections of Phyllis was the caution, "Don't +tell father!" received on the hiding of a book. Mrs. Bing had bought, in +those weak, pinching times of poverty, extravagant things for herself +and the girl and gone in debt for them. Collectors had come at times to +get their money with impatient demands. + +The Bings were living in a city those days. Phyllis had been a witness +of many interviews of the kind. All along the way of life, she had heard +the oft-repeated injunction, "Don't tell father!" She came to regard men +as creatures who were not to be told. When Phyllis got into a scrape at +school, on account of a little flirtation, and Mrs. Bing went to see +about it, the two agreed on keeping the salient facts from father. + + +A dressmaker came after Phyllis arrived to get her ready for the party. +The afternoon of the event, J. Patterson brought the young people of the +best families of Hazelmead by special train to Bingville. The Crookers, +the Witherills, the Ameses, the Renfrews and a number of the most +popular students in the Normal School were also invited. They had the +famous string band from Hazelmead to furnish music, and Smith--an +impressive young English butler whom they had brought from New York on +their last return. + +Phyllis wore a gown which Judge Crooker described as "the limit." He +said to his wife after they had gone home: "Why, there was nothing on +her back but a pair of velvet gallowses and when I stood in front of +her my eyes were seared." + +"Mrs. Bing calls it high art," said the Judge's wife. + +"I call it down pretty close to see level," said the Judge. "When she +clinched with those young fellers and went wrestling around the room she +reminded me of a grape-vine growing on a tree." + +This reaction on the intellect of the Judge quite satisfies the need of +the historian. Again the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice. It +is only necessary to add that the punch was strong and the house party +over the week-end made a good deal of talk by fast driving around the +country in motor-cars on Sunday and by loud singing in boats on the +river and noisy play on the tennis courts. That kind of thing was new to +Bingville. + +When it was all over, Phyllis told her mother that Gordon King--one of +the young men--had insulted her when they had been out in a boat +together on Sunday. Mrs. Bing was shocked. They had a talk about it up +in Phyllis' bedroom at the end of which Mrs. Bing repeated that familiar +injunction, "Don't tell father!" + +It was soon after the party that Mr. J. Patterson Bing sent for William +Snodgrass, the carpenter. He wanted an extension built on his house +containing new bedrooms and baths and a large sun parlor. The estimate +of Snodgrass was unexpectedly large. In explanation of the fact the +latter said: "We work only eight hours a day now. The men demand it and +they must be taken to and from their work. They can get all they want to +do on those terms." + +"And they demand seven dollars and a half a day at that? It's big pay +for an ordinary mechanic," said J. Patterson. + +"There's plenty of work to do," Snodgrass answered. "I don't care the +snap o' my finger whether I get your job or not. I'm forty thousand +ahead o' the game and I feel like layin' off for the summer and takin' a +rest." + +"I suppose I could get you to work overtime and hurry the job through if +I'm willing to pay for it?" the millionaire inquired. + +"The rate would be time an' a half for work done after the eight hours +are up, but it's hard to get any one to work overtime these days." + +"Well, go ahead and get all the work you can out of these plutocrats of +the saw and hammer. I'll pay the bills," said J. Patterson. + +The terms created a record in Bingville. But, as Mr. Bing had agreed to +them, in his haste, they were established. + +Israel Sneed, the plumber, was working with his men on a job at +Millerton, but he took on the plumbing for the Bing house extension, at +prices above all precedent, to be done as soon as he could get to it on +his return. The butcher and grocer had improved the opportunity to raise +their prices for Bing never questioned a bill. He set the pace. Prices +stuck where he put the peg. So, unwittingly, the millionaire had created +conditions of life that were extremely difficult. + + +Since prices had gone up the village of Bingville had been running down +at the heel. It had been at best and, in the main, a rather shiftless +and inert community. The weather had worn the paint off many houses +before their owners had seen the need of repainting. Not until the rain +drummed on the floor was the average, drowsy intellect of Bingville +roused to action on the roof. It must be said, however, that every one +was busy, every day, except Hiram Blenkinsop, who often indulged in +_ante mortem_ slumbers in the graveyard or went out on the river with +his dog Christmas, his bottle and his fishing rod. The people were +selling goods, or teaming, or working in the two hotels or the machine +shop or the electric light plant or the mill, or keeping the hay off the +lawns, or building, or teaching in the schools. The gardens were +suffering unusual neglect that season--their owners being so profitably +engaged in other work--and the lazy foreigners demanded four dollars and +a half a day and had to be watched and sworn at and instructed, and not +every one had the versatility for this task. The gardens were largely +dependent on the spasmodic industry of schoolboys and old men. So it +will be seen that the work of the community had little effect on the +supply of things necessary to life. Indeed, a general habit of +extravagance had been growing in the village. People were not so careful +of food, fuel and clothing as they had been. + +It was a wet summer in Bingville. The day after the rains began, +Professor Renfrew called at the house of the sniffy Snodgrass--the +nouveau riche and opulent carpenter. He sat reading the morning paper +with a new diamond ring on the third finger of his left hand. + +"My roof is leaking badly and it will have to be fixed at once," the +Professor announced. + +"I'm sorry, I can't do a thing for you now," said Snodgrass. "I've got +so much to do, I don't know which way to turn." + +"But you're not working this rainy day, are you?" the Professor asked. + +"No, and I don't propose to work in this rain for anybody; if I did I'd +fix my own roof. To tell you the truth, I don't have to work at all! I +calculate that I've got all the money I need. So, when it rains, I +intend to rest and get acquainted with my family." + +He was firm but in no way disagreeable about it. + +Some of the half-dozen men who, in like trouble, called on him for help +that day were inclined to resent his declaration of independence and his +devotion to leisure, but really Mr. Snodgrass was well within his +rights. + +It was a more serious matter when Judge Crocker's plumbing leaked and +flooded his kitchen and cellar. Israel Sneed was in Millerton every day +and working overtime more or less. He refused to put a hand on the +Judge's pipes. He was sorry but he couldn't make a horse of himself and +even if he could the time was past when he had to do it. Judge Crooker +brought a plumber from Hazelmead, sixty miles in a motor-car, and had to +pay seventy dollars for time, labor and materials. This mechanic +declared that there was too much pressure on the pipes, a judgment of +whose accuracy we have abundant proof in the history of the next week or +so. Never had there been such a bursting of pipes and flooding of +cellars. That little lake up in the hills which supplied the water of +Bingville seemed to have got the common notion of moving into the +village. A dozen cellars were turned into swimming pools. Modern +improvements were going out of commission. A committee went to Hazelmead +and after a week's pleading got a pair of young and inexperienced +plumbers to come to Bingville. + +"They must 'a' plugged 'em with gold," said Deacon Hosley, when the bill +arrived. + +New leaks were forthcoming, but Hiram Blenkinsop conceived the notion of +stopping them with poultices of white lead and bandages of canvas bound +with fine wire. They dripped and many of the pipes of Bingville looked +as if they were suffering from sprained ankles and sore throats, but +Hiram had prevented another deluge. + +The price of coal had driven the people of Bingville back to the woods +for fuel. The old wood stoves had been cleaned and set up in the +sitting-rooms and kitchens. The saving had been considerable. Now, so +many men were putting in their time on the house and grounds of J. +Patterson Bing and the new factory at Millerton that the local wood +dealer found it impossible to get the help he needed. Not twenty-five +per cent. of the orders on his books could be filled. + +Mr. Bing's house was finished in October. Then Snodgrass announced that +he was going to take it easy as became a man of his opulence. He had +bought a farm and would only work three days a week at his trade. Sneed +had also bought a farm and acquired a feeling of opulence. He was going +to work when he felt like it. Before he tackled any leaking pipes he +proposed to make a few leaks in the deer up in the Adirondacks. So the +roofs and the plumbing had to wait. + +Meanwhile, Bingville was in sore trouble. The ancient roof of its +respectability had begun to leak. The beams and rafters in the house of +its spirit were rotting away. Many of the inhabitants of the latter +regarded the great J. Patterson Bing with a kind of awe--like that of +the Shepherd of the Birds. He was the leading citizen. He had done +things. When J. Patterson Bing decided that rest or fresh air was better +for him than bad music and dull prayers and sermons, and that God was +really not much concerned as to whether a man sat in a pew or a rocking +chair or a motor-car on Sunday, he was, probably, quite right. Really, +it was a matter much more important to Mr. Bing and his neighbors than +to God. Indeed, it is not at all likely that the ruler of the universe +was worrying much about them. But when J. Patterson Bing decided in +favor of fun and fresh air, R. Purdy--druggist--made a like decision, +and R. Purdy was a man of commanding influence in his own home. His +daughters, Mabel and Gladys, and his son, Richard, Jr., would not have +been surprised to see him elected President of the United States, some +day, believing that that honor was only for the truly great. Soon Mrs. +Purdy stood alone--a hopeless minority of one--in the household. By much +pleading and nagging, she kept the children in the fold of the church +for a time but, by and by, grew weary of the effort. She was converted +by nervous exhaustion to the picnic Sunday. Her conscience worried her. +She really felt sorry for God and made sundry remarks calculated to +appease and comfort Him. + + +Now all this would seem to have been in itself a matter of slight +importance. But Orville Gates, the superintendent of the mill, and John +Seaver, attorney at law, and Robert Brown, the grocer, and Pendleton +Ames, who kept the book and stationery store, and William Ferguson, the +clothier, and Darwin Sill, the butcher, and Snodgrass, the carpenter, +and others had joined the picnic caravan led by the millionaire. These +good people would not have admitted it, but the truth is J. Patterson +Bing held them all in the hollow of his hand. Nobody outside his own +family had any affection for him. Outwardly, he was as hard as nails. +But he owned the bank and controlled credits and was an extravagant +buyer. He had given freely for the improvement of the village and the +neighboring city of Hazelmead. His family was the court circle of +Bingville. Consciously or unconsciously, the best people imitated the +Bings. + +Judge Crooker was, one day, discussing with a friend the social +conditions of Bingville. In regard to picnic Sundays he made this +remark: "George Meredith once wrote to his son that he would need the +help of religion to get safely beyond the stormy passions of youth. It +is very true!" + +The historian was reminded of this saying by the undertow of the life +currents in Bingville. The dances in the Normal School and in the homes +of the well-to-do were imitations of the great party at J. Patterson +Bing's. The costumes of certain of the young ladies were, to quote a +clause from the posters of the Messrs. Barnum and Bailey, still clinging +to the bill-board: "the most daring and amazing bareback performances in +the history of the circus ring." Phyllis Bing, the unrivaled +metropolitan performer, set the pace. It was distinctly too rapid for +her followers. If one may say it kindly, she was as cold and heartless +and beautiful in her act as a piece of bronze or Italian marble. She was +not ashamed of herself. She did it so easily and gracefully and +unconsciously and obligingly, so to speak, as if her license had never +been questioned. It was not so with Vivian Mead and Frances Smith and +Pauline Baker. They limped and struggled in their efforts to keep up. To +begin with, the art of their modiste had been fussy, imitative and +timid. It lacked the master touch. Their spirits were also improperly +prepared for such publicity. They blushed and looked apologies and were +visibly uncomfortable when they entered the dance-hall. + + +On this point, Judge Crooker delivered a famous opinion. It was: "I feel +sorry for those girls but their mothers ought to be spanked!" + +There is evidence that this sentence of his was carried out in due time +and in a most effectual manner. But the works of art which these mothers +had put on exhibition at the Normal School sprang into overwhelming +popularity with the young men and their cards were quickly filled. In +half an hour, they had ceased to blush. Their eyes no longer spoke +apologies. They were new women. Their initiation was complete. They had +become in the language of Judge Crooker, "perfect Phyllistines!" + +The dancing tried to be as naughty as that remarkable Phyllistinian +pastime at the mansion of the Bings and succeeded well, if not +handsomely. The modern dances and dress were now definitely established +in Bingville. + +Just before the holidays, the extension of the ample home of the +millionaire was decorated, furnished, and ready to be shown. Mrs. Bing +and Phyllis who had been having a fling in New York came home for the +holidays. John arrived the next day from the great Padelford School to +be with the family through the winter recess. Mrs. Bing gave a tea to +the ladies of Bingville. She wanted them to see the improvements and +become aware of her good will. She had thought of an evening party, but +there were many men in the village whom she didn't care to have in her +house. So it became a tea. + +The women talked of leaking roofs and water pipes and useless bathrooms +and outrageous costs. Phyllis sat in the Palm Room with the village +girls. It happened that they talked mainly about their fathers. Some had +complained of paternal strictness. + +"Men are terrible! They make so much trouble," said Frances Smith. "It +seems as if they hated to see anybody have a good time." + +"Mother and I do as we please and say nothing," said Phyllis. "We never +tell father anything. Men don't understand." + +Some of the girls smiled and looked into one another's eyes. + +There had been a curious undercurrent in the party. It did not break the +surface of the stream until Mrs. Bing asked Mrs. Pendleton Ames, "Where +is Susan Baker?" + +A silence fell upon the group around her. + +Mrs. Ames leaned toward Mrs. Bing and whispered, "Haven't you heard the +news?" + +"No. I had to scold Susan Crowder and Martha Featherstraw as soon as I +got here for neglecting their work and they've hardly spoken to me +since. What is it?" + +"Pauline Baker has run away with a strange young man," Mrs. Ames +whispered. + +Mrs. Bing threw up both hands, opened her mouth and looked toward the +ceiling. + +"You don't mean it," she gasped. + +"It's a fact. Susan told me. Mr. Baker doesn't know the truth yet and +she doesn't dare to tell him. She's scared stiff. Pauline went over to +Hazelmead last week to visit Emma Stacy against his wishes. She met the +young man at a dance. Susan got a letter from Pauline last night making +a clean breast of the matter. They are married and stopping at a hotel +in New York." + +"My lord! I should think she _would_ be scared stiff," said Mrs. Bing. + +"I think there is a good reason for the stiffness of Susan," said Mrs. +Singleton, the wife of the Congregational minister. "We all know that +Mr. Baker objected to these modern dances and the way that Pauline +dressed. He used to say that it was walking on the edge of a precipice." + +There was a breath of silence in which one could hear only a faint +rustle like the stir of some invisible spirit. + +Mrs. Bing sighed. "He may be all right," she said in a low, calm voice. + +"But the indications are not favorable," Mrs. Singleton remarked. + +The gossip ceased abruptly, for the girls were coming out of the Palm +Room. + +The next morning, Mrs. Bing went to see Susan Baker to offer sympathy +and a helping hand. Mamie Bing was, after all, a good-hearted woman. By +this time, Mr. Baker had been told. He had kicked a hole in the long +looking-glass in Pauline's bedroom and flung a pot of rouge through the +window and scattered talcum powder all over the place and torn a new +silk gown into rags and burnt it in the kitchen stove and left the house +slamming the door behind him. Susan had gone to bed and he had probably +gone to the club or somewhere. Perhaps he would commit suicide. Of all +this, it is enough to say that for some hours there was abundant +occupation for the tender sympathies of Mrs. J. Patterson Bing. Before +she left, Mr. Baker had returned for luncheon and seemed to be quite +calm and self-possessed when he greeted her in the hall below stairs. + +On entering her home, about one o'clock, Mrs. Bing received a letter +from the hand of Martha. + +"Phyllis told me to give you this as soon as you returned," said the +girl. + +"What does this mean?" Mrs. Bing whispered to herself, as she tore open +the envelope. + +Her face grew pale and her hands trembled as she read the letter. + + + "_Dearest Mamma_," it began. "I am going to Hazelmead for luncheon + with Gordon King. I couldn't ask you because I didn't know where + you were. We have waited an hour. I am sure you wouldn't want me to + miss having a lovely time. I shall be home before five. Don't tell + father! He hates Gordon so. + + "_Phyllis._" + + +"The boy who insulted her! My God!" Mrs. Bing exclaimed in a whisper. +She hurried to the door of the butler's pantry. Indignation was in the +sound of her footsteps. + +"Martha!" she called. + +Martha came. + +"Tell James to bring the big car at once. I'm going to Hazelmead." + +"Without luncheon?" the girl asked. + +"Just give me a sandwich and I'll eat it in my hand." + +"I want you to hurry," she said to James as she entered the glowing +limousine with the sandwich half consumed. + +They drove at top speed over the smooth, state road to the mill city. At +half past two, Mrs. Bing alighted at the fashionable Gray Goose Inn +where the best people had their luncheon parties. She found Phyllis and +Gordon in a cozy alcove, sipping cognac and smoking cigarettes, with an +ice tub and a champagne bottle beside them. To tell the whole truth, it +was a timely arrival. Phyllis, with no notion of the peril of it, was +indeed having "a lovely time"--the time of her young life, in fact. For +half an hour, she had been hanging on the edge of the giddy precipice of +elopement. She was within one sip of a decision to let go. + +Mrs. Bing was admirably cool. In her manner there was little to indicate +that she had seen the unusual and highly festive accessories. She sat +down beside them and said, "My dear, I was very lonely and thought I +would come and look you up. Is your luncheon finished?" + +"Yes," said Phyllis. + +"Then let us go and get into the car. We'll drop Mr. King at his home." + +When at last they were seated in the limousine, the angry lady lifted +the brakes in a way of speaking. + +"I am astonished that you would go to luncheon with this young man who +has insulted you," she said. + +Phyllis began to cry. + +Turning to young Gordon King, the indignant lady added: "I think you are +a disreputable boy. You must never come to my house again--_never_!" + +He made no answer and left the car without a word at the door of the +King residence. + + +There were miles and miles of weeping on the way home. Phyllis had +recovered her composure but began again when her mother remarked, "I +wonder where you learned to drink champagne and cognac and smoke +cigarettes," as if her own home had not been a perfect academy of +dissipation. The girl sat in a corner, her eyes covered with her +handkerchief and the only words she uttered on the way home were these: +"Don't tell father!" + +While this was happening, Mr. Baker confided his troubles to Judge +Crooker in the latter's office. The Judge heard him through and then +delivered another notable opinion, to wit: "There are many subjects on +which the judgment of the average man is of little value, but in the +matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be sound. Also there are +many subjects on which the judgment of the average woman may be trusted, +but in the matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be unsound. I +say this, after some forty years of observation." + +"What is the reason?" Mr. Baker asked. + +"Well, a daughter has to be prepared to deal with men," the Judge went +on. "The masculine temperament is involved in all the critical problems +of her life. Naturally the average man is pretty well informed on the +subject of men. You have prospered these late years. You have been so +busy getting rich that you have just used your home to eat and sleep in. +You can't do a home any good by eating and snoring and reading a paper +in it." + +"My wife would have her own way there," said Baker. + +"That doesn't alter the fact that you have neglected your home. You have +let things slide. You wore yourself out in this matter of money-getting. +You were tired when you got home at night--all in, as they say. The bank +was the main thing with you. I repeat that you let things slide at home +and the longer they slide the faster they slide when they're going down +hill. You can always count on that in a case of sliding. The young have +a taste for velocity and often it comes so unaccountably fast that they +don't know what to do with it, so they're apt to get their necks broken +unless there's some one to put on the brakes." + +Mr. Emanuel Baker arose and began to stride up and down the room. + +"Upon my word, Judge! I don't know what to do," he exclaimed. + +"There's only one thing to do. Go and find the young people and give +them your blessing. If you can discover a spark of manhood in the +fellow, make the most of it. The chances are against that, but let us +hope for the best. Above all, I want you to be gentle with Pauline. You +are more to blame than she is." + +"I don't see how I can spare the time, but I'll have to," said Baker. + +"Time! Fiddlesticks!" the Judge exclaimed. "What a darn fool money +makes of a man! You have lost your sense of proportion, your +appreciation of values. Bill Pritchard used to talk that way to me. He +has been lying twenty years in his grave. He hadn't a minute to spare +until one day he fell dead--then leisure and lots of leisure it would +seem--and the business has doubled since he quit worrying about it. My +friend, you can not take a cent into Paradise, but the soul of Pauline +is a different kind of property. It might be a help to you there. Give +plenty of time to this job, and good luck to you." + +The spirit of the old, dead days spoke in the voice of the Judge--spoke +with a kindly dignity. It had ever been the voice of Justice, tempered +with Mercy--the most feared and respected voice in the upper counties. +His grave, smooth-shaven face, his kindly gray eyes, his noble brow with +its crown of white hair were fitting accessories of the throne of +Justice and Mercy. + +"I'll go this afternoon. Thank you, Judge!" said Baker, as he left the +office. + + +Pauline had announced in her letter that her husband's name was Herbert +Middleton. Mr. Baker sent a telegram to Pauline to apprise her of his +arrival in the morning. It was a fatherly message of love and good-will. +At the hotel in New York, Mr. Baker learned that Mr. and Mrs. Middleton +had checked out the day before. Nobody could tell him where they had +gone. One of the men at the porter's desk told of putting them in a +taxicab with their grips and a steamer trunk soon after luncheon. He +didn't know where they went. Mr. Baker's telegram was there unopened. He +called at every hotel desk in the city, but he could get no trace of +them. He telephoned to Mrs. Baker. She had heard nothing from Pauline. +In despair, he went to the Police Department and told his story to the +Chief. + +"It looks as if there was something crooked about it," said the Chief. +"There are many cases like this. Just read that." + +The officer picked up a newspaper clipping, which lay on his desk, and +passed it to Mr. Baker. It was from the _New York Evening Post_. The +banker read aloud this startling information: + + + "'The New York police report that approximately 3600 girls have run + away or disappeared from their homes in the past eleven months, and + the Bureau of Missing Persons estimates that the number who have + disappeared throughout the country approximates 68,000.'" + + +"It's rather astonishing," the Chief went on. "The women seem to have +gone crazy these days. Maybe it's the new dancing and the movies that +are breaking down the morals of the little suburban towns or maybe it's +the excitement of the war. Anyhow, they keep the city supplied with +runaways and vamps. You are not the first anxious father I have seen +to-day. You can go home. I'll put a man on the case and let you know +what happens." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +WHICH TELLS OF THE COMPLAINING COIN AND THE MAN WHO LOST HIS SELF + + +There was a certain gold coin in a little bureau drawer in Bingville +which began to form a habit of complaining to its master. + +"How cold I am!" it seemed to say to the boy. "I was cold when you put +me in here and I have been cold ever since. Br-r-r! I'm freezing." + +Bob Moran took out the little drawer and gave it a shaking as he looked +down at the gold piece. + +"Don't get rattled," said the redoubtable Mr. Bloggs, who had a great +contempt for cowards. + +It was just after the Shepherd of the Birds had heard of a poor widow +who was the mother of two small children and who had fallen sick of the +influenza with no fuel in her house. + +"I am cold, too!" said the Shepherd. + +"Why, of course you are," the coin answered. "That's the reason I'm +cold. A coin is never any warmer than the heart of its owner. Why don't +you take me out of here and give me a chance to move around?" + +Things that would not say a word to other boys often spoke to the +Shepherd. + +"Let him go," said Mr. Bloggs. + +Indeed it was the tin soldier, who stood on his little shelf looking out +of the window, who first reminded Bob of the loneliness and discomfort +of the coin. As a rule whenever the conscience of the boy was touched +Mr. Bloggs had something to say. + +It was late in February and every one was complaining of the cold. Even +the oldest inhabitants of Bingville could not recall so severe a +winter. Many families were short of fuel. The homes of the working folk +were insufficiently heated. Money in the bank had given them a sense of +security. They could not believe that its magic power would fail to +bring them what they needed. So they had been careless of their +allowance of wood and coal. There were days when they had none and could +get none at the yard. Some of them took boards out of their barn floors +and cut down shade trees and broke up the worst of their furniture to +feed the kitchen stove in those days of famine. Some men with hundreds +of dollars in the bank went out into the country at night and stole +rails off the farmers' fences. The homes of these unfortunate people +were ravaged by influenza and many died. + +Prices at the stores mounted higher. Most of the gardens had been lying +idle. The farmers had found it hard to get help. Some of the latter, +indeed, had decided that they could make more by teaming at Millerton +than by toiling in the fields, and with less effort. They left the boys +and the women to do what they could with the crops. Naturally the latter +were small. So the local sources of supply had little to offer and the +demand upon the stores steadily increased. Certain of the merchants had +been, in a way, spoiled by prosperity. They were rather indifferent to +complaints and demands. Many of the storekeepers, irritated, doubtless, +by overwork, had lost their former politeness. The two butchers, having +prospered beyond their hopes, began to feel the need of rest. They cut +down their hours of labor and reduced their stocks and raised their +prices. There were days when their supplies failed to arrive. The +railroad service had been bad enough in times of peace. Now, it was +worse than ever. + + +Those who had plenty of money found it difficult to get a sufficient +quantity of good food, Bingville being rather cut off from other centers +of life by distance and a poor railroad. Some drove sixty miles to +Hazelmead to do marketing for themselves and their neighbors. + +Mr. and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing, however, in their luxurious apartment at +the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York, knew little of these conditions +until Mr. Bing came up late in March for a talk with the mill +superintendent. Many of the sick and poor suffered extreme privation. +Father O'Neil and the Reverend Otis Singleton of the Congregational +Church went among the people, ministering to the sick, of whom there +were very many, and giving counsel to men and women who were +unaccustomed to prosperity and ill-qualified wisely to enjoy it. One +day, Father O'Neil saw the Widow Moran coming into town with a great +bundle of fagots on her back. + +"This looks a little like the old country," he remarked. + +She stopped and swung her fagots to the ground and announced: "It do +that an' may God help us! It's hard times, Father. In spite o' all the +money, it's hard times. It looks like there wasn't enough to go +'round--the ships be takin' so many things to the old country." + +"How is my beloved Shepherd?" the good Father asked. + +"Mother o' God! The house is that cold, he's been layin' abed for a week +an' Judge Crooker has been away on the circuit." + +"Too bad!" said the priest. "I've been so busy with the sick and the +dying and the dead I have hardly had time to think of you." + +Against her protest, he picked up the fagots and carried them on his own +back to her kitchen. + +He found the Shepherd in a sweater sitting up in bed and knitting socks. + +"How is my dear boy?" the good Father asked. + +"Very sad," said the Shepherd. "I want to do something to help and my +legs are useless." + +"Courage!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to shout from his shelf at the window-side +and just then he assumed a most valiant and determined look as he added: +"Forward! march!" + +Father O'Neil did what he could to help in that moment of peril by +saying: + +"Cheer up, boy. I'm going out to Dan Mullin's this afternoon and I'll +make him bring you a big load of wood. I'll have you back at your work +to-morrow. The spring will be coming soon and your flock will be back in +the garden." + + +It was not easy to bring a smile to the face of the little Shepherd +those days. A number of his friends had died and others were sick and he +was helpless. Moreover, his mother had told him of the disappearance of +Pauline and that her parents feared she was in great trouble. This had +worried him, and the more because his mother had declared that the girl +was probably worse than dead. He could not quite understand it and his +happy spirit was clouded. The good Father cheered him with merry jests. +Near the end of their talk the boy said: "There's one thing in this room +that makes me unhappy. It's that gold piece in the drawer. It does +nothing but lie there and shiver and talk to me. Seems as if it +complained of the cold. It says that it wants to move around and get +warm. Every time I hear of some poor person that needs food or fuel, it +calls out to me there in the little drawer and says, 'How cold I am! How +cold I am!' My mother wishes me to keep it for some time of trouble that +may come to us, but I can't. It makes me unhappy. Please take it away +and let it do what it can to keep the poor people warm." + +"Well done, boys!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to say with a look of joy as if he +now perceived that the enemy was in full retreat. + +"There's no worse company, these days, than a hoarded coin," said the +priest. "I won't let it plague you any more." + +Father O'Neil took the coin from the drawer. It fell from his fingers +with a merry laugh as it bounded on the floor and whirled toward the +doorway like one overjoyed and eager to be off. + +"God bless you, my boy! May it buy for you the dearest wish of your +heart." + +"Ha ha!" laughed the little tin soldier for he knew the dearest wish of +the boy far better than the priest knew it. + +Mr. Singleton called soon after Father O'Neil had gone away. + +"The top of the morning to you!" he shouted, as he came into Bob's room. + +"It's all right top and bottom," Bob answered cheerfully. + +"Is there anything I can do for you?" the minister went on. "I'm a +regular Santa Claus this morning. I've got a thousand dollars that Mr. +Bing sent me. It's for any one that needs help." + +"We'll be all right as soon as our load of wood comes. It will be here +to-morrow morning," said the Shepherd. + +"I'll come and cut and split it for you," the minister proposed. "The +eloquence of the axe is better than that of the tongue these days. +Meanwhile, I'm going to bring you a little jag in my wheelbarrow. How +about beefsteak and bacon and eggs and all that?" + +"I guess we've got enough to eat, thank you." This was not quite true, +for Bob, thinking of the sick, whose people could not go to market, was +inclined to hide his own hunger. + +"Ho, ho!" exclaimed Mr. Bloggs, for he knew very well that the boy was +hiding his hunger. + +"Do you call that a lie?" the Shepherd asked as soon as the minister had +gone. + +"A little one! But in my opinion it don't count," said Mr. Bloggs. "You +were thinking of those who need food more than you and that turns it +square around. I call it a golden lie--I do." + +The minister had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when he met +Hiram Blenkinsop, who was shivering along without an overcoat, the dog +Christmas at his heels. + +Mr. Singleton stopped him. + +"Why, man! Haven't you an overcoat?" he asked. + +"No, sir! It's hangin' on a peg in a pawn-shop over in Hazelmead. It +ain't doin' the peg any good nor me neither!" + +"Well, sir, you come with me," said the minister. "It's about dinner +time, anyway, and I guess you need lining as well as covering." + +The drunkard looked into the face of the minister. + +"Say it ag'in," he muttered. + +"I wouldn't wonder if a little food would make you feel better," Mr. +Singleton added. + +"A little, did ye say?" Blenkinsop asked. + +"Make it a lot--as much as you can accommodate." + +"And do ye mean that ye want me to go an' eat in yer house?" + +"Yes, at my table--why not?" + +"It wouldn't be respectable. I don't want to be too particular but a +tramp must draw the line somewhere." + +"I'll be on my best behavior. Come on," said the minister. + +The two men hastened up the street followed by the dejected little +yellow dog, Christmas. + +Mrs. Singleton and her daughter were out with a committee of the +Children's Helpers and the minister was dining alone that day and, as +usual, at one o'clock, that being the hour for dinner in the village of +Bingville. + +"Tell me about yourself," said the minister as they sat down at the +table. + +"Myself--did you say?" Hiram Blenkinsop asked as one of his feet crept +under his chair to conceal its disreputable appearance, while his dog +had partly hidden himself under a serving table where he seemed to be +shivering with apprehension as he peered out, with raised hackles, at +the stag's head over the mantel. + +"Yes." + +"I ain't got any _Self_, sir; it's all gone," said Blenkinsop, as he +took a swallow of water. + +"A man without any Self is a curious creature," the minister remarked. + +"I'm as empty as a woodpecker's hole in the winter time. The bird has +flown. I belong to this 'ere dog. He's a poor dog. I'm all he's got. If +he had to pay a license on me I'd have to be killed. He's kind to me. +He's the only friend I've got." + +Hiram Blenkinsop riveted his attention upon an old warming-pan that hung +by the fireplace. He hardly looked at the face of the minister. + +"How did you come to lose your Self?" the latter asked. + +"Married a bad woman and took to drink. A man's Self can stand cold an' +hunger an' shipwreck an' loss o' friends an' money an' any quantity o' +bad luck, take it as it comes, but a bad woman breaks the works in him +an' stops his clock dead. Leastways, it done that to me!" + +"She is like an arrow in his liver," the minister quoted. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, where do you stay nights?" + +"I've a shake-down in the little loft over the ol' blacksmith shop on +Water Street. There are cracks in the gable, an' the snow an' the wind +blows in, an' the place is dark an' smells o' coal gas an' horses' feet, +but Christmas an' I snug up together an' manage to live through the +winter. In hot weather, we sleep under a tree in the ol' graveyard an' +study astronomy. Sometimes, I wish I was there for good." + +"Wouldn't you like a bed in a comfortable house?" + +"No. I couldn't take the dog there an' I'd have to git up like other +folks." + +"Would you think that a hardship?" + +"Well, ye see, sir, if ye're layin' down ye ain't hungry. Then, too, I +likes to dilly-dally in bed." + +"What may that mean?" the minister asked. + +"I likes to lay an' think an' build air castles." + +"What kind of castles?" + +"Well, sir, I'm thinkin' often o' a time when I'll have a grand suit o' +clothes, an' a shiny silk tile on my head, an' a roll o' bills in my +pocket, big enough to choke a dog, an' I'll be goin' back to the town +where I was brought up an' I'll hire a fine team an' take my ol' mother +out for a ride. An' when we pass by, people will be sayin': 'That's +Hiram Blenkinsop! Don't you remember him? Born on the top floor o' the +ol' sash mill on the island. He's a multi-millionaire an' a great man. +He gives a thousand to the poor every day. Sure, he does!'" + +"Blenkinsop, I'd like to help you to recover your lost Self and be a +useful and respected citizen of this town," said Mr. Singleton. "You can +do it if you will and I can tell you how." + +Tears began to stream down the cheeks of the unfortunate man, who now +covered his eyes with a big, rough hand. + +"If you will make an honest effort, I'll stand by you. I'll be your +friend through thick and thin," the minister added. "There's something +good in you or you wouldn't be having a dream like that." + +"Nobody has ever talked to me this way," poor Blenkinsop sobbed. "Nobody +but you has ever treated me as if I was human." + +"I know--I know. It's a hard old world, but at last you've found a man +who is willing to be a brother to you if you really want one." + +The poor man rose from the table and went to the minister's side and +held out his hand. + +"I do want a brother, sir, an' I'll do anything at all," he said in a +broken voice. + +"Then come with me," the minister commanded. "First, I'm going to +improve the outside of you." + +When they were ready to leave the house, Blenkinsop and his dog had had +a bath and the former was shaved and in clean and respectable garments +from top to toe. + +"You look like a new man," said Mr. Singleton. + +"Seems like, I felt more like a proper human bein'," Blenkinsop +answered. + +Christmas was scampering up and down the hall as if he felt like a new +dog. Suddenly he discovered the stag's head again and slunk into a dark +corner growling. + +"A bath is a good sort of baptism," the minister remarked. "Here's an +overcoat that I haven't worn for a year. It's fairly warm, too. Now if +your Old Self should happen to come in sight of you, maybe he'd move +back into his home. I remember once that we had a canary bird that got +away. We hung his cage in one of the trees out in the yard with some +food in it. By and by, we found him singing on the perch in his little +home. Now, if we put some good food in the cage, maybe your bird will +come back. Our work has only just begun." + +They went out of the door and crossed the street and entered the big +stone Congregational Church and sat down together in a pew. A soft light +came through the great jeweled windows above the altar, and in the +clearstory, and over the organ loft. They were the gift of Mr. Bing. It +was a quiet, restful, beautiful place. + +"I used to stand in the pulpit there and look down upon a crowd of +handsomely dressed people," said Mr. Singleton in a low voice. "'There +is something wrong about this,' I thought. 'There's too much +respectability here. There are no flannel shirts and gingham dresses in +the place. I can not see half a dozen poor people. I wish there was some +ragged clothing down there in the pews. There isn't an out-and-out +sinner in the crowd. Have we set up a little private god of our own that +cares only for the rich and respectable?' I asked myself. 'This is the +place for Hiram Blenkinsop and old Bill Lang and poor Lizzie Quesnelle, +if they only knew it. Those are the kind of people that Jesus cared most +about.' They're beginning to come to us now and we are glad of it. I +want to see you here every Sunday after this. I want you to think of +this place as your home. If you really wish to be my brother, come with +me." + +Blenkinsop trembled with strange excitement as he went with Mr. +Singleton down the broad aisle, the dog Christmas following meekly. Man +and minister knelt before the altar. Christmas sat down by his master's +side, in a prayerful attitude, as if he, too, were seeking help and +forgiveness. + +"I feel better inside an' outside," said Blenkinsop as they were leaving +the church. + +"When you are tempted, there are three words which may be useful to +you. They are these, 'God help me,'" the minister told him. "They are +quickly said and I have often found them a source of strength in time of +trouble. I am going to find work for you and there's a room over my +garage with a stove in it which will make a very snug little home for +you and Christmas." + + +That evening, as the dog and his master were sitting comfortably by the +stove in their new home, there came a rap at the door. In a moment, +Judge Crooker entered the room. + +"Mr. Blenkinsop," said the Judge as he held out his hand, "I have heard +of your new plans and I want you to know that I am very glad. Every one +will be glad." + +When the Judge had gone, Blenkinsop put his hand on the dog's head and +asked with a little laugh: "Did ye hear what he said, Christmas? He +called me _Mister_. Never done that before, no sir!" + +Mr. Blenkinsop sat with his head upon his hand listening to the wind +that whistled mournfully in the chimney. Suddenly he shouted: "Come in!" + +The door opened and there on the threshold stood his Old Self. + +It was not at all the kind of a Self one would have expected to see. It +was, indeed, a very youthful and handsome Self--the figure of a +clear-eyed, gentle-faced boy of about sixteen with curly, dark hair +above his brows. + +Mr. Blenkinsop covered his face and groaned. Then he held out his hands +with an imploring gesture. + +"I know you," he whispered. "Please come in." + +"Not yet," the young man answered, and his voice was like the wind in +the chimney. "But I have come to tell you that I, too, am glad." + +Then he vanished. + +Mr. Blenkinsop arose from his chair and rubbed his eyes. + +"Christmas, ol' boy, I've been asleep," he muttered. "I guess it's time +we turned in!" + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +IN WHICH MR. ISRAEL SNEED AND OTHER WORKING MEN RECEIVE A LESSON IN TRUE +DEMOCRACY + + +Next morning, Mr. Blenkinsop went to cut wood for the Widow Moran. The +good woman was amazed by his highly respectable appearance. + +"God help us! Ye look like a lawyer," she said. + +"I'm a new man! Cut out the blacksmith shop an' the booze an' the +bummers." + +"May the good God love an' help ye! I heard about it." + +"Ye did?" + +"Sure I did. It's all over the town. Good news has a lively foot, man. +The Shepherd clapped his hands when I told him. Ye got to go straight, +my laddie buck. All eyes are on ye now. Come up an' see the boy. It's +his birthday!" + +Mr. Blenkinsop was deeply moved by the greeting of the little Shepherd, +who kissed his cheek and said that he had often prayed for him. + +"If you ever get lonely, come and sit with me and we'll have a talk and +a game of dominoes," said the boy. + +Mr. Blenkinsop got strength out of the wonderful spirit of Bob Moran and +as he swung his axe that day, he was happier than he had been in many +years. Men and women who passed in the street said, "How do you do, Mr. +Blenkinsop? I'm glad to see you." + +Even the dog Christmas watched his master with a look of pride and +approval. Now and then, he barked gleefully and scampered up and down +the sidewalk. + +The Shepherd was fourteen years old. On his birthday, from morning until +night, people came to his room bringing little gifts to remind him of +their affection. No one in the village of Bingville was so much beloved. +Judge Crooker came in the evening with ice-cream and a frosted cake. +While he was there, a committee of citizens sought him out to confer +with him regarding conditions in Bingville. + +"There's more money than ever in the place, but there never was so much +misery," said the chairman of the committee. + +"We have learned that money is not the thing that makes happiness," +Judge Crooker began. "With every one busy at high wages, and the banks +overflowing with deposits, we felt safe. We ceased to produce the +necessaries of life in a sufficient quantity. We forgot that the all +important things are food, fuel, clothes and comfortable housing--not +money. Some of us went money mad. With a feeling of opulence we refused +to work at all, save when we felt like it. We bought diamond rings and +sat by the fire looking at them. The roofs began to leak and our +plumbing went wrong. People going to buy meat found the shops closed. +Roofs that might have been saved by timely repairs will have to be +largely replaced. Plumbing systems have been ruined by neglect. With all +its money, the town was never so poverty-stricken, the people never so +wretched." + +Mr. Sneed, who was a member of the committee, slyly turned the ring on +his finger so that the diamond was concealed. He cleared his throat and +remarked, "We mechanics had more than we could do on work already +contracted." + +"Yes, you worked eight hours a day and refused to work any longer. You +were legally within your rights, but your position was ungrateful and +even heartless and immoral. Suppose there were a baby coming at your +house and you should call for the doctor and he should say, 'I'm sorry, +but I have done my eight hours' work to-day and I can't help you.' Then +suppose you should offer him a double fee and he should say, 'No, +thanks, I'm tired. I've got forty thousand dollars in the bank and I +don't have to work when I don't want to.' + +"Or suppose I were trying a case for you and, when my eight hours' work +had expired, I should walk out of the court and leave your case to take +care of itself. What do you suppose would become of it? Yet that is +exactly what you did to my pipes. You left them to take care of +themselves. You men, who use your hands, make a great mistake in +thinking that you are the workers of the country and that the rest of us +are your natural enemies. In America, we are all workers! The idle man +is a mere parasite and not at heart an American. Generally, I work +fifteen hours a day. + +"This little lad has been knitting night and day for the soldiers +without hope of reward and has spent his savings for yarn. There isn't +a doctor in Bingville who isn't working eighteen hours a day. I met a +minister this afternoon who hasn't had ten hours of sleep in a +week--he's been so busy with the sick, and the dying and the dead. He is +a nurse, a friend, a comforter to any one who needs him. No charge for +overtime. My God! Are we all going money mad? Are you any better than he +is, or I am, or than these doctors are who have been killing themselves +with overwork? Do you dare to tell me that prosperity is any excuse for +idleness in this land of ours, if one's help is needed?" + +Judge Crooker's voice had been calm, his manner dignified. But the last +sentences had been spoken with a quiet sternness and with his long, bony +forefinger pointing straight at Mr. Sneed. The other members of the +committee clapped their hands in hearty approval. Mr. Sneed smiled and +brushed his trousers. + +"I guess you're right," he said. "We're all off our balance a little, +but what is to be done now?" + +"We must quit our plumbing and carpentering and lawyering and banking +and some of us must quit merchandising and sitting in the chimney corner +and grab our saws and axes and go out into the woods and make some fuel +and get it hauled into town," said Judge Crooker. "I'll be one of a +party to go to-morrow with my axe. I haven't forgotten how to chop." + +The committee thought this a good suggestion. They all rose and started +on a search for volunteers, except Mr. Sneed. He tarried saying to the +Judge that he wished to consult him on a private matter. It was, indeed, +just then, a matter which could not have been more public although, so +far, the news of it had traveled in whispers. The Judge had learned the +facts since his return. + +"I hope your plumbing hasn't gone wrong," he remarked with a smile. + +"No, it's worse than that," said Mr. Sneed ruefully. + +They bade the little Shepherd good night and went down-stairs where the +widow was still at work with her washing, although it was nine o'clock. + +"Faithful woman!" the Judge exclaimed as they went out on the street. +"What would the world do without people like that? No extra charge for +overtime either." + +Then, as they walked along, he cunningly paved the way for what he knew +was coming. + +"Did you notice the face of that boy?" he asked. + +"Yes, it's a wonderful face," said Israel Sneed. + +"It's a God's blessing to see a face like that," the Judge went on. +"Only the pure in heart can have it. The old spirit of youth looks out +of his eyes--the spirit of my own youth. When I was fourteen, I think +that my heart was as pure as his. So were the hearts of most of the boys +I knew." + +"It isn't so now," said Mr. Sneed. + +"I fear it isn't," the Judge answered. "There's a new look in the faces +of the young. Every variety of evil is spread before them on the stage +of our little theater. They see it while their characters are in the +making, while their minds are like white wax. Everything that touches +them leaves a mark or a smirch. It addresses them in the one language +they all understand, and for which no dictionary is needed--pictures. +The flower of youth fades fast enough, God knows, without the withering +knowledge of evil. They say it's good for the boys and girls to know all +about life. We shall see!" + + +Mr. Sneed sat down with Judge Crooker in the handsome library of the +latter and opened his heart. His son Richard, a boy of fifteen, and +three other lads of the village, had been committing small burglaries +and storing their booty in a cave in a piece of woods on the river bank +near the village. A constable had secured a confession and recovered a +part of the booty. Enough had been found to warrant a charge of grand +larceny and Elisha Potts, whose store had been entered, was clamoring +for the arrest of the boys. + +"It reminds me of that picture of the Robbers' Cave that was on the +billboard of our school of crime a few weeks ago," said the Judge. "I'm +tired enough to lie down, but I'll go and see Elisha Potts. If he's +abed, he'll have to get up, that's all. There's no telling what Potts +has done or may do. Your plumbing is in bad shape, Mr. Sneed. The public +sewer is backing into your cellar and in a case of that kind the less +delay the better." + +He went into the hall and put on his coat and gloves and took his cane +out of the rack. He was sixty-five years of age that winter. It was a +bitter night when even younger men found it a trial to leave the comfort +of the fireside. Sneed followed in silence. Indeed, his tongue was +shame-bound. For a moment, he knew not what to say. + +"I--I'm much o-obliged to you," he stammered as they went out into the +cold wind. "I-I don't care what it costs, either." + +The Judge stopped and turned toward him. + +"Look here," he said. "Money does not enter into this proceeding or any +motive but the will to help a neighbor. In such a matter overtime +doesn't count." + +They walked in silence to the corner. There Sneed pressed the Judge's +hand and tried to say something, but his voice failed him. + +"Have the boys at my office at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. I want to +talk to them," said the kindly old Judge as he strode away in the +darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +IN WHICH J. PATTERSON BING BUYS A NECKLACE OF PEARLS + + +Meanwhile, the Bings had been having a busy winter in New York. J. +Patterson Bing had been elected to the board of a large bank in Wall +Street. His fortune had more than doubled in the last two years and he +was now a considerable factor in finance. + +Mrs. Bing had been studying current events and French and the English +accent and other social graces every morning, with the best tutors, as +she reclined comfortably in her bedchamber while Phyllis went to sundry +shops. Mrs. Crooker had once said, "Mamie Bing has a passion for +self-improvement." It was mainly if not quite true. + +Phyllis had been "beating the bush" with her mother at teas and dinners +and dances and theaters and country house parties in and about the city. +The speedometer on the limousine had doubled its mileage since they came +to town. They were, it would seem, a tireless pair of hunters. Phyllis's +portrait had appeared in the Sunday papers. It showed a face and form of +unusual beauty. The supple grace and classic outlines of the latter were +touchingly displayed at the dances in many a handsome ballroom. At last, +they had found a promising and most eligible candidate in Roger +Delane--a handsome stalwart youth, a year out of college. His father was +a well-known and highly successful merchant of an old family which, for +generations, had "belonged"--that is to say, it had been a part of the +aristocracy of Fifth Avenue. + +There could be no doubt of this great good luck of theirs--better, +indeed, than Mrs. Bing had dared to hope for--the young man having +seriously confided his intentions to J. Patterson. But there was one +shadow on the glowing prospect; Phyllis had suddenly taken a bad turn. +She moped, as her mother put it. She was listless and unhappy. She had +lost her interest in the chase, so to speak. She had little heart for +teas and dances and dinner parties. One day, her mother returned from a +luncheon and found her weeping. Mrs. Bing went at once to the telephone +and called for the stomach specialist. He came and made a brief +examination and said that it was all due to rich food and late hours. He +left some medicine, advised a day or two of rest in bed, charged a +hundred dollars and went away. They tried the remedies, but Phyllis +showed no improvement. The young man sent American Beauty roses and a +graceful note of regret to her room. + +"You ought to be very happy," said her mother. "He is a dear." + +"I know it," Phyllis answered. "He's just the most adorable creature I +ever saw in my life." + +"For goodness' sake! What is the matter of you? Why don't you brace up?" +Mrs. Bing asked with a note of impatience in her tone. "You act like a +dead fish." + +Phyllis, who had been lying on the couch, rose to a sitting posture and +flung one of the cushions at her mother, and rather swiftly. + +"How can I brace up?" she asked with indignation in her eyes. "Don't +_you_ dare to scold me." + +There was a breath of silence in which the two looked into each other's +eyes. Many thoughts came flashing into the mind of Mrs. Bing. Why had +the girl spoken the word "you" so bitterly? Little echoes of old history +began to fill the silence. She arose and picked up the cushion and threw +it on the sofa. + +"What a temper!" she exclaimed. "Young lady, you don't seem to know +that these days are very precious for you. They will not come again." + +Then, in the old fashion of women who have suddenly come out of a moment +of affectionate anger, they fell to weeping in each other's arms. The +storm was over when they heard the feet of J. Patterson Bing in the +hall. Phyllis fled into the bathroom. + +"Hello!" said Mr. Bing as he entered the door. "I've found out what's +the matter with Phyllis. It's nerves. I met the great specialist, John +Hamilton Gibbs, at luncheon to-day. I described the symptoms. He says +it's undoubtedly nerves. He has any number of cases just like this +one--rest, fresh air and a careful diet are all that's needed. He says +that if he can have her for two weeks, he'll guarantee a cure. I've +agreed to have you take her to his sanitarium in the Catskills +to-morrow. He has saddle horses, sleeping balconies, toboggan slides, +snow-shoe and skating parties and all that." + +"I think it will be great," said Phyllis, who suddenly emerged from her +hiding-place and embraced her father. "I'd love it! I'm sick of this old +town. I'm sure it's just what I need." + +"I couldn't go to-morrow," said Mrs. Bing. "I simply must go to Mrs. +Delane's luncheon." + +"Then I'll ask Harriet to go up with her," said J. Patterson. + +Harriet, who lived in a flat on the upper west side, was Mr. Bing's +sister. + +Phyllis went to bed dinnerless with a headache. Mr. and Mrs. Bing sat +for a long time over their coffee and cigarettes. + +"It's something too dreadful that Phyllis should be getting sick just at +the wrong time," said the madame. "She has always been well. I can't +understand it." + +"She's had a rather strenuous time here," said J. Patterson. + +"But she seemed to enjoy it until--until the right man came along. The +very man I hoped would like her! Then, suddenly, she throws up her hands +and keels over. It's too devilish for words." + +Mr. Bing laughed at his wife's exasperation. + +"To me, it's no laughing matter," said she with a serious face. + +"Perhaps she doesn't like the boy," J. Patterson remarked. + +Mrs. Bing leaned toward him and whispered: "She adores him!" She held +her attitude and looked searchingly into her husband's face. + +"Well, you can't say I did it," he answered. "The modern girl is a +rather delicate piece of machinery. I think she'll be all right in a +week or two. Come, it's time we went to the theater if we're going." + +Nothing more was said of the matter. Next morning immediately after +breakfast, "Aunt Harriet" set out with Phyllis in the big limousine for +Doctor Gibbs' sanitarium. + + +Phyllis found the remedy she needed in the ceaseless round of outdoor +frolic. Her spirit washed in the glowing air found refreshment in the +sleep that follows weariness and good digestion. Her health improved so +visibly that her stay was far prolonged. It was the first week of May +when Mrs. Bing drove up to get her. The girl was in perfect condition, +it would seem. No rustic maid, in all the mountain valleys, had lighter +feet or clearer eyes or a more honest, ruddy tan in her face due to the +touch of the clean wind. She had grown as lithe and strong as a young +panther. + +They were going back to Bingville next day. Martha and Susan had been +getting the house ready. Mrs. Bing had been preparing what she fondly +hoped would be "a lovely surprise" for Phyllis. Roger Delane was coming +up to spend a quiet week with the Bings--a week of opportunity for the +young people with saddle horses and a new steam launch and a +Peterborough canoe and all pleasant accessories. Then, on the twentieth, +which was the birthday of Phyllis, there was to be a dinner and a house +party and possibly an announcement and a pretty wagging of tongues. +Indeed, J. Patterson had already bought the wedding gift, a necklace of +pearls, and paid a hundred thousand dollars for it and put it away in +his safe. The necklace had pleased him. He had seen many jewels, but +nothing so satisfying--nothing that so well expressed his affection for +his daughter. He might never see its like again. So he bought it against +the happy day which he hoped was near. He had shown it to his wife and +charged her to make no mention of it until "the time was ripe," in his +way of speaking. + +Mrs. Bing had promised on her word and honor to respect the confidence +of her husband, with all righteous intention, but on the very day of +their arrival in Bingville, Sophronia (Mrs. Pendleton) Ames called. +Sophronia was the oldest and dearest friend that Mamie Bing had in the +village. The latter enjoyed her life in New York, but she felt always a +thrill at coming back to her big garden and the green trees and the +ample spaces of Bingville, and to the ready, sympathetic confidence of +Sophronia Ames. She told Sophronia of brilliant scenes in the changing +spectacle of metropolitan life, of the wonderful young man and the +untimely affliction of Phyllis, now happily past. Then, in a whisper, +while Sophronia held up her right hand as a pledge of secrecy, she told +of the necklace of which the lucky girl had no knowledge. Now Mrs. Ames +was one of the best of women. People were wont to speak of her, and +rightly, as "the salt of the earth." She would do anything possible for +a friend. But Mamie Bing had asked too much. Moreover, always it had +been understood between them that these half playful oaths were not to +be taken too seriously. Of course, "the fish had to be fed," as Judge +Crooker had once put it. By "the fish," he meant that curious under-life +of the village--the voracious, silent, merciless, cold-blooded thing +which fed on the sins and follies of men and women and which rarely came +to the surface to bother any one. + +"The fish are very wise," Judge Crooker used to say. "They know the +truth about every one and it's well that they do. After all, they +perform an important office. There's many a man and woman who think +they've been fooling the fish but they've only fooled themselves." + +And within a day or two, the secrets of the Bing family were swimming +up and down the stream of the under-life of Bingville. + + +Mr. Bing had found a situation in the plant which was new to him. The +men were discontented. Their wages were "sky high," to quote a phrase of +one of the foremen. Still, they were not satisfied. Reports of the +fabulous earnings of the mill had spread among them. They had begun to +think that they were not getting a fair division of the proceeds of +their labor. At a meeting of the help, a radical speaker had declared +that one of the Bing women wore a noose of pearls on her neck worth half +a million dollars. The men wanted more pay and less work. A committee of +their leaders had called at Mr. Bing's office with a demand soon after +his arrival. Mr. Bing had said "no" with a bang of his fist on the +table. A worker's meeting was to be held a week later to act upon the +report of the committee. + +Meanwhile, another cause of worry had come or rather returned to him. +Again, Phyllis had begun to show symptoms of the old trouble. Mrs. Bing, +arriving at dusk from a market trip to Hazelmead with Sophronia Ames, +had found Phyllis lying asleep among the cushions on the great couch in +the latter's bedroom. She entered the room softly and leaned over the +girl and looked into her face, now turned toward the open window and +lighted by the fading glow in the western sky and relaxed by sleep. It +was a sad face! There were lines and shadows in it which the anxious +mother had not seen before and--had she been crying? Very softly, the +woman sat down at the girl's side. Darkness fell. Black, menacing +shadows filled the corners of the room. The spirit of the girl betrayed +its trouble in a sorrowful groan as she slept. Roger Delane was coming +next day. There was every reason why Phyllis should be happy. Silently, +Mrs. Bing left the room. She met Martha in the hall. + +"I shall want no dinner and Mr. Bing is dining in Hazelmead," she +whispered. "Miss Phyllis is asleep. Don't disturb her." + +Then she sat down in the darkness of her own bedroom alone. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +IN WHICH HIRAM BLENKINSOP HAS A NUMBER OF ADVENTURES + + +The Shepherd of the Birds had caught the plague of influenza in March +and nearly lost his life with it. Judge Crooker and Mr. and Mrs. +Singleton and their daughter and Father O'Neil and Mrs. Ames and Hiram +Blenkinsop had taken turns in the nursing of the boy. He had come out of +it with impaired vitality. + +The rubber tree used to speak to him in those days of his depression and +say, "It will be summer soon." + +"Oh dear! But the days pass so slowly," Bob would answer with a sigh. + +Then the round nickel clock would say cheerfully, "I hurry them along as +fast as ever I can." + +"Seems as if old Time was losing the use of his legs," said the +Shepherd. "I wouldn't wonder if some one had run over him with an +automobile." + +"Everybody is trying to kill Time these days," ticked the clock with a +merry chuckle. + +Bob looked at the clock and laughed. "You've got some sense," he +declared. + +"Nonsense!" the clock answered. + +"You can talk pretty well," said the boy. + +"I can run too. If I couldn't, nobody would look at me." + +"The more I look at you the more I think of Pauline. It's a long time +since she went away," said the Shepherd. "We must all pray for her." + +"Not I," said the little pine bureau. "Do you see that long scratch on +my side? She did it with a hat pin when I belonged to her mother, and +she used to keep her dolls in my lower drawer." + +Mr. Bloggs assumed a look of great alertness as if lie spied the enemy. +"What's the use of worrying?" he quoted. + +"You'd better lie down and cover yourself up or you'll never live to see +her or the summer either," the clock warned the Shepherd. + +Then Bob would lie down quickly and draw the clothes over his shoulders +and sing of the Good King Wenceslas and The First Noël which Miss Betsy +Singleton had taught him at Christmas time. + +All this is important only as showing how a poor lad, of a lively +imagination, was wont to spend his lonely hours. He needed company and +knew how to find it. + +Christmas Day, Judge Crooker had presented him with a beautiful copy of +Raphael's _Madonna and Child_. + +"It's the greatest theme and the greatest picture this poor world of +ours can boast of," said the Judge. "I want you to study the look in +that mother's face, not that it is unusual. I have seen the like of it +a hundred times. Almost every young mother with a child in her arms has +that look or ought to have it--the most beautiful and mysterious thing +in the world. The light of that old star which led the wise men is in +it, I sometimes think. Study it and you may hear voices in the sky as +did the shepherds of old." + +So the boy acquired the companionship of those divine faces that looked +down at him from the wall near his bed and had something to say to him +every day. + +Also, another friend--a very humble one--had begun to share his +confidence. He was the little yellow dog, Christmas. He had come with +his master, one evening in March, to spend a night with the sick +Shepherd. Christmas had lain on the foot of the bed and felt the loving +caress of the boy. He never forgot it. The heart of the world, that +loves above all things the touch of a kindly hand, was in this little +creature. Often, when Hiram was walking out in the bitter winds, +Christmas would edge away when his master's back was turned. In a jiffy, +he was out of sight and making with all haste for the door of the Widow +Moran. There, he never failed to receive some token of the generous +woman's understanding of the great need of dogs--a bone or a doughnut or +a slice of bread soaked in meat gravy--and a warm welcome from the boy +above stairs. The boy always had time to pet him and play with him. He +was never fooling the days away with an axe and a saw in the cold wind. +Christmas admired his master's ability to pick up logs of wood and heave +them about and to make a great noise with an axe but, in cold weather, +all that was a bore to him. When he had been missing, Hiram Blenkinsop +found him, always, at the day's end lying comfortably on Bob Moran's +bed. + +May had returned with its warm sunlight. The robins had come back. The +blue martins had taken possession of the bird house. The grass had +turned green on the garden borders and was now sprinkled with the golden +glow of dandelions. The leaves were coming but Pat Crowley was no longer +at work in the garden. He had fallen before the pestilence. Old Bill +Rutherford was working there. The Shepherd was at the open window every +day, talking with him and watching and feeding the birds. + + +Now, with the spring, a new feeling had come to Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He +had been sober for months. His Old Self had come back and had imparted +his youthful strength to the man Hiram. He had money in the bank. He was +decently dressed. People had begun to respect him. Every day, Hiram was +being nudged and worried by a new thought. It persisted in telling him +that respectability was like the Fourth of July--a very dull thing +unless it was celebrated. He had been greatly pleased with his own +growing respectability. He felt as if he wanted to take a look at it, +from a distance, as it were. That money in the bank was also nudging and +calling him. It seemed to be lonely and longing for companionship. + +"Come, Hiram Blenkinsop," it used to say. "Let's go off together and get +a silk hat and a gold headed cane an' make 'em set up an' take notice. +Suppose you should die sudden an' leave me without an owner?" + +The warmth and joy of the springtime had turned his fancy to the old +dream. So one day, he converted his bank balance into "a roll big enough +to choke a dog," and took the early morning train to Hazelmead, having +left Christmas at the Widow Moran's. + +In the mill city he bought a high silk hat and a gold headed cane and a +new suit of clothes and a boiled shirt and a high collar and a red +necktie. It didn't matter to him that the fashion and fit of his +garments were not quite in keeping with the silk hat and gold headed +cane. There were three other items in the old dream of splendor--the +mother, the prancing team, and the envious remarks of the onlookers. His +mother was gone. Also there were no prancing horses in Hazelmead, but he +could hire an automobile. + +In the course of his celebration he asked a lady, whom he met in the +street, if she would kindly be his mother for a day. He meant well but +the lady, being younger than Hiram and not accustomed to such +familiarity from strangers, did not feel complimented by the question. +They fled from each other. Soon, Hiram bought a big custard pie in a +bake-shop and had it cut into smallish pieces and, having purchased pie +and plate, went out upon the street with it. He ate what he wanted of +the pie and generously offered the rest of it to sundry people who +passed him. It was not impertinence in Hiram; it was pure generosity--a +desire to share his riches, flavored, in some degree, by a feeling of +vanity. It happened that Mr. J. Patterson Bing came along and received a +tender of pie from Mr. Blenkinsop. + +"No!" said Mr. Bing, with that old hammer whack in his voice which +aroused bitter memories in the mind of Hiram. + +That tone was a great piece of imprudence. There was a menacing gesture +and a rapid succession of footsteps on the pavement. Mr. Bing's retreat +was not, however, quite swift enough to save him. The pie landed on his +shoulder. In a moment, Hiram was arrested and marching toward the lockup +while Mr. Bing went to the nearest drug store to be cleaned and scoured. + + +A few days later Hiram Blenkinsop arrived in Bingville. Mr. Singleton +met him on the street and saw to his deep regret that Hiram had been +drinking. + +"I've made up my mind that religion is good for some folks, but it won't +do for me," said the latter. + +"Why not?" the minister asked. + +"I can't afford it." + +"Have you found religion a luxury?" Mr. Singleton asked. + +"It's grand while it lasts, but it's like p'ison gettin' over it," said +Hiram. "I feel kind o' ruined." + +"You look it," said the minister, with a glance at Hiram's silk hat and +soiled clothing. "A long spell of sobriety is hard on a man if he quits +it sudden. You've had your day of trial, my friend. We all have to be +tried soon or late. People begin to say, 'At last he's come around all +right. He's a good fellow.' And the Lord says: 'Perhaps he's worthy of +better things. I'll try him and see.' + +"That's His way of pushing people along, Hiram. He doesn't want them to +stand still. You've had your trial and failed, but you mustn't give up. +When your fun turns into sorrow, as it will, come back to me and we'll +try again." + + +Hiram sat dozing in a corner of the bar-room of the Eagle Hotel that +day. He had been ashamed to go to his comfortable room over the garage. +He did not feel entitled to the hospitality of Mr. Singleton. Somehow, +he couldn't bear the thought of going there. His new clothes and silk +hat were in a state which excited the derision of small boys and audible +comment from all observers while he had been making his way down the +street. His money was about gone. The barkeeper had refused to sell him +any more drink. In the early dusk he went out-of-doors. It was almost as +warm as midsummer and the sky was clear. He called at the door of the +Widow Moran for his dog. In a moment, Christmas came down from the +Shepherd's room and greeted his master with fond affection. The two went +away together. They walked up a deserted street and around to the old +graveyard. When it was quite dark, they groped their way through the +weedy, briered aisles, between moss-covered toppling stones, to their +old nook under the ash tree. There Hiram made a bed of boughs, picked +from the evergreens that grow in the graveyard, and lay down upon it +under his overcoat with the dog Christmas. He found it impossible to +sleep, however. When he closed his eyes a new thought began nudging him. + +It seemed to be saying, "What are you going to do now, Mr. Hiram +Blenkinsop?" + +He was pleased that it seemed to say Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He lay for a +long time looking up at the starry moonlit sky, and at the marble, +weather-spotted angel on the monument to the Reverend Thaddeus Sneed, +who had been lying there, among the rude forefathers of the village, +since 1806. Suddenly the angel began to move. Mr. Blenkinsop observed +with alarm that it had discovered him and that its right forefinger was +no longer directed toward the sky but was pointing at his face. The +angel had assumed the look and voice of his Old Self and was saying: + +"I don't see why angels are always cut in marble an' set up in +graveyards with nothing to do but point at the sky. It's a cold an' +lonesome business. Why don't you give me a job?" + +His Old Self vanished and, as it did so, the spotted angel fell to +coughing and sneezing. It coughed and sneezed so loudly that the sound +went echoing in the distant sky and so violently that it reeled and +seemed to be in danger of falling. Mr. Blenkinsop awoke with a rude jump +so that the dog Christmas barked in alarm. It was nothing but the +midnight train from the south pulling out of the station which was near +the old graveyard. The spotted angel stood firmly in its place and was +pointing at the sky as usual. + +It was probably an hour or so later, when Mr. Blenkinsop was awakened by +the barking of the dog Christmas. He quieted the dog and listened. He +heard a sound like that of a baby crying. It awoke tender memories in +the mind of Hiram Blenkinsop. One very sweet recollection was about all +that the barren, bitter years of his young manhood had given him worth +having. It was the recollection of a little child which had come to his +home in the first year of his married life. + +"She lived eighteen months and three days and four hours," he used to +say, in speaking of her, with a tender note in his voice. + +Almost twenty years, she had been lying in the old graveyard near the +ash tree. Since then the voice of a child crying always halted his +steps. It is probable that, in her short life, the neglected, pathetic +child Pearl--that having been her name--had protested much against a +plentiful lack of comfort and sympathy. + +So Mr. Blenkinsop's agitation at the sound of a baby crying somewhere +near him, in the darkness of the old graveyard, was quite natural and +will be readily understood. He rose on his elbow and listened. Again he +heard that small, appealing voice. + +"By thunder! Christmas," he whispered. "If that ain't like Pearl when +she was a little, teeny, weeny thing no bigger'n a pint o' beer! Say it +is, sir, sure as sin!" + +He scrambled to his feet, suddenly, for now, also, he could distinctly +hear the voice of a woman crying. He groped his way in the direction +from which the sound came and soon discovered the woman. She was +kneeling on a grave with a child in her arms. Her grief touched the +heart of the man. + +"Who be you?" he asked. + +"I'm cold, and my baby is sick, and I have no friends," she sobbed. + +"Yes, ye have!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "I don't care who ye be. I'm yer +friend and don't ye fergit it." + + +There was a reassuring note in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. Its +gentleness had in it a quiver of sympathy. She felt it and gave to +him--an unknown, invisible man, with just a quiver of sympathy in his +voice--her confidence. + +If ever any one was in need of sympathy, she was at that moment. She +felt that she must speak out to some one. So keenly she felt the impulse +that she had been speaking to the stars and the cold gravestones. Here +at last was a human being with a quiver of sympathy in his voice. + +"I thought I would come home, but when I got here I was afraid," the +girl moaned. "I wish I could die." + +"No, ye don't neither!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "Sometimes, I've thought +that I hadn't no friends an' wanted to die, but I was just foolin' +myself. To be sure, I ain't had no baby on my hands but I've had +somethin' just as worrisome, I guess. Folks like you an' me has got +friends a-plenty if we'll only give 'em a chance. I've found that out. +You let me take that baby an' come with me. I know where you'll git the +glad hand. You just come right along with me." + +The unmistakable note of sincerity was in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. +She gave the baby into his arms. He held it to his breast a moment +thinking of old times. Then he swung his arms like a cradle saying: + +"You stop your hollerin'--ye gol'darn little skeezucks! It ain't decent +to go on that way in a graveyard an' ye ought to know it. Be ye tryin' +to wake the dead?" + +The baby grew quiet and finally fell asleep. + +"Come on, now," said Hiram, with the baby lying against his breast. "You +an' me are goin' out o' the past. I know a little house that's next door +to Heaven. They say ye can see Heaven from its winders. It's where the +good Shepherd lives. Christmas an' I know the place--don't we, ol' boy? +Come right along. There ain't no kind o' doubt o' what they'll say to +us." + + +The young woman followed him out of the old graveyard and through the +dark, deserted streets until they came to the cottage of the Widow +Moran. They passed through the gate into Judge Crooker's garden. Under +the Shepherd's window, Hiram Blenkinsop gave the baby to its mother and +with his hands to his mouth called "Bob!" in a loud whisper. Suddenly a +robin sounded his alarm. Instantly, the Shepherd's room was full of +light. In a moment, he was at the window sweeping the garden paths and +the tree tops with his search-light. It fell on the sorrowful figure of +the young mother with the child in her arms and stopped. She stood +looking up at the window bathed in the flood of light. It reminded the +Shepherd of that glow which the wise men saw in the manger at Bethlehem. + +"Pauline Baker!" he exclaimed. "Have you come back or am I dreaming? +It's you--thanks to the Blessed Virgin! It's you! Come around to the +door. My mother will let you in." + +It was a warm welcome that the girl received in the little home of the +Widow Moran. Many words of comfort and good cheer were spoken in the +next hour or so after which the good woman made tea and toast and +broiled a chop and served them in the Shepherd's room. + +"God love ye, child! So he was a married man--bad 'cess to him an' the +likes o' him!" she said as she came in with the tray. "Mother o' Jesus! +What a wicked world it is!" + +The prudent dog Christmas, being afraid of babies, hid under the +Shepherd's bed, and Hiram Blenkinsop lay down for the rest of the night +on the lounge in the cottage kitchen. + +An hour after daylight, when the Judge was walking in his garden, he +wondered why the widow and the Shepherd were sleeping so late. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +IN WHICH HIGH VOLTAGE DEVELOPS IN THE CONVERSATION + + +It was a warm, bright May day. There was not a cloud in the sky. Roger +Delane had arrived and the Bings were giving a dinner that evening. The +best people of Hazelmead were coming over in motor-cars. Phyllis and +Roger had had a long ride together that day on the new Kentucky saddle +horses. Mrs. Bing had spent the morning in Hazelmead and had stayed to +lunch with Mayor and Mrs. Stacy. She had returned at four and cut some +flowers for the table and gone to her room for an hour's rest when the +young people returned. She was not yet asleep when Phyllis came into the +big bedroom. Mrs. Bing lay among the cushions on her couch. She partly +rose, tumbled the cushions into a pile and leaned against them. + +"Heavens! I'm tired!" she exclaimed. "These women in Hazelmead hang on +to one like a lot of hungry cats. They all want money for one thing or +another--Red Cross or Liberty bonds or fatherless children or tobacco +for the soldiers or books for the library. My word! I'm broke and it +seems as if each of my legs hung by a thread." + +Phyllis smiled as she stood looking down at her mother. + +"How beautiful you look!" the fond mother exclaimed. "If he didn't +propose to-day, he's a chump." + +"But he did," said Phyllis. "I tried to keep him from it, but he just +would propose in spite of me." + +The girl's face was red and serious. She sat down in a chair and began +to remove her hat. Mrs. Bing rose suddenly, and stood facing Phyllis. + +"I thought you loved him," she said with a look of surprise. + +"So I do," the girl answered. + +"What did you say?" + +"I said no." + +"What!" + +"I refused him!" + +"For God's sake, Phyllis! Do you think you can afford to play with a man +like that? He won't stand for it." + +"Let him sit for it then and, mother, you might as well know, first as +last, that I am not playing with him." + +There was a calm note of firmness in the voice of the girl. She was +prepared for this scene. She had known it was coming. Her mother was hot +with irritating astonishment. The calmness of the girl in suddenly +beginning to dig a grave for this dear ambition--rich with promise--in +the very day when it had come submissively to their feet, stung like the +tooth of a serpent. She stood very erect and said with an icy look in +her face: + +"You young upstart! What do you mean?" + +There was a moment of frigid silence in which both of the women began to +turn cold. Then Phyllis answered very calmly as she sat looking down at +the bunch of violets in her hand: + +"It means that I am married, mother." + +Mrs. Bing's face turned red. There was a little convulsive movement of +the muscles around her mouth. She folded her arms on her breast, lifted +her chin a bit higher and asked in a polite tone, although her words +fell like fragments of cracked ice: + +"Married! To whom are you married?" + +"To Gordon King." + +Phyllis spoke casually as if he were a piece of ribbon that she had +bought at a store. + +Mrs. Bing sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands for +half a moment. Suddenly she picked up a slipper that lay at her feet and +flung it at the girl. + +"My God!" she exclaimed. "What a nasty liar you are!" + +It was not ladylike but, at that moment, the lady was temporarily +absent. + +"Mother, I'm glad you say that," the girl answered still very calmly, +although her fingers trembled a little as she felt the violets, and her +voice was not quite steady. "It shows that I am not so stupid at home as +I am at school." + +The girl rose and threw down the violets and her mild and listless +manner. A look of defiance filled her face and figure. Mrs. Bing arose, +her eyes aglow with anger. + +"I'd like to know what you mean," she said under her breath. + +"I mean that if I am a liar, you taught me how to be it. Ever since I +was knee-high, you have been teaching me to deceive my father. I am not +going to do it any longer. I am going to find my father and tell him the +truth. I shall not wait another minute. He will give me better advice +than you have given, I hope." + +The words had fallen rapidly from her lips and, as the last one was +spoken, she hurried out of the room. Mrs. Bing threw herself on the +couch where she lay with certain bitter memories, until the new maid +came to tell her that it was time to dress. + +She was like one reminded of mortality after coming out of ether. + +"Oh, Lord!" she murmured wearily. "I feel like going to bed! How _can_ I +live through that dinner? Please bring me some brandy." + +Phyllis learned that her father was at his office whither she proceeded +without a moment's delay. She sent in word that she must see him alone +and as soon as possible. He dismissed the men with whom he had been +talking and invited her into his private office. + +"Well, girl, I guess I know what is on your mind," he said. "Go ahead." + +Phyllis began to cry. + +"All right! You do the crying and I'll do the talking," he went on. "I +feel like doing the crying myself, but if you want the job I'll resign +it to you. Perhaps you can do enough of that for both of us. I began to +smell a rat the other day. So I sent for Gordon King. He came here this +morning. I had a long talk with him. He told me the truth. Why didn't +you tell me? What's the good of having a father unless you use him at +times when his counsel is likely to be worth having? I would have made a +good father, if I had had half a chance. I should like to have been your +friend and confidant in this important enterprise. I could have been a +help to you. But, somehow, I couldn't get on the board of directors. You +and your mother have been running the plant all by yourselves and I +guess it's pretty near bankrupt. Now, my girl, there's no use crying +over spilt tears. Gordon King is not the man of my choice, but we must +all take hold and try to build him up. Perhaps we can make him pay." + +"I do not love him," Phyllis sobbed. + +"You married him because you wanted to. You were not coerced?" + +"No, sir." + +"I'm sorry, but you'll have to take your share of the crow with the rest +of us," he went on, with a note of sternness in his tone. "My girl, when +I make a contract I live up to it and I intend that you shall do the +same. You'll have to learn to love and cherish this fellow, if he makes +it possible. I'll have no welching in my family. You and your mother +believe in woman's rights. I don't object to that, but you mustn't think +that you have the right to break your agreements unless there's a good +reason for it. My girl, the marriage contract is the most binding and +sacred of all contracts. I want you to do your best to make this one a +success." + +There was the tinkle of the telephone bell. Mr. Bing put the receiver to +his ear and spoke into the instrument as follows: + +"Yes, she's here! I knew all the facts before she told me. Mr. Delane? +He's on his way back to New York. Left on the six-ten. Charged me to +present his regrets and farewells to you and Phyllis. I thought it best +for him to know and to go. Yes, we're coming right home to dress. Mr. +King will take Mr. Delane's place at the table. We'll make a clean +breast of the whole business. Brace up and eat your crow with a smiling +face. I'll make a little speech and present Mr. and Mrs. King to our +friends at the end of it. Oh, now, cut out the sobbing and leave this +unfinished business to me and don't worry. We'll be home in three +minutes." + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +IN WHICH JUDGE CROOKER DELIVERS A FEW OPINIONS + + +The pride of Bingville had fallen in the dust! It had arisen and gone on +with soiled garments and lowered head. It had suffered derision and +defeat. It could not ever be the same again. Sneed and Snodgrass +recovered, in a degree, from their feeling of opulence. Sneed had become +polite, industrious and obliging. Snodgrass and others had lost heavily +in stock speculation through the failure of a broker in Hazelmead. They +went to work with a will and without the haughty independence which, for +a time, had characterized their attitude. The spirit of the Little +Shepherd had entered the hearts and home of Emanuel Baker and his wife. +Pauline and the baby were there and being tenderly loved and cared for. +But what humility had entered that home! Phyllis and her husband lived +with her parents, Gordon having taken a humble place in the mill. He +worked early and late. The Bings had made it hard for him, finding it +difficult to overcome their resentment, but he stood the gaff, as they +say, and won the regard of J. Patterson although Mrs. Bing could never +forgive him. + +In June, there had been a public meeting in the Town Hall addressed by +Judge Crooker and the Reverend Mr. Singleton. The Judge had spoken of +the grinding of the mills of God that was going on the world over. + +"Our civilization has had its time of trial not yet ended," he began. +"Its enemies have been busy in every city and village. Not only in the +cities and villages of France and Belgium have they been busy, but in +those of our own land. The Goths and Vandals have invaded Bingville. +They have been destroying the things we loved. The false god is in our +midst. Many here, within the sound of my voice, have a god suited to +their own tastes and sins--an obedient, tractable, boneless god. It is +my deliberate opinion that the dances and costumes and moving pictures +we have seen in Bingville are doing more injury to Civilization than all +the guns of Germany. My friends, you can do nothing worse for my +daughter than deprive her of her modesty and I would rather, far rather, +see you slay my son than destroy his respect for law and virtue and +decency. + +"The jazz band is to me a sign of spiritual decay. It is a step toward +the jungle. I hear in it the beating of the tom-tom. It is not music. It +is the barbaric yawp of sheer recklessness and daredevilism, and it is +everywhere. + +"Even in our economic life we are dancing to the jazz band and with +utter recklessness. American labor is being more and more absorbed in +the manufacture of luxuries--embroidered frocks and elaborate millinery +and limousines and landaulets and rich upholstery and cord tires and +golf courses and sporting goods and great country houses--so that there +is not enough labor to provide the comforts and necessities of life. + +"The tendency of all this is to put the stamp of luxury upon the +commonest needs of man. The time seems to be near when a boiled egg and +a piece of buttered bread will be luxuries and a family of children an +unspeakable extravagance. Let us face the facts. It is up to Vanity to +moderate its demands upon the industry of man. What we need is more +devotion to simple living and the general welfare. In plain +old-fashioned English we need the religion and the simplicity of our +fathers." + + +Later, in June, a strike began in the big plant of J. Patterson Bing. +The men demanded higher pay and shorter days. They were working under a +contract but that did not seem to matter. In a fight with "scabs" and +Pinkerton men they destroyed a part of the plant. Even the life of Mr. +Bing was threatened! The summer was near its end when J. Patterson Bing +and a committee of the labor union met in the office of Judge Crooker to +submit their differences to that impartial magistrate for adjustment. +The Judge listened patiently and rendered his decision. It was accepted. + +When the papers were signed, Mr. Bing rose and said, "Your Honor, +there's one thing I want to say. I have spent most of my life in this +town. I have built up a big business here and doubled the population. I +have built comfortable homes for my laborers and taken an interest in +the education of their children, and built a library where any one could +find the best books to read. I have built playgrounds for the children +of the working people. If I have heard of any case of need, I have done +my best to relieve it. I have always been ready to hear complaints and +treat them fairly. My men have been generously paid and yet they have +not hesitated to destroy my property and to use guns and knives and +clubs and stones to prevent the plant from filling its contracts and to +force their will upon me. How do you explain it? What have I done or +failed to do that has caused this bitterness?" + +"Mr. Bing, I am glad that you ask me that question," the old Judge +began. "It gives me a chance to present to you, and to these men who +work for you, a conviction which has grown out of impartial observation +of your relations with each other. + +"First, I want to say to you, Mr. Bing, that I regard you as a good +citizen. Your genius and generosity have put this community under great +obligation. Now, in heading toward the hidden cause of your complaint, +I beg to ask you a question at the outset. Do you know that unfortunate +son of the Widow Moran known as the Shepherd of the Birds?" + +"I have heard much about him," Mr. Bing answered. + +"Do you know him?" + +"No. I have had letters from him acknowledging favors now and then, but +I do not know him." + +"We have hit at once the source of your trouble," the Judge went on. +"The Shepherd is a representative person. He stands for the poor and the +unfortunate in this village. You have never gone to see him +because--well, probably it was because you feared that the look of him +would distress you. The thing which would have helped and inspired and +gladdened his heart more than anything else would have been the feel of +your hand and a kind and cheering word and sympathetic counsel. Under +those circumstances, I think I may say that it was your duty as a +neighbor and a human being to go to see him. Instead of that you sent +money to him. Now, he never needed money. In the kindest spirit, I ask +you if that money you sent to him in the best of good-will was not, in +fact, a species of bribery? Were you not, indeed, seeking to buy +immunity from a duty incumbent upon you as a neighbor and a human +being?" + +Mr. Bing answered quickly, "There are plenty of people who have nothing +else to do but carry cheer and comfort to the unfortunate. I have other +things to do." + +"That, sir, does not relieve you of the liabilities of a neighbor and a +human being, in my view. If your business has turned you into a shaft or +a cog-wheel, it has done you a great injustice. I fear that it has been +your master--that it has practised upon you a kind of despotism. You +would better get along with less--far less business than suffer such a +fate. I don't want to hurt you. We are looking for the cause of a +certain result and I can help you only by being frank. With all your +generosity you have never given your heart to this village. Some unkind +people have gone so far as to say that you have no heart. You can not +prove it with money that you do not miss. Money is good but it must be +warmed with sympathy and some degree of sacrifice. Has it never occurred +to you that the warm hand and the cheering word in season are more, +vastly more, than money in the important matter of making good-will? +Unconsciously, you have established a line and placed yourself on one +side of it and the people on the other. Broadly speaking, you are +capital and the rest are labor. Whereas, in fact, you are all working +men. Some of the rest have come to regard you as their natural enemy. +They ought to regard you as their natural friend. Two kinds of +despotism have prevented it. First, there is the despotism of your +business in making you a slave--so much of a slave that you haven't time +to be human; second, there is the despotism of the labor union in +discouraging individual excellence, in demanding equal pay for the +faithful man and the slacker, and in denying the right of free men to +labor when and where they will. All this is tyranny as gross and +un-American as that of George the Third in trying to force his will upon +the colonies. If America is to survive, we must set our faces against +every form of tyranny. The remedy for all our trouble and bitterness is +real democracy which is nothing more or less than the love of men--the +love of justice and fair play for each and all. + +"You men should know that every strike increases the burdens of the +people. Every day your idleness lifts the price of their necessities. +Idleness is just another form of destruction. Why could you not have +listened to the counsel of Reason in June instead of in September, and +thus have saved these long months of loss and hardship and bitter +violence? It was because the spirit of Tyranny had entered your heart +and put your judgment in chains. It had blinded you to honor also, for +your men were working under contract. If the union is to command the +support of honest men, it must be honest. It was Tyranny that turned the +treaty with Belgium into a scrap of paper. That kind of a thing will not +do here. Let me assure you that Tyranny has no right to be in this land +of ours. You remind me of the Prodigal Son who had to know the taste of +husks and the companionship of swine before he came to himself. Do you +not know that Tyranny is swine and the fodder of swine? It is simply +human hoggishness. + +"I have one thing more to say and I am finished. Mr. Bing, some time +ago you threw up your religion without realizing the effect that such an +act would be likely to produce on this community. You are, no doubt, +aware that many followed your example. I've got no preaching to do. I'm +just going to quote you a few words from an authority no less +respectable than George Washington himself. Our history has made one +fact very clear, namely, that he was a wise and far-seeing man." + +Judge Crooker took from a shelf, John Marshall's "Life of Washington," +and read: + +"'_It is substantially true that virtue or morality is a necessary +spring of popular government and let us, with caution, indulge the +supposition that morality can be maintained without religion._ + +"'_Let it simply be asked where is the security for property, for +reputation, for life, if a sense of religious obligation desert the +oaths which are the instruments of investigation in courts of justice?_" + +"Let me add, on my own account, that the treatment you receive from your +men will vary according to their respect for morality and religion. + +"They could manage very well with an irreligious master, for you are +only one. But an irreligious mob is a different and highly serious +matter, believe me. Away back in the seventeenth century, John Dryden +wrote a wise sentence. It was this: + +"'_I have heard, indeed, of some very virtuous persons who have ended +unfortunately but never of a virtuous nation; Providence is engaged too +deeply when the cause becomes general._ + +"'If virtue is the price of a nation's life, let us try to keep our own +nation virtuous.'" + + +Mr. Bing and his men left the Judge's office in a thoughtful mood. The +next day, Judge Crooker met the mill owner on the street. + +"Judge, I accept your verdict," said the latter. "I fear that I have +been rather careless. It didn't occur to me that my example would be +taken so seriously. I have been a prodigal and have resolved to return +to my father's house." + +"Ho, servants!" said the Judge, with a smile. "Bring forth the best robe +and put it on him and put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet and +bring hither the fatted calf and kill it and let us eat and be merry." + +"We shall have to postpone the celebration," said Mr. Bing. "I have to +go to New York to-night, and I sail for England to-morrow. But I shall +return before Christmas." + +A little farther on Mr. Bing met Hiram Blenkinsop. The latter had a +plank on his shoulder. + +"I'd like to have a word with you," said the mill owner as he took hold +of the plank and helped Hiram to ease it down. "I hear many good things +about you, Mr. Blenkinsop. I fear that we have all misjudged you. If I +have ever said or done anything to hurt your feelings, I am sorry for +it." + +Hiram Blenkinsop looked with astonishment into the eyes of the +millionaire. + +"I--I guess I ain't got you placed right--not eggzac'ly," said he. "Some +folks ain't as good as they look an' some ain't as bad as they look. I +wouldn't wonder if we was mostly purty much alike, come to shake us +down." + +"Let's be friends, anyhow," said Mr. Bing. "If there's anything I can do +for you, let me know." + +That evening, as he sat by the stove in his little room over the garage +of Mr. Singleton with his dog Christmas lying beside him, Mr. Blenkinsop +fell asleep and awoke suddenly with a wild yell of alarm. + +"What's the matter?" a voice inquired. + +Mr. Blenkinsop turned and saw his Old Self standing in the doorway. + +"Nothin' but a dream," said Blenkinsop as he wiped his eyes. "Dreamed I +had a dog with a terrible thirst on him. Used to lead him around with a +rope an' when we come to a brook he'd drink it dry. Suddenly I felt an +awful jerk on the rope that sent me up in the air an' I looked an' see +that the dog had turned into an elephant an' that he was goin' like Sam +Hill, an' that I was hitched to him and couldn't let go. Once in a while +he'd stop an' drink a river dry an' then he'd lay down an' rest. +Everybody was scared o' the elephant an' so was I. An' I'd try to cut +the rope with my jack knife but it wouldn't cut--it was so dull. Then +all of a sudden he'd start on the run an' twitch me over the hills an' +mountings, an' me takin' steps a mile long an' scared to death." + +"The fact is you're hitched to an elephant," his Old Self remarked. "The +first thing to do is to sharpen your jack knife." + +"It's Night an' Silence that sets him goin'," said Blenkinsop. "When +they come he's apt to start for the nighest river. The old elephant is +beginnin' to move." + +Blenkinsop put on his hat and hurried out of the door. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +WHICH TELLS OF A MERRY CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE LITTLE COTTAGE OF THE WIDOW +MORAN + + +Night and Silence are a stern test of wisdom. For years, the fun loving, +chattersome Blenkinsop had been their enemy and was not yet at peace +with them. But Night and Silence had other enemies in the +village--ancient and inconsolable enemies, it must be said. They were +the cocks of Bingville. Every morning they fell to and drove Night and +Silence out of the place and who shall say that they did not save it +from being hopelessly overwhelmed. Day was their victory and they knew +how to achieve it. Noise was the thing most needed. So they roused the +people and called up the lights and set the griddles rattling. The +great, white cock that roosted near the window in the Widow Moran's +hen-house watched for the first sign of weakness in the enemy. When it +came, he sent forth a bolt of sound that tumbled Silence from his throne +and shook the foundations of the great dome of Night. It rang over the +housetops and through every street and alley in the village. That +started the battle. Silence tried in vain to recover his seat. In a +moment, every cock in Bingville was hurling bombs at him. Immediately, +Darkness began to grow pale with fright. Seeing the fate of his ally, he +broke camp and fled westward. Soon the field was clear and every proud +cock surveyed the victory with a solemn sense of large accomplishment. + +The loud victorious trumpets sounding in the garden near the window of +the Shepherd awoke him that Christmas morning. The dawn light was on the +windows. + +"Merry Christmas!" said the little round nickel clock in a cheerful +tone. "It's time to get up!" + +"Is it morning?" the Shepherd asked drowsily, as he rubbed his eyes. + +"Sure it's morning!" the little clock answered. "That lazy old sun is +late again. He ought to be up and at work. He's like a dishonest hired +man." + +"He's apt to be slow on Christmas morning," said the Shepherd. + +"Then people blame me and say I'm too fast," the little clock went on. +"They don't know what an old shirk the sun can be. I've been watching +him for years and have never gone to sleep at my post." + +After a moment of silence the little clock went on: "Hello! The old +night is getting a move on it. The cocks are scaring it away. Santa +Claus has been here. He brought ever so many things. The midnight train +stopped." + +"I wonder who came," said the Shepherd. + +"I guess it was the Bings," the clock answered. + +Just then it struck seven. + +"There, I guess that's about the end of it," said the little clock. + +"Of what?" the Shepherd asked. + +"Of the nineteen hundred and eighteen years. You know seven is the +favored number in sacred history. I'm sure the baby would have been born +at seven. My goodness! There's a lot of ticking in all that time. I've +been going only twelve years and I'm nearly worn out. Some young clock +will have to take my job before long." + +These reflections of the little clock were suddenly interrupted. The +Shepherd's mother entered with a merry greeting and turned on the +lights. There were many bundles lying about. She came and kissed her son +and began to build a fire in the little stove. + +"This'll be the merriest Christmas in yer life, laddie boy," she said, +as she lit the kindlings. "A great doctor has come up with the Bings to +see ye. He says he'll have ye out-o'-doors in a little while." + +"Ho, ho! That looks like the war was nearly over," said Mr. Bloggs. + +Mrs. Moran did not hear the remark of the little tin soldier so she +rattled on: + +"I went over to the station to meet 'em last night. Mr. Blenkinsop has +brought us a fine turkey. We'll have a gran' dinner--sure we will--an' I +axed Mr. Blenkinsop to come an' eat with us." + +Mrs. Moran opened the gifts and spread them on the bed. There were books +and paints and brushes and clothing and silver articles and needle-work +and a phonograph and a check from Mr. Bing. + +The little cottage had never seen a day so full of happiness. It rang +with talk and merry laughter and the music of the phonograph. Mr. +Blenkinsop had come in his best mood and apparel with the dog +Christmas. He helped Mrs. Moran to set the table in the Shepherd's room +and brought up the platter with the big brown turkey on it, surrounded +by sweet potatoes, all just out of the oven. Mrs. Moran followed with +the jelly and the creamed onions and the steaming coffee pot and new +celery. The dog Christmas growled and ran under the bed when he saw his +master coming with that unfamiliar burden. + +"He's never seen a Christmas dinner before. I don't wonder he's kind o' +scairt! I ain't seen one in so long, I'm scairt myself," said Hiram +Blenkinsop as they sat down at the table. + +"What's scairin' ye, man?" said the widow. + +"'Fraid I'll wake up an' find myself dreamin'," Mr. Blenkinsop answered. + +"Nobody ever found himself dreamin' at my table," said Mrs. Moran. "Grab +the carvin' knife an' go to wurruk, man." + +"I ain't eggzac'ly used to this kind of a job, but if you'll look out +o' the winder, I'll have it chopped an' split an' corded in a minute," +said Mr. Blenkinsop. + +He got along very well with his task. When they began eating he +remarked, "I've been lookin' at that pictur' of a girl with a baby in +her arms. Brings the water to my eyes, it's so kind o' life like and +nat'ral. It's an A number one pictur'--no mistake." + +He pointed at a large painting on the wall. + +"It's Pauline!" said the Shepherd. + +"Sure she's one o' the saints o' God!" the widow exclaimed. "She's +started a school for the children o' them Eytalians an' Poles. She's +tryin' to make 'em good Americans." + +"I'll never forget that night," Mr. Blenkinsop remarked. + +"If ye don't fergit it, I'll never mend another hole in yer pants," the +widow answered. + +"I've never blabbed a word about it to any one but Mr. Singleton." + +"Keep that in yer soul, man. It's yer ticket to Paradise," said the +widow. + +"She goes every day to teach the Poles and Italians, but I have her here +with me always," the Shepherd remarked. "I'm glad when the morning comes +so that I can see her again." + +"God bless the child! We was sorry to lose her but we have the pictur' +an' the look o' her with the love o' God in her face," said the Widow +Moran. + +"Now light yer pipe and take yer comfort, man," said the hospitable +widow, after the dishes were cleared away. "Sure it's more like +Christmas to see a man an' a pipe in the house. Heavens, no! A man in +the kitchen is worse than a hole in yer petticoat." + +So Mr. Blenkinsop sat with the Shepherd while the widow went about her +work. With his rumpled hair, clean shaven face, long nose and prominent +ears, he was not a handsome man. + +"This is the top notch an' no mistake," he remarked as he lighted his +pipe. "Blenkinsop is happy. He feels like his Old Self. He has no fault +to find with anything or anybody." + +Mr. Blenkinsop delivered this report on the state of his feelings with a +serious look in his gray eyes. + +"It kind o' reminds me o' the time when I used to hang up my stockin' +an' look for the reindeer tracks in the snow on Christmas mornin'," he +went on. "Since then, my ol' socks have been full o' pain an' trouble +every Christmas." + +"Those I knit for ye left here full of good wishes," said the Shepherd. + +"Say, when I put 'em on this mornin' with the b'iled shirt an' the suit +that Mr. Bing sent me, my Old Self came an' asked me where I was goin', +an' when I said I was goin' to spen' Christmas with a respectable +fam'ly, he said, 'I guess I'll go with ye,' so here we be." + +"The Old Selves of the village have all been kicked out-of-doors," said +the Shepherd. "The other day you told me about the trouble you had had +with yours. That night, all the Old Selves of Bingville got together +down in the garden and talked and talked about their relatives so I +couldn't sleep. It was a kind of Selfland. I told Judge Crooker about it +and he said that that was exactly what was going on in the Town Hall the +other night at the public meeting." + +"The folks are drunk--as drunk as I was in Hazelmead last May," said Mr. +Blenkinsop. "They have been drunk with gold and pleasure----" + +"The fruit of the vine of plenty," said Judge Crooker, who had just come +up the stairs. "Merry Christmas!" he exclaimed as he shook hands. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, you look as if you were enjoying yourself." + +"An' why not when yer Self has been away an' just got back?" + +"And you've killed the fatted turkey," said the Judge, as he took out +his silver snuff box. "One by one, the prodigals are returning." + +They heard footsteps on the stairs and the merry voice of the Widow +Moran. In a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Bing stood in the doorway. + +"Mr. and Mrs. Bing, I want to make you acquainted with my very dear +friend, Robert Moran," said Judge Crooker. + +There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes as Mrs. Bing stooped and kissed +him. He looked up at the mill owner as the latter took his hand. + +"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Bing. + +"Is this--is this Mr. J. Patterson Bing?" the Shepherd asked, his eyes +wide with astonishment. + +"Yes, and it is my fault that you do not know me better. I want to be +your friend." + +The Shepherd put his handkerchief over his eyes. His voice trembled when +he said: "You have been very kind to us." + +"But I'm really hoping to do something for you," Mr. Bing assured him. +"I've brought a great surgeon from New York who thinks he can help you. +He will be over to see you in the morning." + +They had a half-hour's visit with the little Shepherd. Mr. Bing, who was +a judge of good pictures, said that the boy's work showed great promise +and that his picture of the mother and child would bring a good price if +he cared to sell it. When they arose to go, Mr. Blenkinsop thanked the +mill owner for his Christmas suit. + +"Don't mention it," said Mr. Bing. + +"Well, it mentions itself purty middlin' often," Mr. Blenkinsop laughed. + +"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the former asked. + +"Well, sir, to tell ye the dead hones' truth, I've got a new ambition," +said Mr. Blenkinsop. "I've thought of it nights a good deal. I'd like to +be sextunt o' the church an' ring that ol' bell." + +"We'll see what can be done about it," Mr. Bing answered with a laugh, +as they went down-stairs with Judge Crooker, followed by the dog +Christmas, who scampered around them on the street with a merry growl of +challenge, as if the spirit of the day were in him. + +"What is it that makes the boy so appealing?" Mr. Bing asked of the +Judge. + +"He has a wonderful personality," Mrs. Bing remarked. + +"Yes, he has that. But the thing that underlies and shines through it is +his great attraction." + +"What do you call it?" Mrs. Bing asked. + +"A clean and noble spirit! Is there any other thing in this world that, +in itself, is really worth having?" + +"Compared with him, I recognize that I am very poor indeed," said J. +Patterson Bing. + +"You are what I would call a promising young man," the Judge answered. +"If you don't get discouraged, you're going to amount to something. I am +glad because you are, in a sense, the father of the great family of +Bingville." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Prodigal Village, by Irving Bacheller + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44796 *** diff --git a/44796-h/44796-h.htm b/44796-h/44796-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..caf64e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/44796-h/44796-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3055 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Prodigal Village, by Irving Bacheller. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + p.bold {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} + p.bold2 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + h1 span, h2 span { display: block; text-align: center; } + #id1 { font-size: smaller } + + + hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; + } + + hr.smler { + width: 5%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: 47.5%; + margin-right: 47.5%; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; border-collapse: collapse; border: none; text-align: right;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0px; + } /* page numbers */ + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .box {max-width: 30em; margin: 1.5em auto;} + .space-above {margin-top: 3em;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .left {text-align: left;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44796 ***</div> + +<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="bold2">THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE</p> + +<hr /> + +<h1>THE<br />PRODIGAL VILLAGE</h1> + +<p class="bold">A Christmas Tale</p> + +<p class="bold space-above"><i>By</i></p> + +<p class="bold2">IRVING BACHELLER</p> + +<p class="bold"><i>Author of</i><br />THE LIGHT IN THE CLEARING<br />A MAN FOR THE AGES, Etc.</p> + +<p class="bold space-above">INDIANAPOLIS<br />THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY<br />PUBLISHERS</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1920<br />American National Red Cross</span></p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1920<br />Irving Bacheller</span></p> + +<p class="center space-above"><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p> + +<p class="center space-above">PRESS OF<br />BRAUNWORTH & CO.<br />BOOK MANUFACTURERS<br />BROOKLYN, N. Y.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="box"> +<table summary="CONTENTS"> + <tr> + <td colspan="2" class="left"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> + <td><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">I</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Which Introduces the Shepherd of the Birds</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">II</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Founding of the Phyllistines</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">III</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Which Tells of the Complaining Coin and the Man Who Lost His Self</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">IV</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which Mr. Israel Sneed and Other +Working Men Receive a Lesson in True Democracy</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">V</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which J. Patterson Bing Buys a Necklace of Pearls</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">VI</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which Hiram Blenkinsop Has a Number of Adventures</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">VII</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which High Voltage Develops in the Conversation</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">VIII</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which Judge Crooker Delivers a Few Opinions</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">IX</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Which Tells of a Merry Christmas Day +in the Little Cottage of the Widow Moran</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="bold2">THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<p class="bold2">THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER ONE</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">Which Introduces the Shepherd of the Birds</span></p> + +<p>The day that Henry Smix met and embraced Gasoline Power and went up Main +Street hand in hand with it is not yet forgotten. It was a hasty +marriage, so to speak, and the results of it were truly deplorable. +Their little journey produced an effect on the nerves and the remote +future history of Bingville. They rushed at a group of citizens who were +watching them, scattered it hither and thither, broke down a section of +Mrs. Risley's picket fence and ran over a small boy. At the end of their +brief <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>misalliance, Gasoline Power seemed to express its opinion of Mr. +Smix by hurling him against a telegraph pole and running wild in the +park until it cooled its passion in the fountain pool. In the language +of Hiram Blenkinsop, the place was badly "smixed up." Yet Mr. Smix was +the object of unmerited criticism. He was like many other men in that +quiet village—slow, deliberate, harmless and good-natured. The action +of his intellect was not at all like that of a gasoline engine. Between +the swiftness of the one and the slowness of the other, there was a wide +zone full of possibilities. The engine had accomplished many things +while Mr. Smix's intellect was getting ready to begin to act.</p> + +<p>In speaking of this adventure, Hiram Blenkinsop made a wise remark: "My +married life learnt me one thing," said he. "If you are thinkin' of +hitchin' up a wild horse with a tame one, be careful that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> the tame one +is the stoutest or it will do him no good."</p> + +<p>The event had its tragic side and whatever Hiram Blenkinsop and other +citizens of questionable taste may have said of it, the historian has no +intention of treating it lightly. Mr. Smix and his neighbor's fence +could be repaired but not the small boy—Robert Emmet Moran, six years +old, the son of the Widow Moran who took in washing. He was in the +nature of a sacrifice to the new god. He became a beloved cripple, known +as the Shepherd of the Birds and altogether the most cheerful person in +the village. His world was a little room on the second floor of his +mother's cottage overlooking the big flower garden of Judge Crooker—his +father having been the gardener and coachman of the Judge. There were in +this room an old pine bureau, a four post bedstead, an armchair by the +window, a small round nickel clock, that sat on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> bureau, a rubber +tree and a very talkative little old tin soldier of the name of Bloggs +who stood erect on a shelf with a gun in his hand and was always looking +out of the window. The day of the tin soldier's arrival the boy had +named him Mr. Bloggs and discovered his unusual qualities of mind and +heart. He was a wise old soldier, it would seem, for he had some sort of +answer for each of the many questions of Bob Moran. Indeed, as Bob knew, +he had seen and suffered much, having traveled to Europe and back with +the Judge's family and been sunk for a year in a frog pond and been +dropped in a jug of molasses, but through it all had kept his look of +inextinguishable courage. The lonely lad talked, now and then, with the +round, nickel clock or the rubber-tree or the pine bureau, but mostly +gave his confidence to the wise and genial Mr. Bloggs. When the spring +arrived the garden, with its birds and flowers, became a source of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> joy +and companionship for the little lad. Sitting by the open window, he +used to talk to Pat Crowley, who was getting the ground ready for +sowing. Later the slow procession of the flowers passed under the boy's +window and greeted him with its fragrance and color.</p> + +<p>But his most intimate friends were the birds. Robins, in the elm tree +just beyond the window, woke him every summer morning. When he made his +way to the casement, with the aid of two ropes which spanned his room, +they came to him lighting on his wrists and hands and clamoring for the +seeds and crumbs which he was wont to feed them. Indeed, little Bob +Moran soon learned the pretty lingo of every feathered tribe that camped +in the garden. He could sound the pan pipe of the robin, the fairy flute +of the oriole, the noisy guitar of the bobolink and the little piccolo +of the song sparrow. Many of these dear friends of his came into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +room and explored the rubber tree and sang in its branches. A colony of +barn swallows lived under the eaves of the old weathered shed on the far +side of the garden. There were many windows, each with a saucy head +looking out of it. Suddenly half a dozen of these merry people would +rush into the air and fill it with their frolic. They were like a lot of +laughing schoolboys skating over invisible hills and hollows.</p> + +<p>With a pair of field-glasses, which Mrs. Crooker had loaned to him, Bob +Moran had learned the nest habits of the whole summer colony in that +wonderful garden. All day he sat by the open window with his work, an +air gun at his side. The robins would shout a warning to Bob when a cat +strolled into that little paradise. Then he would drop his brushes, +seize his gun and presently its missile would go whizzing through the +air, straight against the side of the cat, who, feeling the sting of it, +would bound through the flower beds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> and leap over the fence to avoid +further punishment. Bob had also made an electric search-light out of +his father's old hunting jack and, when those red-breasted policemen +sounded their alarm at night, he was out of bed in a jiffy and sweeping +the tree tops with a broom of light, the jack on his forehead. If he +discovered a pair of eyes, the stinging missiles flew toward them in the +light stream until the intruder was dislodged. Indeed, he was like a +shepherd of old, keeping the wolves from his flock. It was the parish +priest who first called him the Shepherd of the Birds.</p> + +<p>Just opposite his window was the stub of an old pine partly covered with +Virginia creeper. Near the top of it was a round hole and beyond it a +small cavern which held the nest of a pair of flickers. Sometimes the +female sat with her gray head protruding from this tiny oriel window of +hers looking across at Bob. Pat Crowley was in the habit of calling +this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> garden "Moran City," wherein the stub was known as Woodpecker +Tower and the flower bordered path as Fifth Avenue while the widow's +cottage was always referred to as City Hall and the weathered shed as +the tenement district.</p> + +<p class="space-above">What a theater of unpremeditated art was this beautiful, big garden of +the Judge! There were those who felt sorry for Bob Moran but his life +was fuller and happier than theirs. It is doubtful if any of the world's +travelers saw more of its beauty than he.</p> + +<p>He had sugared the window-sill so that he always had company—bees and +wasps and butterflies. The latter had interested him since the Judge had +called them "stray thoughts of God." Their white, yellow and blue wings +were always flashing in the warm sunlit spaces of the garden. He loved +the chorus of an August night and often sat by his window <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>listening to +the songs of the tree crickets and katydids and seeing the innumerable +firefly lanterns flashing among the flowers.</p> + +<p>His work was painting scenes in the garden, especially bird tricks and +attitudes. For this, he was indebted to Susan Baker, who had given him +paints and brushes and taught him how to use them, and to an unusual +aptitude for drawing.</p> + +<p>One day Mrs. Baker brought her daughter Pauline with her—a pretty +blue-eyed girl with curly blonde hair, four years older than Bob, who +was thirteen when his painting began. The Shepherd looked at her with an +exclamation of delight; until then he had never seen a beautiful young +maiden. Homely, ill-clad daughters of the working folk had come to his +room with field flowers now and then, but no one like Pauline. He felt +her hair and looked wistfully into her face and said that she was like +pink and white and yellow roses. She was a discovery—a new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> kind of +human being. Often he thought of her as he sat looking out of the window +and often he dreamed of her at night.</p> + +<p>The little Shepherd of the Birds was not quite a boy. He was a spirit +untouched by any evil thought, unbroken to lures and thorny ways. He +still had the heart of childhood and saw only the beauty of the world. +He was like the flowers and birds of the garden, strangely fair and +winsome, with silken, dark hair curling about his brows. He had large, +clear, brown eyes, a mouth delicate as a girl's and teeth very white and +shapely. The Bakers had lifted the boundaries of his life and extended +his vision. He found a new joy in studying flower forms and in imitating +their colors on canvas.</p> + +<p>Now, indeed, there was not a happier lad in the village than this young +prisoner in one of the two upper bedrooms in the small cottage of the +Widow Moran. True, he had moments of longing for his lost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> freedom when +he heard the shouts of the boys in the street and their feet hurrying by +on the sidewalk. The steadfast and courageous Mr. Bloggs had said: "I +guess we have just as much fun as they do, after all. Look at them roses."</p> + +<p>One evening, as his mother sat reading an old love tale to the boy, he +stopped her.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "I love Pauline. Do you think it would be all right +for me to tell her?"</p> + +<p>"Never a word," said the good woman. "Ye see it's this way, my little +son, ye're like a priest an' it's not the right thing for a priest."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be a priest," said he impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut, my laddie boy! It's for God to say an' for us to obey," she answered.</p> + +<p>When the widow had gone to her room for the night and Bob was thinking +it over, Mr. Bloggs remarked that in his opinion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> they should keep up +their courage for it was a very grand thing to be a priest after all.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Winters he spent deep in books out of Judge Crooker's library and +tending his potted plants and painting them and the thick blanket of +snow in the garden. Among the happiest moments of his life were those +that followed his mother's return from the post-office with <i>The +Bingville Sentinel</i>. Then, as the widow was wont to say, he was like a +dog with a bone. To him, Bingville was like Rome in the ancient world or +London in the British Empire. All roads led to Bingville. The <i>Sentinel</i> +was in the nature of a habit. One issue was like unto another—as like +as "two chaws off the same plug of tobaccer," a citizen had once said. +Its editor performed his jokes with a wink and a nudge as if he were +saying, "I will now touch the light guitar." Anything important in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> the +<i>Sentinel</i> would have been as misplaced as a cannon in a meeting-house. +Every week it caught the toy balloons of gossip, the thistledown events +which were floating in the still air of Bingville. The <i>Sentinel</i> was a +dissipation as enjoyable and as inexplicable as tea. It contained +portraits of leading citizens, accounts of sundry goings and comings, +and teas and parties and student frolics.</p> + +<p>To the little Shepherd, Bingville was the capital of the world and Mr. +J. Patterson Bing, the first citizen of Bingville, who employed eleven +hundred men and had four automobiles, was a gigantic figure whose shadow +stretched across the earth. There were two people much in his thoughts +and dreams and conversation—Pauline Baker and J. Patterson Bing. Often +there were articles in the <i>Sentinel</i> regarding the great enterprises of +Mr. Bing and the social successes of the Bing family in the metropolis. +These he read with hungry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> interest. His favorite heroes were George +Washington, St. Francis and J. Patterson Bing. As between the three he +would, secretly, have voted for Mr. Bing. Indeed, he and his friends and +intimates—Mr. Bloggs and the rubber tree and the little pine bureau and +the round nickel clock—had all voted for Mr. Bing. But he had never +seen the great man.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bing sent Mrs. Moran a check every Christmas and, now and then, some +little gift to Bob, but his charities were strictly impersonal. He used +to say that while he was glad to help the poor and the sick, he hadn't +time to call on them. Once, Mrs. Bing promised the widow that she and +her husband would go to see Bob on Christmas Day. The little Shepherd +asked his mother to hang his best pictures on the walls and to decorate +them with sprigs of cedar. He put on his starched shirt and collar and +silk tie and a new black coat which his mother had given him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> The +Christmas bells never rang so merrily.</p> + +<p class="space-above">The great white bird in the Congregational Church tower—that being +Bob's thought of it—flew out across the valley with its tidings of good will.</p> + +<p>To the little Shepherd it seemed to say: +"Bing—Bing—Bing—Bing—Bing—Bing! Com-ing, Com-ing, Com-ing!!"</p> + +<p>Many of the friends of his mother—mostly poor folk of the parish who +worked in the mill—came with simple gifts and happy greetings. There +were those among them who thought it a blessing to look upon the sweet +face of Bob and to hear his merry laughter over some playful bit of +gossip and Judge Crooker said that they were quite right about it. Mr. +and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing were never to feel this blessing. The +Shepherd of the Birds waited in vain for them that Christmas Day. Mrs. +Bing sent a letter of kindly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> greeting and a twenty-dollar gold piece +and explained that her husband was not feeling "quite up to the mark," +which was true.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going," he said decisively, when Mrs. Bing brought the matter +up as he was smoking in the library an hour or so after dinner. "No +cripples and misery in mine at present, thank you! I wouldn't get over +it for a week. Just send them our best wishes and a twenty-dollar gold piece."</p> + +<p>There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes when his mother helped him into +his night clothes that evening.</p> + +<p>"I hate that twenty-dollar gold piece!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Laddie boy! Why should ye be sayin' that?"</p> + +<p>The shiny piece of metal was lying on the window-sill. She took it in her hand.</p> + +<p>"It's as cold as a snow-bank!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p><p>"I don't want to touch it! I'm shivering now," said the Shepherd. "Put +it away in the drawer. It makes me sick. It cheated me out of seeing Mr. Bing."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER TWO</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">The Founding of the Phyllistines</span></p> + +<p>One little word largely accounted for the success of J. Patterson Bing. +It was the word "no." It saved him in moments which would have been full +of peril for other men. He had never made a bad investment because he +knew how and when to say "no." It fell from his lips so sharply and +decisively that he lost little time in the consideration of doubtful +enterprises. Sometimes it fell heavily and left a wound, for which Mr. +Bing thought himself in no way responsible. There was really a lot of +good-will in him. He didn't mean to hurt any one.</p> + +<p>"Time is a thing of great value and what's the use of wasting it in idle +palaver?" he used to say.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p><p>One day, Hiram Blenkinsop, who was just recovering from a spree, met +Mr. Bing at the corner of Main and School Streets and asked him for the +loan of a dollar.</p> + +<p>"<i>No sir!</i>" said Mr. J. Patterson Bing, and the words sounded like two +whacks of a hammer on a nail. "No <i>sir</i>," he repeated, the second whack +being now the more emphatic. "I don't lend money to people who make a +bad use of it."</p> + +<p>"Can you give me work?" asked the unfortunate drunkard.</p> + +<p>"No! But if you were a hired girl, I'd consider the matter."</p> + +<p>Some people who overheard the words laughed loudly. Poor Blenkinsop made +no reply but he considered the words an insult to his manhood in spite +of the fact that he hadn't any manhood to speak of. At least, there was +not enough of it to stand up and be insulted—that is sure. After that +he was always racking his brain for something mean to say about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> J. +Patterson Bing. Bing was a cold-blooded fish. Bing was a scrimper and a +grinder. If the truth were known about Bing he wouldn't be holding his +head so high. Judas Iscariot and J. Patterson Bing were off the same +bush. These were some of the things that Blenkinsop scattered abroad and +they were, to say the least of them, extremely unjust. Mr. Bing's +innocent remark touching Mr. Blenkinsop's misfortune in not being a +hired girl, arose naturally out of social conditions in the village. +Furthermore, it is quite likely that every one in Bingville, including +those impersonal creatures known as Law and Order, would have been much +happier if some magician could have turned Mr. Blenkinsop into a hired +girl and have made him a life member of "the Dish Water Aristocracy," as +Judge Crooker was wont to call it.</p> + +<p>The community of Bingville was noted for its simplicity and good sense. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>Servants were unknown in this village of three thousand people. It had +lawyers and doctors and professors and merchants—some of whom were +deservedly well known—and J. Patterson Bing, the owner of the pulp +mill, celebrated for his riches; but one could almost say that its most +sought for and popular folk were its hired girls. They were few and +sniffy. They exercised care and discretion in the choice of their +employers. They regulated the diet of the said employers and the +frequency and quality of their entertainments. If it could be said that +there was an aristocracy in the place they were it. First, among the +Who's Who of Bingville, were the Gilligan sisters who worked in the big +brick house of Judge Crooker; another was Mrs. Pat Collins, seventy-two +years of age, who presided in the kitchen of the Reverend Otis +Singleton; the two others were Susan Crowder, a woman of sixty, and a +red-headed girl with one eye, of the name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> of Featherstraw, both of whom +served the opulent Bings. Some of these hired girls ate with the +family—save on special occasions when city folk were present. Mrs. +Collins and the Gilligans seemed to enjoy this privilege but Susan +Crowder, having had an ancestor who had fought in the Revolutionary War, +couldn't stand it, and Martha Featherstraw preferred to eat in the +kitchen. Indeed there was some warrant for this remarkable situation. +The Gilligan sisters had a brother who was a Magistrate in a large city +and Mrs. Collins had a son who was a successful and popular butcher in +the growing city of Hazelmead.</p> + +<p>That part of the village known as Irishtown and a settlement of Poles +and Italians furnished the man help in the mill, and its sons were also +seen more or less in the fields and gardens. Ambition and Education had +been working in the minds of the young in and about Bingville for two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +generations. The sons and daughters of farmers and ditch-diggers had +read Virgil and Horace and plodded into the mysteries of higher +mathematics. The best of them had gone into learned professions; others +had enlisted in the business of great cities; still others had gone in +for teaching or stenography.</p> + +<p>Their success had wrought a curious devastation in the village and +countryside. The young moved out heading for the paths of glory. Many a +sturdy, stupid person who might have made an excellent plumber, or +carpenter, or farmer, or cook, armed with a university degree and a +sense of superiority, had gone forth in quest of fame and fortune +prepared for nothing in particular and achieving firm possession of it. +Somehow the elective system had enabled them "to get by" in a state of +mind that resembled the Mojave Desert. If they did not care for Latin or +mathematics they could take a course in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>Hierology or in The Taming of +the Wild Chickadee or in some such easy skating. Bingville was like many +places. The young had fled from the irksome tasks which had roughened +the hands and bent the backs of their parents. That, briefly, accounts +for the fewness and the sniffiness above referred to.</p> + +<p>Early in 1917, the village was shaken by alarming and astonishing news. +True, the sinking of the <i>Lusitania</i> and our own enlistment in the World +War and the German successes on the Russian frontier had, in a way, +prepared the heart and intellect of Bingville for shocking events. +Still, these disasters had been remote. The fact that the Gilligan +sisters had left the Crookers and accepted an offer of one hundred and +fifty dollars a month from the wealthy Nixons of Hazelmead was an event +close to the footlights, so to speak. It caused the news of battles to +take its rightful place in the distant background. Men talked of this +event in stores and on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> street corners; it was the subject of +conversation in sewing circles and the Philomathian Literary Club. That +day, the Bings whispered about it at the dinner table between courses +until Susan Crowder sent in a summons by Martha Featherstraw with the +apple pie. She would be glad to see Mrs. J. Patterson Bing in the +kitchen immediately after dinner. There was a moment of silence in the +midst of which Mr. Bing winked knowingly at his wife, who turned pale as +she put down her pie fork with a look of determination and rose and went +into the kitchen. Mrs. Crowder regretted that she and Martha would have +to look for another family unless their wages were raised from one +hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars a month.</p> + +<p>"But, Susan, we all made an agreement for a year," said Mrs. Bing.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Crowder was sorry but she and Martha could not make out on the +wages<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> they were getting—everything cost so much. If Mary Gilligan, who +couldn't cook, was worth a hundred dollars a month Mrs. Crowder +considered herself cheap at twice that figure.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Mrs. Bing, in her anger, was inclined to revolt, but Mr. Bing settled +the matter by submitting to the tyranny of Susan. With Phyllis and three +of her young friends coming from school and a party in prospect, there +was nothing else to do.</p> + +<p>Maggie Collins, who was too old and too firmly rooted in the village to +leave it, was satisfied with a raise of ten dollars a month. Even then +she received a third of the minister's salary. "His wife being a swell +leddy who had no time for wurruk, sure the boy was no sooner married +than he yelled for help," as Maggie was wont to say.</p> + +<p>All this had a decided effect on the economic life of the village. +Indeed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> Hiram Blenkinsop, the village drunkard, who attended to the +lawns and gardens for a number of people, demanded an increase of a +dollar a day in his wages on account of the high cost of living, +although one would say that its effect upon him could not have been +serious. For years the historic figure of Blenkinsop had been the +destination and repository of the cast-off clothing and the worn and +shapeless shoes of the leading citizens. For a decade, the venerable +derby hat, which once belonged to Judge Crooker, had survived all the +incidents of his adventurous career. He was, indeed, as replete with +suggestive memories as the graveyard to which he was wont to repair for +rest and recuperation in summer weather. There, in the shade of a locust +tree hard by the wall, he was often discovered with his faithful dog +Christmas—a yellow, mongrel, good-natured cur—lying beside him, and +the historic derby hat in his hand. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> had a persevering pride in that +hat. Mr. Blenkinsop showed a surprising and commendable industry under +the stimulation of increased pay. He worked hard for a month, then +celebrated his prosperity with a night of such noisy, riotous joy that +he landed in the lockup with a black eye and a broken nose and an empty +pocket. As usual, the dog Christmas went with him.</p> + +<p>When there was a loud yell in the streets at night Judge Crooker used to +say, "It's Hiram again! The poor fellow is out a-Hiraming."</p> + +<p>William Snodgrass, the carpenter, gave much thought and reflection to +the good fortune of the Gilligan girls. If a hired girl could earn +twenty-five dollars a week and her board, a skilled mechanic who had to +board himself ought to earn at least fifty. So he put up his prices. +Israel Sneed, the plumber, raised his scale to correspond with that of +the carpenter. The prices of the butcher and grocer kept pace<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> with the +rise of wages. A period of unexampled prosperity set in.</p> + +<p>Some time before, the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice that +its services would no longer be required. It had been an industrious and +faithful Old Spirit. The new generation did not intend to be hard on it. +They were willing to give it a comfortable home as long as it lived. Its +home was to be a beautiful and venerable asylum called The Past. There +it was to have nothing to do but to sit around and weep and talk of +bygone days. The Old Spirit rebelled. It refused to abandon its +appointed tasks.</p> + +<p>The notice had been given soon after the new theater was opened in the +Sneed Block, and the endless flood of moving lights and shadows began to +fall on its screen. The low-born, purblind intellects of Bohemian New +York began to pour their lewd fancies into this great stream that flowed +through every city, town and village in the land.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> They had no more +compunction in the matter than a rattlesnake when it swallows a rabbit. +To them, there were only two great, bare facts in life—male and female. +The males, in their vulgar parlance, were either "wise guys" or +"suckers"! The females were all "my dears."</p> + +<p>Much of this mental sewage smelled to heaven. But it paid. It was cheap +and entertaining. It relieved the tedium of small-town life.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Judge Crooker was in the little theater the evening that the Old Spirit +of Bingville received notice to quit. The sons and daughters and even +the young children of the best families in the village were there. +Scenes from the shady side of the great cities, bar-room adventures with +pugilists and porcelain-faced women, the thin-ice skating of illicit +love succeeded one another on the screen. The tender souls of the young +received the impression that life in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> the great world was mostly +drunkenness, violence, lust, and Great White Waywardness of one kind or +another.</p> + +<p>Judge Crooker shook his head and his fist as he went out and expressed +his view to Phyllis and her mother in the lobby. Going home, they called +him an old prude. The knowledge that every night this false instruction +was going on in the Sneed Block filled the good man with sorrow and +apprehension. He complained to Mr. Leak, the manager, who said that he +would like to give clean shows, but that he had to take what was sent +him.</p> + +<p>Soon a curious thing happened to the family of Mr. J. Patterson Bing. It +acquired a new god—one that began, as the reader will have observed, +with a small "g." He was a boneless, India-rubber, obedient little god. +For years the need of one like that had been growing in the Bing family. +Since he had become a millionaire, Mr. Bing had found it necessary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> to +spend a good deal of time and considerable money in New York. Certain of +his banker friends in the metropolis had introduced him to the joys of +the Great White Way and the card room of the Golden Age Club. Always he +had been ill and disgruntled for a week after his return to the homely +realities of Bingville. The shrewd intuitions of Mrs. Bing alarmed her. +So Phyllis and John were packed off to private schools so that the good +woman would be free to look after the imperiled welfare of the lamb of +her flock—the great J. Patterson. She was really worried about him. +After that, she always went with him to the city. She was pleased and +delighted with the luxury of the Waldorf-Astoria, the costumes, the +dinner parties, the theaters, the suppers, the cabaret shows. The latter +shocked her a little at first.</p> + +<p class="center">* * * * *</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><p>They went out to a great country house, near the city, to spend a +week-end. There was a dinner party on Saturday night. One of the ladies +got very tipsy and was taken up-stairs. The others repaired to the music +room to drink their coffee and smoke. Mrs. Bing tried a cigarette and +got along with it very well. Then there was an hour of heart to heart, +central European dancing while the older men sat down for a night of +bridge in the library. Sunday morning, the young people rode to hounds +across country while the bridge party continued its session in the +library. It was not exactly a restful week-end. J. Patterson and his +wife went to bed, as soon as their grips were unpacked, on their return +to the city and spent the day there with aching heads.</p> + +<p>While they were eating dinner that night, the cocktail remarked with the +lips of Mrs. Bing: "I'm getting tired of Bingville."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, of course, it's a picayune place," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>"It's so provincial!" the lady exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Soon, the oysters and the entree having subdued the cocktail, she +ventured: "But it does seem to me that New York is an awfully wicked +place."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Godless," she answered. "The drinking and gambling and those dances."</p> + +<p>"That's because you've been brought up in a seven-by-nine Puritan +village," J. Patterson growled very decisively. "Why shouldn't people +enjoy themselves? We have trouble enough at best. God gave us bodies to +get what enjoyment we could out of them. It's about the only thing we're +sure of, anyhow."</p> + +<p>It was a principle of Mrs. Bing to agree with J. Patterson. And why not? +He was a great man. She knew it as well as he did and that was knowing +it very well indeed. His judgment about many things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> had been +right—triumphantly and overwhelmingly right. Besides, it was the only +comfortable thing to do. She had been the type of woman who reads those +weird articles written by grass widows on "How to Keep the Love of a +Husband."</p> + +<p>So it happened that the Bings began to construct a little god to suit +their own tastes and habits—one about as tractable as a toy dog. They +withdrew from the Congregational Church and had house parties for sundry +visitors from New York and Hazelmead every week-end.</p> + +<p>Phyllis returned from school in May with a spirit quite in harmony with +that of her parents. She had spent the holidays at the home of a friend +in New York and had learned to love the new dances and to smoke, +although that was a matter to be mentioned only in a whisper and not in +the presence of her parents. She was a tall, handsome girl with blue +eyes, blonde hair, perfect teeth and complexion, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>almost a perfect +figure. Here she was, at last, brought up to the point of a coming-out +party.</p> + +<p class="space-above">It had been a curious and rather unfortunate bringing up that the girl +had suffered. She had been the pride of a mother's heart and the +occupier of that position is apt to achieve great success in supplying a +mother's friends with topics of conversation. Phyllis had been flattered +and indulged. Mrs. Bing was entitled to much credit, having been born of +poor and illiterate parents in a small village on the Hudson a little +south of the Capital. She was pretty and grew up with a longing for +better things. J. Patterson got her at a bargain in an Albany department +store where she stood all day behind the notion counter. "At a bargain," +it must be said, because, on the whole, there were higher values in her +personality than in his. She had acquired that common Bertha Clay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> habit +of associating with noble lords who lived in cheap romances and had a +taste for poor but honest girls. The practical J. Patterson hated that +kind of thing. But his wife kept a supply of these highly flavored +novels hidden in the little flat and spent her leisure reading them.</p> + +<p>One of the earliest recollections of Phyllis was the caution, "Don't +tell father!" received on the hiding of a book. Mrs. Bing had bought, in +those weak, pinching times of poverty, extravagant things for herself +and the girl and gone in debt for them. Collectors had come at times to +get their money with impatient demands.</p> + +<p>The Bings were living in a city those days. Phyllis had been a witness +of many interviews of the kind. All along the way of life, she had heard +the oft-repeated injunction, "Don't tell father!" She came to regard men +as creatures who were not to be told. When Phyllis got into a scrape<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> at +school, on account of a little flirtation, and Mrs. Bing went to see +about it, the two agreed on keeping the salient facts from father.</p> + +<p class="space-above">A dressmaker came after Phyllis arrived to get her ready for the party. +The afternoon of the event, J. Patterson brought the young people of the +best families of Hazelmead by special train to Bingville. The Crookers, +the Witherills, the Ameses, the Renfrews and a number of the most +popular students in the Normal School were also invited. They had the +famous string band from Hazelmead to furnish music, and Smith—an +impressive young English butler whom they had brought from New York on +their last return.</p> + +<p>Phyllis wore a gown which Judge Crooker described as "the limit." He +said to his wife after they had gone home: "Why, there was nothing on +her back but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> a pair of velvet gallowses and when I stood in front of +her my eyes were seared."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bing calls it high art," said the Judge's wife.</p> + +<p>"I call it down pretty close to see level," said the Judge. "When she +clinched with those young fellers and went wrestling around the room she +reminded me of a grape-vine growing on a tree."</p> + +<p>This reaction on the intellect of the Judge quite satisfies the need of +the historian. Again the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice. It +is only necessary to add that the punch was strong and the house party +over the week-end made a good deal of talk by fast driving around the +country in motor-cars on Sunday and by loud singing in boats on the +river and noisy play on the tennis courts. That kind of thing was new to +Bingville.</p> + +<p>When it was all over, Phyllis told her mother that Gordon King—one of +the young men—had insulted her when they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> had been out in a boat +together on Sunday. Mrs. Bing was shocked. They had a talk about it up +in Phyllis' bedroom at the end of which Mrs. Bing repeated that familiar +injunction, "Don't tell father!"</p> + +<p>It was soon after the party that Mr. J. Patterson Bing sent for William +Snodgrass, the carpenter. He wanted an extension built on his house +containing new bedrooms and baths and a large sun parlor. The estimate +of Snodgrass was unexpectedly large. In explanation of the fact the +latter said: "We work only eight hours a day now. The men demand it and +they must be taken to and from their work. They can get all they want to +do on those terms."</p> + +<p>"And they demand seven dollars and a half a day at that? It's big pay +for an ordinary mechanic," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>"There's plenty of work to do," Snodgrass answered. "I don't care the +snap o' my finger whether I get your job or not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> I'm forty thousand +ahead o' the game and I feel like layin' off for the summer and takin' a +rest."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I could get you to work overtime and hurry the job through if +I'm willing to pay for it?" the millionaire inquired.</p> + +<p>"The rate would be time an' a half for work done after the eight hours +are up, but it's hard to get any one to work overtime these days."</p> + +<p>"Well, go ahead and get all the work you can out of these plutocrats of +the saw and hammer. I'll pay the bills," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>The terms created a record in Bingville. But, as Mr. Bing had agreed to +them, in his haste, they were established.</p> + +<p>Israel Sneed, the plumber, was working with his men on a job at +Millerton, but he took on the plumbing for the Bing house extension, at +prices above all precedent, to be done as soon as he could get to it on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +his return. The butcher and grocer had improved the opportunity to raise +their prices for Bing never questioned a bill. He set the pace. Prices +stuck where he put the peg. So, unwittingly, the millionaire had created +conditions of life that were extremely difficult.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Since prices had gone up the village of Bingville had been running down +at the heel. It had been at best and, in the main, a rather shiftless +and inert community. The weather had worn the paint off many houses +before their owners had seen the need of repainting. Not until the rain +drummed on the floor was the average, drowsy intellect of Bingville +roused to action on the roof. It must be said, however, that every one +was busy, every day, except Hiram Blenkinsop, who often indulged in +<i>ante mortem</i> slumbers in the graveyard or went out on the river with +his dog Christmas, his bottle and his fishing rod.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> The people were +selling goods, or teaming, or working in the two hotels or the machine +shop or the electric light plant or the mill, or keeping the hay off the +lawns, or building, or teaching in the schools. The gardens were +suffering unusual neglect that season—their owners being so profitably +engaged in other work—and the lazy foreigners demanded four dollars and +a half a day and had to be watched and sworn at and instructed, and not +every one had the versatility for this task. The gardens were largely +dependent on the spasmodic industry of schoolboys and old men. So it +will be seen that the work of the community had little effect on the +supply of things necessary to life. Indeed, a general habit of +extravagance had been growing in the village. People were not so careful +of food, fuel and clothing as they had been.</p> + +<p>It was a wet summer in Bingville. The day after the rains began, +Professor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>Renfrew called at the house of the sniffy Snodgrass—the +nouveau riche and opulent carpenter. He sat reading the morning paper +with a new diamond ring on the third finger of his left hand.</p> + +<p>"My roof is leaking badly and it will have to be fixed at once," the +Professor announced.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, I can't do a thing for you now," said Snodgrass. "I've got +so much to do, I don't know which way to turn."</p> + +<p>"But you're not working this rainy day, are you?" the Professor asked.</p> + +<p>"No, and I don't propose to work in this rain for anybody; if I did I'd +fix my own roof. To tell you the truth, I don't have to work at all! I +calculate that I've got all the money I need. So, when it rains, I +intend to rest and get acquainted with my family."</p> + +<p>He was firm but in no way disagreeable about it.</p> + +<p>Some of the half-dozen men who, in like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> trouble, called on him for help +that day were inclined to resent his declaration of independence and his +devotion to leisure, but really Mr. Snodgrass was well within his +rights.</p> + +<p>It was a more serious matter when Judge Crocker's plumbing leaked and +flooded his kitchen and cellar. Israel Sneed was in Millerton every day +and working overtime more or less. He refused to put a hand on the +Judge's pipes. He was sorry but he couldn't make a horse of himself and +even if he could the time was past when he had to do it. Judge Crooker +brought a plumber from Hazelmead, sixty miles in a motor-car, and had to +pay seventy dollars for time, labor and materials. This mechanic +declared that there was too much pressure on the pipes, a judgment of +whose accuracy we have abundant proof in the history of the next week or +so. Never had there been such a bursting of pipes and flooding of +cellars. That little lake up in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> the hills which supplied the water of +Bingville seemed to have got the common notion of moving into the +village. A dozen cellars were turned into swimming pools. Modern +improvements were going out of commission. A committee went to Hazelmead +and after a week's pleading got a pair of young and inexperienced +plumbers to come to Bingville.</p> + +<p>"They must 'a' plugged 'em with gold," said Deacon Hosley, when the bill +arrived.</p> + +<p>New leaks were forthcoming, but Hiram Blenkinsop conceived the notion of +stopping them with poultices of white lead and bandages of canvas bound +with fine wire. They dripped and many of the pipes of Bingville looked +as if they were suffering from sprained ankles and sore throats, but +Hiram had prevented another deluge.</p> + +<p>The price of coal had driven the people of Bingville back to the woods +for fuel. The old wood stoves had been cleaned and set up in the +sitting-rooms and kitchens.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> The saving had been considerable. Now, so +many men were putting in their time on the house and grounds of J. +Patterson Bing and the new factory at Millerton that the local wood +dealer found it impossible to get the help he needed. Not twenty-five +per cent. of the orders on his books could be filled.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bing's house was finished in October. Then Snodgrass announced that +he was going to take it easy as became a man of his opulence. He had +bought a farm and would only work three days a week at his trade. Sneed +had also bought a farm and acquired a feeling of opulence. He was going +to work when he felt like it. Before he tackled any leaking pipes he +proposed to make a few leaks in the deer up in the Adirondacks. So the +roofs and the plumbing had to wait.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Bingville was in sore trouble. The ancient roof of its +respectability had begun to leak. The beams and rafters in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> the house of +its spirit were rotting away. Many of the inhabitants of the latter +regarded the great J. Patterson Bing with a kind of awe—like that of +the Shepherd of the Birds. He was the leading citizen. He had done +things. When J. Patterson Bing decided that rest or fresh air was better +for him than bad music and dull prayers and sermons, and that God was +really not much concerned as to whether a man sat in a pew or a rocking +chair or a motor-car on Sunday, he was, probably, quite right. Really, +it was a matter much more important to Mr. Bing and his neighbors than +to God. Indeed, it is not at all likely that the ruler of the universe +was worrying much about them. But when J. Patterson Bing decided in +favor of fun and fresh air, R. Purdy—druggist—made a like decision, +and R. Purdy was a man of commanding influence in his own home. His +daughters, Mabel and Gladys, and his son, Richard, Jr., would not have +been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>surprised to see him elected President of the United States, some +day, believing that that honor was only for the truly great. Soon Mrs. +Purdy stood alone—a hopeless minority of one—in the household. By much +pleading and nagging, she kept the children in the fold of the church +for a time but, by and by, grew weary of the effort. She was converted +by nervous exhaustion to the picnic Sunday. Her conscience worried her. +She really felt sorry for God and made sundry remarks calculated to +appease and comfort Him.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Now all this would seem to have been in itself a matter of slight +importance. But Orville Gates, the superintendent of the mill, and John +Seaver, attorney at law, and Robert Brown, the grocer, and Pendleton +Ames, who kept the book and stationery store, and William Ferguson, the +clothier, and Darwin Sill, the butcher, and Snodgrass, the carpenter, +and others had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> joined the picnic caravan led by the millionaire. These +good people would not have admitted it, but the truth is J. Patterson +Bing held them all in the hollow of his hand. Nobody outside his own +family had any affection for him. Outwardly, he was as hard as nails. +But he owned the bank and controlled credits and was an extravagant +buyer. He had given freely for the improvement of the village and the +neighboring city of Hazelmead. His family was the court circle of +Bingville. Consciously or unconsciously, the best people imitated the +Bings.</p> + +<p>Judge Crooker was, one day, discussing with a friend the social +conditions of Bingville. In regard to picnic Sundays he made this +remark: "George Meredith once wrote to his son that he would need the +help of religion to get safely beyond the stormy passions of youth. It +is very true!"</p> + +<p>The historian was reminded of this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>saying by the undertow of the life +currents in Bingville. The dances in the Normal School and in the homes +of the well-to-do were imitations of the great party at J. Patterson +Bing's. The costumes of certain of the young ladies were, to quote a +clause from the posters of the Messrs. Barnum and Bailey, still clinging +to the bill-board: "the most daring and amazing bareback performances in +the history of the circus ring." Phyllis Bing, the unrivaled +metropolitan performer, set the pace. It was distinctly too rapid for +her followers. If one may say it kindly, she was as cold and heartless +and beautiful in her act as a piece of bronze or Italian marble. She was +not ashamed of herself. She did it so easily and gracefully and +unconsciously and obligingly, so to speak, as if her license had never +been questioned. It was not so with Vivian Mead and Frances Smith and +Pauline Baker. They limped and struggled in their efforts to keep up. To +begin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> with, the art of their modiste had been fussy, imitative and +timid. It lacked the master touch. Their spirits were also improperly +prepared for such publicity. They blushed and looked apologies and were +visibly uncomfortable when they entered the dance-hall.</p> + +<p class="space-above">On this point, Judge Crooker delivered a famous opinion. It was: "I feel +sorry for those girls but their mothers ought to be spanked!"</p> + +<p>There is evidence that this sentence of his was carried out in due time +and in a most effectual manner. But the works of art which these mothers +had put on exhibition at the Normal School sprang into overwhelming +popularity with the young men and their cards were quickly filled. In +half an hour, they had ceased to blush. Their eyes no longer spoke +apologies. They were new women. Their initiation was complete. They had +become in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> language of Judge Crooker, "perfect Phyllistines!"</p> + +<p>The dancing tried to be as naughty as that remarkable Phyllistinian +pastime at the mansion of the Bings and succeeded well, if not +handsomely. The modern dances and dress were now definitely established +in Bingville.</p> + +<p>Just before the holidays, the extension of the ample home of the +millionaire was decorated, furnished, and ready to be shown. Mrs. Bing +and Phyllis who had been having a fling in New York came home for the +holidays. John arrived the next day from the great Padelford School to +be with the family through the winter recess. Mrs. Bing gave a tea to +the ladies of Bingville. She wanted them to see the improvements and +become aware of her good will. She had thought of an evening party, but +there were many men in the village whom she didn't care to have in her +house. So it became a tea.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>The women talked of leaking roofs and water pipes and useless bathrooms +and outrageous costs. Phyllis sat in the Palm Room with the village +girls. It happened that they talked mainly about their fathers. Some had +complained of paternal strictness.</p> + +<p>"Men are terrible! They make so much trouble," said Frances Smith. "It +seems as if they hated to see anybody have a good time."</p> + +<p>"Mother and I do as we please and say nothing," said Phyllis. "We never +tell father anything. Men don't understand."</p> + +<p>Some of the girls smiled and looked into one another's eyes.</p> + +<p>There had been a curious undercurrent in the party. It did not break the +surface of the stream until Mrs. Bing asked Mrs. Pendleton Ames, "Where +is Susan Baker?"</p> + +<p>A silence fell upon the group around her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ames leaned toward Mrs. Bing and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> whispered, "Haven't you heard the +news?"</p> + +<p>"No. I had to scold Susan Crowder and Martha Featherstraw as soon as I +got here for neglecting their work and they've hardly spoken to me +since. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Pauline Baker has run away with a strange young man," Mrs. Ames +whispered.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing threw up both hands, opened her mouth and looked toward the +ceiling.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it," she gasped.</p> + +<p>"It's a fact. Susan told me. Mr. Baker doesn't know the truth yet and +she doesn't dare to tell him. She's scared stiff. Pauline went over to +Hazelmead last week to visit Emma Stacy against his wishes. She met the +young man at a dance. Susan got a letter from Pauline last night making +a clean breast of the matter. They are married and stopping at a hotel +in New York."</p> + +<p>"My lord! I should think she <i>would</i> be scared stiff," said Mrs. Bing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>"I think there is a good reason for the stiffness of Susan," said Mrs. +Singleton, the wife of the Congregational minister. "We all know that +Mr. Baker objected to these modern dances and the way that Pauline +dressed. He used to say that it was walking on the edge of a precipice."</p> + +<p>There was a breath of silence in which one could hear only a faint +rustle like the stir of some invisible spirit.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing sighed. "He may be all right," she said in a low, calm voice.</p> + +<p>"But the indications are not favorable," Mrs. Singleton remarked.</p> + +<p>The gossip ceased abruptly, for the girls were coming out of the Palm +Room.</p> + +<p>The next morning, Mrs. Bing went to see Susan Baker to offer sympathy +and a helping hand. Mamie Bing was, after all, a good-hearted woman. By +this time, Mr. Baker had been told. He had kicked a hole in the long +looking-glass in Pauline's bedroom and flung a pot of rouge through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the +window and scattered talcum powder all over the place and torn a new +silk gown into rags and burnt it in the kitchen stove and left the house +slamming the door behind him. Susan had gone to bed and he had probably +gone to the club or somewhere. Perhaps he would commit suicide. Of all +this, it is enough to say that for some hours there was abundant +occupation for the tender sympathies of Mrs. J. Patterson Bing. Before +she left, Mr. Baker had returned for luncheon and seemed to be quite +calm and self-possessed when he greeted her in the hall below stairs.</p> + +<p>On entering her home, about one o'clock, Mrs. Bing received a letter +from the hand of Martha.</p> + +<p>"Phyllis told me to give you this as soon as you returned," said the +girl.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" Mrs. Bing whispered to herself, as she tore open +the envelope.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><p>Her face grew pale and her hands trembled as she read the letter.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Dearest Mamma</i>," it began. "I am going to Hazelmead for luncheon +with Gordon King. I couldn't ask you because I didn't know where +you were. We have waited an hour. I am sure you wouldn't want me to +miss having a lovely time. I shall be home before five. Don't tell +father! He hates Gordon so.</p> + +<p class="right">"<i>Phyllis.</i>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>"The boy who insulted her! My God!" Mrs. Bing exclaimed in a whisper. +She hurried to the door of the butler's pantry. Indignation was in the +sound of her footsteps.</p> + +<p>"Martha!" she called.</p> + +<p>Martha came.</p> + +<p>"Tell James to bring the big car at once. I'm going to Hazelmead."</p> + +<p>"Without luncheon?" the girl asked.</p> + +<p>"Just give me a sandwich and I'll eat it in my hand."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>"I want you to hurry," she said to James as she entered the glowing +limousine with the sandwich half consumed.</p> + +<p>They drove at top speed over the smooth, state road to the mill city. At +half past two, Mrs. Bing alighted at the fashionable Gray Goose Inn +where the best people had their luncheon parties. She found Phyllis and +Gordon in a cozy alcove, sipping cognac and smoking cigarettes, with an +ice tub and a champagne bottle beside them. To tell the whole truth, it +was a timely arrival. Phyllis, with no notion of the peril of it, was +indeed having "a lovely time"—the time of her young life, in fact. For +half an hour, she had been hanging on the edge of the giddy precipice of +elopement. She was within one sip of a decision to let go.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing was admirably cool. In her manner there was little to indicate +that she had seen the unusual and highly festive accessories. She sat +down beside them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> and said, "My dear, I was very lonely and thought I +would come and look you up. Is your luncheon finished?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Then let us go and get into the car. We'll drop Mr. King at his home."</p> + +<p>When at last they were seated in the limousine, the angry lady lifted +the brakes in a way of speaking.</p> + +<p>"I am astonished that you would go to luncheon with this young man who +has insulted you," she said.</p> + +<p>Phyllis began to cry.</p> + +<p>Turning to young Gordon King, the indignant lady added: "I think you are +a disreputable boy. You must never come to my house again—<i>never</i>!"</p> + +<p>He made no answer and left the car without a word at the door of the +King residence.</p> + +<p class="space-above">There were miles and miles of weeping on the way home. Phyllis had +recovered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> her composure but began again when her mother remarked, "I +wonder where you learned to drink champagne and cognac and smoke +cigarettes," as if her own home had not been a perfect academy of +dissipation. The girl sat in a corner, her eyes covered with her +handkerchief and the only words she uttered on the way home were these: +"Don't tell father!"</p> + +<p>While this was happening, Mr. Baker confided his troubles to Judge +Crooker in the latter's office. The Judge heard him through and then +delivered another notable opinion, to wit: "There are many subjects on +which the judgment of the average man is of little value, but in the +matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be sound. Also there are +many subjects on which the judgment of the average woman may be trusted, +but in the matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be unsound. I +say this, after some forty years of observation."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><p>"What is the reason?" Mr. Baker asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, a daughter has to be prepared to deal with men," the Judge went +on. "The masculine temperament is involved in all the critical problems +of her life. Naturally the average man is pretty well informed on the +subject of men. You have prospered these late years. You have been so +busy getting rich that you have just used your home to eat and sleep in. +You can't do a home any good by eating and snoring and reading a paper +in it."</p> + +<p>"My wife would have her own way there," said Baker.</p> + +<p>"That doesn't alter the fact that you have neglected your home. You have +let things slide. You wore yourself out in this matter of money-getting. +You were tired when you got home at night—all in, as they say. The bank +was the main thing with you. I repeat that you let things slide at home +and the longer they slide the faster they slide when they're going down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +hill. You can always count on that in a case of sliding. The young have +a taste for velocity and often it comes so unaccountably fast that they +don't know what to do with it, so they're apt to get their necks broken +unless there's some one to put on the brakes."</p> + +<p>Mr. Emanuel Baker arose and began to stride up and down the room.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, Judge! I don't know what to do," he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"There's only one thing to do. Go and find the young people and give +them your blessing. If you can discover a spark of manhood in the +fellow, make the most of it. The chances are against that, but let us +hope for the best. Above all, I want you to be gentle with Pauline. You +are more to blame than she is."</p> + +<p>"I don't see how I can spare the time, but I'll have to," said Baker.</p> + +<p>"Time! Fiddlesticks!" the Judge exclaimed. "What a darn fool money +makes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> of a man! You have lost your sense of proportion, your +appreciation of values. Bill Pritchard used to talk that way to me. He +has been lying twenty years in his grave. He hadn't a minute to spare +until one day he fell dead—then leisure and lots of leisure it would +seem—and the business has doubled since he quit worrying about it. My +friend, you can not take a cent into Paradise, but the soul of Pauline +is a different kind of property. It might be a help to you there. Give +plenty of time to this job, and good luck to you."</p> + +<p>The spirit of the old, dead days spoke in the voice of the Judge—spoke +with a kindly dignity. It had ever been the voice of Justice, tempered +with Mercy—the most feared and respected voice in the upper counties. +His grave, smooth-shaven face, his kindly gray eyes, his noble brow with +its crown of white hair were fitting accessories of the throne of +Justice and Mercy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>"I'll go this afternoon. Thank you, Judge!" said Baker, as he left the +office.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Pauline had announced in her letter that her husband's name was Herbert +Middleton. Mr. Baker sent a telegram to Pauline to apprise her of his +arrival in the morning. It was a fatherly message of love and good-will. +At the hotel in New York, Mr. Baker learned that Mr. and Mrs. Middleton +had checked out the day before. Nobody could tell him where they had +gone. One of the men at the porter's desk told of putting them in a +taxicab with their grips and a steamer trunk soon after luncheon. He +didn't know where they went. Mr. Baker's telegram was there unopened. He +called at every hotel desk in the city, but he could get no trace of +them. He telephoned to Mrs. Baker. She had heard nothing from Pauline. +In despair, he went to the Police Department and told his story to the Chief.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p><p>"It looks as if there was something crooked about it," said the Chief. +"There are many cases like this. Just read that."</p> + +<p>The officer picked up a newspaper clipping, which lay on his desk, and +passed it to Mr. Baker. It was from the <i>New York Evening Post</i>. The +banker read aloud this startling information:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"'The New York police report that approximately 3600 girls have run +away or disappeared from their homes in the past eleven months, and +the Bureau of Missing Persons estimates that the number who have +disappeared throughout the country approximates 68,000.'"</p></blockquote> + +<p>"It's rather astonishing," the Chief went on. "The women seem to have +gone crazy these days. Maybe it's the new dancing and the movies that +are breaking down the morals of the little suburban towns or maybe it's +the excitement of the war. Anyhow, they keep the city supplied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> with +runaways and vamps. You are not the first anxious father I have seen +to-day. You can go home. I'll put a man on the case and let you know +what happens."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER THREE</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">Which Tells of the Complaining Coin and the Man Who Lost His Self</span></p> + +<p>There was a certain gold coin in a little bureau drawer in Bingville +which began to form a habit of complaining to its master.</p> + +<p>"How cold I am!" it seemed to say to the boy. "I was cold when you put +me in here and I have been cold ever since. Br-r-r! I'm freezing."</p> + +<p>Bob Moran took out the little drawer and gave it a shaking as he looked +down at the gold piece.</p> + +<p>"Don't get rattled," said the redoubtable Mr. Bloggs, who had a great +contempt for cowards.</p> + +<p>It was just after the Shepherd of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> Birds had heard of a poor widow +who was the mother of two small children and who had fallen sick of the +influenza with no fuel in her house.</p> + +<p>"I am cold, too!" said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course you are," the coin answered. "That's the reason I'm +cold. A coin is never any warmer than the heart of its owner. Why don't +you take me out of here and give me a chance to move around?"</p> + +<p>Things that would not say a word to other boys often spoke to the +Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Let him go," said Mr. Bloggs.</p> + +<p>Indeed it was the tin soldier, who stood on his little shelf looking out +of the window, who first reminded Bob of the loneliness and discomfort +of the coin. As a rule whenever the conscience of the boy was touched +Mr. Bloggs had something to say.</p> + +<p>It was late in February and every one was complaining of the cold. Even +the oldest inhabitants of Bingville could not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> recall so severe a +winter. Many families were short of fuel. The homes of the working folk +were insufficiently heated. Money in the bank had given them a sense of +security. They could not believe that its magic power would fail to +bring them what they needed. So they had been careless of their +allowance of wood and coal. There were days when they had none and could +get none at the yard. Some of them took boards out of their barn floors +and cut down shade trees and broke up the worst of their furniture to +feed the kitchen stove in those days of famine. Some men with hundreds +of dollars in the bank went out into the country at night and stole +rails off the farmers' fences. The homes of these unfortunate people +were ravaged by influenza and many died.</p> + +<p>Prices at the stores mounted higher. Most of the gardens had been lying +idle. The farmers had found it hard to get help. Some of the latter, +indeed, had decided<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> that they could make more by teaming at Millerton +than by toiling in the fields, and with less effort. They left the boys +and the women to do what they could with the crops. Naturally the latter +were small. So the local sources of supply had little to offer and the +demand upon the stores steadily increased. Certain of the merchants had +been, in a way, spoiled by prosperity. They were rather indifferent to +complaints and demands. Many of the storekeepers, irritated, doubtless, +by overwork, had lost their former politeness. The two butchers, having +prospered beyond their hopes, began to feel the need of rest. They cut +down their hours of labor and reduced their stocks and raised their +prices. There were days when their supplies failed to arrive. The +railroad service had been bad enough in times of peace. Now, it was +worse than ever.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Those who had plenty of money found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> it difficult to get a sufficient +quantity of good food, Bingville being rather cut off from other centers +of life by distance and a poor railroad. Some drove sixty miles to +Hazelmead to do marketing for themselves and their neighbors.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing, however, in their luxurious apartment at +the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York, knew little of these conditions +until Mr. Bing came up late in March for a talk with the mill +superintendent. Many of the sick and poor suffered extreme privation. +Father O'Neil and the Reverend Otis Singleton of the Congregational +Church went among the people, ministering to the sick, of whom there +were very many, and giving counsel to men and women who were +unaccustomed to prosperity and ill-qualified wisely to enjoy it. One +day, Father O'Neil saw the Widow Moran coming into town with a great +bundle of fagots on her back.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>"This looks a little like the old country," he remarked.</p> + +<p>She stopped and swung her fagots to the ground and announced: "It do +that an' may God help us! It's hard times, Father. In spite o' all the +money, it's hard times. It looks like there wasn't enough to go +'round—the ships be takin' so many things to the old country."</p> + +<p>"How is my beloved Shepherd?" the good Father asked.</p> + +<p>"Mother o' God! The house is that cold, he's been layin' abed for a week +an' Judge Crooker has been away on the circuit."</p> + +<p>"Too bad!" said the priest. "I've been so busy with the sick and the +dying and the dead I have hardly had time to think of you."</p> + +<p>Against her protest, he picked up the fagots and carried them on his own +back to her kitchen.</p> + +<p>He found the Shepherd in a sweater sitting up in bed and knitting socks.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>"How is my dear boy?" the good Father asked.</p> + +<p>"Very sad," said the Shepherd. "I want to do something to help and my +legs are useless."</p> + +<p>"Courage!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to shout from his shelf at the window-side +and just then he assumed a most valiant and determined look as he added: +"Forward! march!"</p> + +<p>Father O'Neil did what he could to help in that moment of peril by saying:</p> + +<p>"Cheer up, boy. I'm going out to Dan Mullin's this afternoon and I'll +make him bring you a big load of wood. I'll have you back at your work +to-morrow. The spring will be coming soon and your flock will be back in the garden."</p> + +<p class="space-above">It was not easy to bring a smile to the face of the little Shepherd +those days. A number of his friends had died and others were sick and he +was helpless. Moreover,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> his mother had told him of the disappearance of +Pauline and that her parents feared she was in great trouble. This had +worried him, and the more because his mother had declared that the girl +was probably worse than dead. He could not quite understand it and his +happy spirit was clouded. The good Father cheered him with merry jests. +Near the end of their talk the boy said: "There's one thing in this room +that makes me unhappy. It's that gold piece in the drawer. It does +nothing but lie there and shiver and talk to me. Seems as if it +complained of the cold. It says that it wants to move around and get +warm. Every time I hear of some poor person that needs food or fuel, it +calls out to me there in the little drawer and says, 'How cold I am! How +cold I am!' My mother wishes me to keep it for some time of trouble that +may come to us, but I can't. It makes me unhappy. Please take it away +and let it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> do what it can to keep the poor people warm."</p> + +<p>"Well done, boys!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to say with a look of joy as if he +now perceived that the enemy was in full retreat.</p> + +<p>"There's no worse company, these days, than a hoarded coin," said the +priest. "I won't let it plague you any more."</p> + +<p>Father O'Neil took the coin from the drawer. It fell from his fingers +with a merry laugh as it bounded on the floor and whirled toward the +doorway like one overjoyed and eager to be off.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my boy! May it buy for you the dearest wish of your heart."</p> + +<p>"Ha ha!" laughed the little tin soldier for he knew the dearest wish of +the boy far better than the priest knew it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Singleton called soon after Father O'Neil had gone away.</p> + +<p>"The top of the morning to you!" he shouted, as he came into Bob's room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>"It's all right top and bottom," Bob answered cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything I can do for you?" the minister went on. "I'm a +regular Santa Claus this morning. I've got a thousand dollars that Mr. +Bing sent me. It's for any one that needs help."</p> + +<p>"We'll be all right as soon as our load of wood comes. It will be here +to-morrow morning," said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"I'll come and cut and split it for you," the minister proposed. "The +eloquence of the axe is better than that of the tongue these days. +Meanwhile, I'm going to bring you a little jag in my wheelbarrow. How +about beefsteak and bacon and eggs and all that?"</p> + +<p>"I guess we've got enough to eat, thank you." This was not quite true, +for Bob, thinking of the sick, whose people could not go to market, was +inclined to hide his own hunger.</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho!" exclaimed Mr. Bloggs, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> he knew very well that the boy was +hiding his hunger.</p> + +<p>"Do you call that a lie?" the Shepherd asked as soon as the minister had gone.</p> + +<p>"A little one! But in my opinion it don't count," said Mr. Bloggs. "You +were thinking of those who need food more than you and that turns it +square around. I call it a golden lie—I do."</p> + +<p>The minister had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when he met +Hiram Blenkinsop, who was shivering along without an overcoat, the dog +Christmas at his heels.</p> + +<p>Mr. Singleton stopped him.</p> + +<p>"Why, man! Haven't you an overcoat?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, sir! It's hangin' on a peg in a pawn-shop over in Hazelmead. It +ain't doin' the peg any good nor me neither!"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, you come with me," said the minister. "It's about dinner +time, anyway, and I guess you need lining as well as covering."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>The drunkard looked into the face of the minister.</p> + +<p>"Say it ag'in," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't wonder if a little food would make you feel better," Mr. +Singleton added.</p> + +<p>"A little, did ye say?" Blenkinsop asked.</p> + +<p>"Make it a lot—as much as you can accommodate."</p> + +<p>"And do ye mean that ye want me to go an' eat in yer house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at my table—why not?"</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be respectable. I don't want to be too particular but a +tramp must draw the line somewhere."</p> + +<p>"I'll be on my best behavior. Come on," said the minister.</p> + +<p>The two men hastened up the street followed by the dejected little +yellow dog, Christmas.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Singleton and her daughter were out with a committee of the +Children's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> Helpers and the minister was dining alone that day and, as +usual, at one o'clock, that being the hour for dinner in the village of Bingville.</p> + +<p>"Tell me about yourself," said the minister as they sat down at the table.</p> + +<p>"Myself—did you say?" Hiram Blenkinsop asked as one of his feet crept +under his chair to conceal its disreputable appearance, while his dog +had partly hidden himself under a serving table where he seemed to be +shivering with apprehension as he peered out, with raised hackles, at +the stag's head over the mantel.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I ain't got any <i>Self</i>, sir; it's all gone," said Blenkinsop, as he +took a swallow of water.</p> + +<p>"A man without any Self is a curious creature," the minister remarked.</p> + +<p>"I'm as empty as a woodpecker's hole in the winter time. The bird has +flown. I belong to this 'ere dog. He's a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> poor dog. I'm all he's got. If +he had to pay a license on me I'd have to be killed. He's kind to me. +He's the only friend I've got."</p> + +<p>Hiram Blenkinsop riveted his attention upon an old warming-pan that hung +by the fireplace. He hardly looked at the face of the minister.</p> + +<p>"How did you come to lose your Self?" the latter asked.</p> + +<p>"Married a bad woman and took to drink. A man's Self can stand cold an' +hunger an' shipwreck an' loss o' friends an' money an' any quantity o' +bad luck, take it as it comes, but a bad woman breaks the works in him +an' stops his clock dead. Leastways, it done that to me!"</p> + +<p>"She is like an arrow in his liver," the minister quoted. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, where do you stay nights?"</p> + +<p>"I've a shake-down in the little loft over the ol' blacksmith shop on +Water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> Street. There are cracks in the gable, an' the snow an' the wind +blows in, an' the place is dark an' smells o' coal gas an' horses' feet, +but Christmas an' I snug up together an' manage to live through the +winter. In hot weather, we sleep under a tree in the ol' graveyard an' +study astronomy. Sometimes, I wish I was there for good."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like a bed in a comfortable house?"</p> + +<p>"No. I couldn't take the dog there an' I'd have to git up like other folks."</p> + +<p>"Would you think that a hardship?"</p> + +<p>"Well, ye see, sir, if ye're layin' down ye ain't hungry. Then, too, I +likes to dilly-dally in bed."</p> + +<p>"What may that mean?" the minister asked.</p> + +<p>"I likes to lay an' think an' build air castles."</p> + +<p>"What kind of castles?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I'm thinkin' often o' a time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> when I'll have a grand suit o' +clothes, an' a shiny silk tile on my head, an' a roll o' bills in my +pocket, big enough to choke a dog, an' I'll be goin' back to the town +where I was brought up an' I'll hire a fine team an' take my ol' mother +out for a ride. An' when we pass by, people will be sayin': 'That's +Hiram Blenkinsop! Don't you remember him? Born on the top floor o' the +ol' sash mill on the island. He's a multi-millionaire an' a great man. +He gives a thousand to the poor every day. Sure, he does!'"</p> + +<p>"Blenkinsop, I'd like to help you to recover your lost Self and be a +useful and respected citizen of this town," said Mr. Singleton. "You can +do it if you will and I can tell you how."</p> + +<p>Tears began to stream down the cheeks of the unfortunate man, who now +covered his eyes with a big, rough hand.</p> + +<p>"If you will make an honest effort, I'll stand by you. I'll be your +friend through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> thick and thin," the minister added. "There's something +good in you or you wouldn't be having a dream like that."</p> + +<p>"Nobody has ever talked to me this way," poor Blenkinsop sobbed. "Nobody +but you has ever treated me as if I was human."</p> + +<p>"I know—I know. It's a hard old world, but at last you've found a man +who is willing to be a brother to you if you really want one."</p> + +<p>The poor man rose from the table and went to the minister's side and +held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"I do want a brother, sir, an' I'll do anything at all," he said in a +broken voice.</p> + +<p>"Then come with me," the minister commanded. "First, I'm going to +improve the outside of you."</p> + +<p>When they were ready to leave the house, Blenkinsop and his dog had had +a bath and the former was shaved and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> clean and respectable garments +from top to toe.</p> + +<p>"You look like a new man," said Mr. Singleton.</p> + +<p>"Seems like, I felt more like a proper human bein'," Blenkinsop answered.</p> + +<p>Christmas was scampering up and down the hall as if he felt like a new +dog. Suddenly he discovered the stag's head again and slunk into a dark +corner growling.</p> + +<p>"A bath is a good sort of baptism," the minister remarked. "Here's an +overcoat that I haven't worn for a year. It's fairly warm, too. Now if +your Old Self should happen to come in sight of you, maybe he'd move +back into his home. I remember once that we had a canary bird that got +away. We hung his cage in one of the trees out in the yard with some +food in it. By and by, we found him singing on the perch in his little +home. Now, if we put some good food in the cage, maybe your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> bird will +come back. Our work has only just begun."</p> + +<p>They went out of the door and crossed the street and entered the big +stone Congregational Church and sat down together in a pew. A soft light +came through the great jeweled windows above the altar, and in the +clearstory, and over the organ loft. They were the gift of Mr. Bing. It +was a quiet, restful, beautiful place.</p> + +<p>"I used to stand in the pulpit there and look down upon a crowd of +handsomely dressed people," said Mr. Singleton in a low voice. "'There +is something wrong about this,' I thought. 'There's too much +respectability here. There are no flannel shirts and gingham dresses in +the place. I can not see half a dozen poor people. I wish there was some +ragged clothing down there in the pews. There isn't an out-and-out +sinner in the crowd. Have we set up a little private god of our own that +cares<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> only for the rich and respectable?' I asked myself. 'This is the +place for Hiram Blenkinsop and old Bill Lang and poor Lizzie Quesnelle, +if they only knew it. Those are the kind of people that Jesus cared most +about.' They're beginning to come to us now and we are glad of it. I +want to see you here every Sunday after this. I want you to think of +this place as your home. If you really wish to be my brother, come with me."</p> + +<p>Blenkinsop trembled with strange excitement as he went with Mr. +Singleton down the broad aisle, the dog Christmas following meekly. Man +and minister knelt before the altar. Christmas sat down by his master's +side, in a prayerful attitude, as if he, too, were seeking help and forgiveness.</p> + +<p>"I feel better inside an' outside," said Blenkinsop as they were leaving +the church.</p> + +<p>"When you are tempted, there are three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> words which may be useful to +you. They are these, 'God help me,'" the minister told him. "They are +quickly said and I have often found them a source of strength in time of +trouble. I am going to find work for you and there's a room over my +garage with a stove in it which will make a very snug little home for +you and Christmas."</p> + +<p class="space-above">That evening, as the dog and his master were sitting comfortably by the +stove in their new home, there came a rap at the door. In a moment, +Judge Crooker entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Blenkinsop," said the Judge as he held out his hand, "I have heard +of your new plans and I want you to know that I am very glad. Every one +will be glad."</p> + +<p>When the Judge had gone, Blenkinsop put his hand on the dog's head and +asked with a little laugh: "Did ye hear what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> said, Christmas? He +called me <i>Mister</i>. Never done that before, no sir!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop sat with his head upon his hand listening to the wind +that whistled mournfully in the chimney. Suddenly he shouted: "Come in!"</p> + +<p>The door opened and there on the threshold stood his Old Self.</p> + +<p>It was not at all the kind of a Self one would have expected to see. It +was, indeed, a very youthful and handsome Self—the figure of a +clear-eyed, gentle-faced boy of about sixteen with curly, dark hair +above his brows.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop covered his face and groaned. Then he held out his hands +with an imploring gesture.</p> + +<p>"I know you," he whispered. "Please come in."</p> + +<p>"Not yet," the young man answered, and his voice was like the wind in +the chimney. "But I have come to tell you that I, too, am glad."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>Then he vanished.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop arose from his chair and rubbed his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Christmas, ol' boy, I've been asleep," he muttered. "I guess it's time +we turned in!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER FOUR</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which Mr. Israel Sneed and Other Working Men Receive a Lesson in True +Democracy</span></p> + +<p>Next morning, Mr. Blenkinsop went to cut wood for the Widow Moran. The +good woman was amazed by his highly respectable appearance.</p> + +<p>"God help us! Ye look like a lawyer," she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm a new man! Cut out the blacksmith shop an' the booze an' the bummers."</p> + +<p>"May the good God love an' help ye! I heard about it."</p> + +<p>"Ye did?"</p> + +<p>"Sure I did. It's all over the town. Good news has a lively foot, man. +The Shepherd clapped his hands when I told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> him. Ye got to go straight, +my laddie buck. All eyes are on ye now. Come up an' see the boy. It's +his birthday!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop was deeply moved by the greeting of the little Shepherd, +who kissed his cheek and said that he had often prayed for him.</p> + +<p>"If you ever get lonely, come and sit with me and we'll have a talk and +a game of dominoes," said the boy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop got strength out of the wonderful spirit of Bob Moran and +as he swung his axe that day, he was happier than he had been in many +years. Men and women who passed in the street said, "How do you do, Mr. +Blenkinsop? I'm glad to see you."</p> + +<p>Even the dog Christmas watched his master with a look of pride and +approval. Now and then, he barked gleefully and scampered up and down +the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>The Shepherd was fourteen years old. On his birthday, from morning until +night,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> people came to his room bringing little gifts to remind him of +their affection. No one in the village of Bingville was so much beloved. +Judge Crooker came in the evening with ice-cream and a frosted cake. +While he was there, a committee of citizens sought him out to confer +with him regarding conditions in Bingville.</p> + +<p>"There's more money than ever in the place, but there never was so much +misery," said the chairman of the committee.</p> + +<p>"We have learned that money is not the thing that makes happiness," +Judge Crooker began. "With every one busy at high wages, and the banks +overflowing with deposits, we felt safe. We ceased to produce the +necessaries of life in a sufficient quantity. We forgot that the all +important things are food, fuel, clothes and comfortable housing—not +money. Some of us went money mad. With a feeling of opulence we refused +to work at all, save when we felt like it. We bought diamond rings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> and +sat by the fire looking at them. The roofs began to leak and our +plumbing went wrong. People going to buy meat found the shops closed. +Roofs that might have been saved by timely repairs will have to be +largely replaced. Plumbing systems have been ruined by neglect. With all +its money, the town was never so poverty-stricken, the people never so wretched."</p> + +<p>Mr. Sneed, who was a member of the committee, slyly turned the ring on +his finger so that the diamond was concealed. He cleared his throat and +remarked, "We mechanics had more than we could do on work already contracted."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you worked eight hours a day and refused to work any longer. You +were legally within your rights, but your position was ungrateful and +even heartless and immoral. Suppose there were a baby coming at your +house and you should call for the doctor and he should say, 'I'm sorry, +but I have done my eight hours'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> work to-day and I can't help you.' Then +suppose you should offer him a double fee and he should say, 'No, +thanks, I'm tired. I've got forty thousand dollars in the bank and I +don't have to work when I don't want to.'</p> + +<p>"Or suppose I were trying a case for you and, when my eight hours' work +had expired, I should walk out of the court and leave your case to take +care of itself. What do you suppose would become of it? Yet that is +exactly what you did to my pipes. You left them to take care of +themselves. You men, who use your hands, make a great mistake in +thinking that you are the workers of the country and that the rest of us +are your natural enemies. In America, we are all workers! The idle man +is a mere parasite and not at heart an American. Generally, I work +fifteen hours a day.</p> + +<p>"This little lad has been knitting night and day for the soldiers +without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> hope of reward and has spent his savings for yarn. There isn't +a doctor in Bingville who isn't working eighteen hours a day. I met a +minister this afternoon who hasn't had ten hours of sleep in a +week—he's been so busy with the sick, and the dying and the dead. He is +a nurse, a friend, a comforter to any one who needs him. No charge for +overtime. My God! Are we all going money mad? Are you any better than he +is, or I am, or than these doctors are who have been killing themselves +with overwork? Do you dare to tell me that prosperity is any excuse for +idleness in this land of ours, if one's help is needed?"</p> + +<p>Judge Crooker's voice had been calm, his manner dignified. But the last +sentences had been spoken with a quiet sternness and with his long, bony +forefinger pointing straight at Mr. Sneed. The other members of the +committee clapped their hands in hearty approval. Mr. Sneed smiled and +brushed his trousers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p><p>"I guess you're right," he said. "We're all off our balance a little, +but what is to be done now?"</p> + +<p>"We must quit our plumbing and carpentering and lawyering and banking +and some of us must quit merchandising and sitting in the chimney corner +and grab our saws and axes and go out into the woods and make some fuel +and get it hauled into town," said Judge Crooker. "I'll be one of a +party to go to-morrow with my axe. I haven't forgotten how to chop."</p> + +<p>The committee thought this a good suggestion. They all rose and started +on a search for volunteers, except Mr. Sneed. He tarried saying to the +Judge that he wished to consult him on a private matter. It was, indeed, +just then, a matter which could not have been more public although, so +far, the news of it had traveled in whispers. The Judge had learned the +facts since his return.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>"I hope your plumbing hasn't gone wrong," he remarked with a smile.</p> + +<p>"No, it's worse than that," said Mr. Sneed ruefully.</p> + +<p>They bade the little Shepherd good night and went down-stairs where the +widow was still at work with her washing, although it was nine o'clock.</p> + +<p>"Faithful woman!" the Judge exclaimed as they went out on the street. +"What would the world do without people like that? No extra charge for +overtime either."</p> + +<p>Then, as they walked along, he cunningly paved the way for what he knew +was coming.</p> + +<p>"Did you notice the face of that boy?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a wonderful face," said Israel Sneed.</p> + +<p>"It's a God's blessing to see a face like that," the Judge went on. +"Only the pure in heart can have it. The old spirit of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> youth looks out +of his eyes—the spirit of my own youth. When I was fourteen, I think +that my heart was as pure as his. So were the hearts of most of the boys I knew."</p> + +<p>"It isn't so now," said Mr. Sneed.</p> + +<p>"I fear it isn't," the Judge answered. "There's a new look in the faces +of the young. Every variety of evil is spread before them on the stage +of our little theater. They see it while their characters are in the +making, while their minds are like white wax. Everything that touches +them leaves a mark or a smirch. It addresses them in the one language +they all understand, and for which no dictionary is needed—pictures. +The flower of youth fades fast enough, God knows, without the withering +knowledge of evil. They say it's good for the boys and girls to know all +about life. We shall see!"</p> + +<p class="space-above">Mr. Sneed sat down with Judge Crooker<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> in the handsome library of the +latter and opened his heart. His son Richard, a boy of fifteen, and +three other lads of the village, had been committing small burglaries +and storing their booty in a cave in a piece of woods on the river bank +near the village. A constable had secured a confession and recovered a +part of the booty. Enough had been found to warrant a charge of grand +larceny and Elisha Potts, whose store had been entered, was clamoring +for the arrest of the boys.</p> + +<p>"It reminds me of that picture of the Robbers' Cave that was on the +billboard of our school of crime a few weeks ago," said the Judge. "I'm +tired enough to lie down, but I'll go and see Elisha Potts. If he's +abed, he'll have to get up, that's all. There's no telling what Potts +has done or may do. Your plumbing is in bad shape, Mr. Sneed. The public +sewer is backing into your cellar and in a case of that kind the less +delay the better."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>He went into the hall and put on his coat and gloves and took his cane +out of the rack. He was sixty-five years of age that winter. It was a +bitter night when even younger men found it a trial to leave the comfort +of the fireside. Sneed followed in silence. Indeed, his tongue was +shame-bound. For a moment, he knew not what to say.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm much o-obliged to you," he stammered as they went out into the +cold wind. "I-I don't care what it costs, either."</p> + +<p>The Judge stopped and turned toward him.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said. "Money does not enter into this proceeding or any +motive but the will to help a neighbor. In such a matter overtime +doesn't count."</p> + +<p>They walked in silence to the corner. There Sneed pressed the Judge's +hand and tried to say something, but his voice failed him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><p>"Have the boys at my office at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. I want to +talk to them," said the kindly old Judge as he strode away in the darkness.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER FIVE</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which J. Patterson Bing Buys a Necklace of Pearls</span></p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the Bings had been having a busy winter in New York. J. +Patterson Bing had been elected to the board of a large bank in Wall +Street. His fortune had more than doubled in the last two years and he +was now a considerable factor in finance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing had been studying current events and French and the English +accent and other social graces every morning, with the best tutors, as +she reclined comfortably in her bedchamber while Phyllis went to sundry +shops. Mrs. Crooker had once said, "Mamie Bing has a passion for +self-improvement." It was mainly if not quite true.</p> + +<p>Phyllis had been "beating the bush"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> with her mother at teas and dinners +and dances and theaters and country house parties in and about the city. +The speedometer on the limousine had doubled its mileage since they came +to town. They were, it would seem, a tireless pair of hunters. Phyllis's +portrait had appeared in the Sunday papers. It showed a face and form of +unusual beauty. The supple grace and classic outlines of the latter were +touchingly displayed at the dances in many a handsome ballroom. At last, +they had found a promising and most eligible candidate in Roger +Delane—a handsome stalwart youth, a year out of college. His father was +a well-known and highly successful merchant of an old family which, for +generations, had "belonged"—that is to say, it had been a part of the +aristocracy of Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt of this great good luck of theirs—better, +indeed, than Mrs. Bing had dared to hope for—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> young man having +seriously confided his intentions to J. Patterson. But there was one +shadow on the glowing prospect; Phyllis had suddenly taken a bad turn. +She moped, as her mother put it. She was listless and unhappy. She had +lost her interest in the chase, so to speak. She had little heart for +teas and dances and dinner parties. One day, her mother returned from a +luncheon and found her weeping. Mrs. Bing went at once to the telephone +and called for the stomach specialist. He came and made a brief +examination and said that it was all due to rich food and late hours. He +left some medicine, advised a day or two of rest in bed, charged a +hundred dollars and went away. They tried the remedies, but Phyllis +showed no improvement. The young man sent American Beauty roses and a +graceful note of regret to her room.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be very happy," said her mother. "He is a dear."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>"I know it," Phyllis answered. "He's just the most adorable creature I +ever saw in my life."</p> + +<p>"For goodness' sake! What is the matter of you? Why don't you brace up?" +Mrs. Bing asked with a note of impatience in her tone. "You act like a dead fish."</p> + +<p>Phyllis, who had been lying on the couch, rose to a sitting posture and +flung one of the cushions at her mother, and rather swiftly.</p> + +<p>"How can I brace up?" she asked with indignation in her eyes. "Don't +<i>you</i> dare to scold me."</p> + +<p>There was a breath of silence in which the two looked into each other's +eyes. Many thoughts came flashing into the mind of Mrs. Bing. Why had +the girl spoken the word "you" so bitterly? Little echoes of old history +began to fill the silence. She arose and picked up the cushion and threw +it on the sofa.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>"What a temper!" she exclaimed. "Young lady, you don't seem to know +that these days are very precious for you. They will not come again."</p> + +<p>Then, in the old fashion of women who have suddenly come out of a moment +of affectionate anger, they fell to weeping in each other's arms. The +storm was over when they heard the feet of J. Patterson Bing in the +hall. Phyllis fled into the bathroom.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" said Mr. Bing as he entered the door. "I've found out what's +the matter with Phyllis. It's nerves. I met the great specialist, John +Hamilton Gibbs, at luncheon to-day. I described the symptoms. He says +it's undoubtedly nerves. He has any number of cases just like this +one—rest, fresh air and a careful diet are all that's needed. He says +that if he can have her for two weeks, he'll guarantee a cure. I've +agreed to have you take her to his sanitarium in the Catskills +to-morrow. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> has saddle horses, sleeping balconies, toboggan slides, +snow-shoe and skating parties and all that."</p> + +<p>"I think it will be great," said Phyllis, who suddenly emerged from her +hiding-place and embraced her father. "I'd love it! I'm sick of this old +town. I'm sure it's just what I need."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't go to-morrow," said Mrs. Bing. "I simply must go to Mrs. +Delane's luncheon."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll ask Harriet to go up with her," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>Harriet, who lived in a flat on the upper west side, was Mr. Bing's sister.</p> + +<p>Phyllis went to bed dinnerless with a headache. Mr. and Mrs. Bing sat +for a long time over their coffee and cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"It's something too dreadful that Phyllis should be getting sick just at +the wrong time," said the madame. "She has always been well. I can't +understand it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><p>"She's had a rather strenuous time here," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>"But she seemed to enjoy it until—until the right man came along. The +very man I hoped would like her! Then, suddenly, she throws up her hands +and keels over. It's too devilish for words."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bing laughed at his wife's exasperation.</p> + +<p>"To me, it's no laughing matter," said she with a serious face.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she doesn't like the boy," J. Patterson remarked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing leaned toward him and whispered: "She adores him!" She held +her attitude and looked searchingly into her husband's face.</p> + +<p>"Well, you can't say I did it," he answered. "The modern girl is a +rather delicate piece of machinery. I think she'll be all right in a +week or two. Come, it's time we went to the theater if we're going."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p><p>Nothing more was said of the matter. Next morning immediately after +breakfast, "Aunt Harriet" set out with Phyllis in the big limousine for +Doctor Gibbs' sanitarium.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Phyllis found the remedy she needed in the ceaseless round of outdoor +frolic. Her spirit washed in the glowing air found refreshment in the +sleep that follows weariness and good digestion. Her health improved so +visibly that her stay was far prolonged. It was the first week of May +when Mrs. Bing drove up to get her. The girl was in perfect condition, +it would seem. No rustic maid, in all the mountain valleys, had lighter +feet or clearer eyes or a more honest, ruddy tan in her face due to the +touch of the clean wind. She had grown as lithe and strong as a young panther.</p> + +<p>They were going back to Bingville next day. Martha and Susan had been +getting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> the house ready. Mrs. Bing had been preparing what she fondly +hoped would be "a lovely surprise" for Phyllis. Roger Delane was coming +up to spend a quiet week with the Bings—a week of opportunity for the +young people with saddle horses and a new steam launch and a +Peterborough canoe and all pleasant accessories. Then, on the twentieth, +which was the birthday of Phyllis, there was to be a dinner and a house +party and possibly an announcement and a pretty wagging of tongues. +Indeed, J. Patterson had already bought the wedding gift, a necklace of +pearls, and paid a hundred thousand dollars for it and put it away in +his safe. The necklace had pleased him. He had seen many jewels, but +nothing so satisfying—nothing that so well expressed his affection for +his daughter. He might never see its like again. So he bought it against +the happy day which he hoped was near. He had shown it to his wife and +charged her to make no mention<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> of it until "the time was ripe," in his +way of speaking.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing had promised on her word and honor to respect the confidence +of her husband, with all righteous intention, but on the very day of +their arrival in Bingville, Sophronia (Mrs. Pendleton) Ames called. +Sophronia was the oldest and dearest friend that Mamie Bing had in the +village. The latter enjoyed her life in New York, but she felt always a +thrill at coming back to her big garden and the green trees and the +ample spaces of Bingville, and to the ready, sympathetic confidence of +Sophronia Ames. She told Sophronia of brilliant scenes in the changing +spectacle of metropolitan life, of the wonderful young man and the +untimely affliction of Phyllis, now happily past. Then, in a whisper, +while Sophronia held up her right hand as a pledge of secrecy, she told +of the necklace of which the lucky girl had no knowledge. Now Mrs. Ames +was one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> the best of women. People were wont to speak of her, and +rightly, as "the salt of the earth." She would do anything possible for +a friend. But Mamie Bing had asked too much. Moreover, always it had +been understood between them that these half playful oaths were not to +be taken too seriously. Of course, "the fish had to be fed," as Judge +Crooker had once put it. By "the fish," he meant that curious under-life +of the village—the voracious, silent, merciless, cold-blooded thing +which fed on the sins and follies of men and women and which rarely came +to the surface to bother any one.</p> + +<p>"The fish are very wise," Judge Crooker used to say. "They know the +truth about every one and it's well that they do. After all, they +perform an important office. There's many a man and woman who think +they've been fooling the fish but they've only fooled themselves."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>And within a day or two, the secrets of the Bing family were swimming +up and down the stream of the under-life of Bingville.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Mr. Bing had found a situation in the plant which was new to him. The +men were discontented. Their wages were "sky high," to quote a phrase of +one of the foremen. Still, they were not satisfied. Reports of the +fabulous earnings of the mill had spread among them. They had begun to +think that they were not getting a fair division of the proceeds of +their labor. At a meeting of the help, a radical speaker had declared +that one of the Bing women wore a noose of pearls on her neck worth half +a million dollars. The men wanted more pay and less work. A committee of +their leaders had called at Mr. Bing's office with a demand soon after +his arrival. Mr. Bing had said "no" with a bang of his fist on the +table. A worker's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> meeting was to be held a week later to act upon the +report of the committee.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, another cause of worry had come or rather returned to him. +Again, Phyllis had begun to show symptoms of the old trouble. Mrs. Bing, +arriving at dusk from a market trip to Hazelmead with Sophronia Ames, +had found Phyllis lying asleep among the cushions on the great couch in +the latter's bedroom. She entered the room softly and leaned over the +girl and looked into her face, now turned toward the open window and +lighted by the fading glow in the western sky and relaxed by sleep. It +was a sad face! There were lines and shadows in it which the anxious +mother had not seen before and—had she been crying? Very softly, the +woman sat down at the girl's side. Darkness fell. Black, menacing +shadows filled the corners of the room. The spirit of the girl betrayed +its trouble in a sorrowful groan as she slept. Roger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> Delane was coming +next day. There was every reason why Phyllis should be happy. Silently, +Mrs. Bing left the room. She met Martha in the hall.</p> + +<p>"I shall want no dinner and Mr. Bing is dining in Hazelmead," she +whispered. "Miss Phyllis is asleep. Don't disturb her."</p> + +<p>Then she sat down in the darkness of her own bedroom alone.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER SIX</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which Hiram Blenkinsop Has a Number of Adventures</span></p> + +<p>The Shepherd of the Birds had caught the plague of influenza in March +and nearly lost his life with it. Judge Crooker and Mr. and Mrs. +Singleton and their daughter and Father O'Neil and Mrs. Ames and Hiram +Blenkinsop had taken turns in the nursing of the boy. He had come out of +it with impaired vitality.</p> + +<p>The rubber tree used to speak to him in those days of his depression and +say, "It will be summer soon."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! But the days pass so slowly," Bob would answer with a sigh.</p> + +<p>Then the round nickel clock would say cheerfully, "I hurry them along as +fast as ever I can."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>"Seems as if old Time was losing the use of his legs," said the +Shepherd. "I wouldn't wonder if some one had run over him with an +automobile."</p> + +<p>"Everybody is trying to kill Time these days," ticked the clock with a +merry chuckle.</p> + +<p>Bob looked at the clock and laughed. "You've got some sense," he declared.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" the clock answered.</p> + +<p>"You can talk pretty well," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"I can run too. If I couldn't, nobody would look at me."</p> + +<p>"The more I look at you the more I think of Pauline. It's a long time +since she went away," said the Shepherd. "We must all pray for her."</p> + +<p>"Not I," said the little pine bureau. "Do you see that long scratch on +my side? She did it with a hat pin when I belonged to her mother, and +she used to keep her dolls in my lower drawer."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Bloggs assumed a look of great alertness as if lie spied the enemy. +"What's the use of worrying?" he quoted.</p> + +<p>"You'd better lie down and cover yourself up or you'll never live to see +her or the summer either," the clock warned the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>Then Bob would lie down quickly and draw the clothes over his shoulders +and sing of the Good King Wenceslas and The First Noël which Miss Betsy +Singleton had taught him at Christmas time.</p> + +<p>All this is important only as showing how a poor lad, of a lively +imagination, was wont to spend his lonely hours. He needed company and +knew how to find it.</p> + +<p>Christmas Day, Judge Crooker had presented him with a beautiful copy of +Raphael's <i>Madonna and Child</i>.</p> + +<p>"It's the greatest theme and the greatest picture this poor world of +ours can boast of," said the Judge. "I want you to study the look in +that mother's face, not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> that it is unusual. I have seen the like of it +a hundred times. Almost every young mother with a child in her arms has +that look or ought to have it—the most beautiful and mysterious thing +in the world. The light of that old star which led the wise men is in +it, I sometimes think. Study it and you may hear voices in the sky as +did the shepherds of old."</p> + +<p>So the boy acquired the companionship of those divine faces that looked +down at him from the wall near his bed and had something to say to him every day.</p> + +<p>Also, another friend—a very humble one—had begun to share his +confidence. He was the little yellow dog, Christmas. He had come with +his master, one evening in March, to spend a night with the sick +Shepherd. Christmas had lain on the foot of the bed and felt the loving +caress of the boy. He never forgot it. The heart of the world, that +loves above all things the touch of a kindly hand, was in this little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +creature. Often, when Hiram was walking out in the bitter winds, +Christmas would edge away when his master's back was turned. In a jiffy, +he was out of sight and making with all haste for the door of the Widow +Moran. There, he never failed to receive some token of the generous +woman's understanding of the great need of dogs—a bone or a doughnut or +a slice of bread soaked in meat gravy—and a warm welcome from the boy +above stairs. The boy always had time to pet him and play with him. He +was never fooling the days away with an axe and a saw in the cold wind. +Christmas admired his master's ability to pick up logs of wood and heave +them about and to make a great noise with an axe but, in cold weather, +all that was a bore to him. When he had been missing, Hiram Blenkinsop +found him, always, at the day's end lying comfortably on Bob Moran's bed.</p> + +<p>May had returned with its warm <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>sunlight. The robins had come back. The +blue martins had taken possession of the bird house. The grass had +turned green on the garden borders and was now sprinkled with the golden +glow of dandelions. The leaves were coming but Pat Crowley was no longer +at work in the garden. He had fallen before the pestilence. Old Bill +Rutherford was working there. The Shepherd was at the open window every +day, talking with him and watching and feeding the birds.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Now, with the spring, a new feeling had come to Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He +had been sober for months. His Old Self had come back and had imparted +his youthful strength to the man Hiram. He had money in the bank. He was +decently dressed. People had begun to respect him. Every day, Hiram was +being nudged and worried by a new thought. It persisted in telling him +that respectability was like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Fourth of July—a very dull thing +unless it was celebrated. He had been greatly pleased with his own +growing respectability. He felt as if he wanted to take a look at it, +from a distance, as it were. That money in the bank was also nudging and +calling him. It seemed to be lonely and longing for companionship.</p> + +<p>"Come, Hiram Blenkinsop," it used to say. "Let's go off together and get +a silk hat and a gold headed cane an' make 'em set up an' take notice. +Suppose you should die sudden an' leave me without an owner?"</p> + +<p>The warmth and joy of the springtime had turned his fancy to the old +dream. So one day, he converted his bank balance into "a roll big enough +to choke a dog," and took the early morning train to Hazelmead, having +left Christmas at the Widow Moran's.</p> + +<p>In the mill city he bought a high silk hat and a gold headed cane and a +new suit of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> clothes and a boiled shirt and a high collar and a red +necktie. It didn't matter to him that the fashion and fit of his +garments were not quite in keeping with the silk hat and gold headed +cane. There were three other items in the old dream of splendor—the +mother, the prancing team, and the envious remarks of the onlookers. His +mother was gone. Also there were no prancing horses in Hazelmead, but he +could hire an automobile.</p> + +<p>In the course of his celebration he asked a lady, whom he met in the +street, if she would kindly be his mother for a day. He meant well but +the lady, being younger than Hiram and not accustomed to such +familiarity from strangers, did not feel complimented by the question. +They fled from each other. Soon, Hiram bought a big custard pie in a +bake-shop and had it cut into smallish pieces and, having purchased pie +and plate, went out upon the street with it. He ate what he wanted of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +the pie and generously offered the rest of it to sundry people who +passed him. It was not impertinence in Hiram; it was pure generosity—a +desire to share his riches, flavored, in some degree, by a feeling of +vanity. It happened that Mr. J. Patterson Bing came along and received a +tender of pie from Mr. Blenkinsop.</p> + +<p>"No!" said Mr. Bing, with that old hammer whack in his voice which +aroused bitter memories in the mind of Hiram.</p> + +<p>That tone was a great piece of imprudence. There was a menacing gesture +and a rapid succession of footsteps on the pavement. Mr. Bing's retreat +was not, however, quite swift enough to save him. The pie landed on his +shoulder. In a moment, Hiram was arrested and marching toward the lockup +while Mr. Bing went to the nearest drug store to be cleaned and scoured.</p> + +<p class="space-above">A few days later Hiram Blenkinsop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> arrived in Bingville. Mr. Singleton +met him on the street and saw to his deep regret that Hiram had been drinking.</p> + +<p>"I've made up my mind that religion is good for some folks, but it won't +do for me," said the latter.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" the minister asked.</p> + +<p>"I can't afford it."</p> + +<p>"Have you found religion a luxury?" Mr. Singleton asked.</p> + +<p>"It's grand while it lasts, but it's like p'ison gettin' over it," said +Hiram. "I feel kind o' ruined."</p> + +<p>"You look it," said the minister, with a glance at Hiram's silk hat and +soiled clothing. "A long spell of sobriety is hard on a man if he quits +it sudden. You've had your day of trial, my friend. We all have to be +tried soon or late. People begin to say, 'At last he's come around all +right. He's a good fellow.' And the Lord says: 'Perhaps he's worthy of +better things. I'll try him and see.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>"That's His way of pushing people along, Hiram. He doesn't want them to +stand still. You've had your trial and failed, but you mustn't give up. +When your fun turns into sorrow, as it will, come back to me and we'll try again."</p> + +<p class="space-above">Hiram sat dozing in a corner of the bar-room of the Eagle Hotel that +day. He had been ashamed to go to his comfortable room over the garage. +He did not feel entitled to the hospitality of Mr. Singleton. Somehow, +he couldn't bear the thought of going there. His new clothes and silk +hat were in a state which excited the derision of small boys and audible +comment from all observers while he had been making his way down the +street. His money was about gone. The barkeeper had refused to sell him +any more drink. In the early dusk he went out-of-doors. It was almost as +warm as midsummer and the sky was clear. He called at the door of the +Widow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> Moran for his dog. In a moment, Christmas came down from the +Shepherd's room and greeted his master with fond affection. The two went +away together. They walked up a deserted street and around to the old +graveyard. When it was quite dark, they groped their way through the +weedy, briered aisles, between moss-covered toppling stones, to their +old nook under the ash tree. There Hiram made a bed of boughs, picked +from the evergreens that grow in the graveyard, and lay down upon it +under his overcoat with the dog Christmas. He found it impossible to +sleep, however. When he closed his eyes a new thought began nudging him.</p> + +<p>It seemed to be saying, "What are you going to do now, Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop?"</p> + +<p>He was pleased that it seemed to say Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He lay for a +long time looking up at the starry moonlit sky, and at the marble, +weather-spotted angel on the monument to the Reverend <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>Thaddeus Sneed, +who had been lying there, among the rude forefathers of the village, +since 1806. Suddenly the angel began to move. Mr. Blenkinsop observed +with alarm that it had discovered him and that its right forefinger was +no longer directed toward the sky but was pointing at his face. The +angel had assumed the look and voice of his Old Self and was saying:</p> + +<p>"I don't see why angels are always cut in marble an' set up in +graveyards with nothing to do but point at the sky. It's a cold an' +lonesome business. Why don't you give me a job?"</p> + +<p>His Old Self vanished and, as it did so, the spotted angel fell to +coughing and sneezing. It coughed and sneezed so loudly that the sound +went echoing in the distant sky and so violently that it reeled and +seemed to be in danger of falling. Mr. Blenkinsop awoke with a rude jump +so that the dog Christmas barked in alarm. It was nothing but the +midnight train from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the south pulling out of the station which was near +the old graveyard. The spotted angel stood firmly in its place and was +pointing at the sky as usual.</p> + +<p>It was probably an hour or so later, when Mr. Blenkinsop was awakened by +the barking of the dog Christmas. He quieted the dog and listened. He +heard a sound like that of a baby crying. It awoke tender memories in +the mind of Hiram Blenkinsop. One very sweet recollection was about all +that the barren, bitter years of his young manhood had given him worth +having. It was the recollection of a little child which had come to his +home in the first year of his married life.</p> + +<p>"She lived eighteen months and three days and four hours," he used to +say, in speaking of her, with a tender note in his voice.</p> + +<p>Almost twenty years, she had been lying in the old graveyard near the +ash tree. Since then the voice of a child crying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> always halted his +steps. It is probable that, in her short life, the neglected, pathetic +child Pearl—that having been her name—had protested much against a +plentiful lack of comfort and sympathy.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Blenkinsop's agitation at the sound of a baby crying somewhere +near him, in the darkness of the old graveyard, was quite natural and +will be readily understood. He rose on his elbow and listened. Again he +heard that small, appealing voice.</p> + +<p>"By thunder! Christmas," he whispered. "If that ain't like Pearl when +she was a little, teeny, weeny thing no bigger'n a pint o' beer! Say it +is, sir, sure as sin!"</p> + +<p>He scrambled to his feet, suddenly, for now, also, he could distinctly +hear the voice of a woman crying. He groped his way in the direction +from which the sound came and soon discovered the woman. She was +kneeling on a grave with a child in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> her arms. Her grief touched the +heart of the man.</p> + +<p>"Who be you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm cold, and my baby is sick, and I have no friends," she sobbed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ye have!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "I don't care who ye be. I'm yer +friend and don't ye fergit it."</p> + +<p class="space-above">There was a reassuring note in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. Its +gentleness had in it a quiver of sympathy. She felt it and gave to +him—an unknown, invisible man, with just a quiver of sympathy in his +voice—her confidence.</p> + +<p>If ever any one was in need of sympathy, she was at that moment. She +felt that she must speak out to some one. So keenly she felt the impulse +that she had been speaking to the stars and the cold gravestones. Here +at last was a human being with a quiver of sympathy in his voice.</p> + +<p>"I thought I would come home, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> when I got here I was afraid," the +girl moaned. "I wish I could die."</p> + +<p>"No, ye don't neither!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "Sometimes, I've thought +that I hadn't no friends an' wanted to die, but I was just foolin' +myself. To be sure, I ain't had no baby on my hands but I've had +somethin' just as worrisome, I guess. Folks like you an' me has got +friends a-plenty if we'll only give 'em a chance. I've found that out. +You let me take that baby an' come with me. I know where you'll git the +glad hand. You just come right along with me."</p> + +<p>The unmistakable note of sincerity was in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. +She gave the baby into his arms. He held it to his breast a moment +thinking of old times. Then he swung his arms like a cradle saying:</p> + +<p>"You stop your hollerin'—ye gol'darn little skeezucks! It ain't decent +to go on that way in a graveyard an' ye ought to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> know it. Be ye tryin' +to wake the dead?"</p> + +<p>The baby grew quiet and finally fell asleep.</p> + +<p>"Come on, now," said Hiram, with the baby lying against his breast. "You +an' me are goin' out o' the past. I know a little house that's next door +to Heaven. They say ye can see Heaven from its winders. It's where the +good Shepherd lives. Christmas an' I know the place—don't we, ol' boy? +Come right along. There ain't no kind o' doubt o' what they'll say to us."</p> + +<p class="space-above">The young woman followed him out of the old graveyard and through the +dark, deserted streets until they came to the cottage of the Widow +Moran. They passed through the gate into Judge Crooker's garden. Under +the Shepherd's window, Hiram Blenkinsop gave the baby to its mother and +with his hands to his mouth called "Bob!" in a loud whisper. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>Suddenly a +robin sounded his alarm. Instantly, the Shepherd's room was full of +light. In a moment, he was at the window sweeping the garden paths and +the tree tops with his search-light. It fell on the sorrowful figure of +the young mother with the child in her arms and stopped. She stood +looking up at the window bathed in the flood of light. It reminded the +Shepherd of that glow which the wise men saw in the manger at Bethlehem.</p> + +<p>"Pauline Baker!" he exclaimed. "Have you come back or am I dreaming? +It's you—thanks to the Blessed Virgin! It's you! Come around to the +door. My mother will let you in."</p> + +<p>It was a warm welcome that the girl received in the little home of the +Widow Moran. Many words of comfort and good cheer were spoken in the +next hour or so after which the good woman made tea and toast and +broiled a chop and served them in the Shepherd's room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>"God love ye, child! So he was a married man—bad 'cess to him an' the +likes o' him!" she said as she came in with the tray. "Mother o' Jesus! +What a wicked world it is!"</p> + +<p>The prudent dog Christmas, being afraid of babies, hid under the +Shepherd's bed, and Hiram Blenkinsop lay down for the rest of the night +on the lounge in the cottage kitchen.</p> + +<p>An hour after daylight, when the Judge was walking in his garden, he +wondered why the widow and the Shepherd were sleeping so late.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER SEVEN</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which High Voltage Develops in the Conversation</span></p> + +<p>It was a warm, bright May day. There was not a cloud in the sky. Roger +Delane had arrived and the Bings were giving a dinner that evening. The +best people of Hazelmead were coming over in motor-cars. Phyllis and +Roger had had a long ride together that day on the new Kentucky saddle +horses. Mrs. Bing had spent the morning in Hazelmead and had stayed to +lunch with Mayor and Mrs. Stacy. She had returned at four and cut some +flowers for the table and gone to her room for an hour's rest when the +young people returned. She was not yet asleep when Phyllis came into the +big bedroom. Mrs. Bing lay among the cushions on her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> couch. She partly +rose, tumbled the cushions into a pile and leaned against them.</p> + +<p>"Heavens! I'm tired!" she exclaimed. "These women in Hazelmead hang on +to one like a lot of hungry cats. They all want money for one thing or +another—Red Cross or Liberty bonds or fatherless children or tobacco +for the soldiers or books for the library. My word! I'm broke and it +seems as if each of my legs hung by a thread."</p> + +<p>Phyllis smiled as she stood looking down at her mother.</p> + +<p>"How beautiful you look!" the fond mother exclaimed. "If he didn't +propose to-day, he's a chump."</p> + +<p>"But he did," said Phyllis. "I tried to keep him from it, but he just +would propose in spite of me."</p> + +<p>The girl's face was red and serious. She sat down in a chair and began +to remove her hat. Mrs. Bing rose suddenly, and stood facing Phyllis.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>"I thought you loved him," she said with a look of surprise.</p> + +<p>"So I do," the girl answered.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"I said no."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"I refused him!"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Phyllis! Do you think you can afford to play with a man +like that? He won't stand for it."</p> + +<p>"Let him sit for it then and, mother, you might as well know, first as +last, that I am not playing with him."</p> + +<p>There was a calm note of firmness in the voice of the girl. She was +prepared for this scene. She had known it was coming. Her mother was hot +with irritating astonishment. The calmness of the girl in suddenly +beginning to dig a grave for this dear ambition—rich with promise—in +the very day when it had come submissively to their feet, stung like the +tooth of a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>serpent. She stood very erect and said with an icy look in +her face:</p> + +<p>"You young upstart! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>There was a moment of frigid silence in which both of the women began to +turn cold. Then Phyllis answered very calmly as she sat looking down at +the bunch of violets in her hand:</p> + +<p>"It means that I am married, mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing's face turned red. There was a little convulsive movement of +the muscles around her mouth. She folded her arms on her breast, lifted +her chin a bit higher and asked in a polite tone, although her words +fell like fragments of cracked ice:</p> + +<p>"Married! To whom are you married?"</p> + +<p>"To Gordon King."</p> + +<p>Phyllis spoke casually as if he were a piece of ribbon that she had +bought at a store.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing sank into a chair and covered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> her face with her hands for +half a moment. Suddenly she picked up a slipper that lay at her feet and +flung it at the girl.</p> + +<p>"My God!" she exclaimed. "What a nasty liar you are!"</p> + +<p>It was not ladylike but, at that moment, the lady was temporarily absent.</p> + +<p>"Mother, I'm glad you say that," the girl answered still very calmly, +although her fingers trembled a little as she felt the violets, and her +voice was not quite steady. "It shows that I am not so stupid at home as +I am at school."</p> + +<p>The girl rose and threw down the violets and her mild and listless +manner. A look of defiance filled her face and figure. Mrs. Bing arose, +her eyes aglow with anger.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to know what you mean," she said under her breath.</p> + +<p>"I mean that if I am a liar, you taught me how to be it. Ever since I +was knee-high, you have been teaching me to deceive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> my father. I am not +going to do it any longer. I am going to find my father and tell him the +truth. I shall not wait another minute. He will give me better advice +than you have given, I hope."</p> + +<p>The words had fallen rapidly from her lips and, as the last one was +spoken, she hurried out of the room. Mrs. Bing threw herself on the +couch where she lay with certain bitter memories, until the new maid +came to tell her that it was time to dress.</p> + +<p>She was like one reminded of mortality after coming out of ether.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord!" she murmured wearily. "I feel like going to bed! How <i>can</i> I +live through that dinner? Please bring me some brandy."</p> + +<p>Phyllis learned that her father was at his office whither she proceeded +without a moment's delay. She sent in word that she must see him alone +and as soon as possible. He dismissed the men with whom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> he had been +talking and invited her into his private office.</p> + +<p>"Well, girl, I guess I know what is on your mind," he said. "Go ahead."</p> + +<p>Phyllis began to cry.</p> + +<p>"All right! You do the crying and I'll do the talking," he went on. "I +feel like doing the crying myself, but if you want the job I'll resign +it to you. Perhaps you can do enough of that for both of us. I began to +smell a rat the other day. So I sent for Gordon King. He came here this +morning. I had a long talk with him. He told me the truth. Why didn't +you tell me? What's the good of having a father unless you use him at +times when his counsel is likely to be worth having? I would have made a +good father, if I had had half a chance. I should like to have been your +friend and confidant in this important enterprise. I could have been a +help to you. But, somehow, I couldn't get on the board of directors. You +and your mother have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> been running the plant all by yourselves and I +guess it's pretty near bankrupt. Now, my girl, there's no use crying +over spilt tears. Gordon King is not the man of my choice, but we must +all take hold and try to build him up. Perhaps we can make him pay."</p> + +<p>"I do not love him," Phyllis sobbed.</p> + +<p>"You married him because you wanted to. You were not coerced?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, but you'll have to take your share of the crow with the rest +of us," he went on, with a note of sternness in his tone. "My girl, when +I make a contract I live up to it and I intend that you shall do the +same. You'll have to learn to love and cherish this fellow, if he makes +it possible. I'll have no welching in my family. You and your mother +believe in woman's rights. I don't object to that, but you mustn't think +that you have the right to break your agreements unless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> there's a good +reason for it. My girl, the marriage contract is the most binding and +sacred of all contracts. I want you to do your best to make this one a success."</p> + +<p>There was the tinkle of the telephone bell. Mr. Bing put the receiver to +his ear and spoke into the instrument as follows:</p> + +<p>"Yes, she's here! I knew all the facts before she told me. Mr. Delane? +He's on his way back to New York. Left on the six-ten. Charged me to +present his regrets and farewells to you and Phyllis. I thought it best +for him to know and to go. Yes, we're coming right home to dress. Mr. +King will take Mr. Delane's place at the table. We'll make a clean +breast of the whole business. Brace up and eat your crow with a smiling +face. I'll make a little speech and present Mr. and Mrs. King to our +friends at the end of it. Oh, now, cut out the sobbing and leave this +unfinished business to me and don't worry. We'll be home in three minutes."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER EIGHT</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which Judge Crooker Delivers a Few Opinions</span></p> + +<p>The pride of Bingville had fallen in the dust! It had arisen and gone on +with soiled garments and lowered head. It had suffered derision and +defeat. It could not ever be the same again. Sneed and Snodgrass +recovered, in a degree, from their feeling of opulence. Sneed had become +polite, industrious and obliging. Snodgrass and others had lost heavily +in stock speculation through the failure of a broker in Hazelmead. They +went to work with a will and without the haughty independence which, for +a time, had characterized their attitude. The spirit of the Little +Shepherd had entered the hearts and home of Emanuel Baker and his wife.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +Pauline and the baby were there and being tenderly loved and cared for. +But what humility had entered that home! Phyllis and her husband lived +with her parents, Gordon having taken a humble place in the mill. He +worked early and late. The Bings had made it hard for him, finding it +difficult to overcome their resentment, but he stood the gaff, as they +say, and won the regard of J. Patterson although Mrs. Bing could never +forgive him.</p> + +<p>In June, there had been a public meeting in the Town Hall addressed by +Judge Crooker and the Reverend Mr. Singleton. The Judge had spoken of +the grinding of the mills of God that was going on the world over.</p> + +<p>"Our civilization has had its time of trial not yet ended," he began. +"Its enemies have been busy in every city and village. Not only in the +cities and villages of France and Belgium have they been busy, but in +those of our own land. The Goths<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> and Vandals have invaded Bingville. +They have been destroying the things we loved. The false god is in our +midst. Many here, within the sound of my voice, have a god suited to +their own tastes and sins—an obedient, tractable, boneless god. It is +my deliberate opinion that the dances and costumes and moving pictures +we have seen in Bingville are doing more injury to Civilization than all +the guns of Germany. My friends, you can do nothing worse for my +daughter than deprive her of her modesty and I would rather, far rather, +see you slay my son than destroy his respect for law and virtue and decency.</p> + +<p>"The jazz band is to me a sign of spiritual decay. It is a step toward +the jungle. I hear in it the beating of the tom-tom. It is not music. It +is the barbaric yawp of sheer recklessness and daredevilism, and it is everywhere.</p> + +<p>"Even in our economic life we are dancing to the jazz band and with +utter <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>recklessness. American labor is being more and more absorbed in +the manufacture of luxuries—embroidered frocks and elaborate millinery +and limousines and landaulets and rich upholstery and cord tires and +golf courses and sporting goods and great country houses—so that there +is not enough labor to provide the comforts and necessities of life.</p> + +<p>"The tendency of all this is to put the stamp of luxury upon the +commonest needs of man. The time seems to be near when a boiled egg and +a piece of buttered bread will be luxuries and a family of children an +unspeakable extravagance. Let us face the facts. It is up to Vanity to +moderate its demands upon the industry of man. What we need is more +devotion to simple living and the general welfare. In plain +old-fashioned English we need the religion and the simplicity of our fathers."</p> + +<p class="space-above">Later, in June, a strike began in the big<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> plant of J. Patterson Bing. +The men demanded higher pay and shorter days. They were working under a +contract but that did not seem to matter. In a fight with "scabs" and +Pinkerton men they destroyed a part of the plant. Even the life of Mr. +Bing was threatened! The summer was near its end when J. Patterson Bing +and a committee of the labor union met in the office of Judge Crooker to +submit their differences to that impartial magistrate for adjustment. +The Judge listened patiently and rendered his decision. It was accepted.</p> + +<p>When the papers were signed, Mr. Bing rose and said, "Your Honor, +there's one thing I want to say. I have spent most of my life in this +town. I have built up a big business here and doubled the population. I +have built comfortable homes for my laborers and taken an interest in +the education of their children, and built a library where any one could +find the best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> books to read. I have built playgrounds for the children +of the working people. If I have heard of any case of need, I have done +my best to relieve it. I have always been ready to hear complaints and +treat them fairly. My men have been generously paid and yet they have +not hesitated to destroy my property and to use guns and knives and +clubs and stones to prevent the plant from filling its contracts and to +force their will upon me. How do you explain it? What have I done or +failed to do that has caused this bitterness?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bing, I am glad that you ask me that question," the old Judge +began. "It gives me a chance to present to you, and to these men who +work for you, a conviction which has grown out of impartial observation +of your relations with each other.</p> + +<p>"First, I want to say to you, Mr. Bing, that I regard you as a good +citizen. Your genius and generosity have put this community under great +obligation. Now, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> heading toward the hidden cause of your complaint, +I beg to ask you a question at the outset. Do you know that unfortunate +son of the Widow Moran known as the Shepherd of the Birds?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard much about him," Mr. Bing answered.</p> + +<p>"Do you know him?"</p> + +<p>"No. I have had letters from him acknowledging favors now and then, but +I do not know him."</p> + +<p>"We have hit at once the source of your trouble," the Judge went on. +"The Shepherd is a representative person. He stands for the poor and the +unfortunate in this village. You have never gone to see him +because—well, probably it was because you feared that the look of him +would distress you. The thing which would have helped and inspired and +gladdened his heart more than anything else would have been the feel of +your hand and a kind and cheering word and sympathetic counsel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> Under +those circumstances, I think I may say that it was your duty as a +neighbor and a human being to go to see him. Instead of that you sent +money to him. Now, he never needed money. In the kindest spirit, I ask +you if that money you sent to him in the best of good-will was not, in +fact, a species of bribery? Were you not, indeed, seeking to buy +immunity from a duty incumbent upon you as a neighbor and a human +being?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bing answered quickly, "There are plenty of people who have nothing +else to do but carry cheer and comfort to the unfortunate. I have other things to do."</p> + +<p>"That, sir, does not relieve you of the liabilities of a neighbor and a +human being, in my view. If your business has turned you into a shaft or +a cog-wheel, it has done you a great injustice. I fear that it has been +your master—that it has practised upon you a kind of despotism. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +would better get along with less—far less business than suffer such a +fate. I don't want to hurt you. We are looking for the cause of a +certain result and I can help you only by being frank. With all your +generosity you have never given your heart to this village. Some unkind +people have gone so far as to say that you have no heart. You can not +prove it with money that you do not miss. Money is good but it must be +warmed with sympathy and some degree of sacrifice. Has it never occurred +to you that the warm hand and the cheering word in season are more, +vastly more, than money in the important matter of making good-will? +Unconsciously, you have established a line and placed yourself on one +side of it and the people on the other. Broadly speaking, you are +capital and the rest are labor. Whereas, in fact, you are all working +men. Some of the rest have come to regard you as their natural enemy. +They ought to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> regard you as their natural friend. Two kinds of +despotism have prevented it. First, there is the despotism of your +business in making you a slave—so much of a slave that you haven't time +to be human; second, there is the despotism of the labor union in +discouraging individual excellence, in demanding equal pay for the +faithful man and the slacker, and in denying the right of free men to +labor when and where they will. All this is tyranny as gross and +un-American as that of George the Third in trying to force his will upon +the colonies. If America is to survive, we must set our faces against +every form of tyranny. The remedy for all our trouble and bitterness is +real democracy which is nothing more or less than the love of men—the +love of justice and fair play for each and all.</p> + +<p>"You men should know that every strike increases the burdens of the +people. Every day your idleness lifts the price of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> necessities. +Idleness is just another form of destruction. Why could you not have +listened to the counsel of Reason in June instead of in September, and +thus have saved these long months of loss and hardship and bitter +violence? It was because the spirit of Tyranny had entered your heart +and put your judgment in chains. It had blinded you to honor also, for +your men were working under contract. If the union is to command the +support of honest men, it must be honest. It was Tyranny that turned the +treaty with Belgium into a scrap of paper. That kind of a thing will not +do here. Let me assure you that Tyranny has no right to be in this land +of ours. You remind me of the Prodigal Son who had to know the taste of +husks and the companionship of swine before he came to himself. Do you +not know that Tyranny is swine and the fodder of swine? It is simply +human hoggishness.</p> + +<p>"I have one thing more to say and I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> finished. Mr. Bing, some time +ago you threw up your religion without realizing the effect that such an +act would be likely to produce on this community. You are, no doubt, +aware that many followed your example. I've got no preaching to do. I'm +just going to quote you a few words from an authority no less +respectable than George Washington himself. Our history has made one +fact very clear, namely, that he was a wise and far-seeing man."</p> + +<p>Judge Crooker took from a shelf, John Marshall's "Life of Washington," +and read:</p> + +<p>"'<i>It is substantially true that virtue or morality is a necessary +spring of popular government and let us, with caution, indulge the +supposition that morality can be maintained without religion.</i></p> + +<p>"'<i>Let it simply be asked where is the security for property, for +reputation, for life, if a sense of religious obligation</i> <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span><i>desert the +oaths which are the instruments of investigation in courts of justice?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Let me add, on my own account, that the treatment you receive from your +men will vary according to their respect for morality and religion.</p> + +<p>"They could manage very well with an irreligious master, for you are +only one. But an irreligious mob is a different and highly serious +matter, believe me. Away back in the seventeenth century, John Dryden +wrote a wise sentence. It was this:</p> + +<p>"'<i>I have heard, indeed, of some very virtuous persons who have ended +unfortunately but never of a virtuous nation; Providence is engaged too +deeply when the cause becomes general.</i></p> + +<p>"'If virtue is the price of a nation's life, let us try to keep our own +nation virtuous.'"</p> + +<p class="space-above">Mr. Bing and his men left the Judge's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> office in a thoughtful mood. The +next day, Judge Crooker met the mill owner on the street.</p> + +<p>"Judge, I accept your verdict," said the latter. "I fear that I have +been rather careless. It didn't occur to me that my example would be +taken so seriously. I have been a prodigal and have resolved to return +to my father's house."</p> + +<p>"Ho, servants!" said the Judge, with a smile. "Bring forth the best robe +and put it on him and put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet and +bring hither the fatted calf and kill it and let us eat and be merry."</p> + +<p>"We shall have to postpone the celebration," said Mr. Bing. "I have to +go to New York to-night, and I sail for England to-morrow. But I shall +return before Christmas."</p> + +<p>A little farther on Mr. Bing met Hiram Blenkinsop. The latter had a +plank on his shoulder.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>"I'd like to have a word with you," said the mill owner as he took hold +of the plank and helped Hiram to ease it down. "I hear many good things +about you, Mr. Blenkinsop. I fear that we have all misjudged you. If I +have ever said or done anything to hurt your feelings, I am sorry for it."</p> + +<p>Hiram Blenkinsop looked with astonishment into the eyes of the millionaire.</p> + +<p>"I—I guess I ain't got you placed right—not eggzac'ly," said he. "Some +folks ain't as good as they look an' some ain't as bad as they look. I +wouldn't wonder if we was mostly purty much alike, come to shake us down."</p> + +<p>"Let's be friends, anyhow," said Mr. Bing. "If there's anything I can do +for you, let me know."</p> + +<p>That evening, as he sat by the stove in his little room over the garage +of Mr. Singleton with his dog Christmas lying beside him, Mr. Blenkinsop +fell asleep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> and awoke suddenly with a wild yell of alarm.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" a voice inquired.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop turned and saw his Old Self standing in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Nothin' but a dream," said Blenkinsop as he wiped his eyes. "Dreamed I +had a dog with a terrible thirst on him. Used to lead him around with a +rope an' when we come to a brook he'd drink it dry. Suddenly I felt an +awful jerk on the rope that sent me up in the air an' I looked an' see +that the dog had turned into an elephant an' that he was goin' like Sam +Hill, an' that I was hitched to him and couldn't let go. Once in a while +he'd stop an' drink a river dry an' then he'd lay down an' rest. +Everybody was scared o' the elephant an' so was I. An' I'd try to cut +the rope with my jack knife but it wouldn't cut—it was so dull. Then +all of a sudden he'd start on the run an' twitch me over the hills an' +mountings, an' me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> takin' steps a mile long an' scared to death."</p> + +<p>"The fact is you're hitched to an elephant," his Old Self remarked. "The +first thing to do is to sharpen your jack knife."</p> + +<p>"It's Night an' Silence that sets him goin'," said Blenkinsop. "When +they come he's apt to start for the nighest river. The old elephant is +beginnin' to move."</p> + +<p>Blenkinsop put on his hat and hurried out of the door.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER NINE</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">Which Tells of a Merry Christmas Day in the Little Cottage of the Widow +Moran</span></p> + +<p>Night and Silence are a stern test of wisdom. For years, the fun loving, +chattersome Blenkinsop had been their enemy and was not yet at peace +with them. But Night and Silence had other enemies in the +village—ancient and inconsolable enemies, it must be said. They were +the cocks of Bingville. Every morning they fell to and drove Night and +Silence out of the place and who shall say that they did not save it +from being hopelessly overwhelmed. Day was their victory and they knew +how to achieve it. Noise was the thing most needed. So they roused the +people and called up the lights and set the griddles rattling. The +great, white cock<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> that roosted near the window in the Widow Moran's +hen-house watched for the first sign of weakness in the enemy. When it +came, he sent forth a bolt of sound that tumbled Silence from his throne +and shook the foundations of the great dome of Night. It rang over the +housetops and through every street and alley in the village. That +started the battle. Silence tried in vain to recover his seat. In a +moment, every cock in Bingville was hurling bombs at him. Immediately, +Darkness began to grow pale with fright. Seeing the fate of his ally, he +broke camp and fled westward. Soon the field was clear and every proud +cock surveyed the victory with a solemn sense of large accomplishment.</p> + +<p>The loud victorious trumpets sounding in the garden near the window of +the Shepherd awoke him that Christmas morning. The dawn light was on the windows.</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas!" said the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> round nickel clock in a cheerful +tone. "It's time to get up!"</p> + +<p>"Is it morning?" the Shepherd asked drowsily, as he rubbed his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Sure it's morning!" the little clock answered. "That lazy old sun is +late again. He ought to be up and at work. He's like a dishonest hired man."</p> + +<p>"He's apt to be slow on Christmas morning," said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Then people blame me and say I'm too fast," the little clock went on. +"They don't know what an old shirk the sun can be. I've been watching +him for years and have never gone to sleep at my post."</p> + +<p>After a moment of silence the little clock went on: "Hello! The old +night is getting a move on it. The cocks are scaring it away. Santa +Claus has been here. He brought ever so many things. The midnight train stopped."</p> + +<p>"I wonder who came," said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>"I guess it was the Bings," the clock answered.</p> + +<p>Just then it struck seven.</p> + +<p>"There, I guess that's about the end of it," said the little clock.</p> + +<p>"Of what?" the Shepherd asked.</p> + +<p>"Of the nineteen hundred and eighteen years. You know seven is the +favored number in sacred history. I'm sure the baby would have been born +at seven. My goodness! There's a lot of ticking in all that time. I've +been going only twelve years and I'm nearly worn out. Some young clock +will have to take my job before long."</p> + +<p>These reflections of the little clock were suddenly interrupted. The +Shepherd's mother entered with a merry greeting and turned on the +lights. There were many bundles lying about. She came and kissed her son +and began to build a fire in the little stove.</p> + +<p>"This'll be the merriest Christmas in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> yer life, laddie boy," she said, +as she lit the kindlings. "A great doctor has come up with the Bings to +see ye. He says he'll have ye out-o'-doors in a little while."</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho! That looks like the war was nearly over," said Mr. Bloggs.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moran did not hear the remark of the little tin soldier so she rattled on:</p> + +<p>"I went over to the station to meet 'em last night. Mr. Blenkinsop has +brought us a fine turkey. We'll have a gran' dinner—sure we will—an' I +axed Mr. Blenkinsop to come an' eat with us."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moran opened the gifts and spread them on the bed. There were books +and paints and brushes and clothing and silver articles and needle-work +and a phonograph and a check from Mr. Bing.</p> + +<p>The little cottage had never seen a day so full of happiness. It rang +with talk and merry laughter and the music of the phonograph. Mr. +Blenkinsop had come in his best mood and apparel with the dog<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +Christmas. He helped Mrs. Moran to set the table in the Shepherd's room +and brought up the platter with the big brown turkey on it, surrounded +by sweet potatoes, all just out of the oven. Mrs. Moran followed with +the jelly and the creamed onions and the steaming coffee pot and new +celery. The dog Christmas growled and ran under the bed when he saw his +master coming with that unfamiliar burden.</p> + +<p>"He's never seen a Christmas dinner before. I don't wonder he's kind o' +scairt! I ain't seen one in so long, I'm scairt myself," said Hiram +Blenkinsop as they sat down at the table.</p> + +<p>"What's scairin' ye, man?" said the widow.</p> + +<p>"'Fraid I'll wake up an' find myself dreamin'," Mr. Blenkinsop answered.</p> + +<p>"Nobody ever found himself dreamin' at my table," said Mrs. Moran. "Grab +the carvin' knife an' go to wurruk, man."</p> + +<p>"I ain't eggzac'ly used to this kind of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> a job, but if you'll look out +o' the winder, I'll have it chopped an' split an' corded in a minute," +said Mr. Blenkinsop.</p> + +<p>He got along very well with his task. When they began eating he +remarked, "I've been lookin' at that pictur' of a girl with a baby in +her arms. Brings the water to my eyes, it's so kind o' life like and +nat'ral. It's an A number one pictur'—no mistake."</p> + +<p>He pointed at a large painting on the wall.</p> + +<p>"It's Pauline!" said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Sure she's one o' the saints o' God!" the widow exclaimed. "She's +started a school for the children o' them Eytalians an' Poles. She's +tryin' to make 'em good Americans."</p> + +<p>"I'll never forget that night," Mr. Blenkinsop remarked.</p> + +<p>"If ye don't fergit it, I'll never mend another hole in yer pants," the +widow answered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p><p>"I've never blabbed a word about it to any one but Mr. Singleton."</p> + +<p>"Keep that in yer soul, man. It's yer ticket to Paradise," said the widow.</p> + +<p>"She goes every day to teach the Poles and Italians, but I have her here +with me always," the Shepherd remarked. "I'm glad when the morning comes +so that I can see her again."</p> + +<p>"God bless the child! We was sorry to lose her but we have the pictur' +an' the look o' her with the love o' God in her face," said the Widow Moran.</p> + +<p>"Now light yer pipe and take yer comfort, man," said the hospitable +widow, after the dishes were cleared away. "Sure it's more like +Christmas to see a man an' a pipe in the house. Heavens, no! A man in +the kitchen is worse than a hole in yer petticoat."</p> + +<p>So Mr. Blenkinsop sat with the Shepherd while the widow went about her +work. With his rumpled hair, clean<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> shaven face, long nose and prominent +ears, he was not a handsome man.</p> + +<p>"This is the top notch an' no mistake," he remarked as he lighted his +pipe. "Blenkinsop is happy. He feels like his Old Self. He has no fault +to find with anything or anybody."</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop delivered this report on the state of his feelings with a +serious look in his gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"It kind o' reminds me o' the time when I used to hang up my stockin' +an' look for the reindeer tracks in the snow on Christmas mornin'," he +went on. "Since then, my ol' socks have been full o' pain an' trouble +every Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Those I knit for ye left here full of good wishes," said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Say, when I put 'em on this mornin' with the b'iled shirt an' the suit +that Mr. Bing sent me, my Old Self came an' asked me where I was goin', +an' when I said I was goin' to spen' Christmas with a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>respectable +fam'ly, he said, 'I guess I'll go with ye,' so here we be."</p> + +<p>"The Old Selves of the village have all been kicked out-of-doors," said +the Shepherd. "The other day you told me about the trouble you had had +with yours. That night, all the Old Selves of Bingville got together +down in the garden and talked and talked about their relatives so I +couldn't sleep. It was a kind of Selfland. I told Judge Crooker about it +and he said that that was exactly what was going on in the Town Hall the +other night at the public meeting."</p> + +<p>"The folks are drunk—as drunk as I was in Hazelmead last May," said Mr. +Blenkinsop. "They have been drunk with gold and pleasure——"</p> + +<p>"The fruit of the vine of plenty," said Judge Crooker, who had just come +up the stairs. "Merry Christmas!" he exclaimed as he shook hands. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, you look as if you were enjoying yourself."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>"An' why not when yer Self has been away an' just got back?"</p> + +<p>"And you've killed the fatted turkey," said the Judge, as he took out +his silver snuff box. "One by one, the prodigals are returning."</p> + +<p>They heard footsteps on the stairs and the merry voice of the Widow +Moran. In a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Bing stood in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Mr. and Mrs. Bing, I want to make you acquainted with my very dear +friend, Robert Moran," said Judge Crooker.</p> + +<p>There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes as Mrs. Bing stooped and kissed +him. He looked up at the mill owner as the latter took his hand.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Bing.</p> + +<p>"Is this—is this Mr. J. Patterson Bing?" the Shepherd asked, his eyes +wide with astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and it is my fault that you do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> not know me better. I want to be +your friend."</p> + +<p>The Shepherd put his handkerchief over his eyes. His voice trembled when +he said: "You have been very kind to us."</p> + +<p>"But I'm really hoping to do something for you," Mr. Bing assured him. +"I've brought a great surgeon from New York who thinks he can help you. +He will be over to see you in the morning."</p> + +<p>They had a half-hour's visit with the little Shepherd. Mr. Bing, who was +a judge of good pictures, said that the boy's work showed great promise +and that his picture of the mother and child would bring a good price if +he cared to sell it. When they arose to go, Mr. Blenkinsop thanked the +mill owner for his Christmas suit.</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it," said Mr. Bing.</p> + +<p>"Well, it mentions itself purty middlin' often," Mr. Blenkinsop laughed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the former asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, to tell ye the dead hones' truth, I've got a new ambition," +said Mr. Blenkinsop. "I've thought of it nights a good deal. I'd like to +be sextunt o' the church an' ring that ol' bell."</p> + +<p>"We'll see what can be done about it," Mr. Bing answered with a laugh, +as they went down-stairs with Judge Crooker, followed by the dog +Christmas, who scampered around them on the street with a merry growl of +challenge, as if the spirit of the day were in him.</p> + +<p>"What is it that makes the boy so appealing?" Mr. Bing asked of the Judge.</p> + +<p>"He has a wonderful personality," Mrs. Bing remarked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he has that. But the thing that underlies and shines through it is +his great attraction."</p> + +<p>"What do you call it?" Mrs. Bing asked.</p> + +<p>"A clean and noble spirit! Is there any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> other thing in this world that, +in itself, is really worth having?"</p> + +<p>"Compared with him, I recognize that I am very poor indeed," said J. +Patterson Bing.</p> + +<p>"You are what I would call a promising young man," the Judge answered. +"If you don't get discouraged, you're going to amount to something. I am +glad because you are, in a sense, the father of the great family of Bingville."</p> + +<p class="center space-above">THE END</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44796 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/44796-h/images/cover.jpg b/44796-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b1c727 --- /dev/null +++ b/44796-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c9b815 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #44796 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44796) diff --git a/old/44796-8.txt b/old/44796-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4bb22b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44796-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3427 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prodigal Village, by Irving Bacheller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Prodigal Village + A Christmas Tale + +Author: Irving Bacheller + +Release Date: January 30, 2014 [EBook #44796] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE + +A Christmas Tale + + +_By_ +IRVING BACHELLER + +_Author of_ +THE LIGHT IN THE CLEARING +A MAN FOR THE AGES, Etc. + + +INDIANAPOLIS +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY +PUBLISHERS + + +COPYRIGHT 1920 +AMERICAN NATIONAL RED CROSS + + +COPYRIGHT 1920 +IRVING BACHELLER + + +_Printed in the United States of America_ + + +PRESS OF +BRAUNWORTH & CO. +BOOK MANUFACTURERS +BROOKLYN, N. Y. + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + I WHICH INTRODUCES THE SHEPHERD OF THE BIRDS 1 + + II THE FOUNDING OF THE PHYLLISTINES 18 + + III WHICH TELLS OF THE COMPLAINING COIN AND THE MAN + WHO LOST HIS SELF 68 + + IV IN WHICH MR. ISRAEL SNEED AND OTHER WORKING MEN + RECEIVE A LESSON IN TRUE DEMOCRACY 91 + + V IN WHICH J. PATTERSON BING BUYS A NECKLACE OF PEARLS 103 + + VI IN WHICH HIRAM BLENKINSOP HAS A NUMBER OF ADVENTURES 117 + + VII IN WHICH HIGH VOLTAGE DEVELOPS IN THE CONVERSATION 137 + +VIII IN WHICH JUDGE CROOKER DELIVERS A FEW OPINIONS 146 + + IX WHICH TELLS OF A MERRY CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE LITTLE + COTTAGE OF THE WIDOW MORAN 163 + + + + +THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +WHICH INTRODUCES THE SHEPHERD OF THE BIRDS + + +The day that Henry Smix met and embraced Gasoline Power and went up Main +Street hand in hand with it is not yet forgotten. It was a hasty +marriage, so to speak, and the results of it were truly deplorable. +Their little journey produced an effect on the nerves and the remote +future history of Bingville. They rushed at a group of citizens who were +watching them, scattered it hither and thither, broke down a section of +Mrs. Risley's picket fence and ran over a small boy. At the end of their +brief misalliance, Gasoline Power seemed to express its opinion of Mr. +Smix by hurling him against a telegraph pole and running wild in the +park until it cooled its passion in the fountain pool. In the language +of Hiram Blenkinsop, the place was badly "smixed up." Yet Mr. Smix was +the object of unmerited criticism. He was like many other men in that +quiet village--slow, deliberate, harmless and good-natured. The action +of his intellect was not at all like that of a gasoline engine. Between +the swiftness of the one and the slowness of the other, there was a wide +zone full of possibilities. The engine had accomplished many things +while Mr. Smix's intellect was getting ready to begin to act. + +In speaking of this adventure, Hiram Blenkinsop made a wise remark: "My +married life learnt me one thing," said he. "If you are thinkin' of +hitchin' up a wild horse with a tame one, be careful that the tame one +is the stoutest or it will do him no good." + +The event had its tragic side and whatever Hiram Blenkinsop and other +citizens of questionable taste may have said of it, the historian has no +intention of treating it lightly. Mr. Smix and his neighbor's fence +could be repaired but not the small boy--Robert Emmet Moran, six years +old, the son of the Widow Moran who took in washing. He was in the +nature of a sacrifice to the new god. He became a beloved cripple, known +as the Shepherd of the Birds and altogether the most cheerful person in +the village. His world was a little room on the second floor of his +mother's cottage overlooking the big flower garden of Judge Crooker--his +father having been the gardener and coachman of the Judge. There were in +this room an old pine bureau, a four post bedstead, an armchair by the +window, a small round nickel clock, that sat on the bureau, a rubber +tree and a very talkative little old tin soldier of the name of Bloggs +who stood erect on a shelf with a gun in his hand and was always looking +out of the window. The day of the tin soldier's arrival the boy had +named him Mr. Bloggs and discovered his unusual qualities of mind and +heart. He was a wise old soldier, it would seem, for he had some sort of +answer for each of the many questions of Bob Moran. Indeed, as Bob knew, +he had seen and suffered much, having traveled to Europe and back with +the Judge's family and been sunk for a year in a frog pond and been +dropped in a jug of molasses, but through it all had kept his look of +inextinguishable courage. The lonely lad talked, now and then, with the +round, nickel clock or the rubber-tree or the pine bureau, but mostly +gave his confidence to the wise and genial Mr. Bloggs. When the spring +arrived the garden, with its birds and flowers, became a source of joy +and companionship for the little lad. Sitting by the open window, he +used to talk to Pat Crowley, who was getting the ground ready for +sowing. Later the slow procession of the flowers passed under the boy's +window and greeted him with its fragrance and color. + +But his most intimate friends were the birds. Robins, in the elm tree +just beyond the window, woke him every summer morning. When he made his +way to the casement, with the aid of two ropes which spanned his room, +they came to him lighting on his wrists and hands and clamoring for the +seeds and crumbs which he was wont to feed them. Indeed, little Bob +Moran soon learned the pretty lingo of every feathered tribe that camped +in the garden. He could sound the pan pipe of the robin, the fairy flute +of the oriole, the noisy guitar of the bobolink and the little piccolo +of the song sparrow. Many of these dear friends of his came into the +room and explored the rubber tree and sang in its branches. A colony of +barn swallows lived under the eaves of the old weathered shed on the far +side of the garden. There were many windows, each with a saucy head +looking out of it. Suddenly half a dozen of these merry people would +rush into the air and fill it with their frolic. They were like a lot of +laughing schoolboys skating over invisible hills and hollows. + +With a pair of field-glasses, which Mrs. Crooker had loaned to him, Bob +Moran had learned the nest habits of the whole summer colony in that +wonderful garden. All day he sat by the open window with his work, an +air gun at his side. The robins would shout a warning to Bob when a cat +strolled into that little paradise. Then he would drop his brushes, +seize his gun and presently its missile would go whizzing through the +air, straight against the side of the cat, who, feeling the sting of it, +would bound through the flower beds and leap over the fence to avoid +further punishment. Bob had also made an electric search-light out of +his father's old hunting jack and, when those red-breasted policemen +sounded their alarm at night, he was out of bed in a jiffy and sweeping +the tree tops with a broom of light, the jack on his forehead. If he +discovered a pair of eyes, the stinging missiles flew toward them in the +light stream until the intruder was dislodged. Indeed, he was like a +shepherd of old, keeping the wolves from his flock. It was the parish +priest who first called him the Shepherd of the Birds. + +Just opposite his window was the stub of an old pine partly covered with +Virginia creeper. Near the top of it was a round hole and beyond it a +small cavern which held the nest of a pair of flickers. Sometimes the +female sat with her gray head protruding from this tiny oriel window of +hers looking across at Bob. Pat Crowley was in the habit of calling +this garden "Moran City," wherein the stub was known as Woodpecker +Tower and the flower bordered path as Fifth Avenue while the widow's +cottage was always referred to as City Hall and the weathered shed as +the tenement district. + + +What a theater of unpremeditated art was this beautiful, big garden of +the Judge! There were those who felt sorry for Bob Moran but his life +was fuller and happier than theirs. It is doubtful if any of the world's +travelers saw more of its beauty than he. + +He had sugared the window-sill so that he always had company--bees and +wasps and butterflies. The latter had interested him since the Judge had +called them "stray thoughts of God." Their white, yellow and blue wings +were always flashing in the warm sunlit spaces of the garden. He loved +the chorus of an August night and often sat by his window listening to +the songs of the tree crickets and katydids and seeing the innumerable +firefly lanterns flashing among the flowers. + +His work was painting scenes in the garden, especially bird tricks and +attitudes. For this, he was indebted to Susan Baker, who had given him +paints and brushes and taught him how to use them, and to an unusual +aptitude for drawing. + +One day Mrs. Baker brought her daughter Pauline with her--a pretty +blue-eyed girl with curly blonde hair, four years older than Bob, who +was thirteen when his painting began. The Shepherd looked at her with an +exclamation of delight; until then he had never seen a beautiful young +maiden. Homely, ill-clad daughters of the working folk had come to his +room with field flowers now and then, but no one like Pauline. He felt +her hair and looked wistfully into her face and said that she was like +pink and white and yellow roses. She was a discovery--a new kind of +human being. Often he thought of her as he sat looking out of the window +and often he dreamed of her at night. + +The little Shepherd of the Birds was not quite a boy. He was a spirit +untouched by any evil thought, unbroken to lures and thorny ways. He +still had the heart of childhood and saw only the beauty of the world. +He was like the flowers and birds of the garden, strangely fair and +winsome, with silken, dark hair curling about his brows. He had large, +clear, brown eyes, a mouth delicate as a girl's and teeth very white and +shapely. The Bakers had lifted the boundaries of his life and extended +his vision. He found a new joy in studying flower forms and in imitating +their colors on canvas. + +Now, indeed, there was not a happier lad in the village than this young +prisoner in one of the two upper bedrooms in the small cottage of the +Widow Moran. True, he had moments of longing for his lost freedom when +he heard the shouts of the boys in the street and their feet hurrying by +on the sidewalk. The steadfast and courageous Mr. Bloggs had said: "I +guess we have just as much fun as they do, after all. Look at them +roses." + +One evening, as his mother sat reading an old love tale to the boy, he +stopped her. + +"Mother," he said, "I love Pauline. Do you think it would be all right +for me to tell her?" + +"Never a word," said the good woman. "Ye see it's this way, my little +son, ye're like a priest an' it's not the right thing for a priest." + +"I don't want to be a priest," said he impatiently. + +"Tut, tut, my laddie boy! It's for God to say an' for us to obey," she +answered. + +When the widow had gone to her room for the night and Bob was thinking +it over, Mr. Bloggs remarked that in his opinion they should keep up +their courage for it was a very grand thing to be a priest after all. + + +Winters he spent deep in books out of Judge Crooker's library and +tending his potted plants and painting them and the thick blanket of +snow in the garden. Among the happiest moments of his life were those +that followed his mother's return from the post-office with _The +Bingville Sentinel_. Then, as the widow was wont to say, he was like a +dog with a bone. To him, Bingville was like Rome in the ancient world or +London in the British Empire. All roads led to Bingville. The _Sentinel_ +was in the nature of a habit. One issue was like unto another--as like +as "two chaws off the same plug of tobaccer," a citizen had once said. +Its editor performed his jokes with a wink and a nudge as if he were +saying, "I will now touch the light guitar." Anything important in the +_Sentinel_ would have been as misplaced as a cannon in a meeting-house. +Every week it caught the toy balloons of gossip, the thistledown events +which were floating in the still air of Bingville. The _Sentinel_ was a +dissipation as enjoyable and as inexplicable as tea. It contained +portraits of leading citizens, accounts of sundry goings and comings, +and teas and parties and student frolics. + +To the little Shepherd, Bingville was the capital of the world and Mr. +J. Patterson Bing, the first citizen of Bingville, who employed eleven +hundred men and had four automobiles, was a gigantic figure whose shadow +stretched across the earth. There were two people much in his thoughts +and dreams and conversation--Pauline Baker and J. Patterson Bing. Often +there were articles in the _Sentinel_ regarding the great enterprises of +Mr. Bing and the social successes of the Bing family in the metropolis. +These he read with hungry interest. His favorite heroes were George +Washington, St. Francis and J. Patterson Bing. As between the three he +would, secretly, have voted for Mr. Bing. Indeed, he and his friends and +intimates--Mr. Bloggs and the rubber tree and the little pine bureau and +the round nickel clock--had all voted for Mr. Bing. But he had never +seen the great man. + +Mr. Bing sent Mrs. Moran a check every Christmas and, now and then, some +little gift to Bob, but his charities were strictly impersonal. He used +to say that while he was glad to help the poor and the sick, he hadn't +time to call on them. Once, Mrs. Bing promised the widow that she and +her husband would go to see Bob on Christmas Day. The little Shepherd +asked his mother to hang his best pictures on the walls and to decorate +them with sprigs of cedar. He put on his starched shirt and collar and +silk tie and a new black coat which his mother had given him. The +Christmas bells never rang so merrily. + + +The great white bird in the Congregational Church tower--that being +Bob's thought of it--flew out across the valley with its tidings of good +will. + +To the little Shepherd it seemed to say: +"Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing! Com-ing, Com-ing, Com-ing!!" + +Many of the friends of his mother--mostly poor folk of the parish who +worked in the mill--came with simple gifts and happy greetings. There +were those among them who thought it a blessing to look upon the sweet +face of Bob and to hear his merry laughter over some playful bit of +gossip and Judge Crooker said that they were quite right about it. Mr. +and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing were never to feel this blessing. The +Shepherd of the Birds waited in vain for them that Christmas Day. Mrs. +Bing sent a letter of kindly greeting and a twenty-dollar gold piece +and explained that her husband was not feeling "quite up to the mark," +which was true. + +"I'm not going," he said decisively, when Mrs. Bing brought the matter +up as he was smoking in the library an hour or so after dinner. "No +cripples and misery in mine at present, thank you! I wouldn't get over +it for a week. Just send them our best wishes and a twenty-dollar gold +piece." + +There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes when his mother helped him into +his night clothes that evening. + +"I hate that twenty-dollar gold piece!" he exclaimed. + +"Laddie boy! Why should ye be sayin' that?" + +The shiny piece of metal was lying on the window-sill. She took it in +her hand. + +"It's as cold as a snow-bank!" she exclaimed. + +"I don't want to touch it! I'm shivering now," said the Shepherd. "Put +it away in the drawer. It makes me sick. It cheated me out of seeing Mr. +Bing." + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +THE FOUNDING OF THE PHYLLISTINES + + +One little word largely accounted for the success of J. Patterson Bing. +It was the word "no." It saved him in moments which would have been full +of peril for other men. He had never made a bad investment because he +knew how and when to say "no." It fell from his lips so sharply and +decisively that he lost little time in the consideration of doubtful +enterprises. Sometimes it fell heavily and left a wound, for which Mr. +Bing thought himself in no way responsible. There was really a lot of +good-will in him. He didn't mean to hurt any one. + +"Time is a thing of great value and what's the use of wasting it in idle +palaver?" he used to say. + +One day, Hiram Blenkinsop, who was just recovering from a spree, met +Mr. Bing at the corner of Main and School Streets and asked him for the +loan of a dollar. + +"_No sir!_" said Mr. J. Patterson Bing, and the words sounded like two +whacks of a hammer on a nail. "No _sir_," he repeated, the second whack +being now the more emphatic. "I don't lend money to people who make a +bad use of it." + +"Can you give me work?" asked the unfortunate drunkard. + +"No! But if you were a hired girl, I'd consider the matter." + +Some people who overheard the words laughed loudly. Poor Blenkinsop made +no reply but he considered the words an insult to his manhood in spite +of the fact that he hadn't any manhood to speak of. At least, there was +not enough of it to stand up and be insulted--that is sure. After that +he was always racking his brain for something mean to say about J. +Patterson Bing. Bing was a cold-blooded fish. Bing was a scrimper and a +grinder. If the truth were known about Bing he wouldn't be holding his +head so high. Judas Iscariot and J. Patterson Bing were off the same +bush. These were some of the things that Blenkinsop scattered abroad and +they were, to say the least of them, extremely unjust. Mr. Bing's +innocent remark touching Mr. Blenkinsop's misfortune in not being a +hired girl, arose naturally out of social conditions in the village. +Furthermore, it is quite likely that every one in Bingville, including +those impersonal creatures known as Law and Order, would have been much +happier if some magician could have turned Mr. Blenkinsop into a hired +girl and have made him a life member of "the Dish Water Aristocracy," as +Judge Crooker was wont to call it. + +The community of Bingville was noted for its simplicity and good sense. +Servants were unknown in this village of three thousand people. It had +lawyers and doctors and professors and merchants--some of whom were +deservedly well known--and J. Patterson Bing, the owner of the pulp +mill, celebrated for his riches; but one could almost say that its most +sought for and popular folk were its hired girls. They were few and +sniffy. They exercised care and discretion in the choice of their +employers. They regulated the diet of the said employers and the +frequency and quality of their entertainments. If it could be said that +there was an aristocracy in the place they were it. First, among the +Who's Who of Bingville, were the Gilligan sisters who worked in the big +brick house of Judge Crooker; another was Mrs. Pat Collins, seventy-two +years of age, who presided in the kitchen of the Reverend Otis +Singleton; the two others were Susan Crowder, a woman of sixty, and a +red-headed girl with one eye, of the name of Featherstraw, both of whom +served the opulent Bings. Some of these hired girls ate with the +family--save on special occasions when city folk were present. Mrs. +Collins and the Gilligans seemed to enjoy this privilege but Susan +Crowder, having had an ancestor who had fought in the Revolutionary War, +couldn't stand it, and Martha Featherstraw preferred to eat in the +kitchen. Indeed there was some warrant for this remarkable situation. +The Gilligan sisters had a brother who was a Magistrate in a large city +and Mrs. Collins had a son who was a successful and popular butcher in +the growing city of Hazelmead. + +That part of the village known as Irishtown and a settlement of Poles +and Italians furnished the man help in the mill, and its sons were also +seen more or less in the fields and gardens. Ambition and Education had +been working in the minds of the young in and about Bingville for two +generations. The sons and daughters of farmers and ditch-diggers had +read Virgil and Horace and plodded into the mysteries of higher +mathematics. The best of them had gone into learned professions; others +had enlisted in the business of great cities; still others had gone in +for teaching or stenography. + +Their success had wrought a curious devastation in the village and +countryside. The young moved out heading for the paths of glory. Many a +sturdy, stupid person who might have made an excellent plumber, or +carpenter, or farmer, or cook, armed with a university degree and a +sense of superiority, had gone forth in quest of fame and fortune +prepared for nothing in particular and achieving firm possession of it. +Somehow the elective system had enabled them "to get by" in a state of +mind that resembled the Mojave Desert. If they did not care for Latin or +mathematics they could take a course in Hierology or in The Taming of +the Wild Chickadee or in some such easy skating. Bingville was like many +places. The young had fled from the irksome tasks which had roughened +the hands and bent the backs of their parents. That, briefly, accounts +for the fewness and the sniffiness above referred to. + +Early in 1917, the village was shaken by alarming and astonishing news. +True, the sinking of the _Lusitania_ and our own enlistment in the World +War and the German successes on the Russian frontier had, in a way, +prepared the heart and intellect of Bingville for shocking events. +Still, these disasters had been remote. The fact that the Gilligan +sisters had left the Crookers and accepted an offer of one hundred and +fifty dollars a month from the wealthy Nixons of Hazelmead was an event +close to the footlights, so to speak. It caused the news of battles to +take its rightful place in the distant background. Men talked of this +event in stores and on street corners; it was the subject of +conversation in sewing circles and the Philomathian Literary Club. That +day, the Bings whispered about it at the dinner table between courses +until Susan Crowder sent in a summons by Martha Featherstraw with the +apple pie. She would be glad to see Mrs. J. Patterson Bing in the +kitchen immediately after dinner. There was a moment of silence in the +midst of which Mr. Bing winked knowingly at his wife, who turned pale as +she put down her pie fork with a look of determination and rose and went +into the kitchen. Mrs. Crowder regretted that she and Martha would have +to look for another family unless their wages were raised from one +hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars a month. + +"But, Susan, we all made an agreement for a year," said Mrs. Bing. + +Mrs. Crowder was sorry but she and Martha could not make out on the +wages they were getting--everything cost so much. If Mary Gilligan, who +couldn't cook, was worth a hundred dollars a month Mrs. Crowder +considered herself cheap at twice that figure. + + +Mrs. Bing, in her anger, was inclined to revolt, but Mr. Bing settled +the matter by submitting to the tyranny of Susan. With Phyllis and three +of her young friends coming from school and a party in prospect, there +was nothing else to do. + +Maggie Collins, who was too old and too firmly rooted in the village to +leave it, was satisfied with a raise of ten dollars a month. Even then +she received a third of the minister's salary. "His wife being a swell +leddy who had no time for wurruk, sure the boy was no sooner married +than he yelled for help," as Maggie was wont to say. + +All this had a decided effect on the economic life of the village. +Indeed, Hiram Blenkinsop, the village drunkard, who attended to the +lawns and gardens for a number of people, demanded an increase of a +dollar a day in his wages on account of the high cost of living, +although one would say that its effect upon him could not have been +serious. For years the historic figure of Blenkinsop had been the +destination and repository of the cast-off clothing and the worn and +shapeless shoes of the leading citizens. For a decade, the venerable +derby hat, which once belonged to Judge Crooker, had survived all the +incidents of his adventurous career. He was, indeed, as replete with +suggestive memories as the graveyard to which he was wont to repair for +rest and recuperation in summer weather. There, in the shade of a locust +tree hard by the wall, he was often discovered with his faithful dog +Christmas--a yellow, mongrel, good-natured cur--lying beside him, and +the historic derby hat in his hand. He had a persevering pride in that +hat. Mr. Blenkinsop showed a surprising and commendable industry under +the stimulation of increased pay. He worked hard for a month, then +celebrated his prosperity with a night of such noisy, riotous joy that +he landed in the lockup with a black eye and a broken nose and an empty +pocket. As usual, the dog Christmas went with him. + +When there was a loud yell in the streets at night Judge Crooker used to +say, "It's Hiram again! The poor fellow is out a-Hiraming." + +William Snodgrass, the carpenter, gave much thought and reflection to +the good fortune of the Gilligan girls. If a hired girl could earn +twenty-five dollars a week and her board, a skilled mechanic who had to +board himself ought to earn at least fifty. So he put up his prices. +Israel Sneed, the plumber, raised his scale to correspond with that of +the carpenter. The prices of the butcher and grocer kept pace with the +rise of wages. A period of unexampled prosperity set in. + +Some time before, the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice that +its services would no longer be required. It had been an industrious and +faithful Old Spirit. The new generation did not intend to be hard on it. +They were willing to give it a comfortable home as long as it lived. Its +home was to be a beautiful and venerable asylum called The Past. There +it was to have nothing to do but to sit around and weep and talk of +bygone days. The Old Spirit rebelled. It refused to abandon its +appointed tasks. + +The notice had been given soon after the new theater was opened in the +Sneed Block, and the endless flood of moving lights and shadows began to +fall on its screen. The low-born, purblind intellects of Bohemian New +York began to pour their lewd fancies into this great stream that flowed +through every city, town and village in the land. They had no more +compunction in the matter than a rattlesnake when it swallows a rabbit. +To them, there were only two great, bare facts in life--male and female. +The males, in their vulgar parlance, were either "wise guys" or +"suckers"! The females were all "my dears." + +Much of this mental sewage smelled to heaven. But it paid. It was cheap +and entertaining. It relieved the tedium of small-town life. + + +Judge Crooker was in the little theater the evening that the Old Spirit +of Bingville received notice to quit. The sons and daughters and even +the young children of the best families in the village were there. +Scenes from the shady side of the great cities, bar-room adventures with +pugilists and porcelain-faced women, the thin-ice skating of illicit +love succeeded one another on the screen. The tender souls of the young +received the impression that life in the great world was mostly +drunkenness, violence, lust, and Great White Waywardness of one kind or +another. + +Judge Crooker shook his head and his fist as he went out and expressed +his view to Phyllis and her mother in the lobby. Going home, they called +him an old prude. The knowledge that every night this false instruction +was going on in the Sneed Block filled the good man with sorrow and +apprehension. He complained to Mr. Leak, the manager, who said that he +would like to give clean shows, but that he had to take what was sent +him. + +Soon a curious thing happened to the family of Mr. J. Patterson Bing. It +acquired a new god--one that began, as the reader will have observed, +with a small "g." He was a boneless, India-rubber, obedient little god. +For years the need of one like that had been growing in the Bing family. +Since he had become a millionaire, Mr. Bing had found it necessary to +spend a good deal of time and considerable money in New York. Certain of +his banker friends in the metropolis had introduced him to the joys of +the Great White Way and the card room of the Golden Age Club. Always he +had been ill and disgruntled for a week after his return to the homely +realities of Bingville. The shrewd intuitions of Mrs. Bing alarmed her. +So Phyllis and John were packed off to private schools so that the good +woman would be free to look after the imperiled welfare of the lamb of +her flock--the great J. Patterson. She was really worried about him. +After that, she always went with him to the city. She was pleased and +delighted with the luxury of the Waldorf-Astoria, the costumes, the +dinner parties, the theaters, the suppers, the cabaret shows. The latter +shocked her a little at first. + + * * * * * + +They went out to a great country house, near the city, to spend a +week-end. There was a dinner party on Saturday night. One of the ladies +got very tipsy and was taken up-stairs. The others repaired to the music +room to drink their coffee and smoke. Mrs. Bing tried a cigarette and +got along with it very well. Then there was an hour of heart to heart, +central European dancing while the older men sat down for a night of +bridge in the library. Sunday morning, the young people rode to hounds +across country while the bridge party continued its session in the +library. It was not exactly a restful week-end. J. Patterson and his +wife went to bed, as soon as their grips were unpacked, on their return +to the city and spent the day there with aching heads. + +While they were eating dinner that night, the cocktail remarked with the +lips of Mrs. Bing: "I'm getting tired of Bingville." + +"Oh, of course, it's a picayune place," said J. Patterson. + +"It's so provincial!" the lady exclaimed. + +Soon, the oysters and the entree having subdued the cocktail, she +ventured: "But it does seem to me that New York is an awfully wicked +place." + +"What do you mean?" he asked. + +"Godless," she answered. "The drinking and gambling and those dances." + +"That's because you've been brought up in a seven-by-nine Puritan +village," J. Patterson growled very decisively. "Why shouldn't people +enjoy themselves? We have trouble enough at best. God gave us bodies to +get what enjoyment we could out of them. It's about the only thing we're +sure of, anyhow." + +It was a principle of Mrs. Bing to agree with J. Patterson. And why not? +He was a great man. She knew it as well as he did and that was knowing +it very well indeed. His judgment about many things had been +right--triumphantly and overwhelmingly right. Besides, it was the only +comfortable thing to do. She had been the type of woman who reads those +weird articles written by grass widows on "How to Keep the Love of a +Husband." + +So it happened that the Bings began to construct a little god to suit +their own tastes and habits--one about as tractable as a toy dog. They +withdrew from the Congregational Church and had house parties for sundry +visitors from New York and Hazelmead every week-end. + +Phyllis returned from school in May with a spirit quite in harmony with +that of her parents. She had spent the holidays at the home of a friend +in New York and had learned to love the new dances and to smoke, +although that was a matter to be mentioned only in a whisper and not in +the presence of her parents. She was a tall, handsome girl with blue +eyes, blonde hair, perfect teeth and complexion, and almost a perfect +figure. Here she was, at last, brought up to the point of a coming-out +party. + + +It had been a curious and rather unfortunate bringing up that the girl +had suffered. She had been the pride of a mother's heart and the +occupier of that position is apt to achieve great success in supplying a +mother's friends with topics of conversation. Phyllis had been flattered +and indulged. Mrs. Bing was entitled to much credit, having been born of +poor and illiterate parents in a small village on the Hudson a little +south of the Capital. She was pretty and grew up with a longing for +better things. J. Patterson got her at a bargain in an Albany department +store where she stood all day behind the notion counter. "At a bargain," +it must be said, because, on the whole, there were higher values in her +personality than in his. She had acquired that common Bertha Clay habit +of associating with noble lords who lived in cheap romances and had a +taste for poor but honest girls. The practical J. Patterson hated that +kind of thing. But his wife kept a supply of these highly flavored +novels hidden in the little flat and spent her leisure reading them. + +One of the earliest recollections of Phyllis was the caution, "Don't +tell father!" received on the hiding of a book. Mrs. Bing had bought, in +those weak, pinching times of poverty, extravagant things for herself +and the girl and gone in debt for them. Collectors had come at times to +get their money with impatient demands. + +The Bings were living in a city those days. Phyllis had been a witness +of many interviews of the kind. All along the way of life, she had heard +the oft-repeated injunction, "Don't tell father!" She came to regard men +as creatures who were not to be told. When Phyllis got into a scrape at +school, on account of a little flirtation, and Mrs. Bing went to see +about it, the two agreed on keeping the salient facts from father. + + +A dressmaker came after Phyllis arrived to get her ready for the party. +The afternoon of the event, J. Patterson brought the young people of the +best families of Hazelmead by special train to Bingville. The Crookers, +the Witherills, the Ameses, the Renfrews and a number of the most +popular students in the Normal School were also invited. They had the +famous string band from Hazelmead to furnish music, and Smith--an +impressive young English butler whom they had brought from New York on +their last return. + +Phyllis wore a gown which Judge Crooker described as "the limit." He +said to his wife after they had gone home: "Why, there was nothing on +her back but a pair of velvet gallowses and when I stood in front of +her my eyes were seared." + +"Mrs. Bing calls it high art," said the Judge's wife. + +"I call it down pretty close to see level," said the Judge. "When she +clinched with those young fellers and went wrestling around the room she +reminded me of a grape-vine growing on a tree." + +This reaction on the intellect of the Judge quite satisfies the need of +the historian. Again the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice. It +is only necessary to add that the punch was strong and the house party +over the week-end made a good deal of talk by fast driving around the +country in motor-cars on Sunday and by loud singing in boats on the +river and noisy play on the tennis courts. That kind of thing was new to +Bingville. + +When it was all over, Phyllis told her mother that Gordon King--one of +the young men--had insulted her when they had been out in a boat +together on Sunday. Mrs. Bing was shocked. They had a talk about it up +in Phyllis' bedroom at the end of which Mrs. Bing repeated that familiar +injunction, "Don't tell father!" + +It was soon after the party that Mr. J. Patterson Bing sent for William +Snodgrass, the carpenter. He wanted an extension built on his house +containing new bedrooms and baths and a large sun parlor. The estimate +of Snodgrass was unexpectedly large. In explanation of the fact the +latter said: "We work only eight hours a day now. The men demand it and +they must be taken to and from their work. They can get all they want to +do on those terms." + +"And they demand seven dollars and a half a day at that? It's big pay +for an ordinary mechanic," said J. Patterson. + +"There's plenty of work to do," Snodgrass answered. "I don't care the +snap o' my finger whether I get your job or not. I'm forty thousand +ahead o' the game and I feel like layin' off for the summer and takin' a +rest." + +"I suppose I could get you to work overtime and hurry the job through if +I'm willing to pay for it?" the millionaire inquired. + +"The rate would be time an' a half for work done after the eight hours +are up, but it's hard to get any one to work overtime these days." + +"Well, go ahead and get all the work you can out of these plutocrats of +the saw and hammer. I'll pay the bills," said J. Patterson. + +The terms created a record in Bingville. But, as Mr. Bing had agreed to +them, in his haste, they were established. + +Israel Sneed, the plumber, was working with his men on a job at +Millerton, but he took on the plumbing for the Bing house extension, at +prices above all precedent, to be done as soon as he could get to it on +his return. The butcher and grocer had improved the opportunity to raise +their prices for Bing never questioned a bill. He set the pace. Prices +stuck where he put the peg. So, unwittingly, the millionaire had created +conditions of life that were extremely difficult. + + +Since prices had gone up the village of Bingville had been running down +at the heel. It had been at best and, in the main, a rather shiftless +and inert community. The weather had worn the paint off many houses +before their owners had seen the need of repainting. Not until the rain +drummed on the floor was the average, drowsy intellect of Bingville +roused to action on the roof. It must be said, however, that every one +was busy, every day, except Hiram Blenkinsop, who often indulged in +_ante mortem_ slumbers in the graveyard or went out on the river with +his dog Christmas, his bottle and his fishing rod. The people were +selling goods, or teaming, or working in the two hotels or the machine +shop or the electric light plant or the mill, or keeping the hay off the +lawns, or building, or teaching in the schools. The gardens were +suffering unusual neglect that season--their owners being so profitably +engaged in other work--and the lazy foreigners demanded four dollars and +a half a day and had to be watched and sworn at and instructed, and not +every one had the versatility for this task. The gardens were largely +dependent on the spasmodic industry of schoolboys and old men. So it +will be seen that the work of the community had little effect on the +supply of things necessary to life. Indeed, a general habit of +extravagance had been growing in the village. People were not so careful +of food, fuel and clothing as they had been. + +It was a wet summer in Bingville. The day after the rains began, +Professor Renfrew called at the house of the sniffy Snodgrass--the +nouveau riche and opulent carpenter. He sat reading the morning paper +with a new diamond ring on the third finger of his left hand. + +"My roof is leaking badly and it will have to be fixed at once," the +Professor announced. + +"I'm sorry, I can't do a thing for you now," said Snodgrass. "I've got +so much to do, I don't know which way to turn." + +"But you're not working this rainy day, are you?" the Professor asked. + +"No, and I don't propose to work in this rain for anybody; if I did I'd +fix my own roof. To tell you the truth, I don't have to work at all! I +calculate that I've got all the money I need. So, when it rains, I +intend to rest and get acquainted with my family." + +He was firm but in no way disagreeable about it. + +Some of the half-dozen men who, in like trouble, called on him for help +that day were inclined to resent his declaration of independence and his +devotion to leisure, but really Mr. Snodgrass was well within his +rights. + +It was a more serious matter when Judge Crocker's plumbing leaked and +flooded his kitchen and cellar. Israel Sneed was in Millerton every day +and working overtime more or less. He refused to put a hand on the +Judge's pipes. He was sorry but he couldn't make a horse of himself and +even if he could the time was past when he had to do it. Judge Crooker +brought a plumber from Hazelmead, sixty miles in a motor-car, and had to +pay seventy dollars for time, labor and materials. This mechanic +declared that there was too much pressure on the pipes, a judgment of +whose accuracy we have abundant proof in the history of the next week or +so. Never had there been such a bursting of pipes and flooding of +cellars. That little lake up in the hills which supplied the water of +Bingville seemed to have got the common notion of moving into the +village. A dozen cellars were turned into swimming pools. Modern +improvements were going out of commission. A committee went to Hazelmead +and after a week's pleading got a pair of young and inexperienced +plumbers to come to Bingville. + +"They must 'a' plugged 'em with gold," said Deacon Hosley, when the bill +arrived. + +New leaks were forthcoming, but Hiram Blenkinsop conceived the notion of +stopping them with poultices of white lead and bandages of canvas bound +with fine wire. They dripped and many of the pipes of Bingville looked +as if they were suffering from sprained ankles and sore throats, but +Hiram had prevented another deluge. + +The price of coal had driven the people of Bingville back to the woods +for fuel. The old wood stoves had been cleaned and set up in the +sitting-rooms and kitchens. The saving had been considerable. Now, so +many men were putting in their time on the house and grounds of J. +Patterson Bing and the new factory at Millerton that the local wood +dealer found it impossible to get the help he needed. Not twenty-five +per cent. of the orders on his books could be filled. + +Mr. Bing's house was finished in October. Then Snodgrass announced that +he was going to take it easy as became a man of his opulence. He had +bought a farm and would only work three days a week at his trade. Sneed +had also bought a farm and acquired a feeling of opulence. He was going +to work when he felt like it. Before he tackled any leaking pipes he +proposed to make a few leaks in the deer up in the Adirondacks. So the +roofs and the plumbing had to wait. + +Meanwhile, Bingville was in sore trouble. The ancient roof of its +respectability had begun to leak. The beams and rafters in the house of +its spirit were rotting away. Many of the inhabitants of the latter +regarded the great J. Patterson Bing with a kind of awe--like that of +the Shepherd of the Birds. He was the leading citizen. He had done +things. When J. Patterson Bing decided that rest or fresh air was better +for him than bad music and dull prayers and sermons, and that God was +really not much concerned as to whether a man sat in a pew or a rocking +chair or a motor-car on Sunday, he was, probably, quite right. Really, +it was a matter much more important to Mr. Bing and his neighbors than +to God. Indeed, it is not at all likely that the ruler of the universe +was worrying much about them. But when J. Patterson Bing decided in +favor of fun and fresh air, R. Purdy--druggist--made a like decision, +and R. Purdy was a man of commanding influence in his own home. His +daughters, Mabel and Gladys, and his son, Richard, Jr., would not have +been surprised to see him elected President of the United States, some +day, believing that that honor was only for the truly great. Soon Mrs. +Purdy stood alone--a hopeless minority of one--in the household. By much +pleading and nagging, she kept the children in the fold of the church +for a time but, by and by, grew weary of the effort. She was converted +by nervous exhaustion to the picnic Sunday. Her conscience worried her. +She really felt sorry for God and made sundry remarks calculated to +appease and comfort Him. + + +Now all this would seem to have been in itself a matter of slight +importance. But Orville Gates, the superintendent of the mill, and John +Seaver, attorney at law, and Robert Brown, the grocer, and Pendleton +Ames, who kept the book and stationery store, and William Ferguson, the +clothier, and Darwin Sill, the butcher, and Snodgrass, the carpenter, +and others had joined the picnic caravan led by the millionaire. These +good people would not have admitted it, but the truth is J. Patterson +Bing held them all in the hollow of his hand. Nobody outside his own +family had any affection for him. Outwardly, he was as hard as nails. +But he owned the bank and controlled credits and was an extravagant +buyer. He had given freely for the improvement of the village and the +neighboring city of Hazelmead. His family was the court circle of +Bingville. Consciously or unconsciously, the best people imitated the +Bings. + +Judge Crooker was, one day, discussing with a friend the social +conditions of Bingville. In regard to picnic Sundays he made this +remark: "George Meredith once wrote to his son that he would need the +help of religion to get safely beyond the stormy passions of youth. It +is very true!" + +The historian was reminded of this saying by the undertow of the life +currents in Bingville. The dances in the Normal School and in the homes +of the well-to-do were imitations of the great party at J. Patterson +Bing's. The costumes of certain of the young ladies were, to quote a +clause from the posters of the Messrs. Barnum and Bailey, still clinging +to the bill-board: "the most daring and amazing bareback performances in +the history of the circus ring." Phyllis Bing, the unrivaled +metropolitan performer, set the pace. It was distinctly too rapid for +her followers. If one may say it kindly, she was as cold and heartless +and beautiful in her act as a piece of bronze or Italian marble. She was +not ashamed of herself. She did it so easily and gracefully and +unconsciously and obligingly, so to speak, as if her license had never +been questioned. It was not so with Vivian Mead and Frances Smith and +Pauline Baker. They limped and struggled in their efforts to keep up. To +begin with, the art of their modiste had been fussy, imitative and +timid. It lacked the master touch. Their spirits were also improperly +prepared for such publicity. They blushed and looked apologies and were +visibly uncomfortable when they entered the dance-hall. + + +On this point, Judge Crooker delivered a famous opinion. It was: "I feel +sorry for those girls but their mothers ought to be spanked!" + +There is evidence that this sentence of his was carried out in due time +and in a most effectual manner. But the works of art which these mothers +had put on exhibition at the Normal School sprang into overwhelming +popularity with the young men and their cards were quickly filled. In +half an hour, they had ceased to blush. Their eyes no longer spoke +apologies. They were new women. Their initiation was complete. They had +become in the language of Judge Crooker, "perfect Phyllistines!" + +The dancing tried to be as naughty as that remarkable Phyllistinian +pastime at the mansion of the Bings and succeeded well, if not +handsomely. The modern dances and dress were now definitely established +in Bingville. + +Just before the holidays, the extension of the ample home of the +millionaire was decorated, furnished, and ready to be shown. Mrs. Bing +and Phyllis who had been having a fling in New York came home for the +holidays. John arrived the next day from the great Padelford School to +be with the family through the winter recess. Mrs. Bing gave a tea to +the ladies of Bingville. She wanted them to see the improvements and +become aware of her good will. She had thought of an evening party, but +there were many men in the village whom she didn't care to have in her +house. So it became a tea. + +The women talked of leaking roofs and water pipes and useless bathrooms +and outrageous costs. Phyllis sat in the Palm Room with the village +girls. It happened that they talked mainly about their fathers. Some had +complained of paternal strictness. + +"Men are terrible! They make so much trouble," said Frances Smith. "It +seems as if they hated to see anybody have a good time." + +"Mother and I do as we please and say nothing," said Phyllis. "We never +tell father anything. Men don't understand." + +Some of the girls smiled and looked into one another's eyes. + +There had been a curious undercurrent in the party. It did not break the +surface of the stream until Mrs. Bing asked Mrs. Pendleton Ames, "Where +is Susan Baker?" + +A silence fell upon the group around her. + +Mrs. Ames leaned toward Mrs. Bing and whispered, "Haven't you heard the +news?" + +"No. I had to scold Susan Crowder and Martha Featherstraw as soon as I +got here for neglecting their work and they've hardly spoken to me +since. What is it?" + +"Pauline Baker has run away with a strange young man," Mrs. Ames +whispered. + +Mrs. Bing threw up both hands, opened her mouth and looked toward the +ceiling. + +"You don't mean it," she gasped. + +"It's a fact. Susan told me. Mr. Baker doesn't know the truth yet and +she doesn't dare to tell him. She's scared stiff. Pauline went over to +Hazelmead last week to visit Emma Stacy against his wishes. She met the +young man at a dance. Susan got a letter from Pauline last night making +a clean breast of the matter. They are married and stopping at a hotel +in New York." + +"My lord! I should think she _would_ be scared stiff," said Mrs. Bing. + +"I think there is a good reason for the stiffness of Susan," said Mrs. +Singleton, the wife of the Congregational minister. "We all know that +Mr. Baker objected to these modern dances and the way that Pauline +dressed. He used to say that it was walking on the edge of a precipice." + +There was a breath of silence in which one could hear only a faint +rustle like the stir of some invisible spirit. + +Mrs. Bing sighed. "He may be all right," she said in a low, calm voice. + +"But the indications are not favorable," Mrs. Singleton remarked. + +The gossip ceased abruptly, for the girls were coming out of the Palm +Room. + +The next morning, Mrs. Bing went to see Susan Baker to offer sympathy +and a helping hand. Mamie Bing was, after all, a good-hearted woman. By +this time, Mr. Baker had been told. He had kicked a hole in the long +looking-glass in Pauline's bedroom and flung a pot of rouge through the +window and scattered talcum powder all over the place and torn a new +silk gown into rags and burnt it in the kitchen stove and left the house +slamming the door behind him. Susan had gone to bed and he had probably +gone to the club or somewhere. Perhaps he would commit suicide. Of all +this, it is enough to say that for some hours there was abundant +occupation for the tender sympathies of Mrs. J. Patterson Bing. Before +she left, Mr. Baker had returned for luncheon and seemed to be quite +calm and self-possessed when he greeted her in the hall below stairs. + +On entering her home, about one o'clock, Mrs. Bing received a letter +from the hand of Martha. + +"Phyllis told me to give you this as soon as you returned," said the +girl. + +"What does this mean?" Mrs. Bing whispered to herself, as she tore open +the envelope. + +Her face grew pale and her hands trembled as she read the letter. + + + "_Dearest Mamma_," it began. "I am going to Hazelmead for luncheon + with Gordon King. I couldn't ask you because I didn't know where + you were. We have waited an hour. I am sure you wouldn't want me to + miss having a lovely time. I shall be home before five. Don't tell + father! He hates Gordon so. + + "_Phyllis._" + + +"The boy who insulted her! My God!" Mrs. Bing exclaimed in a whisper. +She hurried to the door of the butler's pantry. Indignation was in the +sound of her footsteps. + +"Martha!" she called. + +Martha came. + +"Tell James to bring the big car at once. I'm going to Hazelmead." + +"Without luncheon?" the girl asked. + +"Just give me a sandwich and I'll eat it in my hand." + +"I want you to hurry," she said to James as she entered the glowing +limousine with the sandwich half consumed. + +They drove at top speed over the smooth, state road to the mill city. At +half past two, Mrs. Bing alighted at the fashionable Gray Goose Inn +where the best people had their luncheon parties. She found Phyllis and +Gordon in a cozy alcove, sipping cognac and smoking cigarettes, with an +ice tub and a champagne bottle beside them. To tell the whole truth, it +was a timely arrival. Phyllis, with no notion of the peril of it, was +indeed having "a lovely time"--the time of her young life, in fact. For +half an hour, she had been hanging on the edge of the giddy precipice of +elopement. She was within one sip of a decision to let go. + +Mrs. Bing was admirably cool. In her manner there was little to indicate +that she had seen the unusual and highly festive accessories. She sat +down beside them and said, "My dear, I was very lonely and thought I +would come and look you up. Is your luncheon finished?" + +"Yes," said Phyllis. + +"Then let us go and get into the car. We'll drop Mr. King at his home." + +When at last they were seated in the limousine, the angry lady lifted +the brakes in a way of speaking. + +"I am astonished that you would go to luncheon with this young man who +has insulted you," she said. + +Phyllis began to cry. + +Turning to young Gordon King, the indignant lady added: "I think you are +a disreputable boy. You must never come to my house again--_never_!" + +He made no answer and left the car without a word at the door of the +King residence. + + +There were miles and miles of weeping on the way home. Phyllis had +recovered her composure but began again when her mother remarked, "I +wonder where you learned to drink champagne and cognac and smoke +cigarettes," as if her own home had not been a perfect academy of +dissipation. The girl sat in a corner, her eyes covered with her +handkerchief and the only words she uttered on the way home were these: +"Don't tell father!" + +While this was happening, Mr. Baker confided his troubles to Judge +Crooker in the latter's office. The Judge heard him through and then +delivered another notable opinion, to wit: "There are many subjects on +which the judgment of the average man is of little value, but in the +matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be sound. Also there are +many subjects on which the judgment of the average woman may be trusted, +but in the matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be unsound. I +say this, after some forty years of observation." + +"What is the reason?" Mr. Baker asked. + +"Well, a daughter has to be prepared to deal with men," the Judge went +on. "The masculine temperament is involved in all the critical problems +of her life. Naturally the average man is pretty well informed on the +subject of men. You have prospered these late years. You have been so +busy getting rich that you have just used your home to eat and sleep in. +You can't do a home any good by eating and snoring and reading a paper +in it." + +"My wife would have her own way there," said Baker. + +"That doesn't alter the fact that you have neglected your home. You have +let things slide. You wore yourself out in this matter of money-getting. +You were tired when you got home at night--all in, as they say. The bank +was the main thing with you. I repeat that you let things slide at home +and the longer they slide the faster they slide when they're going down +hill. You can always count on that in a case of sliding. The young have +a taste for velocity and often it comes so unaccountably fast that they +don't know what to do with it, so they're apt to get their necks broken +unless there's some one to put on the brakes." + +Mr. Emanuel Baker arose and began to stride up and down the room. + +"Upon my word, Judge! I don't know what to do," he exclaimed. + +"There's only one thing to do. Go and find the young people and give +them your blessing. If you can discover a spark of manhood in the +fellow, make the most of it. The chances are against that, but let us +hope for the best. Above all, I want you to be gentle with Pauline. You +are more to blame than she is." + +"I don't see how I can spare the time, but I'll have to," said Baker. + +"Time! Fiddlesticks!" the Judge exclaimed. "What a darn fool money +makes of a man! You have lost your sense of proportion, your +appreciation of values. Bill Pritchard used to talk that way to me. He +has been lying twenty years in his grave. He hadn't a minute to spare +until one day he fell dead--then leisure and lots of leisure it would +seem--and the business has doubled since he quit worrying about it. My +friend, you can not take a cent into Paradise, but the soul of Pauline +is a different kind of property. It might be a help to you there. Give +plenty of time to this job, and good luck to you." + +The spirit of the old, dead days spoke in the voice of the Judge--spoke +with a kindly dignity. It had ever been the voice of Justice, tempered +with Mercy--the most feared and respected voice in the upper counties. +His grave, smooth-shaven face, his kindly gray eyes, his noble brow with +its crown of white hair were fitting accessories of the throne of +Justice and Mercy. + +"I'll go this afternoon. Thank you, Judge!" said Baker, as he left the +office. + + +Pauline had announced in her letter that her husband's name was Herbert +Middleton. Mr. Baker sent a telegram to Pauline to apprise her of his +arrival in the morning. It was a fatherly message of love and good-will. +At the hotel in New York, Mr. Baker learned that Mr. and Mrs. Middleton +had checked out the day before. Nobody could tell him where they had +gone. One of the men at the porter's desk told of putting them in a +taxicab with their grips and a steamer trunk soon after luncheon. He +didn't know where they went. Mr. Baker's telegram was there unopened. He +called at every hotel desk in the city, but he could get no trace of +them. He telephoned to Mrs. Baker. She had heard nothing from Pauline. +In despair, he went to the Police Department and told his story to the +Chief. + +"It looks as if there was something crooked about it," said the Chief. +"There are many cases like this. Just read that." + +The officer picked up a newspaper clipping, which lay on his desk, and +passed it to Mr. Baker. It was from the _New York Evening Post_. The +banker read aloud this startling information: + + + "'The New York police report that approximately 3600 girls have run + away or disappeared from their homes in the past eleven months, and + the Bureau of Missing Persons estimates that the number who have + disappeared throughout the country approximates 68,000.'" + + +"It's rather astonishing," the Chief went on. "The women seem to have +gone crazy these days. Maybe it's the new dancing and the movies that +are breaking down the morals of the little suburban towns or maybe it's +the excitement of the war. Anyhow, they keep the city supplied with +runaways and vamps. You are not the first anxious father I have seen +to-day. You can go home. I'll put a man on the case and let you know +what happens." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +WHICH TELLS OF THE COMPLAINING COIN AND THE MAN WHO LOST HIS SELF + + +There was a certain gold coin in a little bureau drawer in Bingville +which began to form a habit of complaining to its master. + +"How cold I am!" it seemed to say to the boy. "I was cold when you put +me in here and I have been cold ever since. Br-r-r! I'm freezing." + +Bob Moran took out the little drawer and gave it a shaking as he looked +down at the gold piece. + +"Don't get rattled," said the redoubtable Mr. Bloggs, who had a great +contempt for cowards. + +It was just after the Shepherd of the Birds had heard of a poor widow +who was the mother of two small children and who had fallen sick of the +influenza with no fuel in her house. + +"I am cold, too!" said the Shepherd. + +"Why, of course you are," the coin answered. "That's the reason I'm +cold. A coin is never any warmer than the heart of its owner. Why don't +you take me out of here and give me a chance to move around?" + +Things that would not say a word to other boys often spoke to the +Shepherd. + +"Let him go," said Mr. Bloggs. + +Indeed it was the tin soldier, who stood on his little shelf looking out +of the window, who first reminded Bob of the loneliness and discomfort +of the coin. As a rule whenever the conscience of the boy was touched +Mr. Bloggs had something to say. + +It was late in February and every one was complaining of the cold. Even +the oldest inhabitants of Bingville could not recall so severe a +winter. Many families were short of fuel. The homes of the working folk +were insufficiently heated. Money in the bank had given them a sense of +security. They could not believe that its magic power would fail to +bring them what they needed. So they had been careless of their +allowance of wood and coal. There were days when they had none and could +get none at the yard. Some of them took boards out of their barn floors +and cut down shade trees and broke up the worst of their furniture to +feed the kitchen stove in those days of famine. Some men with hundreds +of dollars in the bank went out into the country at night and stole +rails off the farmers' fences. The homes of these unfortunate people +were ravaged by influenza and many died. + +Prices at the stores mounted higher. Most of the gardens had been lying +idle. The farmers had found it hard to get help. Some of the latter, +indeed, had decided that they could make more by teaming at Millerton +than by toiling in the fields, and with less effort. They left the boys +and the women to do what they could with the crops. Naturally the latter +were small. So the local sources of supply had little to offer and the +demand upon the stores steadily increased. Certain of the merchants had +been, in a way, spoiled by prosperity. They were rather indifferent to +complaints and demands. Many of the storekeepers, irritated, doubtless, +by overwork, had lost their former politeness. The two butchers, having +prospered beyond their hopes, began to feel the need of rest. They cut +down their hours of labor and reduced their stocks and raised their +prices. There were days when their supplies failed to arrive. The +railroad service had been bad enough in times of peace. Now, it was +worse than ever. + + +Those who had plenty of money found it difficult to get a sufficient +quantity of good food, Bingville being rather cut off from other centers +of life by distance and a poor railroad. Some drove sixty miles to +Hazelmead to do marketing for themselves and their neighbors. + +Mr. and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing, however, in their luxurious apartment at +the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York, knew little of these conditions +until Mr. Bing came up late in March for a talk with the mill +superintendent. Many of the sick and poor suffered extreme privation. +Father O'Neil and the Reverend Otis Singleton of the Congregational +Church went among the people, ministering to the sick, of whom there +were very many, and giving counsel to men and women who were +unaccustomed to prosperity and ill-qualified wisely to enjoy it. One +day, Father O'Neil saw the Widow Moran coming into town with a great +bundle of fagots on her back. + +"This looks a little like the old country," he remarked. + +She stopped and swung her fagots to the ground and announced: "It do +that an' may God help us! It's hard times, Father. In spite o' all the +money, it's hard times. It looks like there wasn't enough to go +'round--the ships be takin' so many things to the old country." + +"How is my beloved Shepherd?" the good Father asked. + +"Mother o' God! The house is that cold, he's been layin' abed for a week +an' Judge Crooker has been away on the circuit." + +"Too bad!" said the priest. "I've been so busy with the sick and the +dying and the dead I have hardly had time to think of you." + +Against her protest, he picked up the fagots and carried them on his own +back to her kitchen. + +He found the Shepherd in a sweater sitting up in bed and knitting socks. + +"How is my dear boy?" the good Father asked. + +"Very sad," said the Shepherd. "I want to do something to help and my +legs are useless." + +"Courage!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to shout from his shelf at the window-side +and just then he assumed a most valiant and determined look as he added: +"Forward! march!" + +Father O'Neil did what he could to help in that moment of peril by +saying: + +"Cheer up, boy. I'm going out to Dan Mullin's this afternoon and I'll +make him bring you a big load of wood. I'll have you back at your work +to-morrow. The spring will be coming soon and your flock will be back in +the garden." + + +It was not easy to bring a smile to the face of the little Shepherd +those days. A number of his friends had died and others were sick and he +was helpless. Moreover, his mother had told him of the disappearance of +Pauline and that her parents feared she was in great trouble. This had +worried him, and the more because his mother had declared that the girl +was probably worse than dead. He could not quite understand it and his +happy spirit was clouded. The good Father cheered him with merry jests. +Near the end of their talk the boy said: "There's one thing in this room +that makes me unhappy. It's that gold piece in the drawer. It does +nothing but lie there and shiver and talk to me. Seems as if it +complained of the cold. It says that it wants to move around and get +warm. Every time I hear of some poor person that needs food or fuel, it +calls out to me there in the little drawer and says, 'How cold I am! How +cold I am!' My mother wishes me to keep it for some time of trouble that +may come to us, but I can't. It makes me unhappy. Please take it away +and let it do what it can to keep the poor people warm." + +"Well done, boys!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to say with a look of joy as if he +now perceived that the enemy was in full retreat. + +"There's no worse company, these days, than a hoarded coin," said the +priest. "I won't let it plague you any more." + +Father O'Neil took the coin from the drawer. It fell from his fingers +with a merry laugh as it bounded on the floor and whirled toward the +doorway like one overjoyed and eager to be off. + +"God bless you, my boy! May it buy for you the dearest wish of your +heart." + +"Ha ha!" laughed the little tin soldier for he knew the dearest wish of +the boy far better than the priest knew it. + +Mr. Singleton called soon after Father O'Neil had gone away. + +"The top of the morning to you!" he shouted, as he came into Bob's room. + +"It's all right top and bottom," Bob answered cheerfully. + +"Is there anything I can do for you?" the minister went on. "I'm a +regular Santa Claus this morning. I've got a thousand dollars that Mr. +Bing sent me. It's for any one that needs help." + +"We'll be all right as soon as our load of wood comes. It will be here +to-morrow morning," said the Shepherd. + +"I'll come and cut and split it for you," the minister proposed. "The +eloquence of the axe is better than that of the tongue these days. +Meanwhile, I'm going to bring you a little jag in my wheelbarrow. How +about beefsteak and bacon and eggs and all that?" + +"I guess we've got enough to eat, thank you." This was not quite true, +for Bob, thinking of the sick, whose people could not go to market, was +inclined to hide his own hunger. + +"Ho, ho!" exclaimed Mr. Bloggs, for he knew very well that the boy was +hiding his hunger. + +"Do you call that a lie?" the Shepherd asked as soon as the minister had +gone. + +"A little one! But in my opinion it don't count," said Mr. Bloggs. "You +were thinking of those who need food more than you and that turns it +square around. I call it a golden lie--I do." + +The minister had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when he met +Hiram Blenkinsop, who was shivering along without an overcoat, the dog +Christmas at his heels. + +Mr. Singleton stopped him. + +"Why, man! Haven't you an overcoat?" he asked. + +"No, sir! It's hangin' on a peg in a pawn-shop over in Hazelmead. It +ain't doin' the peg any good nor me neither!" + +"Well, sir, you come with me," said the minister. "It's about dinner +time, anyway, and I guess you need lining as well as covering." + +The drunkard looked into the face of the minister. + +"Say it ag'in," he muttered. + +"I wouldn't wonder if a little food would make you feel better," Mr. +Singleton added. + +"A little, did ye say?" Blenkinsop asked. + +"Make it a lot--as much as you can accommodate." + +"And do ye mean that ye want me to go an' eat in yer house?" + +"Yes, at my table--why not?" + +"It wouldn't be respectable. I don't want to be too particular but a +tramp must draw the line somewhere." + +"I'll be on my best behavior. Come on," said the minister. + +The two men hastened up the street followed by the dejected little +yellow dog, Christmas. + +Mrs. Singleton and her daughter were out with a committee of the +Children's Helpers and the minister was dining alone that day and, as +usual, at one o'clock, that being the hour for dinner in the village of +Bingville. + +"Tell me about yourself," said the minister as they sat down at the +table. + +"Myself--did you say?" Hiram Blenkinsop asked as one of his feet crept +under his chair to conceal its disreputable appearance, while his dog +had partly hidden himself under a serving table where he seemed to be +shivering with apprehension as he peered out, with raised hackles, at +the stag's head over the mantel. + +"Yes." + +"I ain't got any _Self_, sir; it's all gone," said Blenkinsop, as he +took a swallow of water. + +"A man without any Self is a curious creature," the minister remarked. + +"I'm as empty as a woodpecker's hole in the winter time. The bird has +flown. I belong to this 'ere dog. He's a poor dog. I'm all he's got. If +he had to pay a license on me I'd have to be killed. He's kind to me. +He's the only friend I've got." + +Hiram Blenkinsop riveted his attention upon an old warming-pan that hung +by the fireplace. He hardly looked at the face of the minister. + +"How did you come to lose your Self?" the latter asked. + +"Married a bad woman and took to drink. A man's Self can stand cold an' +hunger an' shipwreck an' loss o' friends an' money an' any quantity o' +bad luck, take it as it comes, but a bad woman breaks the works in him +an' stops his clock dead. Leastways, it done that to me!" + +"She is like an arrow in his liver," the minister quoted. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, where do you stay nights?" + +"I've a shake-down in the little loft over the ol' blacksmith shop on +Water Street. There are cracks in the gable, an' the snow an' the wind +blows in, an' the place is dark an' smells o' coal gas an' horses' feet, +but Christmas an' I snug up together an' manage to live through the +winter. In hot weather, we sleep under a tree in the ol' graveyard an' +study astronomy. Sometimes, I wish I was there for good." + +"Wouldn't you like a bed in a comfortable house?" + +"No. I couldn't take the dog there an' I'd have to git up like other +folks." + +"Would you think that a hardship?" + +"Well, ye see, sir, if ye're layin' down ye ain't hungry. Then, too, I +likes to dilly-dally in bed." + +"What may that mean?" the minister asked. + +"I likes to lay an' think an' build air castles." + +"What kind of castles?" + +"Well, sir, I'm thinkin' often o' a time when I'll have a grand suit o' +clothes, an' a shiny silk tile on my head, an' a roll o' bills in my +pocket, big enough to choke a dog, an' I'll be goin' back to the town +where I was brought up an' I'll hire a fine team an' take my ol' mother +out for a ride. An' when we pass by, people will be sayin': 'That's +Hiram Blenkinsop! Don't you remember him? Born on the top floor o' the +ol' sash mill on the island. He's a multi-millionaire an' a great man. +He gives a thousand to the poor every day. Sure, he does!'" + +"Blenkinsop, I'd like to help you to recover your lost Self and be a +useful and respected citizen of this town," said Mr. Singleton. "You can +do it if you will and I can tell you how." + +Tears began to stream down the cheeks of the unfortunate man, who now +covered his eyes with a big, rough hand. + +"If you will make an honest effort, I'll stand by you. I'll be your +friend through thick and thin," the minister added. "There's something +good in you or you wouldn't be having a dream like that." + +"Nobody has ever talked to me this way," poor Blenkinsop sobbed. "Nobody +but you has ever treated me as if I was human." + +"I know--I know. It's a hard old world, but at last you've found a man +who is willing to be a brother to you if you really want one." + +The poor man rose from the table and went to the minister's side and +held out his hand. + +"I do want a brother, sir, an' I'll do anything at all," he said in a +broken voice. + +"Then come with me," the minister commanded. "First, I'm going to +improve the outside of you." + +When they were ready to leave the house, Blenkinsop and his dog had had +a bath and the former was shaved and in clean and respectable garments +from top to toe. + +"You look like a new man," said Mr. Singleton. + +"Seems like, I felt more like a proper human bein'," Blenkinsop +answered. + +Christmas was scampering up and down the hall as if he felt like a new +dog. Suddenly he discovered the stag's head again and slunk into a dark +corner growling. + +"A bath is a good sort of baptism," the minister remarked. "Here's an +overcoat that I haven't worn for a year. It's fairly warm, too. Now if +your Old Self should happen to come in sight of you, maybe he'd move +back into his home. I remember once that we had a canary bird that got +away. We hung his cage in one of the trees out in the yard with some +food in it. By and by, we found him singing on the perch in his little +home. Now, if we put some good food in the cage, maybe your bird will +come back. Our work has only just begun." + +They went out of the door and crossed the street and entered the big +stone Congregational Church and sat down together in a pew. A soft light +came through the great jeweled windows above the altar, and in the +clearstory, and over the organ loft. They were the gift of Mr. Bing. It +was a quiet, restful, beautiful place. + +"I used to stand in the pulpit there and look down upon a crowd of +handsomely dressed people," said Mr. Singleton in a low voice. "'There +is something wrong about this,' I thought. 'There's too much +respectability here. There are no flannel shirts and gingham dresses in +the place. I can not see half a dozen poor people. I wish there was some +ragged clothing down there in the pews. There isn't an out-and-out +sinner in the crowd. Have we set up a little private god of our own that +cares only for the rich and respectable?' I asked myself. 'This is the +place for Hiram Blenkinsop and old Bill Lang and poor Lizzie Quesnelle, +if they only knew it. Those are the kind of people that Jesus cared most +about.' They're beginning to come to us now and we are glad of it. I +want to see you here every Sunday after this. I want you to think of +this place as your home. If you really wish to be my brother, come with +me." + +Blenkinsop trembled with strange excitement as he went with Mr. +Singleton down the broad aisle, the dog Christmas following meekly. Man +and minister knelt before the altar. Christmas sat down by his master's +side, in a prayerful attitude, as if he, too, were seeking help and +forgiveness. + +"I feel better inside an' outside," said Blenkinsop as they were leaving +the church. + +"When you are tempted, there are three words which may be useful to +you. They are these, 'God help me,'" the minister told him. "They are +quickly said and I have often found them a source of strength in time of +trouble. I am going to find work for you and there's a room over my +garage with a stove in it which will make a very snug little home for +you and Christmas." + + +That evening, as the dog and his master were sitting comfortably by the +stove in their new home, there came a rap at the door. In a moment, +Judge Crooker entered the room. + +"Mr. Blenkinsop," said the Judge as he held out his hand, "I have heard +of your new plans and I want you to know that I am very glad. Every one +will be glad." + +When the Judge had gone, Blenkinsop put his hand on the dog's head and +asked with a little laugh: "Did ye hear what he said, Christmas? He +called me _Mister_. Never done that before, no sir!" + +Mr. Blenkinsop sat with his head upon his hand listening to the wind +that whistled mournfully in the chimney. Suddenly he shouted: "Come in!" + +The door opened and there on the threshold stood his Old Self. + +It was not at all the kind of a Self one would have expected to see. It +was, indeed, a very youthful and handsome Self--the figure of a +clear-eyed, gentle-faced boy of about sixteen with curly, dark hair +above his brows. + +Mr. Blenkinsop covered his face and groaned. Then he held out his hands +with an imploring gesture. + +"I know you," he whispered. "Please come in." + +"Not yet," the young man answered, and his voice was like the wind in +the chimney. "But I have come to tell you that I, too, am glad." + +Then he vanished. + +Mr. Blenkinsop arose from his chair and rubbed his eyes. + +"Christmas, ol' boy, I've been asleep," he muttered. "I guess it's time +we turned in!" + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +IN WHICH MR. ISRAEL SNEED AND OTHER WORKING MEN RECEIVE A LESSON IN TRUE +DEMOCRACY + + +Next morning, Mr. Blenkinsop went to cut wood for the Widow Moran. The +good woman was amazed by his highly respectable appearance. + +"God help us! Ye look like a lawyer," she said. + +"I'm a new man! Cut out the blacksmith shop an' the booze an' the +bummers." + +"May the good God love an' help ye! I heard about it." + +"Ye did?" + +"Sure I did. It's all over the town. Good news has a lively foot, man. +The Shepherd clapped his hands when I told him. Ye got to go straight, +my laddie buck. All eyes are on ye now. Come up an' see the boy. It's +his birthday!" + +Mr. Blenkinsop was deeply moved by the greeting of the little Shepherd, +who kissed his cheek and said that he had often prayed for him. + +"If you ever get lonely, come and sit with me and we'll have a talk and +a game of dominoes," said the boy. + +Mr. Blenkinsop got strength out of the wonderful spirit of Bob Moran and +as he swung his axe that day, he was happier than he had been in many +years. Men and women who passed in the street said, "How do you do, Mr. +Blenkinsop? I'm glad to see you." + +Even the dog Christmas watched his master with a look of pride and +approval. Now and then, he barked gleefully and scampered up and down +the sidewalk. + +The Shepherd was fourteen years old. On his birthday, from morning until +night, people came to his room bringing little gifts to remind him of +their affection. No one in the village of Bingville was so much beloved. +Judge Crooker came in the evening with ice-cream and a frosted cake. +While he was there, a committee of citizens sought him out to confer +with him regarding conditions in Bingville. + +"There's more money than ever in the place, but there never was so much +misery," said the chairman of the committee. + +"We have learned that money is not the thing that makes happiness," +Judge Crooker began. "With every one busy at high wages, and the banks +overflowing with deposits, we felt safe. We ceased to produce the +necessaries of life in a sufficient quantity. We forgot that the all +important things are food, fuel, clothes and comfortable housing--not +money. Some of us went money mad. With a feeling of opulence we refused +to work at all, save when we felt like it. We bought diamond rings and +sat by the fire looking at them. The roofs began to leak and our +plumbing went wrong. People going to buy meat found the shops closed. +Roofs that might have been saved by timely repairs will have to be +largely replaced. Plumbing systems have been ruined by neglect. With all +its money, the town was never so poverty-stricken, the people never so +wretched." + +Mr. Sneed, who was a member of the committee, slyly turned the ring on +his finger so that the diamond was concealed. He cleared his throat and +remarked, "We mechanics had more than we could do on work already +contracted." + +"Yes, you worked eight hours a day and refused to work any longer. You +were legally within your rights, but your position was ungrateful and +even heartless and immoral. Suppose there were a baby coming at your +house and you should call for the doctor and he should say, 'I'm sorry, +but I have done my eight hours' work to-day and I can't help you.' Then +suppose you should offer him a double fee and he should say, 'No, +thanks, I'm tired. I've got forty thousand dollars in the bank and I +don't have to work when I don't want to.' + +"Or suppose I were trying a case for you and, when my eight hours' work +had expired, I should walk out of the court and leave your case to take +care of itself. What do you suppose would become of it? Yet that is +exactly what you did to my pipes. You left them to take care of +themselves. You men, who use your hands, make a great mistake in +thinking that you are the workers of the country and that the rest of us +are your natural enemies. In America, we are all workers! The idle man +is a mere parasite and not at heart an American. Generally, I work +fifteen hours a day. + +"This little lad has been knitting night and day for the soldiers +without hope of reward and has spent his savings for yarn. There isn't +a doctor in Bingville who isn't working eighteen hours a day. I met a +minister this afternoon who hasn't had ten hours of sleep in a +week--he's been so busy with the sick, and the dying and the dead. He is +a nurse, a friend, a comforter to any one who needs him. No charge for +overtime. My God! Are we all going money mad? Are you any better than he +is, or I am, or than these doctors are who have been killing themselves +with overwork? Do you dare to tell me that prosperity is any excuse for +idleness in this land of ours, if one's help is needed?" + +Judge Crooker's voice had been calm, his manner dignified. But the last +sentences had been spoken with a quiet sternness and with his long, bony +forefinger pointing straight at Mr. Sneed. The other members of the +committee clapped their hands in hearty approval. Mr. Sneed smiled and +brushed his trousers. + +"I guess you're right," he said. "We're all off our balance a little, +but what is to be done now?" + +"We must quit our plumbing and carpentering and lawyering and banking +and some of us must quit merchandising and sitting in the chimney corner +and grab our saws and axes and go out into the woods and make some fuel +and get it hauled into town," said Judge Crooker. "I'll be one of a +party to go to-morrow with my axe. I haven't forgotten how to chop." + +The committee thought this a good suggestion. They all rose and started +on a search for volunteers, except Mr. Sneed. He tarried saying to the +Judge that he wished to consult him on a private matter. It was, indeed, +just then, a matter which could not have been more public although, so +far, the news of it had traveled in whispers. The Judge had learned the +facts since his return. + +"I hope your plumbing hasn't gone wrong," he remarked with a smile. + +"No, it's worse than that," said Mr. Sneed ruefully. + +They bade the little Shepherd good night and went down-stairs where the +widow was still at work with her washing, although it was nine o'clock. + +"Faithful woman!" the Judge exclaimed as they went out on the street. +"What would the world do without people like that? No extra charge for +overtime either." + +Then, as they walked along, he cunningly paved the way for what he knew +was coming. + +"Did you notice the face of that boy?" he asked. + +"Yes, it's a wonderful face," said Israel Sneed. + +"It's a God's blessing to see a face like that," the Judge went on. +"Only the pure in heart can have it. The old spirit of youth looks out +of his eyes--the spirit of my own youth. When I was fourteen, I think +that my heart was as pure as his. So were the hearts of most of the boys +I knew." + +"It isn't so now," said Mr. Sneed. + +"I fear it isn't," the Judge answered. "There's a new look in the faces +of the young. Every variety of evil is spread before them on the stage +of our little theater. They see it while their characters are in the +making, while their minds are like white wax. Everything that touches +them leaves a mark or a smirch. It addresses them in the one language +they all understand, and for which no dictionary is needed--pictures. +The flower of youth fades fast enough, God knows, without the withering +knowledge of evil. They say it's good for the boys and girls to know all +about life. We shall see!" + + +Mr. Sneed sat down with Judge Crooker in the handsome library of the +latter and opened his heart. His son Richard, a boy of fifteen, and +three other lads of the village, had been committing small burglaries +and storing their booty in a cave in a piece of woods on the river bank +near the village. A constable had secured a confession and recovered a +part of the booty. Enough had been found to warrant a charge of grand +larceny and Elisha Potts, whose store had been entered, was clamoring +for the arrest of the boys. + +"It reminds me of that picture of the Robbers' Cave that was on the +billboard of our school of crime a few weeks ago," said the Judge. "I'm +tired enough to lie down, but I'll go and see Elisha Potts. If he's +abed, he'll have to get up, that's all. There's no telling what Potts +has done or may do. Your plumbing is in bad shape, Mr. Sneed. The public +sewer is backing into your cellar and in a case of that kind the less +delay the better." + +He went into the hall and put on his coat and gloves and took his cane +out of the rack. He was sixty-five years of age that winter. It was a +bitter night when even younger men found it a trial to leave the comfort +of the fireside. Sneed followed in silence. Indeed, his tongue was +shame-bound. For a moment, he knew not what to say. + +"I--I'm much o-obliged to you," he stammered as they went out into the +cold wind. "I-I don't care what it costs, either." + +The Judge stopped and turned toward him. + +"Look here," he said. "Money does not enter into this proceeding or any +motive but the will to help a neighbor. In such a matter overtime +doesn't count." + +They walked in silence to the corner. There Sneed pressed the Judge's +hand and tried to say something, but his voice failed him. + +"Have the boys at my office at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. I want to +talk to them," said the kindly old Judge as he strode away in the +darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +IN WHICH J. PATTERSON BING BUYS A NECKLACE OF PEARLS + + +Meanwhile, the Bings had been having a busy winter in New York. J. +Patterson Bing had been elected to the board of a large bank in Wall +Street. His fortune had more than doubled in the last two years and he +was now a considerable factor in finance. + +Mrs. Bing had been studying current events and French and the English +accent and other social graces every morning, with the best tutors, as +she reclined comfortably in her bedchamber while Phyllis went to sundry +shops. Mrs. Crooker had once said, "Mamie Bing has a passion for +self-improvement." It was mainly if not quite true. + +Phyllis had been "beating the bush" with her mother at teas and dinners +and dances and theaters and country house parties in and about the city. +The speedometer on the limousine had doubled its mileage since they came +to town. They were, it would seem, a tireless pair of hunters. Phyllis's +portrait had appeared in the Sunday papers. It showed a face and form of +unusual beauty. The supple grace and classic outlines of the latter were +touchingly displayed at the dances in many a handsome ballroom. At last, +they had found a promising and most eligible candidate in Roger +Delane--a handsome stalwart youth, a year out of college. His father was +a well-known and highly successful merchant of an old family which, for +generations, had "belonged"--that is to say, it had been a part of the +aristocracy of Fifth Avenue. + +There could be no doubt of this great good luck of theirs--better, +indeed, than Mrs. Bing had dared to hope for--the young man having +seriously confided his intentions to J. Patterson. But there was one +shadow on the glowing prospect; Phyllis had suddenly taken a bad turn. +She moped, as her mother put it. She was listless and unhappy. She had +lost her interest in the chase, so to speak. She had little heart for +teas and dances and dinner parties. One day, her mother returned from a +luncheon and found her weeping. Mrs. Bing went at once to the telephone +and called for the stomach specialist. He came and made a brief +examination and said that it was all due to rich food and late hours. He +left some medicine, advised a day or two of rest in bed, charged a +hundred dollars and went away. They tried the remedies, but Phyllis +showed no improvement. The young man sent American Beauty roses and a +graceful note of regret to her room. + +"You ought to be very happy," said her mother. "He is a dear." + +"I know it," Phyllis answered. "He's just the most adorable creature I +ever saw in my life." + +"For goodness' sake! What is the matter of you? Why don't you brace up?" +Mrs. Bing asked with a note of impatience in her tone. "You act like a +dead fish." + +Phyllis, who had been lying on the couch, rose to a sitting posture and +flung one of the cushions at her mother, and rather swiftly. + +"How can I brace up?" she asked with indignation in her eyes. "Don't +_you_ dare to scold me." + +There was a breath of silence in which the two looked into each other's +eyes. Many thoughts came flashing into the mind of Mrs. Bing. Why had +the girl spoken the word "you" so bitterly? Little echoes of old history +began to fill the silence. She arose and picked up the cushion and threw +it on the sofa. + +"What a temper!" she exclaimed. "Young lady, you don't seem to know +that these days are very precious for you. They will not come again." + +Then, in the old fashion of women who have suddenly come out of a moment +of affectionate anger, they fell to weeping in each other's arms. The +storm was over when they heard the feet of J. Patterson Bing in the +hall. Phyllis fled into the bathroom. + +"Hello!" said Mr. Bing as he entered the door. "I've found out what's +the matter with Phyllis. It's nerves. I met the great specialist, John +Hamilton Gibbs, at luncheon to-day. I described the symptoms. He says +it's undoubtedly nerves. He has any number of cases just like this +one--rest, fresh air and a careful diet are all that's needed. He says +that if he can have her for two weeks, he'll guarantee a cure. I've +agreed to have you take her to his sanitarium in the Catskills +to-morrow. He has saddle horses, sleeping balconies, toboggan slides, +snow-shoe and skating parties and all that." + +"I think it will be great," said Phyllis, who suddenly emerged from her +hiding-place and embraced her father. "I'd love it! I'm sick of this old +town. I'm sure it's just what I need." + +"I couldn't go to-morrow," said Mrs. Bing. "I simply must go to Mrs. +Delane's luncheon." + +"Then I'll ask Harriet to go up with her," said J. Patterson. + +Harriet, who lived in a flat on the upper west side, was Mr. Bing's +sister. + +Phyllis went to bed dinnerless with a headache. Mr. and Mrs. Bing sat +for a long time over their coffee and cigarettes. + +"It's something too dreadful that Phyllis should be getting sick just at +the wrong time," said the madame. "She has always been well. I can't +understand it." + +"She's had a rather strenuous time here," said J. Patterson. + +"But she seemed to enjoy it until--until the right man came along. The +very man I hoped would like her! Then, suddenly, she throws up her hands +and keels over. It's too devilish for words." + +Mr. Bing laughed at his wife's exasperation. + +"To me, it's no laughing matter," said she with a serious face. + +"Perhaps she doesn't like the boy," J. Patterson remarked. + +Mrs. Bing leaned toward him and whispered: "She adores him!" She held +her attitude and looked searchingly into her husband's face. + +"Well, you can't say I did it," he answered. "The modern girl is a +rather delicate piece of machinery. I think she'll be all right in a +week or two. Come, it's time we went to the theater if we're going." + +Nothing more was said of the matter. Next morning immediately after +breakfast, "Aunt Harriet" set out with Phyllis in the big limousine for +Doctor Gibbs' sanitarium. + + +Phyllis found the remedy she needed in the ceaseless round of outdoor +frolic. Her spirit washed in the glowing air found refreshment in the +sleep that follows weariness and good digestion. Her health improved so +visibly that her stay was far prolonged. It was the first week of May +when Mrs. Bing drove up to get her. The girl was in perfect condition, +it would seem. No rustic maid, in all the mountain valleys, had lighter +feet or clearer eyes or a more honest, ruddy tan in her face due to the +touch of the clean wind. She had grown as lithe and strong as a young +panther. + +They were going back to Bingville next day. Martha and Susan had been +getting the house ready. Mrs. Bing had been preparing what she fondly +hoped would be "a lovely surprise" for Phyllis. Roger Delane was coming +up to spend a quiet week with the Bings--a week of opportunity for the +young people with saddle horses and a new steam launch and a +Peterborough canoe and all pleasant accessories. Then, on the twentieth, +which was the birthday of Phyllis, there was to be a dinner and a house +party and possibly an announcement and a pretty wagging of tongues. +Indeed, J. Patterson had already bought the wedding gift, a necklace of +pearls, and paid a hundred thousand dollars for it and put it away in +his safe. The necklace had pleased him. He had seen many jewels, but +nothing so satisfying--nothing that so well expressed his affection for +his daughter. He might never see its like again. So he bought it against +the happy day which he hoped was near. He had shown it to his wife and +charged her to make no mention of it until "the time was ripe," in his +way of speaking. + +Mrs. Bing had promised on her word and honor to respect the confidence +of her husband, with all righteous intention, but on the very day of +their arrival in Bingville, Sophronia (Mrs. Pendleton) Ames called. +Sophronia was the oldest and dearest friend that Mamie Bing had in the +village. The latter enjoyed her life in New York, but she felt always a +thrill at coming back to her big garden and the green trees and the +ample spaces of Bingville, and to the ready, sympathetic confidence of +Sophronia Ames. She told Sophronia of brilliant scenes in the changing +spectacle of metropolitan life, of the wonderful young man and the +untimely affliction of Phyllis, now happily past. Then, in a whisper, +while Sophronia held up her right hand as a pledge of secrecy, she told +of the necklace of which the lucky girl had no knowledge. Now Mrs. Ames +was one of the best of women. People were wont to speak of her, and +rightly, as "the salt of the earth." She would do anything possible for +a friend. But Mamie Bing had asked too much. Moreover, always it had +been understood between them that these half playful oaths were not to +be taken too seriously. Of course, "the fish had to be fed," as Judge +Crooker had once put it. By "the fish," he meant that curious under-life +of the village--the voracious, silent, merciless, cold-blooded thing +which fed on the sins and follies of men and women and which rarely came +to the surface to bother any one. + +"The fish are very wise," Judge Crooker used to say. "They know the +truth about every one and it's well that they do. After all, they +perform an important office. There's many a man and woman who think +they've been fooling the fish but they've only fooled themselves." + +And within a day or two, the secrets of the Bing family were swimming +up and down the stream of the under-life of Bingville. + + +Mr. Bing had found a situation in the plant which was new to him. The +men were discontented. Their wages were "sky high," to quote a phrase of +one of the foremen. Still, they were not satisfied. Reports of the +fabulous earnings of the mill had spread among them. They had begun to +think that they were not getting a fair division of the proceeds of +their labor. At a meeting of the help, a radical speaker had declared +that one of the Bing women wore a noose of pearls on her neck worth half +a million dollars. The men wanted more pay and less work. A committee of +their leaders had called at Mr. Bing's office with a demand soon after +his arrival. Mr. Bing had said "no" with a bang of his fist on the +table. A worker's meeting was to be held a week later to act upon the +report of the committee. + +Meanwhile, another cause of worry had come or rather returned to him. +Again, Phyllis had begun to show symptoms of the old trouble. Mrs. Bing, +arriving at dusk from a market trip to Hazelmead with Sophronia Ames, +had found Phyllis lying asleep among the cushions on the great couch in +the latter's bedroom. She entered the room softly and leaned over the +girl and looked into her face, now turned toward the open window and +lighted by the fading glow in the western sky and relaxed by sleep. It +was a sad face! There were lines and shadows in it which the anxious +mother had not seen before and--had she been crying? Very softly, the +woman sat down at the girl's side. Darkness fell. Black, menacing +shadows filled the corners of the room. The spirit of the girl betrayed +its trouble in a sorrowful groan as she slept. Roger Delane was coming +next day. There was every reason why Phyllis should be happy. Silently, +Mrs. Bing left the room. She met Martha in the hall. + +"I shall want no dinner and Mr. Bing is dining in Hazelmead," she +whispered. "Miss Phyllis is asleep. Don't disturb her." + +Then she sat down in the darkness of her own bedroom alone. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +IN WHICH HIRAM BLENKINSOP HAS A NUMBER OF ADVENTURES + + +The Shepherd of the Birds had caught the plague of influenza in March +and nearly lost his life with it. Judge Crooker and Mr. and Mrs. +Singleton and their daughter and Father O'Neil and Mrs. Ames and Hiram +Blenkinsop had taken turns in the nursing of the boy. He had come out of +it with impaired vitality. + +The rubber tree used to speak to him in those days of his depression and +say, "It will be summer soon." + +"Oh dear! But the days pass so slowly," Bob would answer with a sigh. + +Then the round nickel clock would say cheerfully, "I hurry them along as +fast as ever I can." + +"Seems as if old Time was losing the use of his legs," said the +Shepherd. "I wouldn't wonder if some one had run over him with an +automobile." + +"Everybody is trying to kill Time these days," ticked the clock with a +merry chuckle. + +Bob looked at the clock and laughed. "You've got some sense," he +declared. + +"Nonsense!" the clock answered. + +"You can talk pretty well," said the boy. + +"I can run too. If I couldn't, nobody would look at me." + +"The more I look at you the more I think of Pauline. It's a long time +since she went away," said the Shepherd. "We must all pray for her." + +"Not I," said the little pine bureau. "Do you see that long scratch on +my side? She did it with a hat pin when I belonged to her mother, and +she used to keep her dolls in my lower drawer." + +Mr. Bloggs assumed a look of great alertness as if lie spied the enemy. +"What's the use of worrying?" he quoted. + +"You'd better lie down and cover yourself up or you'll never live to see +her or the summer either," the clock warned the Shepherd. + +Then Bob would lie down quickly and draw the clothes over his shoulders +and sing of the Good King Wenceslas and The First Noël which Miss Betsy +Singleton had taught him at Christmas time. + +All this is important only as showing how a poor lad, of a lively +imagination, was wont to spend his lonely hours. He needed company and +knew how to find it. + +Christmas Day, Judge Crooker had presented him with a beautiful copy of +Raphael's _Madonna and Child_. + +"It's the greatest theme and the greatest picture this poor world of +ours can boast of," said the Judge. "I want you to study the look in +that mother's face, not that it is unusual. I have seen the like of it +a hundred times. Almost every young mother with a child in her arms has +that look or ought to have it--the most beautiful and mysterious thing +in the world. The light of that old star which led the wise men is in +it, I sometimes think. Study it and you may hear voices in the sky as +did the shepherds of old." + +So the boy acquired the companionship of those divine faces that looked +down at him from the wall near his bed and had something to say to him +every day. + +Also, another friend--a very humble one--had begun to share his +confidence. He was the little yellow dog, Christmas. He had come with +his master, one evening in March, to spend a night with the sick +Shepherd. Christmas had lain on the foot of the bed and felt the loving +caress of the boy. He never forgot it. The heart of the world, that +loves above all things the touch of a kindly hand, was in this little +creature. Often, when Hiram was walking out in the bitter winds, +Christmas would edge away when his master's back was turned. In a jiffy, +he was out of sight and making with all haste for the door of the Widow +Moran. There, he never failed to receive some token of the generous +woman's understanding of the great need of dogs--a bone or a doughnut or +a slice of bread soaked in meat gravy--and a warm welcome from the boy +above stairs. The boy always had time to pet him and play with him. He +was never fooling the days away with an axe and a saw in the cold wind. +Christmas admired his master's ability to pick up logs of wood and heave +them about and to make a great noise with an axe but, in cold weather, +all that was a bore to him. When he had been missing, Hiram Blenkinsop +found him, always, at the day's end lying comfortably on Bob Moran's +bed. + +May had returned with its warm sunlight. The robins had come back. The +blue martins had taken possession of the bird house. The grass had +turned green on the garden borders and was now sprinkled with the golden +glow of dandelions. The leaves were coming but Pat Crowley was no longer +at work in the garden. He had fallen before the pestilence. Old Bill +Rutherford was working there. The Shepherd was at the open window every +day, talking with him and watching and feeding the birds. + + +Now, with the spring, a new feeling had come to Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He +had been sober for months. His Old Self had come back and had imparted +his youthful strength to the man Hiram. He had money in the bank. He was +decently dressed. People had begun to respect him. Every day, Hiram was +being nudged and worried by a new thought. It persisted in telling him +that respectability was like the Fourth of July--a very dull thing +unless it was celebrated. He had been greatly pleased with his own +growing respectability. He felt as if he wanted to take a look at it, +from a distance, as it were. That money in the bank was also nudging and +calling him. It seemed to be lonely and longing for companionship. + +"Come, Hiram Blenkinsop," it used to say. "Let's go off together and get +a silk hat and a gold headed cane an' make 'em set up an' take notice. +Suppose you should die sudden an' leave me without an owner?" + +The warmth and joy of the springtime had turned his fancy to the old +dream. So one day, he converted his bank balance into "a roll big enough +to choke a dog," and took the early morning train to Hazelmead, having +left Christmas at the Widow Moran's. + +In the mill city he bought a high silk hat and a gold headed cane and a +new suit of clothes and a boiled shirt and a high collar and a red +necktie. It didn't matter to him that the fashion and fit of his +garments were not quite in keeping with the silk hat and gold headed +cane. There were three other items in the old dream of splendor--the +mother, the prancing team, and the envious remarks of the onlookers. His +mother was gone. Also there were no prancing horses in Hazelmead, but he +could hire an automobile. + +In the course of his celebration he asked a lady, whom he met in the +street, if she would kindly be his mother for a day. He meant well but +the lady, being younger than Hiram and not accustomed to such +familiarity from strangers, did not feel complimented by the question. +They fled from each other. Soon, Hiram bought a big custard pie in a +bake-shop and had it cut into smallish pieces and, having purchased pie +and plate, went out upon the street with it. He ate what he wanted of +the pie and generously offered the rest of it to sundry people who +passed him. It was not impertinence in Hiram; it was pure generosity--a +desire to share his riches, flavored, in some degree, by a feeling of +vanity. It happened that Mr. J. Patterson Bing came along and received a +tender of pie from Mr. Blenkinsop. + +"No!" said Mr. Bing, with that old hammer whack in his voice which +aroused bitter memories in the mind of Hiram. + +That tone was a great piece of imprudence. There was a menacing gesture +and a rapid succession of footsteps on the pavement. Mr. Bing's retreat +was not, however, quite swift enough to save him. The pie landed on his +shoulder. In a moment, Hiram was arrested and marching toward the lockup +while Mr. Bing went to the nearest drug store to be cleaned and scoured. + + +A few days later Hiram Blenkinsop arrived in Bingville. Mr. Singleton +met him on the street and saw to his deep regret that Hiram had been +drinking. + +"I've made up my mind that religion is good for some folks, but it won't +do for me," said the latter. + +"Why not?" the minister asked. + +"I can't afford it." + +"Have you found religion a luxury?" Mr. Singleton asked. + +"It's grand while it lasts, but it's like p'ison gettin' over it," said +Hiram. "I feel kind o' ruined." + +"You look it," said the minister, with a glance at Hiram's silk hat and +soiled clothing. "A long spell of sobriety is hard on a man if he quits +it sudden. You've had your day of trial, my friend. We all have to be +tried soon or late. People begin to say, 'At last he's come around all +right. He's a good fellow.' And the Lord says: 'Perhaps he's worthy of +better things. I'll try him and see.' + +"That's His way of pushing people along, Hiram. He doesn't want them to +stand still. You've had your trial and failed, but you mustn't give up. +When your fun turns into sorrow, as it will, come back to me and we'll +try again." + + +Hiram sat dozing in a corner of the bar-room of the Eagle Hotel that +day. He had been ashamed to go to his comfortable room over the garage. +He did not feel entitled to the hospitality of Mr. Singleton. Somehow, +he couldn't bear the thought of going there. His new clothes and silk +hat were in a state which excited the derision of small boys and audible +comment from all observers while he had been making his way down the +street. His money was about gone. The barkeeper had refused to sell him +any more drink. In the early dusk he went out-of-doors. It was almost as +warm as midsummer and the sky was clear. He called at the door of the +Widow Moran for his dog. In a moment, Christmas came down from the +Shepherd's room and greeted his master with fond affection. The two went +away together. They walked up a deserted street and around to the old +graveyard. When it was quite dark, they groped their way through the +weedy, briered aisles, between moss-covered toppling stones, to their +old nook under the ash tree. There Hiram made a bed of boughs, picked +from the evergreens that grow in the graveyard, and lay down upon it +under his overcoat with the dog Christmas. He found it impossible to +sleep, however. When he closed his eyes a new thought began nudging him. + +It seemed to be saying, "What are you going to do now, Mr. Hiram +Blenkinsop?" + +He was pleased that it seemed to say Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He lay for a +long time looking up at the starry moonlit sky, and at the marble, +weather-spotted angel on the monument to the Reverend Thaddeus Sneed, +who had been lying there, among the rude forefathers of the village, +since 1806. Suddenly the angel began to move. Mr. Blenkinsop observed +with alarm that it had discovered him and that its right forefinger was +no longer directed toward the sky but was pointing at his face. The +angel had assumed the look and voice of his Old Self and was saying: + +"I don't see why angels are always cut in marble an' set up in +graveyards with nothing to do but point at the sky. It's a cold an' +lonesome business. Why don't you give me a job?" + +His Old Self vanished and, as it did so, the spotted angel fell to +coughing and sneezing. It coughed and sneezed so loudly that the sound +went echoing in the distant sky and so violently that it reeled and +seemed to be in danger of falling. Mr. Blenkinsop awoke with a rude jump +so that the dog Christmas barked in alarm. It was nothing but the +midnight train from the south pulling out of the station which was near +the old graveyard. The spotted angel stood firmly in its place and was +pointing at the sky as usual. + +It was probably an hour or so later, when Mr. Blenkinsop was awakened by +the barking of the dog Christmas. He quieted the dog and listened. He +heard a sound like that of a baby crying. It awoke tender memories in +the mind of Hiram Blenkinsop. One very sweet recollection was about all +that the barren, bitter years of his young manhood had given him worth +having. It was the recollection of a little child which had come to his +home in the first year of his married life. + +"She lived eighteen months and three days and four hours," he used to +say, in speaking of her, with a tender note in his voice. + +Almost twenty years, she had been lying in the old graveyard near the +ash tree. Since then the voice of a child crying always halted his +steps. It is probable that, in her short life, the neglected, pathetic +child Pearl--that having been her name--had protested much against a +plentiful lack of comfort and sympathy. + +So Mr. Blenkinsop's agitation at the sound of a baby crying somewhere +near him, in the darkness of the old graveyard, was quite natural and +will be readily understood. He rose on his elbow and listened. Again he +heard that small, appealing voice. + +"By thunder! Christmas," he whispered. "If that ain't like Pearl when +she was a little, teeny, weeny thing no bigger'n a pint o' beer! Say it +is, sir, sure as sin!" + +He scrambled to his feet, suddenly, for now, also, he could distinctly +hear the voice of a woman crying. He groped his way in the direction +from which the sound came and soon discovered the woman. She was +kneeling on a grave with a child in her arms. Her grief touched the +heart of the man. + +"Who be you?" he asked. + +"I'm cold, and my baby is sick, and I have no friends," she sobbed. + +"Yes, ye have!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "I don't care who ye be. I'm yer +friend and don't ye fergit it." + + +There was a reassuring note in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. Its +gentleness had in it a quiver of sympathy. She felt it and gave to +him--an unknown, invisible man, with just a quiver of sympathy in his +voice--her confidence. + +If ever any one was in need of sympathy, she was at that moment. She +felt that she must speak out to some one. So keenly she felt the impulse +that she had been speaking to the stars and the cold gravestones. Here +at last was a human being with a quiver of sympathy in his voice. + +"I thought I would come home, but when I got here I was afraid," the +girl moaned. "I wish I could die." + +"No, ye don't neither!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "Sometimes, I've thought +that I hadn't no friends an' wanted to die, but I was just foolin' +myself. To be sure, I ain't had no baby on my hands but I've had +somethin' just as worrisome, I guess. Folks like you an' me has got +friends a-plenty if we'll only give 'em a chance. I've found that out. +You let me take that baby an' come with me. I know where you'll git the +glad hand. You just come right along with me." + +The unmistakable note of sincerity was in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. +She gave the baby into his arms. He held it to his breast a moment +thinking of old times. Then he swung his arms like a cradle saying: + +"You stop your hollerin'--ye gol'darn little skeezucks! It ain't decent +to go on that way in a graveyard an' ye ought to know it. Be ye tryin' +to wake the dead?" + +The baby grew quiet and finally fell asleep. + +"Come on, now," said Hiram, with the baby lying against his breast. "You +an' me are goin' out o' the past. I know a little house that's next door +to Heaven. They say ye can see Heaven from its winders. It's where the +good Shepherd lives. Christmas an' I know the place--don't we, ol' boy? +Come right along. There ain't no kind o' doubt o' what they'll say to +us." + + +The young woman followed him out of the old graveyard and through the +dark, deserted streets until they came to the cottage of the Widow +Moran. They passed through the gate into Judge Crooker's garden. Under +the Shepherd's window, Hiram Blenkinsop gave the baby to its mother and +with his hands to his mouth called "Bob!" in a loud whisper. Suddenly a +robin sounded his alarm. Instantly, the Shepherd's room was full of +light. In a moment, he was at the window sweeping the garden paths and +the tree tops with his search-light. It fell on the sorrowful figure of +the young mother with the child in her arms and stopped. She stood +looking up at the window bathed in the flood of light. It reminded the +Shepherd of that glow which the wise men saw in the manger at Bethlehem. + +"Pauline Baker!" he exclaimed. "Have you come back or am I dreaming? +It's you--thanks to the Blessed Virgin! It's you! Come around to the +door. My mother will let you in." + +It was a warm welcome that the girl received in the little home of the +Widow Moran. Many words of comfort and good cheer were spoken in the +next hour or so after which the good woman made tea and toast and +broiled a chop and served them in the Shepherd's room. + +"God love ye, child! So he was a married man--bad 'cess to him an' the +likes o' him!" she said as she came in with the tray. "Mother o' Jesus! +What a wicked world it is!" + +The prudent dog Christmas, being afraid of babies, hid under the +Shepherd's bed, and Hiram Blenkinsop lay down for the rest of the night +on the lounge in the cottage kitchen. + +An hour after daylight, when the Judge was walking in his garden, he +wondered why the widow and the Shepherd were sleeping so late. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +IN WHICH HIGH VOLTAGE DEVELOPS IN THE CONVERSATION + + +It was a warm, bright May day. There was not a cloud in the sky. Roger +Delane had arrived and the Bings were giving a dinner that evening. The +best people of Hazelmead were coming over in motor-cars. Phyllis and +Roger had had a long ride together that day on the new Kentucky saddle +horses. Mrs. Bing had spent the morning in Hazelmead and had stayed to +lunch with Mayor and Mrs. Stacy. She had returned at four and cut some +flowers for the table and gone to her room for an hour's rest when the +young people returned. She was not yet asleep when Phyllis came into the +big bedroom. Mrs. Bing lay among the cushions on her couch. She partly +rose, tumbled the cushions into a pile and leaned against them. + +"Heavens! I'm tired!" she exclaimed. "These women in Hazelmead hang on +to one like a lot of hungry cats. They all want money for one thing or +another--Red Cross or Liberty bonds or fatherless children or tobacco +for the soldiers or books for the library. My word! I'm broke and it +seems as if each of my legs hung by a thread." + +Phyllis smiled as she stood looking down at her mother. + +"How beautiful you look!" the fond mother exclaimed. "If he didn't +propose to-day, he's a chump." + +"But he did," said Phyllis. "I tried to keep him from it, but he just +would propose in spite of me." + +The girl's face was red and serious. She sat down in a chair and began +to remove her hat. Mrs. Bing rose suddenly, and stood facing Phyllis. + +"I thought you loved him," she said with a look of surprise. + +"So I do," the girl answered. + +"What did you say?" + +"I said no." + +"What!" + +"I refused him!" + +"For God's sake, Phyllis! Do you think you can afford to play with a man +like that? He won't stand for it." + +"Let him sit for it then and, mother, you might as well know, first as +last, that I am not playing with him." + +There was a calm note of firmness in the voice of the girl. She was +prepared for this scene. She had known it was coming. Her mother was hot +with irritating astonishment. The calmness of the girl in suddenly +beginning to dig a grave for this dear ambition--rich with promise--in +the very day when it had come submissively to their feet, stung like the +tooth of a serpent. She stood very erect and said with an icy look in +her face: + +"You young upstart! What do you mean?" + +There was a moment of frigid silence in which both of the women began to +turn cold. Then Phyllis answered very calmly as she sat looking down at +the bunch of violets in her hand: + +"It means that I am married, mother." + +Mrs. Bing's face turned red. There was a little convulsive movement of +the muscles around her mouth. She folded her arms on her breast, lifted +her chin a bit higher and asked in a polite tone, although her words +fell like fragments of cracked ice: + +"Married! To whom are you married?" + +"To Gordon King." + +Phyllis spoke casually as if he were a piece of ribbon that she had +bought at a store. + +Mrs. Bing sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands for +half a moment. Suddenly she picked up a slipper that lay at her feet and +flung it at the girl. + +"My God!" she exclaimed. "What a nasty liar you are!" + +It was not ladylike but, at that moment, the lady was temporarily +absent. + +"Mother, I'm glad you say that," the girl answered still very calmly, +although her fingers trembled a little as she felt the violets, and her +voice was not quite steady. "It shows that I am not so stupid at home as +I am at school." + +The girl rose and threw down the violets and her mild and listless +manner. A look of defiance filled her face and figure. Mrs. Bing arose, +her eyes aglow with anger. + +"I'd like to know what you mean," she said under her breath. + +"I mean that if I am a liar, you taught me how to be it. Ever since I +was knee-high, you have been teaching me to deceive my father. I am not +going to do it any longer. I am going to find my father and tell him the +truth. I shall not wait another minute. He will give me better advice +than you have given, I hope." + +The words had fallen rapidly from her lips and, as the last one was +spoken, she hurried out of the room. Mrs. Bing threw herself on the +couch where she lay with certain bitter memories, until the new maid +came to tell her that it was time to dress. + +She was like one reminded of mortality after coming out of ether. + +"Oh, Lord!" she murmured wearily. "I feel like going to bed! How _can_ I +live through that dinner? Please bring me some brandy." + +Phyllis learned that her father was at his office whither she proceeded +without a moment's delay. She sent in word that she must see him alone +and as soon as possible. He dismissed the men with whom he had been +talking and invited her into his private office. + +"Well, girl, I guess I know what is on your mind," he said. "Go ahead." + +Phyllis began to cry. + +"All right! You do the crying and I'll do the talking," he went on. "I +feel like doing the crying myself, but if you want the job I'll resign +it to you. Perhaps you can do enough of that for both of us. I began to +smell a rat the other day. So I sent for Gordon King. He came here this +morning. I had a long talk with him. He told me the truth. Why didn't +you tell me? What's the good of having a father unless you use him at +times when his counsel is likely to be worth having? I would have made a +good father, if I had had half a chance. I should like to have been your +friend and confidant in this important enterprise. I could have been a +help to you. But, somehow, I couldn't get on the board of directors. You +and your mother have been running the plant all by yourselves and I +guess it's pretty near bankrupt. Now, my girl, there's no use crying +over spilt tears. Gordon King is not the man of my choice, but we must +all take hold and try to build him up. Perhaps we can make him pay." + +"I do not love him," Phyllis sobbed. + +"You married him because you wanted to. You were not coerced?" + +"No, sir." + +"I'm sorry, but you'll have to take your share of the crow with the rest +of us," he went on, with a note of sternness in his tone. "My girl, when +I make a contract I live up to it and I intend that you shall do the +same. You'll have to learn to love and cherish this fellow, if he makes +it possible. I'll have no welching in my family. You and your mother +believe in woman's rights. I don't object to that, but you mustn't think +that you have the right to break your agreements unless there's a good +reason for it. My girl, the marriage contract is the most binding and +sacred of all contracts. I want you to do your best to make this one a +success." + +There was the tinkle of the telephone bell. Mr. Bing put the receiver to +his ear and spoke into the instrument as follows: + +"Yes, she's here! I knew all the facts before she told me. Mr. Delane? +He's on his way back to New York. Left on the six-ten. Charged me to +present his regrets and farewells to you and Phyllis. I thought it best +for him to know and to go. Yes, we're coming right home to dress. Mr. +King will take Mr. Delane's place at the table. We'll make a clean +breast of the whole business. Brace up and eat your crow with a smiling +face. I'll make a little speech and present Mr. and Mrs. King to our +friends at the end of it. Oh, now, cut out the sobbing and leave this +unfinished business to me and don't worry. We'll be home in three +minutes." + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +IN WHICH JUDGE CROOKER DELIVERS A FEW OPINIONS + + +The pride of Bingville had fallen in the dust! It had arisen and gone on +with soiled garments and lowered head. It had suffered derision and +defeat. It could not ever be the same again. Sneed and Snodgrass +recovered, in a degree, from their feeling of opulence. Sneed had become +polite, industrious and obliging. Snodgrass and others had lost heavily +in stock speculation through the failure of a broker in Hazelmead. They +went to work with a will and without the haughty independence which, for +a time, had characterized their attitude. The spirit of the Little +Shepherd had entered the hearts and home of Emanuel Baker and his wife. +Pauline and the baby were there and being tenderly loved and cared for. +But what humility had entered that home! Phyllis and her husband lived +with her parents, Gordon having taken a humble place in the mill. He +worked early and late. The Bings had made it hard for him, finding it +difficult to overcome their resentment, but he stood the gaff, as they +say, and won the regard of J. Patterson although Mrs. Bing could never +forgive him. + +In June, there had been a public meeting in the Town Hall addressed by +Judge Crooker and the Reverend Mr. Singleton. The Judge had spoken of +the grinding of the mills of God that was going on the world over. + +"Our civilization has had its time of trial not yet ended," he began. +"Its enemies have been busy in every city and village. Not only in the +cities and villages of France and Belgium have they been busy, but in +those of our own land. The Goths and Vandals have invaded Bingville. +They have been destroying the things we loved. The false god is in our +midst. Many here, within the sound of my voice, have a god suited to +their own tastes and sins--an obedient, tractable, boneless god. It is +my deliberate opinion that the dances and costumes and moving pictures +we have seen in Bingville are doing more injury to Civilization than all +the guns of Germany. My friends, you can do nothing worse for my +daughter than deprive her of her modesty and I would rather, far rather, +see you slay my son than destroy his respect for law and virtue and +decency. + +"The jazz band is to me a sign of spiritual decay. It is a step toward +the jungle. I hear in it the beating of the tom-tom. It is not music. It +is the barbaric yawp of sheer recklessness and daredevilism, and it is +everywhere. + +"Even in our economic life we are dancing to the jazz band and with +utter recklessness. American labor is being more and more absorbed in +the manufacture of luxuries--embroidered frocks and elaborate millinery +and limousines and landaulets and rich upholstery and cord tires and +golf courses and sporting goods and great country houses--so that there +is not enough labor to provide the comforts and necessities of life. + +"The tendency of all this is to put the stamp of luxury upon the +commonest needs of man. The time seems to be near when a boiled egg and +a piece of buttered bread will be luxuries and a family of children an +unspeakable extravagance. Let us face the facts. It is up to Vanity to +moderate its demands upon the industry of man. What we need is more +devotion to simple living and the general welfare. In plain +old-fashioned English we need the religion and the simplicity of our +fathers." + + +Later, in June, a strike began in the big plant of J. Patterson Bing. +The men demanded higher pay and shorter days. They were working under a +contract but that did not seem to matter. In a fight with "scabs" and +Pinkerton men they destroyed a part of the plant. Even the life of Mr. +Bing was threatened! The summer was near its end when J. Patterson Bing +and a committee of the labor union met in the office of Judge Crooker to +submit their differences to that impartial magistrate for adjustment. +The Judge listened patiently and rendered his decision. It was accepted. + +When the papers were signed, Mr. Bing rose and said, "Your Honor, +there's one thing I want to say. I have spent most of my life in this +town. I have built up a big business here and doubled the population. I +have built comfortable homes for my laborers and taken an interest in +the education of their children, and built a library where any one could +find the best books to read. I have built playgrounds for the children +of the working people. If I have heard of any case of need, I have done +my best to relieve it. I have always been ready to hear complaints and +treat them fairly. My men have been generously paid and yet they have +not hesitated to destroy my property and to use guns and knives and +clubs and stones to prevent the plant from filling its contracts and to +force their will upon me. How do you explain it? What have I done or +failed to do that has caused this bitterness?" + +"Mr. Bing, I am glad that you ask me that question," the old Judge +began. "It gives me a chance to present to you, and to these men who +work for you, a conviction which has grown out of impartial observation +of your relations with each other. + +"First, I want to say to you, Mr. Bing, that I regard you as a good +citizen. Your genius and generosity have put this community under great +obligation. Now, in heading toward the hidden cause of your complaint, +I beg to ask you a question at the outset. Do you know that unfortunate +son of the Widow Moran known as the Shepherd of the Birds?" + +"I have heard much about him," Mr. Bing answered. + +"Do you know him?" + +"No. I have had letters from him acknowledging favors now and then, but +I do not know him." + +"We have hit at once the source of your trouble," the Judge went on. +"The Shepherd is a representative person. He stands for the poor and the +unfortunate in this village. You have never gone to see him +because--well, probably it was because you feared that the look of him +would distress you. The thing which would have helped and inspired and +gladdened his heart more than anything else would have been the feel of +your hand and a kind and cheering word and sympathetic counsel. Under +those circumstances, I think I may say that it was your duty as a +neighbor and a human being to go to see him. Instead of that you sent +money to him. Now, he never needed money. In the kindest spirit, I ask +you if that money you sent to him in the best of good-will was not, in +fact, a species of bribery? Were you not, indeed, seeking to buy +immunity from a duty incumbent upon you as a neighbor and a human +being?" + +Mr. Bing answered quickly, "There are plenty of people who have nothing +else to do but carry cheer and comfort to the unfortunate. I have other +things to do." + +"That, sir, does not relieve you of the liabilities of a neighbor and a +human being, in my view. If your business has turned you into a shaft or +a cog-wheel, it has done you a great injustice. I fear that it has been +your master--that it has practised upon you a kind of despotism. You +would better get along with less--far less business than suffer such a +fate. I don't want to hurt you. We are looking for the cause of a +certain result and I can help you only by being frank. With all your +generosity you have never given your heart to this village. Some unkind +people have gone so far as to say that you have no heart. You can not +prove it with money that you do not miss. Money is good but it must be +warmed with sympathy and some degree of sacrifice. Has it never occurred +to you that the warm hand and the cheering word in season are more, +vastly more, than money in the important matter of making good-will? +Unconsciously, you have established a line and placed yourself on one +side of it and the people on the other. Broadly speaking, you are +capital and the rest are labor. Whereas, in fact, you are all working +men. Some of the rest have come to regard you as their natural enemy. +They ought to regard you as their natural friend. Two kinds of +despotism have prevented it. First, there is the despotism of your +business in making you a slave--so much of a slave that you haven't time +to be human; second, there is the despotism of the labor union in +discouraging individual excellence, in demanding equal pay for the +faithful man and the slacker, and in denying the right of free men to +labor when and where they will. All this is tyranny as gross and +un-American as that of George the Third in trying to force his will upon +the colonies. If America is to survive, we must set our faces against +every form of tyranny. The remedy for all our trouble and bitterness is +real democracy which is nothing more or less than the love of men--the +love of justice and fair play for each and all. + +"You men should know that every strike increases the burdens of the +people. Every day your idleness lifts the price of their necessities. +Idleness is just another form of destruction. Why could you not have +listened to the counsel of Reason in June instead of in September, and +thus have saved these long months of loss and hardship and bitter +violence? It was because the spirit of Tyranny had entered your heart +and put your judgment in chains. It had blinded you to honor also, for +your men were working under contract. If the union is to command the +support of honest men, it must be honest. It was Tyranny that turned the +treaty with Belgium into a scrap of paper. That kind of a thing will not +do here. Let me assure you that Tyranny has no right to be in this land +of ours. You remind me of the Prodigal Son who had to know the taste of +husks and the companionship of swine before he came to himself. Do you +not know that Tyranny is swine and the fodder of swine? It is simply +human hoggishness. + +"I have one thing more to say and I am finished. Mr. Bing, some time +ago you threw up your religion without realizing the effect that such an +act would be likely to produce on this community. You are, no doubt, +aware that many followed your example. I've got no preaching to do. I'm +just going to quote you a few words from an authority no less +respectable than George Washington himself. Our history has made one +fact very clear, namely, that he was a wise and far-seeing man." + +Judge Crooker took from a shelf, John Marshall's "Life of Washington," +and read: + +"'_It is substantially true that virtue or morality is a necessary +spring of popular government and let us, with caution, indulge the +supposition that morality can be maintained without religion._ + +"'_Let it simply be asked where is the security for property, for +reputation, for life, if a sense of religious obligation desert the +oaths which are the instruments of investigation in courts of justice?_" + +"Let me add, on my own account, that the treatment you receive from your +men will vary according to their respect for morality and religion. + +"They could manage very well with an irreligious master, for you are +only one. But an irreligious mob is a different and highly serious +matter, believe me. Away back in the seventeenth century, John Dryden +wrote a wise sentence. It was this: + +"'_I have heard, indeed, of some very virtuous persons who have ended +unfortunately but never of a virtuous nation; Providence is engaged too +deeply when the cause becomes general._ + +"'If virtue is the price of a nation's life, let us try to keep our own +nation virtuous.'" + + +Mr. Bing and his men left the Judge's office in a thoughtful mood. The +next day, Judge Crooker met the mill owner on the street. + +"Judge, I accept your verdict," said the latter. "I fear that I have +been rather careless. It didn't occur to me that my example would be +taken so seriously. I have been a prodigal and have resolved to return +to my father's house." + +"Ho, servants!" said the Judge, with a smile. "Bring forth the best robe +and put it on him and put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet and +bring hither the fatted calf and kill it and let us eat and be merry." + +"We shall have to postpone the celebration," said Mr. Bing. "I have to +go to New York to-night, and I sail for England to-morrow. But I shall +return before Christmas." + +A little farther on Mr. Bing met Hiram Blenkinsop. The latter had a +plank on his shoulder. + +"I'd like to have a word with you," said the mill owner as he took hold +of the plank and helped Hiram to ease it down. "I hear many good things +about you, Mr. Blenkinsop. I fear that we have all misjudged you. If I +have ever said or done anything to hurt your feelings, I am sorry for +it." + +Hiram Blenkinsop looked with astonishment into the eyes of the +millionaire. + +"I--I guess I ain't got you placed right--not eggzac'ly," said he. "Some +folks ain't as good as they look an' some ain't as bad as they look. I +wouldn't wonder if we was mostly purty much alike, come to shake us +down." + +"Let's be friends, anyhow," said Mr. Bing. "If there's anything I can do +for you, let me know." + +That evening, as he sat by the stove in his little room over the garage +of Mr. Singleton with his dog Christmas lying beside him, Mr. Blenkinsop +fell asleep and awoke suddenly with a wild yell of alarm. + +"What's the matter?" a voice inquired. + +Mr. Blenkinsop turned and saw his Old Self standing in the doorway. + +"Nothin' but a dream," said Blenkinsop as he wiped his eyes. "Dreamed I +had a dog with a terrible thirst on him. Used to lead him around with a +rope an' when we come to a brook he'd drink it dry. Suddenly I felt an +awful jerk on the rope that sent me up in the air an' I looked an' see +that the dog had turned into an elephant an' that he was goin' like Sam +Hill, an' that I was hitched to him and couldn't let go. Once in a while +he'd stop an' drink a river dry an' then he'd lay down an' rest. +Everybody was scared o' the elephant an' so was I. An' I'd try to cut +the rope with my jack knife but it wouldn't cut--it was so dull. Then +all of a sudden he'd start on the run an' twitch me over the hills an' +mountings, an' me takin' steps a mile long an' scared to death." + +"The fact is you're hitched to an elephant," his Old Self remarked. "The +first thing to do is to sharpen your jack knife." + +"It's Night an' Silence that sets him goin'," said Blenkinsop. "When +they come he's apt to start for the nighest river. The old elephant is +beginnin' to move." + +Blenkinsop put on his hat and hurried out of the door. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +WHICH TELLS OF A MERRY CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE LITTLE COTTAGE OF THE WIDOW +MORAN + + +Night and Silence are a stern test of wisdom. For years, the fun loving, +chattersome Blenkinsop had been their enemy and was not yet at peace +with them. But Night and Silence had other enemies in the +village--ancient and inconsolable enemies, it must be said. They were +the cocks of Bingville. Every morning they fell to and drove Night and +Silence out of the place and who shall say that they did not save it +from being hopelessly overwhelmed. Day was their victory and they knew +how to achieve it. Noise was the thing most needed. So they roused the +people and called up the lights and set the griddles rattling. The +great, white cock that roosted near the window in the Widow Moran's +hen-house watched for the first sign of weakness in the enemy. When it +came, he sent forth a bolt of sound that tumbled Silence from his throne +and shook the foundations of the great dome of Night. It rang over the +housetops and through every street and alley in the village. That +started the battle. Silence tried in vain to recover his seat. In a +moment, every cock in Bingville was hurling bombs at him. Immediately, +Darkness began to grow pale with fright. Seeing the fate of his ally, he +broke camp and fled westward. Soon the field was clear and every proud +cock surveyed the victory with a solemn sense of large accomplishment. + +The loud victorious trumpets sounding in the garden near the window of +the Shepherd awoke him that Christmas morning. The dawn light was on the +windows. + +"Merry Christmas!" said the little round nickel clock in a cheerful +tone. "It's time to get up!" + +"Is it morning?" the Shepherd asked drowsily, as he rubbed his eyes. + +"Sure it's morning!" the little clock answered. "That lazy old sun is +late again. He ought to be up and at work. He's like a dishonest hired +man." + +"He's apt to be slow on Christmas morning," said the Shepherd. + +"Then people blame me and say I'm too fast," the little clock went on. +"They don't know what an old shirk the sun can be. I've been watching +him for years and have never gone to sleep at my post." + +After a moment of silence the little clock went on: "Hello! The old +night is getting a move on it. The cocks are scaring it away. Santa +Claus has been here. He brought ever so many things. The midnight train +stopped." + +"I wonder who came," said the Shepherd. + +"I guess it was the Bings," the clock answered. + +Just then it struck seven. + +"There, I guess that's about the end of it," said the little clock. + +"Of what?" the Shepherd asked. + +"Of the nineteen hundred and eighteen years. You know seven is the +favored number in sacred history. I'm sure the baby would have been born +at seven. My goodness! There's a lot of ticking in all that time. I've +been going only twelve years and I'm nearly worn out. Some young clock +will have to take my job before long." + +These reflections of the little clock were suddenly interrupted. The +Shepherd's mother entered with a merry greeting and turned on the +lights. There were many bundles lying about. She came and kissed her son +and began to build a fire in the little stove. + +"This'll be the merriest Christmas in yer life, laddie boy," she said, +as she lit the kindlings. "A great doctor has come up with the Bings to +see ye. He says he'll have ye out-o'-doors in a little while." + +"Ho, ho! That looks like the war was nearly over," said Mr. Bloggs. + +Mrs. Moran did not hear the remark of the little tin soldier so she +rattled on: + +"I went over to the station to meet 'em last night. Mr. Blenkinsop has +brought us a fine turkey. We'll have a gran' dinner--sure we will--an' I +axed Mr. Blenkinsop to come an' eat with us." + +Mrs. Moran opened the gifts and spread them on the bed. There were books +and paints and brushes and clothing and silver articles and needle-work +and a phonograph and a check from Mr. Bing. + +The little cottage had never seen a day so full of happiness. It rang +with talk and merry laughter and the music of the phonograph. Mr. +Blenkinsop had come in his best mood and apparel with the dog +Christmas. He helped Mrs. Moran to set the table in the Shepherd's room +and brought up the platter with the big brown turkey on it, surrounded +by sweet potatoes, all just out of the oven. Mrs. Moran followed with +the jelly and the creamed onions and the steaming coffee pot and new +celery. The dog Christmas growled and ran under the bed when he saw his +master coming with that unfamiliar burden. + +"He's never seen a Christmas dinner before. I don't wonder he's kind o' +scairt! I ain't seen one in so long, I'm scairt myself," said Hiram +Blenkinsop as they sat down at the table. + +"What's scairin' ye, man?" said the widow. + +"'Fraid I'll wake up an' find myself dreamin'," Mr. Blenkinsop answered. + +"Nobody ever found himself dreamin' at my table," said Mrs. Moran. "Grab +the carvin' knife an' go to wurruk, man." + +"I ain't eggzac'ly used to this kind of a job, but if you'll look out +o' the winder, I'll have it chopped an' split an' corded in a minute," +said Mr. Blenkinsop. + +He got along very well with his task. When they began eating he +remarked, "I've been lookin' at that pictur' of a girl with a baby in +her arms. Brings the water to my eyes, it's so kind o' life like and +nat'ral. It's an A number one pictur'--no mistake." + +He pointed at a large painting on the wall. + +"It's Pauline!" said the Shepherd. + +"Sure she's one o' the saints o' God!" the widow exclaimed. "She's +started a school for the children o' them Eytalians an' Poles. She's +tryin' to make 'em good Americans." + +"I'll never forget that night," Mr. Blenkinsop remarked. + +"If ye don't fergit it, I'll never mend another hole in yer pants," the +widow answered. + +"I've never blabbed a word about it to any one but Mr. Singleton." + +"Keep that in yer soul, man. It's yer ticket to Paradise," said the +widow. + +"She goes every day to teach the Poles and Italians, but I have her here +with me always," the Shepherd remarked. "I'm glad when the morning comes +so that I can see her again." + +"God bless the child! We was sorry to lose her but we have the pictur' +an' the look o' her with the love o' God in her face," said the Widow +Moran. + +"Now light yer pipe and take yer comfort, man," said the hospitable +widow, after the dishes were cleared away. "Sure it's more like +Christmas to see a man an' a pipe in the house. Heavens, no! A man in +the kitchen is worse than a hole in yer petticoat." + +So Mr. Blenkinsop sat with the Shepherd while the widow went about her +work. With his rumpled hair, clean shaven face, long nose and prominent +ears, he was not a handsome man. + +"This is the top notch an' no mistake," he remarked as he lighted his +pipe. "Blenkinsop is happy. He feels like his Old Self. He has no fault +to find with anything or anybody." + +Mr. Blenkinsop delivered this report on the state of his feelings with a +serious look in his gray eyes. + +"It kind o' reminds me o' the time when I used to hang up my stockin' +an' look for the reindeer tracks in the snow on Christmas mornin'," he +went on. "Since then, my ol' socks have been full o' pain an' trouble +every Christmas." + +"Those I knit for ye left here full of good wishes," said the Shepherd. + +"Say, when I put 'em on this mornin' with the b'iled shirt an' the suit +that Mr. Bing sent me, my Old Self came an' asked me where I was goin', +an' when I said I was goin' to spen' Christmas with a respectable +fam'ly, he said, 'I guess I'll go with ye,' so here we be." + +"The Old Selves of the village have all been kicked out-of-doors," said +the Shepherd. "The other day you told me about the trouble you had had +with yours. That night, all the Old Selves of Bingville got together +down in the garden and talked and talked about their relatives so I +couldn't sleep. It was a kind of Selfland. I told Judge Crooker about it +and he said that that was exactly what was going on in the Town Hall the +other night at the public meeting." + +"The folks are drunk--as drunk as I was in Hazelmead last May," said Mr. +Blenkinsop. "They have been drunk with gold and pleasure----" + +"The fruit of the vine of plenty," said Judge Crooker, who had just come +up the stairs. "Merry Christmas!" he exclaimed as he shook hands. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, you look as if you were enjoying yourself." + +"An' why not when yer Self has been away an' just got back?" + +"And you've killed the fatted turkey," said the Judge, as he took out +his silver snuff box. "One by one, the prodigals are returning." + +They heard footsteps on the stairs and the merry voice of the Widow +Moran. In a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Bing stood in the doorway. + +"Mr. and Mrs. Bing, I want to make you acquainted with my very dear +friend, Robert Moran," said Judge Crooker. + +There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes as Mrs. Bing stooped and kissed +him. He looked up at the mill owner as the latter took his hand. + +"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Bing. + +"Is this--is this Mr. J. Patterson Bing?" the Shepherd asked, his eyes +wide with astonishment. + +"Yes, and it is my fault that you do not know me better. I want to be +your friend." + +The Shepherd put his handkerchief over his eyes. His voice trembled when +he said: "You have been very kind to us." + +"But I'm really hoping to do something for you," Mr. Bing assured him. +"I've brought a great surgeon from New York who thinks he can help you. +He will be over to see you in the morning." + +They had a half-hour's visit with the little Shepherd. Mr. Bing, who was +a judge of good pictures, said that the boy's work showed great promise +and that his picture of the mother and child would bring a good price if +he cared to sell it. When they arose to go, Mr. Blenkinsop thanked the +mill owner for his Christmas suit. + +"Don't mention it," said Mr. Bing. + +"Well, it mentions itself purty middlin' often," Mr. Blenkinsop laughed. + +"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the former asked. + +"Well, sir, to tell ye the dead hones' truth, I've got a new ambition," +said Mr. Blenkinsop. "I've thought of it nights a good deal. I'd like to +be sextunt o' the church an' ring that ol' bell." + +"We'll see what can be done about it," Mr. Bing answered with a laugh, +as they went down-stairs with Judge Crooker, followed by the dog +Christmas, who scampered around them on the street with a merry growl of +challenge, as if the spirit of the day were in him. + +"What is it that makes the boy so appealing?" Mr. Bing asked of the +Judge. + +"He has a wonderful personality," Mrs. Bing remarked. + +"Yes, he has that. But the thing that underlies and shines through it is +his great attraction." + +"What do you call it?" Mrs. Bing asked. + +"A clean and noble spirit! Is there any other thing in this world that, +in itself, is really worth having?" + +"Compared with him, I recognize that I am very poor indeed," said J. +Patterson Bing. + +"You are what I would call a promising young man," the Judge answered. +"If you don't get discouraged, you're going to amount to something. I am +glad because you are, in a sense, the father of the great family of +Bingville." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Prodigal Village, by Irving Bacheller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 44796-8.txt or 44796-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/7/9/44796/ + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Prodigal Village + A Christmas Tale + +Author: Irving Bacheller + +Release Date: January 30, 2014 [EBook #44796] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="bold2">THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE</p> + +<hr /> + +<h1>THE<br />PRODIGAL VILLAGE</h1> + +<p class="bold">A Christmas Tale</p> + +<p class="bold space-above"><i>By</i></p> + +<p class="bold2">IRVING BACHELLER</p> + +<p class="bold"><i>Author of</i><br />THE LIGHT IN THE CLEARING<br />A MAN FOR THE AGES, Etc.</p> + +<p class="bold space-above">INDIANAPOLIS<br />THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY<br />PUBLISHERS</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1920<br />American National Red Cross</span></p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1920<br />Irving Bacheller</span></p> + +<p class="center space-above"><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p> + +<p class="center space-above">PRESS OF<br />BRAUNWORTH & CO.<br />BOOK MANUFACTURERS<br />BROOKLYN, N. Y.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="box"> +<table summary="CONTENTS"> + <tr> + <td colspan="2" class="left"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> + <td><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">I</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Which Introduces the Shepherd of the Birds</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">II</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Founding of the Phyllistines</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">III</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Which Tells of the Complaining Coin and the Man Who Lost His Self</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">IV</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which Mr. Israel Sneed and Other +Working Men Receive a Lesson in True Democracy</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">V</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which J. Patterson Bing Buys a Necklace of Pearls</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">VI</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which Hiram Blenkinsop Has a Number of Adventures</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">VII</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which High Voltage Develops in the Conversation</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">VIII</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In Which Judge Crooker Delivers a Few Opinions</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="vertical-align: top">IX</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Which Tells of a Merry Christmas Day +in the Little Cottage of the Widow Moran</span></td> + <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="bold2">THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<p class="bold2">THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER ONE</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">Which Introduces the Shepherd of the Birds</span></p> + +<p>The day that Henry Smix met and embraced Gasoline Power and went up Main +Street hand in hand with it is not yet forgotten. It was a hasty +marriage, so to speak, and the results of it were truly deplorable. +Their little journey produced an effect on the nerves and the remote +future history of Bingville. They rushed at a group of citizens who were +watching them, scattered it hither and thither, broke down a section of +Mrs. Risley's picket fence and ran over a small boy. At the end of their +brief <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>misalliance, Gasoline Power seemed to express its opinion of Mr. +Smix by hurling him against a telegraph pole and running wild in the +park until it cooled its passion in the fountain pool. In the language +of Hiram Blenkinsop, the place was badly "smixed up." Yet Mr. Smix was +the object of unmerited criticism. He was like many other men in that +quiet village—slow, deliberate, harmless and good-natured. The action +of his intellect was not at all like that of a gasoline engine. Between +the swiftness of the one and the slowness of the other, there was a wide +zone full of possibilities. The engine had accomplished many things +while Mr. Smix's intellect was getting ready to begin to act.</p> + +<p>In speaking of this adventure, Hiram Blenkinsop made a wise remark: "My +married life learnt me one thing," said he. "If you are thinkin' of +hitchin' up a wild horse with a tame one, be careful that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> the tame one +is the stoutest or it will do him no good."</p> + +<p>The event had its tragic side and whatever Hiram Blenkinsop and other +citizens of questionable taste may have said of it, the historian has no +intention of treating it lightly. Mr. Smix and his neighbor's fence +could be repaired but not the small boy—Robert Emmet Moran, six years +old, the son of the Widow Moran who took in washing. He was in the +nature of a sacrifice to the new god. He became a beloved cripple, known +as the Shepherd of the Birds and altogether the most cheerful person in +the village. His world was a little room on the second floor of his +mother's cottage overlooking the big flower garden of Judge Crooker—his +father having been the gardener and coachman of the Judge. There were in +this room an old pine bureau, a four post bedstead, an armchair by the +window, a small round nickel clock, that sat on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> bureau, a rubber +tree and a very talkative little old tin soldier of the name of Bloggs +who stood erect on a shelf with a gun in his hand and was always looking +out of the window. The day of the tin soldier's arrival the boy had +named him Mr. Bloggs and discovered his unusual qualities of mind and +heart. He was a wise old soldier, it would seem, for he had some sort of +answer for each of the many questions of Bob Moran. Indeed, as Bob knew, +he had seen and suffered much, having traveled to Europe and back with +the Judge's family and been sunk for a year in a frog pond and been +dropped in a jug of molasses, but through it all had kept his look of +inextinguishable courage. The lonely lad talked, now and then, with the +round, nickel clock or the rubber-tree or the pine bureau, but mostly +gave his confidence to the wise and genial Mr. Bloggs. When the spring +arrived the garden, with its birds and flowers, became a source of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> joy +and companionship for the little lad. Sitting by the open window, he +used to talk to Pat Crowley, who was getting the ground ready for +sowing. Later the slow procession of the flowers passed under the boy's +window and greeted him with its fragrance and color.</p> + +<p>But his most intimate friends were the birds. Robins, in the elm tree +just beyond the window, woke him every summer morning. When he made his +way to the casement, with the aid of two ropes which spanned his room, +they came to him lighting on his wrists and hands and clamoring for the +seeds and crumbs which he was wont to feed them. Indeed, little Bob +Moran soon learned the pretty lingo of every feathered tribe that camped +in the garden. He could sound the pan pipe of the robin, the fairy flute +of the oriole, the noisy guitar of the bobolink and the little piccolo +of the song sparrow. Many of these dear friends of his came into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +room and explored the rubber tree and sang in its branches. A colony of +barn swallows lived under the eaves of the old weathered shed on the far +side of the garden. There were many windows, each with a saucy head +looking out of it. Suddenly half a dozen of these merry people would +rush into the air and fill it with their frolic. They were like a lot of +laughing schoolboys skating over invisible hills and hollows.</p> + +<p>With a pair of field-glasses, which Mrs. Crooker had loaned to him, Bob +Moran had learned the nest habits of the whole summer colony in that +wonderful garden. All day he sat by the open window with his work, an +air gun at his side. The robins would shout a warning to Bob when a cat +strolled into that little paradise. Then he would drop his brushes, +seize his gun and presently its missile would go whizzing through the +air, straight against the side of the cat, who, feeling the sting of it, +would bound through the flower beds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> and leap over the fence to avoid +further punishment. Bob had also made an electric search-light out of +his father's old hunting jack and, when those red-breasted policemen +sounded their alarm at night, he was out of bed in a jiffy and sweeping +the tree tops with a broom of light, the jack on his forehead. If he +discovered a pair of eyes, the stinging missiles flew toward them in the +light stream until the intruder was dislodged. Indeed, he was like a +shepherd of old, keeping the wolves from his flock. It was the parish +priest who first called him the Shepherd of the Birds.</p> + +<p>Just opposite his window was the stub of an old pine partly covered with +Virginia creeper. Near the top of it was a round hole and beyond it a +small cavern which held the nest of a pair of flickers. Sometimes the +female sat with her gray head protruding from this tiny oriel window of +hers looking across at Bob. Pat Crowley was in the habit of calling +this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> garden "Moran City," wherein the stub was known as Woodpecker +Tower and the flower bordered path as Fifth Avenue while the widow's +cottage was always referred to as City Hall and the weathered shed as +the tenement district.</p> + +<p class="space-above">What a theater of unpremeditated art was this beautiful, big garden of +the Judge! There were those who felt sorry for Bob Moran but his life +was fuller and happier than theirs. It is doubtful if any of the world's +travelers saw more of its beauty than he.</p> + +<p>He had sugared the window-sill so that he always had company—bees and +wasps and butterflies. The latter had interested him since the Judge had +called them "stray thoughts of God." Their white, yellow and blue wings +were always flashing in the warm sunlit spaces of the garden. He loved +the chorus of an August night and often sat by his window <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>listening to +the songs of the tree crickets and katydids and seeing the innumerable +firefly lanterns flashing among the flowers.</p> + +<p>His work was painting scenes in the garden, especially bird tricks and +attitudes. For this, he was indebted to Susan Baker, who had given him +paints and brushes and taught him how to use them, and to an unusual +aptitude for drawing.</p> + +<p>One day Mrs. Baker brought her daughter Pauline with her—a pretty +blue-eyed girl with curly blonde hair, four years older than Bob, who +was thirteen when his painting began. The Shepherd looked at her with an +exclamation of delight; until then he had never seen a beautiful young +maiden. Homely, ill-clad daughters of the working folk had come to his +room with field flowers now and then, but no one like Pauline. He felt +her hair and looked wistfully into her face and said that she was like +pink and white and yellow roses. She was a discovery—a new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> kind of +human being. Often he thought of her as he sat looking out of the window +and often he dreamed of her at night.</p> + +<p>The little Shepherd of the Birds was not quite a boy. He was a spirit +untouched by any evil thought, unbroken to lures and thorny ways. He +still had the heart of childhood and saw only the beauty of the world. +He was like the flowers and birds of the garden, strangely fair and +winsome, with silken, dark hair curling about his brows. He had large, +clear, brown eyes, a mouth delicate as a girl's and teeth very white and +shapely. The Bakers had lifted the boundaries of his life and extended +his vision. He found a new joy in studying flower forms and in imitating +their colors on canvas.</p> + +<p>Now, indeed, there was not a happier lad in the village than this young +prisoner in one of the two upper bedrooms in the small cottage of the +Widow Moran. True, he had moments of longing for his lost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> freedom when +he heard the shouts of the boys in the street and their feet hurrying by +on the sidewalk. The steadfast and courageous Mr. Bloggs had said: "I +guess we have just as much fun as they do, after all. Look at them roses."</p> + +<p>One evening, as his mother sat reading an old love tale to the boy, he +stopped her.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "I love Pauline. Do you think it would be all right +for me to tell her?"</p> + +<p>"Never a word," said the good woman. "Ye see it's this way, my little +son, ye're like a priest an' it's not the right thing for a priest."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be a priest," said he impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut, my laddie boy! It's for God to say an' for us to obey," she answered.</p> + +<p>When the widow had gone to her room for the night and Bob was thinking +it over, Mr. Bloggs remarked that in his opinion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> they should keep up +their courage for it was a very grand thing to be a priest after all.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Winters he spent deep in books out of Judge Crooker's library and +tending his potted plants and painting them and the thick blanket of +snow in the garden. Among the happiest moments of his life were those +that followed his mother's return from the post-office with <i>The +Bingville Sentinel</i>. Then, as the widow was wont to say, he was like a +dog with a bone. To him, Bingville was like Rome in the ancient world or +London in the British Empire. All roads led to Bingville. The <i>Sentinel</i> +was in the nature of a habit. One issue was like unto another—as like +as "two chaws off the same plug of tobaccer," a citizen had once said. +Its editor performed his jokes with a wink and a nudge as if he were +saying, "I will now touch the light guitar." Anything important in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> the +<i>Sentinel</i> would have been as misplaced as a cannon in a meeting-house. +Every week it caught the toy balloons of gossip, the thistledown events +which were floating in the still air of Bingville. The <i>Sentinel</i> was a +dissipation as enjoyable and as inexplicable as tea. It contained +portraits of leading citizens, accounts of sundry goings and comings, +and teas and parties and student frolics.</p> + +<p>To the little Shepherd, Bingville was the capital of the world and Mr. +J. Patterson Bing, the first citizen of Bingville, who employed eleven +hundred men and had four automobiles, was a gigantic figure whose shadow +stretched across the earth. There were two people much in his thoughts +and dreams and conversation—Pauline Baker and J. Patterson Bing. Often +there were articles in the <i>Sentinel</i> regarding the great enterprises of +Mr. Bing and the social successes of the Bing family in the metropolis. +These he read with hungry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> interest. His favorite heroes were George +Washington, St. Francis and J. Patterson Bing. As between the three he +would, secretly, have voted for Mr. Bing. Indeed, he and his friends and +intimates—Mr. Bloggs and the rubber tree and the little pine bureau and +the round nickel clock—had all voted for Mr. Bing. But he had never +seen the great man.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bing sent Mrs. Moran a check every Christmas and, now and then, some +little gift to Bob, but his charities were strictly impersonal. He used +to say that while he was glad to help the poor and the sick, he hadn't +time to call on them. Once, Mrs. Bing promised the widow that she and +her husband would go to see Bob on Christmas Day. The little Shepherd +asked his mother to hang his best pictures on the walls and to decorate +them with sprigs of cedar. He put on his starched shirt and collar and +silk tie and a new black coat which his mother had given him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> The +Christmas bells never rang so merrily.</p> + +<p class="space-above">The great white bird in the Congregational Church tower—that being +Bob's thought of it—flew out across the valley with its tidings of good will.</p> + +<p>To the little Shepherd it seemed to say: +"Bing—Bing—Bing—Bing—Bing—Bing! Com-ing, Com-ing, Com-ing!!"</p> + +<p>Many of the friends of his mother—mostly poor folk of the parish who +worked in the mill—came with simple gifts and happy greetings. There +were those among them who thought it a blessing to look upon the sweet +face of Bob and to hear his merry laughter over some playful bit of +gossip and Judge Crooker said that they were quite right about it. Mr. +and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing were never to feel this blessing. The +Shepherd of the Birds waited in vain for them that Christmas Day. Mrs. +Bing sent a letter of kindly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> greeting and a twenty-dollar gold piece +and explained that her husband was not feeling "quite up to the mark," +which was true.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going," he said decisively, when Mrs. Bing brought the matter +up as he was smoking in the library an hour or so after dinner. "No +cripples and misery in mine at present, thank you! I wouldn't get over +it for a week. Just send them our best wishes and a twenty-dollar gold piece."</p> + +<p>There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes when his mother helped him into +his night clothes that evening.</p> + +<p>"I hate that twenty-dollar gold piece!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Laddie boy! Why should ye be sayin' that?"</p> + +<p>The shiny piece of metal was lying on the window-sill. She took it in her hand.</p> + +<p>"It's as cold as a snow-bank!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p><p>"I don't want to touch it! I'm shivering now," said the Shepherd. "Put +it away in the drawer. It makes me sick. It cheated me out of seeing Mr. Bing."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER TWO</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">The Founding of the Phyllistines</span></p> + +<p>One little word largely accounted for the success of J. Patterson Bing. +It was the word "no." It saved him in moments which would have been full +of peril for other men. He had never made a bad investment because he +knew how and when to say "no." It fell from his lips so sharply and +decisively that he lost little time in the consideration of doubtful +enterprises. Sometimes it fell heavily and left a wound, for which Mr. +Bing thought himself in no way responsible. There was really a lot of +good-will in him. He didn't mean to hurt any one.</p> + +<p>"Time is a thing of great value and what's the use of wasting it in idle +palaver?" he used to say.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p><p>One day, Hiram Blenkinsop, who was just recovering from a spree, met +Mr. Bing at the corner of Main and School Streets and asked him for the +loan of a dollar.</p> + +<p>"<i>No sir!</i>" said Mr. J. Patterson Bing, and the words sounded like two +whacks of a hammer on a nail. "No <i>sir</i>," he repeated, the second whack +being now the more emphatic. "I don't lend money to people who make a +bad use of it."</p> + +<p>"Can you give me work?" asked the unfortunate drunkard.</p> + +<p>"No! But if you were a hired girl, I'd consider the matter."</p> + +<p>Some people who overheard the words laughed loudly. Poor Blenkinsop made +no reply but he considered the words an insult to his manhood in spite +of the fact that he hadn't any manhood to speak of. At least, there was +not enough of it to stand up and be insulted—that is sure. After that +he was always racking his brain for something mean to say about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> J. +Patterson Bing. Bing was a cold-blooded fish. Bing was a scrimper and a +grinder. If the truth were known about Bing he wouldn't be holding his +head so high. Judas Iscariot and J. Patterson Bing were off the same +bush. These were some of the things that Blenkinsop scattered abroad and +they were, to say the least of them, extremely unjust. Mr. Bing's +innocent remark touching Mr. Blenkinsop's misfortune in not being a +hired girl, arose naturally out of social conditions in the village. +Furthermore, it is quite likely that every one in Bingville, including +those impersonal creatures known as Law and Order, would have been much +happier if some magician could have turned Mr. Blenkinsop into a hired +girl and have made him a life member of "the Dish Water Aristocracy," as +Judge Crooker was wont to call it.</p> + +<p>The community of Bingville was noted for its simplicity and good sense. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>Servants were unknown in this village of three thousand people. It had +lawyers and doctors and professors and merchants—some of whom were +deservedly well known—and J. Patterson Bing, the owner of the pulp +mill, celebrated for his riches; but one could almost say that its most +sought for and popular folk were its hired girls. They were few and +sniffy. They exercised care and discretion in the choice of their +employers. They regulated the diet of the said employers and the +frequency and quality of their entertainments. If it could be said that +there was an aristocracy in the place they were it. First, among the +Who's Who of Bingville, were the Gilligan sisters who worked in the big +brick house of Judge Crooker; another was Mrs. Pat Collins, seventy-two +years of age, who presided in the kitchen of the Reverend Otis +Singleton; the two others were Susan Crowder, a woman of sixty, and a +red-headed girl with one eye, of the name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> of Featherstraw, both of whom +served the opulent Bings. Some of these hired girls ate with the +family—save on special occasions when city folk were present. Mrs. +Collins and the Gilligans seemed to enjoy this privilege but Susan +Crowder, having had an ancestor who had fought in the Revolutionary War, +couldn't stand it, and Martha Featherstraw preferred to eat in the +kitchen. Indeed there was some warrant for this remarkable situation. +The Gilligan sisters had a brother who was a Magistrate in a large city +and Mrs. Collins had a son who was a successful and popular butcher in +the growing city of Hazelmead.</p> + +<p>That part of the village known as Irishtown and a settlement of Poles +and Italians furnished the man help in the mill, and its sons were also +seen more or less in the fields and gardens. Ambition and Education had +been working in the minds of the young in and about Bingville for two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +generations. The sons and daughters of farmers and ditch-diggers had +read Virgil and Horace and plodded into the mysteries of higher +mathematics. The best of them had gone into learned professions; others +had enlisted in the business of great cities; still others had gone in +for teaching or stenography.</p> + +<p>Their success had wrought a curious devastation in the village and +countryside. The young moved out heading for the paths of glory. Many a +sturdy, stupid person who might have made an excellent plumber, or +carpenter, or farmer, or cook, armed with a university degree and a +sense of superiority, had gone forth in quest of fame and fortune +prepared for nothing in particular and achieving firm possession of it. +Somehow the elective system had enabled them "to get by" in a state of +mind that resembled the Mojave Desert. If they did not care for Latin or +mathematics they could take a course in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>Hierology or in The Taming of +the Wild Chickadee or in some such easy skating. Bingville was like many +places. The young had fled from the irksome tasks which had roughened +the hands and bent the backs of their parents. That, briefly, accounts +for the fewness and the sniffiness above referred to.</p> + +<p>Early in 1917, the village was shaken by alarming and astonishing news. +True, the sinking of the <i>Lusitania</i> and our own enlistment in the World +War and the German successes on the Russian frontier had, in a way, +prepared the heart and intellect of Bingville for shocking events. +Still, these disasters had been remote. The fact that the Gilligan +sisters had left the Crookers and accepted an offer of one hundred and +fifty dollars a month from the wealthy Nixons of Hazelmead was an event +close to the footlights, so to speak. It caused the news of battles to +take its rightful place in the distant background. Men talked of this +event in stores and on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> street corners; it was the subject of +conversation in sewing circles and the Philomathian Literary Club. That +day, the Bings whispered about it at the dinner table between courses +until Susan Crowder sent in a summons by Martha Featherstraw with the +apple pie. She would be glad to see Mrs. J. Patterson Bing in the +kitchen immediately after dinner. There was a moment of silence in the +midst of which Mr. Bing winked knowingly at his wife, who turned pale as +she put down her pie fork with a look of determination and rose and went +into the kitchen. Mrs. Crowder regretted that she and Martha would have +to look for another family unless their wages were raised from one +hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars a month.</p> + +<p>"But, Susan, we all made an agreement for a year," said Mrs. Bing.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Crowder was sorry but she and Martha could not make out on the +wages<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> they were getting—everything cost so much. If Mary Gilligan, who +couldn't cook, was worth a hundred dollars a month Mrs. Crowder +considered herself cheap at twice that figure.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Mrs. Bing, in her anger, was inclined to revolt, but Mr. Bing settled +the matter by submitting to the tyranny of Susan. With Phyllis and three +of her young friends coming from school and a party in prospect, there +was nothing else to do.</p> + +<p>Maggie Collins, who was too old and too firmly rooted in the village to +leave it, was satisfied with a raise of ten dollars a month. Even then +she received a third of the minister's salary. "His wife being a swell +leddy who had no time for wurruk, sure the boy was no sooner married +than he yelled for help," as Maggie was wont to say.</p> + +<p>All this had a decided effect on the economic life of the village. +Indeed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> Hiram Blenkinsop, the village drunkard, who attended to the +lawns and gardens for a number of people, demanded an increase of a +dollar a day in his wages on account of the high cost of living, +although one would say that its effect upon him could not have been +serious. For years the historic figure of Blenkinsop had been the +destination and repository of the cast-off clothing and the worn and +shapeless shoes of the leading citizens. For a decade, the venerable +derby hat, which once belonged to Judge Crooker, had survived all the +incidents of his adventurous career. He was, indeed, as replete with +suggestive memories as the graveyard to which he was wont to repair for +rest and recuperation in summer weather. There, in the shade of a locust +tree hard by the wall, he was often discovered with his faithful dog +Christmas—a yellow, mongrel, good-natured cur—lying beside him, and +the historic derby hat in his hand. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> had a persevering pride in that +hat. Mr. Blenkinsop showed a surprising and commendable industry under +the stimulation of increased pay. He worked hard for a month, then +celebrated his prosperity with a night of such noisy, riotous joy that +he landed in the lockup with a black eye and a broken nose and an empty +pocket. As usual, the dog Christmas went with him.</p> + +<p>When there was a loud yell in the streets at night Judge Crooker used to +say, "It's Hiram again! The poor fellow is out a-Hiraming."</p> + +<p>William Snodgrass, the carpenter, gave much thought and reflection to +the good fortune of the Gilligan girls. If a hired girl could earn +twenty-five dollars a week and her board, a skilled mechanic who had to +board himself ought to earn at least fifty. So he put up his prices. +Israel Sneed, the plumber, raised his scale to correspond with that of +the carpenter. The prices of the butcher and grocer kept pace<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> with the +rise of wages. A period of unexampled prosperity set in.</p> + +<p>Some time before, the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice that +its services would no longer be required. It had been an industrious and +faithful Old Spirit. The new generation did not intend to be hard on it. +They were willing to give it a comfortable home as long as it lived. Its +home was to be a beautiful and venerable asylum called The Past. There +it was to have nothing to do but to sit around and weep and talk of +bygone days. The Old Spirit rebelled. It refused to abandon its +appointed tasks.</p> + +<p>The notice had been given soon after the new theater was opened in the +Sneed Block, and the endless flood of moving lights and shadows began to +fall on its screen. The low-born, purblind intellects of Bohemian New +York began to pour their lewd fancies into this great stream that flowed +through every city, town and village in the land.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> They had no more +compunction in the matter than a rattlesnake when it swallows a rabbit. +To them, there were only two great, bare facts in life—male and female. +The males, in their vulgar parlance, were either "wise guys" or +"suckers"! The females were all "my dears."</p> + +<p>Much of this mental sewage smelled to heaven. But it paid. It was cheap +and entertaining. It relieved the tedium of small-town life.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Judge Crooker was in the little theater the evening that the Old Spirit +of Bingville received notice to quit. The sons and daughters and even +the young children of the best families in the village were there. +Scenes from the shady side of the great cities, bar-room adventures with +pugilists and porcelain-faced women, the thin-ice skating of illicit +love succeeded one another on the screen. The tender souls of the young +received the impression that life in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> the great world was mostly +drunkenness, violence, lust, and Great White Waywardness of one kind or +another.</p> + +<p>Judge Crooker shook his head and his fist as he went out and expressed +his view to Phyllis and her mother in the lobby. Going home, they called +him an old prude. The knowledge that every night this false instruction +was going on in the Sneed Block filled the good man with sorrow and +apprehension. He complained to Mr. Leak, the manager, who said that he +would like to give clean shows, but that he had to take what was sent +him.</p> + +<p>Soon a curious thing happened to the family of Mr. J. Patterson Bing. It +acquired a new god—one that began, as the reader will have observed, +with a small "g." He was a boneless, India-rubber, obedient little god. +For years the need of one like that had been growing in the Bing family. +Since he had become a millionaire, Mr. Bing had found it necessary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> to +spend a good deal of time and considerable money in New York. Certain of +his banker friends in the metropolis had introduced him to the joys of +the Great White Way and the card room of the Golden Age Club. Always he +had been ill and disgruntled for a week after his return to the homely +realities of Bingville. The shrewd intuitions of Mrs. Bing alarmed her. +So Phyllis and John were packed off to private schools so that the good +woman would be free to look after the imperiled welfare of the lamb of +her flock—the great J. Patterson. She was really worried about him. +After that, she always went with him to the city. She was pleased and +delighted with the luxury of the Waldorf-Astoria, the costumes, the +dinner parties, the theaters, the suppers, the cabaret shows. The latter +shocked her a little at first.</p> + +<p class="center">* * * * *</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><p>They went out to a great country house, near the city, to spend a +week-end. There was a dinner party on Saturday night. One of the ladies +got very tipsy and was taken up-stairs. The others repaired to the music +room to drink their coffee and smoke. Mrs. Bing tried a cigarette and +got along with it very well. Then there was an hour of heart to heart, +central European dancing while the older men sat down for a night of +bridge in the library. Sunday morning, the young people rode to hounds +across country while the bridge party continued its session in the +library. It was not exactly a restful week-end. J. Patterson and his +wife went to bed, as soon as their grips were unpacked, on their return +to the city and spent the day there with aching heads.</p> + +<p>While they were eating dinner that night, the cocktail remarked with the +lips of Mrs. Bing: "I'm getting tired of Bingville."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, of course, it's a picayune place," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>"It's so provincial!" the lady exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Soon, the oysters and the entree having subdued the cocktail, she +ventured: "But it does seem to me that New York is an awfully wicked +place."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Godless," she answered. "The drinking and gambling and those dances."</p> + +<p>"That's because you've been brought up in a seven-by-nine Puritan +village," J. Patterson growled very decisively. "Why shouldn't people +enjoy themselves? We have trouble enough at best. God gave us bodies to +get what enjoyment we could out of them. It's about the only thing we're +sure of, anyhow."</p> + +<p>It was a principle of Mrs. Bing to agree with J. Patterson. And why not? +He was a great man. She knew it as well as he did and that was knowing +it very well indeed. His judgment about many things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> had been +right—triumphantly and overwhelmingly right. Besides, it was the only +comfortable thing to do. She had been the type of woman who reads those +weird articles written by grass widows on "How to Keep the Love of a +Husband."</p> + +<p>So it happened that the Bings began to construct a little god to suit +their own tastes and habits—one about as tractable as a toy dog. They +withdrew from the Congregational Church and had house parties for sundry +visitors from New York and Hazelmead every week-end.</p> + +<p>Phyllis returned from school in May with a spirit quite in harmony with +that of her parents. She had spent the holidays at the home of a friend +in New York and had learned to love the new dances and to smoke, +although that was a matter to be mentioned only in a whisper and not in +the presence of her parents. She was a tall, handsome girl with blue +eyes, blonde hair, perfect teeth and complexion, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>almost a perfect +figure. Here she was, at last, brought up to the point of a coming-out +party.</p> + +<p class="space-above">It had been a curious and rather unfortunate bringing up that the girl +had suffered. She had been the pride of a mother's heart and the +occupier of that position is apt to achieve great success in supplying a +mother's friends with topics of conversation. Phyllis had been flattered +and indulged. Mrs. Bing was entitled to much credit, having been born of +poor and illiterate parents in a small village on the Hudson a little +south of the Capital. She was pretty and grew up with a longing for +better things. J. Patterson got her at a bargain in an Albany department +store where she stood all day behind the notion counter. "At a bargain," +it must be said, because, on the whole, there were higher values in her +personality than in his. She had acquired that common Bertha Clay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> habit +of associating with noble lords who lived in cheap romances and had a +taste for poor but honest girls. The practical J. Patterson hated that +kind of thing. But his wife kept a supply of these highly flavored +novels hidden in the little flat and spent her leisure reading them.</p> + +<p>One of the earliest recollections of Phyllis was the caution, "Don't +tell father!" received on the hiding of a book. Mrs. Bing had bought, in +those weak, pinching times of poverty, extravagant things for herself +and the girl and gone in debt for them. Collectors had come at times to +get their money with impatient demands.</p> + +<p>The Bings were living in a city those days. Phyllis had been a witness +of many interviews of the kind. All along the way of life, she had heard +the oft-repeated injunction, "Don't tell father!" She came to regard men +as creatures who were not to be told. When Phyllis got into a scrape<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> at +school, on account of a little flirtation, and Mrs. Bing went to see +about it, the two agreed on keeping the salient facts from father.</p> + +<p class="space-above">A dressmaker came after Phyllis arrived to get her ready for the party. +The afternoon of the event, J. Patterson brought the young people of the +best families of Hazelmead by special train to Bingville. The Crookers, +the Witherills, the Ameses, the Renfrews and a number of the most +popular students in the Normal School were also invited. They had the +famous string band from Hazelmead to furnish music, and Smith—an +impressive young English butler whom they had brought from New York on +their last return.</p> + +<p>Phyllis wore a gown which Judge Crooker described as "the limit." He +said to his wife after they had gone home: "Why, there was nothing on +her back but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> a pair of velvet gallowses and when I stood in front of +her my eyes were seared."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bing calls it high art," said the Judge's wife.</p> + +<p>"I call it down pretty close to see level," said the Judge. "When she +clinched with those young fellers and went wrestling around the room she +reminded me of a grape-vine growing on a tree."</p> + +<p>This reaction on the intellect of the Judge quite satisfies the need of +the historian. Again the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice. It +is only necessary to add that the punch was strong and the house party +over the week-end made a good deal of talk by fast driving around the +country in motor-cars on Sunday and by loud singing in boats on the +river and noisy play on the tennis courts. That kind of thing was new to +Bingville.</p> + +<p>When it was all over, Phyllis told her mother that Gordon King—one of +the young men—had insulted her when they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> had been out in a boat +together on Sunday. Mrs. Bing was shocked. They had a talk about it up +in Phyllis' bedroom at the end of which Mrs. Bing repeated that familiar +injunction, "Don't tell father!"</p> + +<p>It was soon after the party that Mr. J. Patterson Bing sent for William +Snodgrass, the carpenter. He wanted an extension built on his house +containing new bedrooms and baths and a large sun parlor. The estimate +of Snodgrass was unexpectedly large. In explanation of the fact the +latter said: "We work only eight hours a day now. The men demand it and +they must be taken to and from their work. They can get all they want to +do on those terms."</p> + +<p>"And they demand seven dollars and a half a day at that? It's big pay +for an ordinary mechanic," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>"There's plenty of work to do," Snodgrass answered. "I don't care the +snap o' my finger whether I get your job or not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> I'm forty thousand +ahead o' the game and I feel like layin' off for the summer and takin' a +rest."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I could get you to work overtime and hurry the job through if +I'm willing to pay for it?" the millionaire inquired.</p> + +<p>"The rate would be time an' a half for work done after the eight hours +are up, but it's hard to get any one to work overtime these days."</p> + +<p>"Well, go ahead and get all the work you can out of these plutocrats of +the saw and hammer. I'll pay the bills," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>The terms created a record in Bingville. But, as Mr. Bing had agreed to +them, in his haste, they were established.</p> + +<p>Israel Sneed, the plumber, was working with his men on a job at +Millerton, but he took on the plumbing for the Bing house extension, at +prices above all precedent, to be done as soon as he could get to it on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +his return. The butcher and grocer had improved the opportunity to raise +their prices for Bing never questioned a bill. He set the pace. Prices +stuck where he put the peg. So, unwittingly, the millionaire had created +conditions of life that were extremely difficult.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Since prices had gone up the village of Bingville had been running down +at the heel. It had been at best and, in the main, a rather shiftless +and inert community. The weather had worn the paint off many houses +before their owners had seen the need of repainting. Not until the rain +drummed on the floor was the average, drowsy intellect of Bingville +roused to action on the roof. It must be said, however, that every one +was busy, every day, except Hiram Blenkinsop, who often indulged in +<i>ante mortem</i> slumbers in the graveyard or went out on the river with +his dog Christmas, his bottle and his fishing rod.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> The people were +selling goods, or teaming, or working in the two hotels or the machine +shop or the electric light plant or the mill, or keeping the hay off the +lawns, or building, or teaching in the schools. The gardens were +suffering unusual neglect that season—their owners being so profitably +engaged in other work—and the lazy foreigners demanded four dollars and +a half a day and had to be watched and sworn at and instructed, and not +every one had the versatility for this task. The gardens were largely +dependent on the spasmodic industry of schoolboys and old men. So it +will be seen that the work of the community had little effect on the +supply of things necessary to life. Indeed, a general habit of +extravagance had been growing in the village. People were not so careful +of food, fuel and clothing as they had been.</p> + +<p>It was a wet summer in Bingville. The day after the rains began, +Professor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>Renfrew called at the house of the sniffy Snodgrass—the +nouveau riche and opulent carpenter. He sat reading the morning paper +with a new diamond ring on the third finger of his left hand.</p> + +<p>"My roof is leaking badly and it will have to be fixed at once," the +Professor announced.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, I can't do a thing for you now," said Snodgrass. "I've got +so much to do, I don't know which way to turn."</p> + +<p>"But you're not working this rainy day, are you?" the Professor asked.</p> + +<p>"No, and I don't propose to work in this rain for anybody; if I did I'd +fix my own roof. To tell you the truth, I don't have to work at all! I +calculate that I've got all the money I need. So, when it rains, I +intend to rest and get acquainted with my family."</p> + +<p>He was firm but in no way disagreeable about it.</p> + +<p>Some of the half-dozen men who, in like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> trouble, called on him for help +that day were inclined to resent his declaration of independence and his +devotion to leisure, but really Mr. Snodgrass was well within his +rights.</p> + +<p>It was a more serious matter when Judge Crocker's plumbing leaked and +flooded his kitchen and cellar. Israel Sneed was in Millerton every day +and working overtime more or less. He refused to put a hand on the +Judge's pipes. He was sorry but he couldn't make a horse of himself and +even if he could the time was past when he had to do it. Judge Crooker +brought a plumber from Hazelmead, sixty miles in a motor-car, and had to +pay seventy dollars for time, labor and materials. This mechanic +declared that there was too much pressure on the pipes, a judgment of +whose accuracy we have abundant proof in the history of the next week or +so. Never had there been such a bursting of pipes and flooding of +cellars. That little lake up in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> the hills which supplied the water of +Bingville seemed to have got the common notion of moving into the +village. A dozen cellars were turned into swimming pools. Modern +improvements were going out of commission. A committee went to Hazelmead +and after a week's pleading got a pair of young and inexperienced +plumbers to come to Bingville.</p> + +<p>"They must 'a' plugged 'em with gold," said Deacon Hosley, when the bill +arrived.</p> + +<p>New leaks were forthcoming, but Hiram Blenkinsop conceived the notion of +stopping them with poultices of white lead and bandages of canvas bound +with fine wire. They dripped and many of the pipes of Bingville looked +as if they were suffering from sprained ankles and sore throats, but +Hiram had prevented another deluge.</p> + +<p>The price of coal had driven the people of Bingville back to the woods +for fuel. The old wood stoves had been cleaned and set up in the +sitting-rooms and kitchens.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> The saving had been considerable. Now, so +many men were putting in their time on the house and grounds of J. +Patterson Bing and the new factory at Millerton that the local wood +dealer found it impossible to get the help he needed. Not twenty-five +per cent. of the orders on his books could be filled.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bing's house was finished in October. Then Snodgrass announced that +he was going to take it easy as became a man of his opulence. He had +bought a farm and would only work three days a week at his trade. Sneed +had also bought a farm and acquired a feeling of opulence. He was going +to work when he felt like it. Before he tackled any leaking pipes he +proposed to make a few leaks in the deer up in the Adirondacks. So the +roofs and the plumbing had to wait.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Bingville was in sore trouble. The ancient roof of its +respectability had begun to leak. The beams and rafters in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> the house of +its spirit were rotting away. Many of the inhabitants of the latter +regarded the great J. Patterson Bing with a kind of awe—like that of +the Shepherd of the Birds. He was the leading citizen. He had done +things. When J. Patterson Bing decided that rest or fresh air was better +for him than bad music and dull prayers and sermons, and that God was +really not much concerned as to whether a man sat in a pew or a rocking +chair or a motor-car on Sunday, he was, probably, quite right. Really, +it was a matter much more important to Mr. Bing and his neighbors than +to God. Indeed, it is not at all likely that the ruler of the universe +was worrying much about them. But when J. Patterson Bing decided in +favor of fun and fresh air, R. Purdy—druggist—made a like decision, +and R. Purdy was a man of commanding influence in his own home. His +daughters, Mabel and Gladys, and his son, Richard, Jr., would not have +been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>surprised to see him elected President of the United States, some +day, believing that that honor was only for the truly great. Soon Mrs. +Purdy stood alone—a hopeless minority of one—in the household. By much +pleading and nagging, she kept the children in the fold of the church +for a time but, by and by, grew weary of the effort. She was converted +by nervous exhaustion to the picnic Sunday. Her conscience worried her. +She really felt sorry for God and made sundry remarks calculated to +appease and comfort Him.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Now all this would seem to have been in itself a matter of slight +importance. But Orville Gates, the superintendent of the mill, and John +Seaver, attorney at law, and Robert Brown, the grocer, and Pendleton +Ames, who kept the book and stationery store, and William Ferguson, the +clothier, and Darwin Sill, the butcher, and Snodgrass, the carpenter, +and others had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> joined the picnic caravan led by the millionaire. These +good people would not have admitted it, but the truth is J. Patterson +Bing held them all in the hollow of his hand. Nobody outside his own +family had any affection for him. Outwardly, he was as hard as nails. +But he owned the bank and controlled credits and was an extravagant +buyer. He had given freely for the improvement of the village and the +neighboring city of Hazelmead. His family was the court circle of +Bingville. Consciously or unconsciously, the best people imitated the +Bings.</p> + +<p>Judge Crooker was, one day, discussing with a friend the social +conditions of Bingville. In regard to picnic Sundays he made this +remark: "George Meredith once wrote to his son that he would need the +help of religion to get safely beyond the stormy passions of youth. It +is very true!"</p> + +<p>The historian was reminded of this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>saying by the undertow of the life +currents in Bingville. The dances in the Normal School and in the homes +of the well-to-do were imitations of the great party at J. Patterson +Bing's. The costumes of certain of the young ladies were, to quote a +clause from the posters of the Messrs. Barnum and Bailey, still clinging +to the bill-board: "the most daring and amazing bareback performances in +the history of the circus ring." Phyllis Bing, the unrivaled +metropolitan performer, set the pace. It was distinctly too rapid for +her followers. If one may say it kindly, she was as cold and heartless +and beautiful in her act as a piece of bronze or Italian marble. She was +not ashamed of herself. She did it so easily and gracefully and +unconsciously and obligingly, so to speak, as if her license had never +been questioned. It was not so with Vivian Mead and Frances Smith and +Pauline Baker. They limped and struggled in their efforts to keep up. To +begin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> with, the art of their modiste had been fussy, imitative and +timid. It lacked the master touch. Their spirits were also improperly +prepared for such publicity. They blushed and looked apologies and were +visibly uncomfortable when they entered the dance-hall.</p> + +<p class="space-above">On this point, Judge Crooker delivered a famous opinion. It was: "I feel +sorry for those girls but their mothers ought to be spanked!"</p> + +<p>There is evidence that this sentence of his was carried out in due time +and in a most effectual manner. But the works of art which these mothers +had put on exhibition at the Normal School sprang into overwhelming +popularity with the young men and their cards were quickly filled. In +half an hour, they had ceased to blush. Their eyes no longer spoke +apologies. They were new women. Their initiation was complete. They had +become in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> language of Judge Crooker, "perfect Phyllistines!"</p> + +<p>The dancing tried to be as naughty as that remarkable Phyllistinian +pastime at the mansion of the Bings and succeeded well, if not +handsomely. The modern dances and dress were now definitely established +in Bingville.</p> + +<p>Just before the holidays, the extension of the ample home of the +millionaire was decorated, furnished, and ready to be shown. Mrs. Bing +and Phyllis who had been having a fling in New York came home for the +holidays. John arrived the next day from the great Padelford School to +be with the family through the winter recess. Mrs. Bing gave a tea to +the ladies of Bingville. She wanted them to see the improvements and +become aware of her good will. She had thought of an evening party, but +there were many men in the village whom she didn't care to have in her +house. So it became a tea.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>The women talked of leaking roofs and water pipes and useless bathrooms +and outrageous costs. Phyllis sat in the Palm Room with the village +girls. It happened that they talked mainly about their fathers. Some had +complained of paternal strictness.</p> + +<p>"Men are terrible! They make so much trouble," said Frances Smith. "It +seems as if they hated to see anybody have a good time."</p> + +<p>"Mother and I do as we please and say nothing," said Phyllis. "We never +tell father anything. Men don't understand."</p> + +<p>Some of the girls smiled and looked into one another's eyes.</p> + +<p>There had been a curious undercurrent in the party. It did not break the +surface of the stream until Mrs. Bing asked Mrs. Pendleton Ames, "Where +is Susan Baker?"</p> + +<p>A silence fell upon the group around her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ames leaned toward Mrs. Bing and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> whispered, "Haven't you heard the +news?"</p> + +<p>"No. I had to scold Susan Crowder and Martha Featherstraw as soon as I +got here for neglecting their work and they've hardly spoken to me +since. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Pauline Baker has run away with a strange young man," Mrs. Ames +whispered.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing threw up both hands, opened her mouth and looked toward the +ceiling.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it," she gasped.</p> + +<p>"It's a fact. Susan told me. Mr. Baker doesn't know the truth yet and +she doesn't dare to tell him. She's scared stiff. Pauline went over to +Hazelmead last week to visit Emma Stacy against his wishes. She met the +young man at a dance. Susan got a letter from Pauline last night making +a clean breast of the matter. They are married and stopping at a hotel +in New York."</p> + +<p>"My lord! I should think she <i>would</i> be scared stiff," said Mrs. Bing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>"I think there is a good reason for the stiffness of Susan," said Mrs. +Singleton, the wife of the Congregational minister. "We all know that +Mr. Baker objected to these modern dances and the way that Pauline +dressed. He used to say that it was walking on the edge of a precipice."</p> + +<p>There was a breath of silence in which one could hear only a faint +rustle like the stir of some invisible spirit.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing sighed. "He may be all right," she said in a low, calm voice.</p> + +<p>"But the indications are not favorable," Mrs. Singleton remarked.</p> + +<p>The gossip ceased abruptly, for the girls were coming out of the Palm +Room.</p> + +<p>The next morning, Mrs. Bing went to see Susan Baker to offer sympathy +and a helping hand. Mamie Bing was, after all, a good-hearted woman. By +this time, Mr. Baker had been told. He had kicked a hole in the long +looking-glass in Pauline's bedroom and flung a pot of rouge through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the +window and scattered talcum powder all over the place and torn a new +silk gown into rags and burnt it in the kitchen stove and left the house +slamming the door behind him. Susan had gone to bed and he had probably +gone to the club or somewhere. Perhaps he would commit suicide. Of all +this, it is enough to say that for some hours there was abundant +occupation for the tender sympathies of Mrs. J. Patterson Bing. Before +she left, Mr. Baker had returned for luncheon and seemed to be quite +calm and self-possessed when he greeted her in the hall below stairs.</p> + +<p>On entering her home, about one o'clock, Mrs. Bing received a letter +from the hand of Martha.</p> + +<p>"Phyllis told me to give you this as soon as you returned," said the +girl.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" Mrs. Bing whispered to herself, as she tore open +the envelope.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><p>Her face grew pale and her hands trembled as she read the letter.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Dearest Mamma</i>," it began. "I am going to Hazelmead for luncheon +with Gordon King. I couldn't ask you because I didn't know where +you were. We have waited an hour. I am sure you wouldn't want me to +miss having a lovely time. I shall be home before five. Don't tell +father! He hates Gordon so.</p> + +<p class="right">"<i>Phyllis.</i>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>"The boy who insulted her! My God!" Mrs. Bing exclaimed in a whisper. +She hurried to the door of the butler's pantry. Indignation was in the +sound of her footsteps.</p> + +<p>"Martha!" she called.</p> + +<p>Martha came.</p> + +<p>"Tell James to bring the big car at once. I'm going to Hazelmead."</p> + +<p>"Without luncheon?" the girl asked.</p> + +<p>"Just give me a sandwich and I'll eat it in my hand."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>"I want you to hurry," she said to James as she entered the glowing +limousine with the sandwich half consumed.</p> + +<p>They drove at top speed over the smooth, state road to the mill city. At +half past two, Mrs. Bing alighted at the fashionable Gray Goose Inn +where the best people had their luncheon parties. She found Phyllis and +Gordon in a cozy alcove, sipping cognac and smoking cigarettes, with an +ice tub and a champagne bottle beside them. To tell the whole truth, it +was a timely arrival. Phyllis, with no notion of the peril of it, was +indeed having "a lovely time"—the time of her young life, in fact. For +half an hour, she had been hanging on the edge of the giddy precipice of +elopement. She was within one sip of a decision to let go.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing was admirably cool. In her manner there was little to indicate +that she had seen the unusual and highly festive accessories. She sat +down beside them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> and said, "My dear, I was very lonely and thought I +would come and look you up. Is your luncheon finished?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Then let us go and get into the car. We'll drop Mr. King at his home."</p> + +<p>When at last they were seated in the limousine, the angry lady lifted +the brakes in a way of speaking.</p> + +<p>"I am astonished that you would go to luncheon with this young man who +has insulted you," she said.</p> + +<p>Phyllis began to cry.</p> + +<p>Turning to young Gordon King, the indignant lady added: "I think you are +a disreputable boy. You must never come to my house again—<i>never</i>!"</p> + +<p>He made no answer and left the car without a word at the door of the +King residence.</p> + +<p class="space-above">There were miles and miles of weeping on the way home. Phyllis had +recovered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> her composure but began again when her mother remarked, "I +wonder where you learned to drink champagne and cognac and smoke +cigarettes," as if her own home had not been a perfect academy of +dissipation. The girl sat in a corner, her eyes covered with her +handkerchief and the only words she uttered on the way home were these: +"Don't tell father!"</p> + +<p>While this was happening, Mr. Baker confided his troubles to Judge +Crooker in the latter's office. The Judge heard him through and then +delivered another notable opinion, to wit: "There are many subjects on +which the judgment of the average man is of little value, but in the +matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be sound. Also there are +many subjects on which the judgment of the average woman may be trusted, +but in the matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be unsound. I +say this, after some forty years of observation."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><p>"What is the reason?" Mr. Baker asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, a daughter has to be prepared to deal with men," the Judge went +on. "The masculine temperament is involved in all the critical problems +of her life. Naturally the average man is pretty well informed on the +subject of men. You have prospered these late years. You have been so +busy getting rich that you have just used your home to eat and sleep in. +You can't do a home any good by eating and snoring and reading a paper +in it."</p> + +<p>"My wife would have her own way there," said Baker.</p> + +<p>"That doesn't alter the fact that you have neglected your home. You have +let things slide. You wore yourself out in this matter of money-getting. +You were tired when you got home at night—all in, as they say. The bank +was the main thing with you. I repeat that you let things slide at home +and the longer they slide the faster they slide when they're going down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +hill. You can always count on that in a case of sliding. The young have +a taste for velocity and often it comes so unaccountably fast that they +don't know what to do with it, so they're apt to get their necks broken +unless there's some one to put on the brakes."</p> + +<p>Mr. Emanuel Baker arose and began to stride up and down the room.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, Judge! I don't know what to do," he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"There's only one thing to do. Go and find the young people and give +them your blessing. If you can discover a spark of manhood in the +fellow, make the most of it. The chances are against that, but let us +hope for the best. Above all, I want you to be gentle with Pauline. You +are more to blame than she is."</p> + +<p>"I don't see how I can spare the time, but I'll have to," said Baker.</p> + +<p>"Time! Fiddlesticks!" the Judge exclaimed. "What a darn fool money +makes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> of a man! You have lost your sense of proportion, your +appreciation of values. Bill Pritchard used to talk that way to me. He +has been lying twenty years in his grave. He hadn't a minute to spare +until one day he fell dead—then leisure and lots of leisure it would +seem—and the business has doubled since he quit worrying about it. My +friend, you can not take a cent into Paradise, but the soul of Pauline +is a different kind of property. It might be a help to you there. Give +plenty of time to this job, and good luck to you."</p> + +<p>The spirit of the old, dead days spoke in the voice of the Judge—spoke +with a kindly dignity. It had ever been the voice of Justice, tempered +with Mercy—the most feared and respected voice in the upper counties. +His grave, smooth-shaven face, his kindly gray eyes, his noble brow with +its crown of white hair were fitting accessories of the throne of +Justice and Mercy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>"I'll go this afternoon. Thank you, Judge!" said Baker, as he left the +office.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Pauline had announced in her letter that her husband's name was Herbert +Middleton. Mr. Baker sent a telegram to Pauline to apprise her of his +arrival in the morning. It was a fatherly message of love and good-will. +At the hotel in New York, Mr. Baker learned that Mr. and Mrs. Middleton +had checked out the day before. Nobody could tell him where they had +gone. One of the men at the porter's desk told of putting them in a +taxicab with their grips and a steamer trunk soon after luncheon. He +didn't know where they went. Mr. Baker's telegram was there unopened. He +called at every hotel desk in the city, but he could get no trace of +them. He telephoned to Mrs. Baker. She had heard nothing from Pauline. +In despair, he went to the Police Department and told his story to the Chief.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p><p>"It looks as if there was something crooked about it," said the Chief. +"There are many cases like this. Just read that."</p> + +<p>The officer picked up a newspaper clipping, which lay on his desk, and +passed it to Mr. Baker. It was from the <i>New York Evening Post</i>. The +banker read aloud this startling information:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"'The New York police report that approximately 3600 girls have run +away or disappeared from their homes in the past eleven months, and +the Bureau of Missing Persons estimates that the number who have +disappeared throughout the country approximates 68,000.'"</p></blockquote> + +<p>"It's rather astonishing," the Chief went on. "The women seem to have +gone crazy these days. Maybe it's the new dancing and the movies that +are breaking down the morals of the little suburban towns or maybe it's +the excitement of the war. Anyhow, they keep the city supplied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> with +runaways and vamps. You are not the first anxious father I have seen +to-day. You can go home. I'll put a man on the case and let you know +what happens."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER THREE</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">Which Tells of the Complaining Coin and the Man Who Lost His Self</span></p> + +<p>There was a certain gold coin in a little bureau drawer in Bingville +which began to form a habit of complaining to its master.</p> + +<p>"How cold I am!" it seemed to say to the boy. "I was cold when you put +me in here and I have been cold ever since. Br-r-r! I'm freezing."</p> + +<p>Bob Moran took out the little drawer and gave it a shaking as he looked +down at the gold piece.</p> + +<p>"Don't get rattled," said the redoubtable Mr. Bloggs, who had a great +contempt for cowards.</p> + +<p>It was just after the Shepherd of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> Birds had heard of a poor widow +who was the mother of two small children and who had fallen sick of the +influenza with no fuel in her house.</p> + +<p>"I am cold, too!" said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course you are," the coin answered. "That's the reason I'm +cold. A coin is never any warmer than the heart of its owner. Why don't +you take me out of here and give me a chance to move around?"</p> + +<p>Things that would not say a word to other boys often spoke to the +Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Let him go," said Mr. Bloggs.</p> + +<p>Indeed it was the tin soldier, who stood on his little shelf looking out +of the window, who first reminded Bob of the loneliness and discomfort +of the coin. As a rule whenever the conscience of the boy was touched +Mr. Bloggs had something to say.</p> + +<p>It was late in February and every one was complaining of the cold. Even +the oldest inhabitants of Bingville could not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> recall so severe a +winter. Many families were short of fuel. The homes of the working folk +were insufficiently heated. Money in the bank had given them a sense of +security. They could not believe that its magic power would fail to +bring them what they needed. So they had been careless of their +allowance of wood and coal. There were days when they had none and could +get none at the yard. Some of them took boards out of their barn floors +and cut down shade trees and broke up the worst of their furniture to +feed the kitchen stove in those days of famine. Some men with hundreds +of dollars in the bank went out into the country at night and stole +rails off the farmers' fences. The homes of these unfortunate people +were ravaged by influenza and many died.</p> + +<p>Prices at the stores mounted higher. Most of the gardens had been lying +idle. The farmers had found it hard to get help. Some of the latter, +indeed, had decided<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> that they could make more by teaming at Millerton +than by toiling in the fields, and with less effort. They left the boys +and the women to do what they could with the crops. Naturally the latter +were small. So the local sources of supply had little to offer and the +demand upon the stores steadily increased. Certain of the merchants had +been, in a way, spoiled by prosperity. They were rather indifferent to +complaints and demands. Many of the storekeepers, irritated, doubtless, +by overwork, had lost their former politeness. The two butchers, having +prospered beyond their hopes, began to feel the need of rest. They cut +down their hours of labor and reduced their stocks and raised their +prices. There were days when their supplies failed to arrive. The +railroad service had been bad enough in times of peace. Now, it was +worse than ever.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Those who had plenty of money found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> it difficult to get a sufficient +quantity of good food, Bingville being rather cut off from other centers +of life by distance and a poor railroad. Some drove sixty miles to +Hazelmead to do marketing for themselves and their neighbors.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing, however, in their luxurious apartment at +the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York, knew little of these conditions +until Mr. Bing came up late in March for a talk with the mill +superintendent. Many of the sick and poor suffered extreme privation. +Father O'Neil and the Reverend Otis Singleton of the Congregational +Church went among the people, ministering to the sick, of whom there +were very many, and giving counsel to men and women who were +unaccustomed to prosperity and ill-qualified wisely to enjoy it. One +day, Father O'Neil saw the Widow Moran coming into town with a great +bundle of fagots on her back.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>"This looks a little like the old country," he remarked.</p> + +<p>She stopped and swung her fagots to the ground and announced: "It do +that an' may God help us! It's hard times, Father. In spite o' all the +money, it's hard times. It looks like there wasn't enough to go +'round—the ships be takin' so many things to the old country."</p> + +<p>"How is my beloved Shepherd?" the good Father asked.</p> + +<p>"Mother o' God! The house is that cold, he's been layin' abed for a week +an' Judge Crooker has been away on the circuit."</p> + +<p>"Too bad!" said the priest. "I've been so busy with the sick and the +dying and the dead I have hardly had time to think of you."</p> + +<p>Against her protest, he picked up the fagots and carried them on his own +back to her kitchen.</p> + +<p>He found the Shepherd in a sweater sitting up in bed and knitting socks.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>"How is my dear boy?" the good Father asked.</p> + +<p>"Very sad," said the Shepherd. "I want to do something to help and my +legs are useless."</p> + +<p>"Courage!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to shout from his shelf at the window-side +and just then he assumed a most valiant and determined look as he added: +"Forward! march!"</p> + +<p>Father O'Neil did what he could to help in that moment of peril by saying:</p> + +<p>"Cheer up, boy. I'm going out to Dan Mullin's this afternoon and I'll +make him bring you a big load of wood. I'll have you back at your work +to-morrow. The spring will be coming soon and your flock will be back in the garden."</p> + +<p class="space-above">It was not easy to bring a smile to the face of the little Shepherd +those days. A number of his friends had died and others were sick and he +was helpless. Moreover,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> his mother had told him of the disappearance of +Pauline and that her parents feared she was in great trouble. This had +worried him, and the more because his mother had declared that the girl +was probably worse than dead. He could not quite understand it and his +happy spirit was clouded. The good Father cheered him with merry jests. +Near the end of their talk the boy said: "There's one thing in this room +that makes me unhappy. It's that gold piece in the drawer. It does +nothing but lie there and shiver and talk to me. Seems as if it +complained of the cold. It says that it wants to move around and get +warm. Every time I hear of some poor person that needs food or fuel, it +calls out to me there in the little drawer and says, 'How cold I am! How +cold I am!' My mother wishes me to keep it for some time of trouble that +may come to us, but I can't. It makes me unhappy. Please take it away +and let it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> do what it can to keep the poor people warm."</p> + +<p>"Well done, boys!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to say with a look of joy as if he +now perceived that the enemy was in full retreat.</p> + +<p>"There's no worse company, these days, than a hoarded coin," said the +priest. "I won't let it plague you any more."</p> + +<p>Father O'Neil took the coin from the drawer. It fell from his fingers +with a merry laugh as it bounded on the floor and whirled toward the +doorway like one overjoyed and eager to be off.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my boy! May it buy for you the dearest wish of your heart."</p> + +<p>"Ha ha!" laughed the little tin soldier for he knew the dearest wish of +the boy far better than the priest knew it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Singleton called soon after Father O'Neil had gone away.</p> + +<p>"The top of the morning to you!" he shouted, as he came into Bob's room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>"It's all right top and bottom," Bob answered cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything I can do for you?" the minister went on. "I'm a +regular Santa Claus this morning. I've got a thousand dollars that Mr. +Bing sent me. It's for any one that needs help."</p> + +<p>"We'll be all right as soon as our load of wood comes. It will be here +to-morrow morning," said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"I'll come and cut and split it for you," the minister proposed. "The +eloquence of the axe is better than that of the tongue these days. +Meanwhile, I'm going to bring you a little jag in my wheelbarrow. How +about beefsteak and bacon and eggs and all that?"</p> + +<p>"I guess we've got enough to eat, thank you." This was not quite true, +for Bob, thinking of the sick, whose people could not go to market, was +inclined to hide his own hunger.</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho!" exclaimed Mr. Bloggs, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> he knew very well that the boy was +hiding his hunger.</p> + +<p>"Do you call that a lie?" the Shepherd asked as soon as the minister had gone.</p> + +<p>"A little one! But in my opinion it don't count," said Mr. Bloggs. "You +were thinking of those who need food more than you and that turns it +square around. I call it a golden lie—I do."</p> + +<p>The minister had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when he met +Hiram Blenkinsop, who was shivering along without an overcoat, the dog +Christmas at his heels.</p> + +<p>Mr. Singleton stopped him.</p> + +<p>"Why, man! Haven't you an overcoat?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, sir! It's hangin' on a peg in a pawn-shop over in Hazelmead. It +ain't doin' the peg any good nor me neither!"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, you come with me," said the minister. "It's about dinner +time, anyway, and I guess you need lining as well as covering."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>The drunkard looked into the face of the minister.</p> + +<p>"Say it ag'in," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't wonder if a little food would make you feel better," Mr. +Singleton added.</p> + +<p>"A little, did ye say?" Blenkinsop asked.</p> + +<p>"Make it a lot—as much as you can accommodate."</p> + +<p>"And do ye mean that ye want me to go an' eat in yer house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at my table—why not?"</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be respectable. I don't want to be too particular but a +tramp must draw the line somewhere."</p> + +<p>"I'll be on my best behavior. Come on," said the minister.</p> + +<p>The two men hastened up the street followed by the dejected little +yellow dog, Christmas.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Singleton and her daughter were out with a committee of the +Children's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> Helpers and the minister was dining alone that day and, as +usual, at one o'clock, that being the hour for dinner in the village of Bingville.</p> + +<p>"Tell me about yourself," said the minister as they sat down at the table.</p> + +<p>"Myself—did you say?" Hiram Blenkinsop asked as one of his feet crept +under his chair to conceal its disreputable appearance, while his dog +had partly hidden himself under a serving table where he seemed to be +shivering with apprehension as he peered out, with raised hackles, at +the stag's head over the mantel.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I ain't got any <i>Self</i>, sir; it's all gone," said Blenkinsop, as he +took a swallow of water.</p> + +<p>"A man without any Self is a curious creature," the minister remarked.</p> + +<p>"I'm as empty as a woodpecker's hole in the winter time. The bird has +flown. I belong to this 'ere dog. He's a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> poor dog. I'm all he's got. If +he had to pay a license on me I'd have to be killed. He's kind to me. +He's the only friend I've got."</p> + +<p>Hiram Blenkinsop riveted his attention upon an old warming-pan that hung +by the fireplace. He hardly looked at the face of the minister.</p> + +<p>"How did you come to lose your Self?" the latter asked.</p> + +<p>"Married a bad woman and took to drink. A man's Self can stand cold an' +hunger an' shipwreck an' loss o' friends an' money an' any quantity o' +bad luck, take it as it comes, but a bad woman breaks the works in him +an' stops his clock dead. Leastways, it done that to me!"</p> + +<p>"She is like an arrow in his liver," the minister quoted. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, where do you stay nights?"</p> + +<p>"I've a shake-down in the little loft over the ol' blacksmith shop on +Water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> Street. There are cracks in the gable, an' the snow an' the wind +blows in, an' the place is dark an' smells o' coal gas an' horses' feet, +but Christmas an' I snug up together an' manage to live through the +winter. In hot weather, we sleep under a tree in the ol' graveyard an' +study astronomy. Sometimes, I wish I was there for good."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like a bed in a comfortable house?"</p> + +<p>"No. I couldn't take the dog there an' I'd have to git up like other folks."</p> + +<p>"Would you think that a hardship?"</p> + +<p>"Well, ye see, sir, if ye're layin' down ye ain't hungry. Then, too, I +likes to dilly-dally in bed."</p> + +<p>"What may that mean?" the minister asked.</p> + +<p>"I likes to lay an' think an' build air castles."</p> + +<p>"What kind of castles?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I'm thinkin' often o' a time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> when I'll have a grand suit o' +clothes, an' a shiny silk tile on my head, an' a roll o' bills in my +pocket, big enough to choke a dog, an' I'll be goin' back to the town +where I was brought up an' I'll hire a fine team an' take my ol' mother +out for a ride. An' when we pass by, people will be sayin': 'That's +Hiram Blenkinsop! Don't you remember him? Born on the top floor o' the +ol' sash mill on the island. He's a multi-millionaire an' a great man. +He gives a thousand to the poor every day. Sure, he does!'"</p> + +<p>"Blenkinsop, I'd like to help you to recover your lost Self and be a +useful and respected citizen of this town," said Mr. Singleton. "You can +do it if you will and I can tell you how."</p> + +<p>Tears began to stream down the cheeks of the unfortunate man, who now +covered his eyes with a big, rough hand.</p> + +<p>"If you will make an honest effort, I'll stand by you. I'll be your +friend through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> thick and thin," the minister added. "There's something +good in you or you wouldn't be having a dream like that."</p> + +<p>"Nobody has ever talked to me this way," poor Blenkinsop sobbed. "Nobody +but you has ever treated me as if I was human."</p> + +<p>"I know—I know. It's a hard old world, but at last you've found a man +who is willing to be a brother to you if you really want one."</p> + +<p>The poor man rose from the table and went to the minister's side and +held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"I do want a brother, sir, an' I'll do anything at all," he said in a +broken voice.</p> + +<p>"Then come with me," the minister commanded. "First, I'm going to +improve the outside of you."</p> + +<p>When they were ready to leave the house, Blenkinsop and his dog had had +a bath and the former was shaved and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> clean and respectable garments +from top to toe.</p> + +<p>"You look like a new man," said Mr. Singleton.</p> + +<p>"Seems like, I felt more like a proper human bein'," Blenkinsop answered.</p> + +<p>Christmas was scampering up and down the hall as if he felt like a new +dog. Suddenly he discovered the stag's head again and slunk into a dark +corner growling.</p> + +<p>"A bath is a good sort of baptism," the minister remarked. "Here's an +overcoat that I haven't worn for a year. It's fairly warm, too. Now if +your Old Self should happen to come in sight of you, maybe he'd move +back into his home. I remember once that we had a canary bird that got +away. We hung his cage in one of the trees out in the yard with some +food in it. By and by, we found him singing on the perch in his little +home. Now, if we put some good food in the cage, maybe your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> bird will +come back. Our work has only just begun."</p> + +<p>They went out of the door and crossed the street and entered the big +stone Congregational Church and sat down together in a pew. A soft light +came through the great jeweled windows above the altar, and in the +clearstory, and over the organ loft. They were the gift of Mr. Bing. It +was a quiet, restful, beautiful place.</p> + +<p>"I used to stand in the pulpit there and look down upon a crowd of +handsomely dressed people," said Mr. Singleton in a low voice. "'There +is something wrong about this,' I thought. 'There's too much +respectability here. There are no flannel shirts and gingham dresses in +the place. I can not see half a dozen poor people. I wish there was some +ragged clothing down there in the pews. There isn't an out-and-out +sinner in the crowd. Have we set up a little private god of our own that +cares<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> only for the rich and respectable?' I asked myself. 'This is the +place for Hiram Blenkinsop and old Bill Lang and poor Lizzie Quesnelle, +if they only knew it. Those are the kind of people that Jesus cared most +about.' They're beginning to come to us now and we are glad of it. I +want to see you here every Sunday after this. I want you to think of +this place as your home. If you really wish to be my brother, come with me."</p> + +<p>Blenkinsop trembled with strange excitement as he went with Mr. +Singleton down the broad aisle, the dog Christmas following meekly. Man +and minister knelt before the altar. Christmas sat down by his master's +side, in a prayerful attitude, as if he, too, were seeking help and forgiveness.</p> + +<p>"I feel better inside an' outside," said Blenkinsop as they were leaving +the church.</p> + +<p>"When you are tempted, there are three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> words which may be useful to +you. They are these, 'God help me,'" the minister told him. "They are +quickly said and I have often found them a source of strength in time of +trouble. I am going to find work for you and there's a room over my +garage with a stove in it which will make a very snug little home for +you and Christmas."</p> + +<p class="space-above">That evening, as the dog and his master were sitting comfortably by the +stove in their new home, there came a rap at the door. In a moment, +Judge Crooker entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Blenkinsop," said the Judge as he held out his hand, "I have heard +of your new plans and I want you to know that I am very glad. Every one +will be glad."</p> + +<p>When the Judge had gone, Blenkinsop put his hand on the dog's head and +asked with a little laugh: "Did ye hear what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> said, Christmas? He +called me <i>Mister</i>. Never done that before, no sir!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop sat with his head upon his hand listening to the wind +that whistled mournfully in the chimney. Suddenly he shouted: "Come in!"</p> + +<p>The door opened and there on the threshold stood his Old Self.</p> + +<p>It was not at all the kind of a Self one would have expected to see. It +was, indeed, a very youthful and handsome Self—the figure of a +clear-eyed, gentle-faced boy of about sixteen with curly, dark hair +above his brows.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop covered his face and groaned. Then he held out his hands +with an imploring gesture.</p> + +<p>"I know you," he whispered. "Please come in."</p> + +<p>"Not yet," the young man answered, and his voice was like the wind in +the chimney. "But I have come to tell you that I, too, am glad."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>Then he vanished.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop arose from his chair and rubbed his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Christmas, ol' boy, I've been asleep," he muttered. "I guess it's time +we turned in!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER FOUR</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which Mr. Israel Sneed and Other Working Men Receive a Lesson in True +Democracy</span></p> + +<p>Next morning, Mr. Blenkinsop went to cut wood for the Widow Moran. The +good woman was amazed by his highly respectable appearance.</p> + +<p>"God help us! Ye look like a lawyer," she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm a new man! Cut out the blacksmith shop an' the booze an' the bummers."</p> + +<p>"May the good God love an' help ye! I heard about it."</p> + +<p>"Ye did?"</p> + +<p>"Sure I did. It's all over the town. Good news has a lively foot, man. +The Shepherd clapped his hands when I told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> him. Ye got to go straight, +my laddie buck. All eyes are on ye now. Come up an' see the boy. It's +his birthday!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop was deeply moved by the greeting of the little Shepherd, +who kissed his cheek and said that he had often prayed for him.</p> + +<p>"If you ever get lonely, come and sit with me and we'll have a talk and +a game of dominoes," said the boy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop got strength out of the wonderful spirit of Bob Moran and +as he swung his axe that day, he was happier than he had been in many +years. Men and women who passed in the street said, "How do you do, Mr. +Blenkinsop? I'm glad to see you."</p> + +<p>Even the dog Christmas watched his master with a look of pride and +approval. Now and then, he barked gleefully and scampered up and down +the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>The Shepherd was fourteen years old. On his birthday, from morning until +night,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> people came to his room bringing little gifts to remind him of +their affection. No one in the village of Bingville was so much beloved. +Judge Crooker came in the evening with ice-cream and a frosted cake. +While he was there, a committee of citizens sought him out to confer +with him regarding conditions in Bingville.</p> + +<p>"There's more money than ever in the place, but there never was so much +misery," said the chairman of the committee.</p> + +<p>"We have learned that money is not the thing that makes happiness," +Judge Crooker began. "With every one busy at high wages, and the banks +overflowing with deposits, we felt safe. We ceased to produce the +necessaries of life in a sufficient quantity. We forgot that the all +important things are food, fuel, clothes and comfortable housing—not +money. Some of us went money mad. With a feeling of opulence we refused +to work at all, save when we felt like it. We bought diamond rings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> and +sat by the fire looking at them. The roofs began to leak and our +plumbing went wrong. People going to buy meat found the shops closed. +Roofs that might have been saved by timely repairs will have to be +largely replaced. Plumbing systems have been ruined by neglect. With all +its money, the town was never so poverty-stricken, the people never so wretched."</p> + +<p>Mr. Sneed, who was a member of the committee, slyly turned the ring on +his finger so that the diamond was concealed. He cleared his throat and +remarked, "We mechanics had more than we could do on work already contracted."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you worked eight hours a day and refused to work any longer. You +were legally within your rights, but your position was ungrateful and +even heartless and immoral. Suppose there were a baby coming at your +house and you should call for the doctor and he should say, 'I'm sorry, +but I have done my eight hours'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> work to-day and I can't help you.' Then +suppose you should offer him a double fee and he should say, 'No, +thanks, I'm tired. I've got forty thousand dollars in the bank and I +don't have to work when I don't want to.'</p> + +<p>"Or suppose I were trying a case for you and, when my eight hours' work +had expired, I should walk out of the court and leave your case to take +care of itself. What do you suppose would become of it? Yet that is +exactly what you did to my pipes. You left them to take care of +themselves. You men, who use your hands, make a great mistake in +thinking that you are the workers of the country and that the rest of us +are your natural enemies. In America, we are all workers! The idle man +is a mere parasite and not at heart an American. Generally, I work +fifteen hours a day.</p> + +<p>"This little lad has been knitting night and day for the soldiers +without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> hope of reward and has spent his savings for yarn. There isn't +a doctor in Bingville who isn't working eighteen hours a day. I met a +minister this afternoon who hasn't had ten hours of sleep in a +week—he's been so busy with the sick, and the dying and the dead. He is +a nurse, a friend, a comforter to any one who needs him. No charge for +overtime. My God! Are we all going money mad? Are you any better than he +is, or I am, or than these doctors are who have been killing themselves +with overwork? Do you dare to tell me that prosperity is any excuse for +idleness in this land of ours, if one's help is needed?"</p> + +<p>Judge Crooker's voice had been calm, his manner dignified. But the last +sentences had been spoken with a quiet sternness and with his long, bony +forefinger pointing straight at Mr. Sneed. The other members of the +committee clapped their hands in hearty approval. Mr. Sneed smiled and +brushed his trousers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p><p>"I guess you're right," he said. "We're all off our balance a little, +but what is to be done now?"</p> + +<p>"We must quit our plumbing and carpentering and lawyering and banking +and some of us must quit merchandising and sitting in the chimney corner +and grab our saws and axes and go out into the woods and make some fuel +and get it hauled into town," said Judge Crooker. "I'll be one of a +party to go to-morrow with my axe. I haven't forgotten how to chop."</p> + +<p>The committee thought this a good suggestion. They all rose and started +on a search for volunteers, except Mr. Sneed. He tarried saying to the +Judge that he wished to consult him on a private matter. It was, indeed, +just then, a matter which could not have been more public although, so +far, the news of it had traveled in whispers. The Judge had learned the +facts since his return.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>"I hope your plumbing hasn't gone wrong," he remarked with a smile.</p> + +<p>"No, it's worse than that," said Mr. Sneed ruefully.</p> + +<p>They bade the little Shepherd good night and went down-stairs where the +widow was still at work with her washing, although it was nine o'clock.</p> + +<p>"Faithful woman!" the Judge exclaimed as they went out on the street. +"What would the world do without people like that? No extra charge for +overtime either."</p> + +<p>Then, as they walked along, he cunningly paved the way for what he knew +was coming.</p> + +<p>"Did you notice the face of that boy?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a wonderful face," said Israel Sneed.</p> + +<p>"It's a God's blessing to see a face like that," the Judge went on. +"Only the pure in heart can have it. The old spirit of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> youth looks out +of his eyes—the spirit of my own youth. When I was fourteen, I think +that my heart was as pure as his. So were the hearts of most of the boys I knew."</p> + +<p>"It isn't so now," said Mr. Sneed.</p> + +<p>"I fear it isn't," the Judge answered. "There's a new look in the faces +of the young. Every variety of evil is spread before them on the stage +of our little theater. They see it while their characters are in the +making, while their minds are like white wax. Everything that touches +them leaves a mark or a smirch. It addresses them in the one language +they all understand, and for which no dictionary is needed—pictures. +The flower of youth fades fast enough, God knows, without the withering +knowledge of evil. They say it's good for the boys and girls to know all +about life. We shall see!"</p> + +<p class="space-above">Mr. Sneed sat down with Judge Crooker<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> in the handsome library of the +latter and opened his heart. His son Richard, a boy of fifteen, and +three other lads of the village, had been committing small burglaries +and storing their booty in a cave in a piece of woods on the river bank +near the village. A constable had secured a confession and recovered a +part of the booty. Enough had been found to warrant a charge of grand +larceny and Elisha Potts, whose store had been entered, was clamoring +for the arrest of the boys.</p> + +<p>"It reminds me of that picture of the Robbers' Cave that was on the +billboard of our school of crime a few weeks ago," said the Judge. "I'm +tired enough to lie down, but I'll go and see Elisha Potts. If he's +abed, he'll have to get up, that's all. There's no telling what Potts +has done or may do. Your plumbing is in bad shape, Mr. Sneed. The public +sewer is backing into your cellar and in a case of that kind the less +delay the better."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>He went into the hall and put on his coat and gloves and took his cane +out of the rack. He was sixty-five years of age that winter. It was a +bitter night when even younger men found it a trial to leave the comfort +of the fireside. Sneed followed in silence. Indeed, his tongue was +shame-bound. For a moment, he knew not what to say.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm much o-obliged to you," he stammered as they went out into the +cold wind. "I-I don't care what it costs, either."</p> + +<p>The Judge stopped and turned toward him.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said. "Money does not enter into this proceeding or any +motive but the will to help a neighbor. In such a matter overtime +doesn't count."</p> + +<p>They walked in silence to the corner. There Sneed pressed the Judge's +hand and tried to say something, but his voice failed him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><p>"Have the boys at my office at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. I want to +talk to them," said the kindly old Judge as he strode away in the darkness.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER FIVE</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which J. Patterson Bing Buys a Necklace of Pearls</span></p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the Bings had been having a busy winter in New York. J. +Patterson Bing had been elected to the board of a large bank in Wall +Street. His fortune had more than doubled in the last two years and he +was now a considerable factor in finance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing had been studying current events and French and the English +accent and other social graces every morning, with the best tutors, as +she reclined comfortably in her bedchamber while Phyllis went to sundry +shops. Mrs. Crooker had once said, "Mamie Bing has a passion for +self-improvement." It was mainly if not quite true.</p> + +<p>Phyllis had been "beating the bush"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> with her mother at teas and dinners +and dances and theaters and country house parties in and about the city. +The speedometer on the limousine had doubled its mileage since they came +to town. They were, it would seem, a tireless pair of hunters. Phyllis's +portrait had appeared in the Sunday papers. It showed a face and form of +unusual beauty. The supple grace and classic outlines of the latter were +touchingly displayed at the dances in many a handsome ballroom. At last, +they had found a promising and most eligible candidate in Roger +Delane—a handsome stalwart youth, a year out of college. His father was +a well-known and highly successful merchant of an old family which, for +generations, had "belonged"—that is to say, it had been a part of the +aristocracy of Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt of this great good luck of theirs—better, +indeed, than Mrs. Bing had dared to hope for—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> young man having +seriously confided his intentions to J. Patterson. But there was one +shadow on the glowing prospect; Phyllis had suddenly taken a bad turn. +She moped, as her mother put it. She was listless and unhappy. She had +lost her interest in the chase, so to speak. She had little heart for +teas and dances and dinner parties. One day, her mother returned from a +luncheon and found her weeping. Mrs. Bing went at once to the telephone +and called for the stomach specialist. He came and made a brief +examination and said that it was all due to rich food and late hours. He +left some medicine, advised a day or two of rest in bed, charged a +hundred dollars and went away. They tried the remedies, but Phyllis +showed no improvement. The young man sent American Beauty roses and a +graceful note of regret to her room.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be very happy," said her mother. "He is a dear."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>"I know it," Phyllis answered. "He's just the most adorable creature I +ever saw in my life."</p> + +<p>"For goodness' sake! What is the matter of you? Why don't you brace up?" +Mrs. Bing asked with a note of impatience in her tone. "You act like a dead fish."</p> + +<p>Phyllis, who had been lying on the couch, rose to a sitting posture and +flung one of the cushions at her mother, and rather swiftly.</p> + +<p>"How can I brace up?" she asked with indignation in her eyes. "Don't +<i>you</i> dare to scold me."</p> + +<p>There was a breath of silence in which the two looked into each other's +eyes. Many thoughts came flashing into the mind of Mrs. Bing. Why had +the girl spoken the word "you" so bitterly? Little echoes of old history +began to fill the silence. She arose and picked up the cushion and threw +it on the sofa.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>"What a temper!" she exclaimed. "Young lady, you don't seem to know +that these days are very precious for you. They will not come again."</p> + +<p>Then, in the old fashion of women who have suddenly come out of a moment +of affectionate anger, they fell to weeping in each other's arms. The +storm was over when they heard the feet of J. Patterson Bing in the +hall. Phyllis fled into the bathroom.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" said Mr. Bing as he entered the door. "I've found out what's +the matter with Phyllis. It's nerves. I met the great specialist, John +Hamilton Gibbs, at luncheon to-day. I described the symptoms. He says +it's undoubtedly nerves. He has any number of cases just like this +one—rest, fresh air and a careful diet are all that's needed. He says +that if he can have her for two weeks, he'll guarantee a cure. I've +agreed to have you take her to his sanitarium in the Catskills +to-morrow. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> has saddle horses, sleeping balconies, toboggan slides, +snow-shoe and skating parties and all that."</p> + +<p>"I think it will be great," said Phyllis, who suddenly emerged from her +hiding-place and embraced her father. "I'd love it! I'm sick of this old +town. I'm sure it's just what I need."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't go to-morrow," said Mrs. Bing. "I simply must go to Mrs. +Delane's luncheon."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll ask Harriet to go up with her," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>Harriet, who lived in a flat on the upper west side, was Mr. Bing's sister.</p> + +<p>Phyllis went to bed dinnerless with a headache. Mr. and Mrs. Bing sat +for a long time over their coffee and cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"It's something too dreadful that Phyllis should be getting sick just at +the wrong time," said the madame. "She has always been well. I can't +understand it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><p>"She's had a rather strenuous time here," said J. Patterson.</p> + +<p>"But she seemed to enjoy it until—until the right man came along. The +very man I hoped would like her! Then, suddenly, she throws up her hands +and keels over. It's too devilish for words."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bing laughed at his wife's exasperation.</p> + +<p>"To me, it's no laughing matter," said she with a serious face.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she doesn't like the boy," J. Patterson remarked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing leaned toward him and whispered: "She adores him!" She held +her attitude and looked searchingly into her husband's face.</p> + +<p>"Well, you can't say I did it," he answered. "The modern girl is a +rather delicate piece of machinery. I think she'll be all right in a +week or two. Come, it's time we went to the theater if we're going."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p><p>Nothing more was said of the matter. Next morning immediately after +breakfast, "Aunt Harriet" set out with Phyllis in the big limousine for +Doctor Gibbs' sanitarium.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Phyllis found the remedy she needed in the ceaseless round of outdoor +frolic. Her spirit washed in the glowing air found refreshment in the +sleep that follows weariness and good digestion. Her health improved so +visibly that her stay was far prolonged. It was the first week of May +when Mrs. Bing drove up to get her. The girl was in perfect condition, +it would seem. No rustic maid, in all the mountain valleys, had lighter +feet or clearer eyes or a more honest, ruddy tan in her face due to the +touch of the clean wind. She had grown as lithe and strong as a young panther.</p> + +<p>They were going back to Bingville next day. Martha and Susan had been +getting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> the house ready. Mrs. Bing had been preparing what she fondly +hoped would be "a lovely surprise" for Phyllis. Roger Delane was coming +up to spend a quiet week with the Bings—a week of opportunity for the +young people with saddle horses and a new steam launch and a +Peterborough canoe and all pleasant accessories. Then, on the twentieth, +which was the birthday of Phyllis, there was to be a dinner and a house +party and possibly an announcement and a pretty wagging of tongues. +Indeed, J. Patterson had already bought the wedding gift, a necklace of +pearls, and paid a hundred thousand dollars for it and put it away in +his safe. The necklace had pleased him. He had seen many jewels, but +nothing so satisfying—nothing that so well expressed his affection for +his daughter. He might never see its like again. So he bought it against +the happy day which he hoped was near. He had shown it to his wife and +charged her to make no mention<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> of it until "the time was ripe," in his +way of speaking.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing had promised on her word and honor to respect the confidence +of her husband, with all righteous intention, but on the very day of +their arrival in Bingville, Sophronia (Mrs. Pendleton) Ames called. +Sophronia was the oldest and dearest friend that Mamie Bing had in the +village. The latter enjoyed her life in New York, but she felt always a +thrill at coming back to her big garden and the green trees and the +ample spaces of Bingville, and to the ready, sympathetic confidence of +Sophronia Ames. She told Sophronia of brilliant scenes in the changing +spectacle of metropolitan life, of the wonderful young man and the +untimely affliction of Phyllis, now happily past. Then, in a whisper, +while Sophronia held up her right hand as a pledge of secrecy, she told +of the necklace of which the lucky girl had no knowledge. Now Mrs. Ames +was one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> the best of women. People were wont to speak of her, and +rightly, as "the salt of the earth." She would do anything possible for +a friend. But Mamie Bing had asked too much. Moreover, always it had +been understood between them that these half playful oaths were not to +be taken too seriously. Of course, "the fish had to be fed," as Judge +Crooker had once put it. By "the fish," he meant that curious under-life +of the village—the voracious, silent, merciless, cold-blooded thing +which fed on the sins and follies of men and women and which rarely came +to the surface to bother any one.</p> + +<p>"The fish are very wise," Judge Crooker used to say. "They know the +truth about every one and it's well that they do. After all, they +perform an important office. There's many a man and woman who think +they've been fooling the fish but they've only fooled themselves."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>And within a day or two, the secrets of the Bing family were swimming +up and down the stream of the under-life of Bingville.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Mr. Bing had found a situation in the plant which was new to him. The +men were discontented. Their wages were "sky high," to quote a phrase of +one of the foremen. Still, they were not satisfied. Reports of the +fabulous earnings of the mill had spread among them. They had begun to +think that they were not getting a fair division of the proceeds of +their labor. At a meeting of the help, a radical speaker had declared +that one of the Bing women wore a noose of pearls on her neck worth half +a million dollars. The men wanted more pay and less work. A committee of +their leaders had called at Mr. Bing's office with a demand soon after +his arrival. Mr. Bing had said "no" with a bang of his fist on the +table. A worker's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> meeting was to be held a week later to act upon the +report of the committee.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, another cause of worry had come or rather returned to him. +Again, Phyllis had begun to show symptoms of the old trouble. Mrs. Bing, +arriving at dusk from a market trip to Hazelmead with Sophronia Ames, +had found Phyllis lying asleep among the cushions on the great couch in +the latter's bedroom. She entered the room softly and leaned over the +girl and looked into her face, now turned toward the open window and +lighted by the fading glow in the western sky and relaxed by sleep. It +was a sad face! There were lines and shadows in it which the anxious +mother had not seen before and—had she been crying? Very softly, the +woman sat down at the girl's side. Darkness fell. Black, menacing +shadows filled the corners of the room. The spirit of the girl betrayed +its trouble in a sorrowful groan as she slept. Roger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> Delane was coming +next day. There was every reason why Phyllis should be happy. Silently, +Mrs. Bing left the room. She met Martha in the hall.</p> + +<p>"I shall want no dinner and Mr. Bing is dining in Hazelmead," she +whispered. "Miss Phyllis is asleep. Don't disturb her."</p> + +<p>Then she sat down in the darkness of her own bedroom alone.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER SIX</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which Hiram Blenkinsop Has a Number of Adventures</span></p> + +<p>The Shepherd of the Birds had caught the plague of influenza in March +and nearly lost his life with it. Judge Crooker and Mr. and Mrs. +Singleton and their daughter and Father O'Neil and Mrs. Ames and Hiram +Blenkinsop had taken turns in the nursing of the boy. He had come out of +it with impaired vitality.</p> + +<p>The rubber tree used to speak to him in those days of his depression and +say, "It will be summer soon."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! But the days pass so slowly," Bob would answer with a sigh.</p> + +<p>Then the round nickel clock would say cheerfully, "I hurry them along as +fast as ever I can."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>"Seems as if old Time was losing the use of his legs," said the +Shepherd. "I wouldn't wonder if some one had run over him with an +automobile."</p> + +<p>"Everybody is trying to kill Time these days," ticked the clock with a +merry chuckle.</p> + +<p>Bob looked at the clock and laughed. "You've got some sense," he declared.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" the clock answered.</p> + +<p>"You can talk pretty well," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"I can run too. If I couldn't, nobody would look at me."</p> + +<p>"The more I look at you the more I think of Pauline. It's a long time +since she went away," said the Shepherd. "We must all pray for her."</p> + +<p>"Not I," said the little pine bureau. "Do you see that long scratch on +my side? She did it with a hat pin when I belonged to her mother, and +she used to keep her dolls in my lower drawer."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Bloggs assumed a look of great alertness as if lie spied the enemy. +"What's the use of worrying?" he quoted.</p> + +<p>"You'd better lie down and cover yourself up or you'll never live to see +her or the summer either," the clock warned the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>Then Bob would lie down quickly and draw the clothes over his shoulders +and sing of the Good King Wenceslas and The First Noël which Miss Betsy +Singleton had taught him at Christmas time.</p> + +<p>All this is important only as showing how a poor lad, of a lively +imagination, was wont to spend his lonely hours. He needed company and +knew how to find it.</p> + +<p>Christmas Day, Judge Crooker had presented him with a beautiful copy of +Raphael's <i>Madonna and Child</i>.</p> + +<p>"It's the greatest theme and the greatest picture this poor world of +ours can boast of," said the Judge. "I want you to study the look in +that mother's face, not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> that it is unusual. I have seen the like of it +a hundred times. Almost every young mother with a child in her arms has +that look or ought to have it—the most beautiful and mysterious thing +in the world. The light of that old star which led the wise men is in +it, I sometimes think. Study it and you may hear voices in the sky as +did the shepherds of old."</p> + +<p>So the boy acquired the companionship of those divine faces that looked +down at him from the wall near his bed and had something to say to him every day.</p> + +<p>Also, another friend—a very humble one—had begun to share his +confidence. He was the little yellow dog, Christmas. He had come with +his master, one evening in March, to spend a night with the sick +Shepherd. Christmas had lain on the foot of the bed and felt the loving +caress of the boy. He never forgot it. The heart of the world, that +loves above all things the touch of a kindly hand, was in this little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +creature. Often, when Hiram was walking out in the bitter winds, +Christmas would edge away when his master's back was turned. In a jiffy, +he was out of sight and making with all haste for the door of the Widow +Moran. There, he never failed to receive some token of the generous +woman's understanding of the great need of dogs—a bone or a doughnut or +a slice of bread soaked in meat gravy—and a warm welcome from the boy +above stairs. The boy always had time to pet him and play with him. He +was never fooling the days away with an axe and a saw in the cold wind. +Christmas admired his master's ability to pick up logs of wood and heave +them about and to make a great noise with an axe but, in cold weather, +all that was a bore to him. When he had been missing, Hiram Blenkinsop +found him, always, at the day's end lying comfortably on Bob Moran's bed.</p> + +<p>May had returned with its warm <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>sunlight. The robins had come back. The +blue martins had taken possession of the bird house. The grass had +turned green on the garden borders and was now sprinkled with the golden +glow of dandelions. The leaves were coming but Pat Crowley was no longer +at work in the garden. He had fallen before the pestilence. Old Bill +Rutherford was working there. The Shepherd was at the open window every +day, talking with him and watching and feeding the birds.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Now, with the spring, a new feeling had come to Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He +had been sober for months. His Old Self had come back and had imparted +his youthful strength to the man Hiram. He had money in the bank. He was +decently dressed. People had begun to respect him. Every day, Hiram was +being nudged and worried by a new thought. It persisted in telling him +that respectability was like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Fourth of July—a very dull thing +unless it was celebrated. He had been greatly pleased with his own +growing respectability. He felt as if he wanted to take a look at it, +from a distance, as it were. That money in the bank was also nudging and +calling him. It seemed to be lonely and longing for companionship.</p> + +<p>"Come, Hiram Blenkinsop," it used to say. "Let's go off together and get +a silk hat and a gold headed cane an' make 'em set up an' take notice. +Suppose you should die sudden an' leave me without an owner?"</p> + +<p>The warmth and joy of the springtime had turned his fancy to the old +dream. So one day, he converted his bank balance into "a roll big enough +to choke a dog," and took the early morning train to Hazelmead, having +left Christmas at the Widow Moran's.</p> + +<p>In the mill city he bought a high silk hat and a gold headed cane and a +new suit of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> clothes and a boiled shirt and a high collar and a red +necktie. It didn't matter to him that the fashion and fit of his +garments were not quite in keeping with the silk hat and gold headed +cane. There were three other items in the old dream of splendor—the +mother, the prancing team, and the envious remarks of the onlookers. His +mother was gone. Also there were no prancing horses in Hazelmead, but he +could hire an automobile.</p> + +<p>In the course of his celebration he asked a lady, whom he met in the +street, if she would kindly be his mother for a day. He meant well but +the lady, being younger than Hiram and not accustomed to such +familiarity from strangers, did not feel complimented by the question. +They fled from each other. Soon, Hiram bought a big custard pie in a +bake-shop and had it cut into smallish pieces and, having purchased pie +and plate, went out upon the street with it. He ate what he wanted of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +the pie and generously offered the rest of it to sundry people who +passed him. It was not impertinence in Hiram; it was pure generosity—a +desire to share his riches, flavored, in some degree, by a feeling of +vanity. It happened that Mr. J. Patterson Bing came along and received a +tender of pie from Mr. Blenkinsop.</p> + +<p>"No!" said Mr. Bing, with that old hammer whack in his voice which +aroused bitter memories in the mind of Hiram.</p> + +<p>That tone was a great piece of imprudence. There was a menacing gesture +and a rapid succession of footsteps on the pavement. Mr. Bing's retreat +was not, however, quite swift enough to save him. The pie landed on his +shoulder. In a moment, Hiram was arrested and marching toward the lockup +while Mr. Bing went to the nearest drug store to be cleaned and scoured.</p> + +<p class="space-above">A few days later Hiram Blenkinsop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> arrived in Bingville. Mr. Singleton +met him on the street and saw to his deep regret that Hiram had been drinking.</p> + +<p>"I've made up my mind that religion is good for some folks, but it won't +do for me," said the latter.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" the minister asked.</p> + +<p>"I can't afford it."</p> + +<p>"Have you found religion a luxury?" Mr. Singleton asked.</p> + +<p>"It's grand while it lasts, but it's like p'ison gettin' over it," said +Hiram. "I feel kind o' ruined."</p> + +<p>"You look it," said the minister, with a glance at Hiram's silk hat and +soiled clothing. "A long spell of sobriety is hard on a man if he quits +it sudden. You've had your day of trial, my friend. We all have to be +tried soon or late. People begin to say, 'At last he's come around all +right. He's a good fellow.' And the Lord says: 'Perhaps he's worthy of +better things. I'll try him and see.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>"That's His way of pushing people along, Hiram. He doesn't want them to +stand still. You've had your trial and failed, but you mustn't give up. +When your fun turns into sorrow, as it will, come back to me and we'll try again."</p> + +<p class="space-above">Hiram sat dozing in a corner of the bar-room of the Eagle Hotel that +day. He had been ashamed to go to his comfortable room over the garage. +He did not feel entitled to the hospitality of Mr. Singleton. Somehow, +he couldn't bear the thought of going there. His new clothes and silk +hat were in a state which excited the derision of small boys and audible +comment from all observers while he had been making his way down the +street. His money was about gone. The barkeeper had refused to sell him +any more drink. In the early dusk he went out-of-doors. It was almost as +warm as midsummer and the sky was clear. He called at the door of the +Widow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> Moran for his dog. In a moment, Christmas came down from the +Shepherd's room and greeted his master with fond affection. The two went +away together. They walked up a deserted street and around to the old +graveyard. When it was quite dark, they groped their way through the +weedy, briered aisles, between moss-covered toppling stones, to their +old nook under the ash tree. There Hiram made a bed of boughs, picked +from the evergreens that grow in the graveyard, and lay down upon it +under his overcoat with the dog Christmas. He found it impossible to +sleep, however. When he closed his eyes a new thought began nudging him.</p> + +<p>It seemed to be saying, "What are you going to do now, Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop?"</p> + +<p>He was pleased that it seemed to say Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He lay for a +long time looking up at the starry moonlit sky, and at the marble, +weather-spotted angel on the monument to the Reverend <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>Thaddeus Sneed, +who had been lying there, among the rude forefathers of the village, +since 1806. Suddenly the angel began to move. Mr. Blenkinsop observed +with alarm that it had discovered him and that its right forefinger was +no longer directed toward the sky but was pointing at his face. The +angel had assumed the look and voice of his Old Self and was saying:</p> + +<p>"I don't see why angels are always cut in marble an' set up in +graveyards with nothing to do but point at the sky. It's a cold an' +lonesome business. Why don't you give me a job?"</p> + +<p>His Old Self vanished and, as it did so, the spotted angel fell to +coughing and sneezing. It coughed and sneezed so loudly that the sound +went echoing in the distant sky and so violently that it reeled and +seemed to be in danger of falling. Mr. Blenkinsop awoke with a rude jump +so that the dog Christmas barked in alarm. It was nothing but the +midnight train from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the south pulling out of the station which was near +the old graveyard. The spotted angel stood firmly in its place and was +pointing at the sky as usual.</p> + +<p>It was probably an hour or so later, when Mr. Blenkinsop was awakened by +the barking of the dog Christmas. He quieted the dog and listened. He +heard a sound like that of a baby crying. It awoke tender memories in +the mind of Hiram Blenkinsop. One very sweet recollection was about all +that the barren, bitter years of his young manhood had given him worth +having. It was the recollection of a little child which had come to his +home in the first year of his married life.</p> + +<p>"She lived eighteen months and three days and four hours," he used to +say, in speaking of her, with a tender note in his voice.</p> + +<p>Almost twenty years, she had been lying in the old graveyard near the +ash tree. Since then the voice of a child crying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> always halted his +steps. It is probable that, in her short life, the neglected, pathetic +child Pearl—that having been her name—had protested much against a +plentiful lack of comfort and sympathy.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Blenkinsop's agitation at the sound of a baby crying somewhere +near him, in the darkness of the old graveyard, was quite natural and +will be readily understood. He rose on his elbow and listened. Again he +heard that small, appealing voice.</p> + +<p>"By thunder! Christmas," he whispered. "If that ain't like Pearl when +she was a little, teeny, weeny thing no bigger'n a pint o' beer! Say it +is, sir, sure as sin!"</p> + +<p>He scrambled to his feet, suddenly, for now, also, he could distinctly +hear the voice of a woman crying. He groped his way in the direction +from which the sound came and soon discovered the woman. She was +kneeling on a grave with a child in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> her arms. Her grief touched the +heart of the man.</p> + +<p>"Who be you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm cold, and my baby is sick, and I have no friends," she sobbed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ye have!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "I don't care who ye be. I'm yer +friend and don't ye fergit it."</p> + +<p class="space-above">There was a reassuring note in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. Its +gentleness had in it a quiver of sympathy. She felt it and gave to +him—an unknown, invisible man, with just a quiver of sympathy in his +voice—her confidence.</p> + +<p>If ever any one was in need of sympathy, she was at that moment. She +felt that she must speak out to some one. So keenly she felt the impulse +that she had been speaking to the stars and the cold gravestones. Here +at last was a human being with a quiver of sympathy in his voice.</p> + +<p>"I thought I would come home, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> when I got here I was afraid," the +girl moaned. "I wish I could die."</p> + +<p>"No, ye don't neither!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "Sometimes, I've thought +that I hadn't no friends an' wanted to die, but I was just foolin' +myself. To be sure, I ain't had no baby on my hands but I've had +somethin' just as worrisome, I guess. Folks like you an' me has got +friends a-plenty if we'll only give 'em a chance. I've found that out. +You let me take that baby an' come with me. I know where you'll git the +glad hand. You just come right along with me."</p> + +<p>The unmistakable note of sincerity was in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. +She gave the baby into his arms. He held it to his breast a moment +thinking of old times. Then he swung his arms like a cradle saying:</p> + +<p>"You stop your hollerin'—ye gol'darn little skeezucks! It ain't decent +to go on that way in a graveyard an' ye ought to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> know it. Be ye tryin' +to wake the dead?"</p> + +<p>The baby grew quiet and finally fell asleep.</p> + +<p>"Come on, now," said Hiram, with the baby lying against his breast. "You +an' me are goin' out o' the past. I know a little house that's next door +to Heaven. They say ye can see Heaven from its winders. It's where the +good Shepherd lives. Christmas an' I know the place—don't we, ol' boy? +Come right along. There ain't no kind o' doubt o' what they'll say to us."</p> + +<p class="space-above">The young woman followed him out of the old graveyard and through the +dark, deserted streets until they came to the cottage of the Widow +Moran. They passed through the gate into Judge Crooker's garden. Under +the Shepherd's window, Hiram Blenkinsop gave the baby to its mother and +with his hands to his mouth called "Bob!" in a loud whisper. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>Suddenly a +robin sounded his alarm. Instantly, the Shepherd's room was full of +light. In a moment, he was at the window sweeping the garden paths and +the tree tops with his search-light. It fell on the sorrowful figure of +the young mother with the child in her arms and stopped. She stood +looking up at the window bathed in the flood of light. It reminded the +Shepherd of that glow which the wise men saw in the manger at Bethlehem.</p> + +<p>"Pauline Baker!" he exclaimed. "Have you come back or am I dreaming? +It's you—thanks to the Blessed Virgin! It's you! Come around to the +door. My mother will let you in."</p> + +<p>It was a warm welcome that the girl received in the little home of the +Widow Moran. Many words of comfort and good cheer were spoken in the +next hour or so after which the good woman made tea and toast and +broiled a chop and served them in the Shepherd's room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>"God love ye, child! So he was a married man—bad 'cess to him an' the +likes o' him!" she said as she came in with the tray. "Mother o' Jesus! +What a wicked world it is!"</p> + +<p>The prudent dog Christmas, being afraid of babies, hid under the +Shepherd's bed, and Hiram Blenkinsop lay down for the rest of the night +on the lounge in the cottage kitchen.</p> + +<p>An hour after daylight, when the Judge was walking in his garden, he +wondered why the widow and the Shepherd were sleeping so late.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER SEVEN</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which High Voltage Develops in the Conversation</span></p> + +<p>It was a warm, bright May day. There was not a cloud in the sky. Roger +Delane had arrived and the Bings were giving a dinner that evening. The +best people of Hazelmead were coming over in motor-cars. Phyllis and +Roger had had a long ride together that day on the new Kentucky saddle +horses. Mrs. Bing had spent the morning in Hazelmead and had stayed to +lunch with Mayor and Mrs. Stacy. She had returned at four and cut some +flowers for the table and gone to her room for an hour's rest when the +young people returned. She was not yet asleep when Phyllis came into the +big bedroom. Mrs. Bing lay among the cushions on her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> couch. She partly +rose, tumbled the cushions into a pile and leaned against them.</p> + +<p>"Heavens! I'm tired!" she exclaimed. "These women in Hazelmead hang on +to one like a lot of hungry cats. They all want money for one thing or +another—Red Cross or Liberty bonds or fatherless children or tobacco +for the soldiers or books for the library. My word! I'm broke and it +seems as if each of my legs hung by a thread."</p> + +<p>Phyllis smiled as she stood looking down at her mother.</p> + +<p>"How beautiful you look!" the fond mother exclaimed. "If he didn't +propose to-day, he's a chump."</p> + +<p>"But he did," said Phyllis. "I tried to keep him from it, but he just +would propose in spite of me."</p> + +<p>The girl's face was red and serious. She sat down in a chair and began +to remove her hat. Mrs. Bing rose suddenly, and stood facing Phyllis.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>"I thought you loved him," she said with a look of surprise.</p> + +<p>"So I do," the girl answered.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"I said no."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"I refused him!"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Phyllis! Do you think you can afford to play with a man +like that? He won't stand for it."</p> + +<p>"Let him sit for it then and, mother, you might as well know, first as +last, that I am not playing with him."</p> + +<p>There was a calm note of firmness in the voice of the girl. She was +prepared for this scene. She had known it was coming. Her mother was hot +with irritating astonishment. The calmness of the girl in suddenly +beginning to dig a grave for this dear ambition—rich with promise—in +the very day when it had come submissively to their feet, stung like the +tooth of a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>serpent. She stood very erect and said with an icy look in +her face:</p> + +<p>"You young upstart! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>There was a moment of frigid silence in which both of the women began to +turn cold. Then Phyllis answered very calmly as she sat looking down at +the bunch of violets in her hand:</p> + +<p>"It means that I am married, mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing's face turned red. There was a little convulsive movement of +the muscles around her mouth. She folded her arms on her breast, lifted +her chin a bit higher and asked in a polite tone, although her words +fell like fragments of cracked ice:</p> + +<p>"Married! To whom are you married?"</p> + +<p>"To Gordon King."</p> + +<p>Phyllis spoke casually as if he were a piece of ribbon that she had +bought at a store.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bing sank into a chair and covered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> her face with her hands for +half a moment. Suddenly she picked up a slipper that lay at her feet and +flung it at the girl.</p> + +<p>"My God!" she exclaimed. "What a nasty liar you are!"</p> + +<p>It was not ladylike but, at that moment, the lady was temporarily absent.</p> + +<p>"Mother, I'm glad you say that," the girl answered still very calmly, +although her fingers trembled a little as she felt the violets, and her +voice was not quite steady. "It shows that I am not so stupid at home as +I am at school."</p> + +<p>The girl rose and threw down the violets and her mild and listless +manner. A look of defiance filled her face and figure. Mrs. Bing arose, +her eyes aglow with anger.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to know what you mean," she said under her breath.</p> + +<p>"I mean that if I am a liar, you taught me how to be it. Ever since I +was knee-high, you have been teaching me to deceive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> my father. I am not +going to do it any longer. I am going to find my father and tell him the +truth. I shall not wait another minute. He will give me better advice +than you have given, I hope."</p> + +<p>The words had fallen rapidly from her lips and, as the last one was +spoken, she hurried out of the room. Mrs. Bing threw herself on the +couch where she lay with certain bitter memories, until the new maid +came to tell her that it was time to dress.</p> + +<p>She was like one reminded of mortality after coming out of ether.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord!" she murmured wearily. "I feel like going to bed! How <i>can</i> I +live through that dinner? Please bring me some brandy."</p> + +<p>Phyllis learned that her father was at his office whither she proceeded +without a moment's delay. She sent in word that she must see him alone +and as soon as possible. He dismissed the men with whom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> he had been +talking and invited her into his private office.</p> + +<p>"Well, girl, I guess I know what is on your mind," he said. "Go ahead."</p> + +<p>Phyllis began to cry.</p> + +<p>"All right! You do the crying and I'll do the talking," he went on. "I +feel like doing the crying myself, but if you want the job I'll resign +it to you. Perhaps you can do enough of that for both of us. I began to +smell a rat the other day. So I sent for Gordon King. He came here this +morning. I had a long talk with him. He told me the truth. Why didn't +you tell me? What's the good of having a father unless you use him at +times when his counsel is likely to be worth having? I would have made a +good father, if I had had half a chance. I should like to have been your +friend and confidant in this important enterprise. I could have been a +help to you. But, somehow, I couldn't get on the board of directors. You +and your mother have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> been running the plant all by yourselves and I +guess it's pretty near bankrupt. Now, my girl, there's no use crying +over spilt tears. Gordon King is not the man of my choice, but we must +all take hold and try to build him up. Perhaps we can make him pay."</p> + +<p>"I do not love him," Phyllis sobbed.</p> + +<p>"You married him because you wanted to. You were not coerced?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, but you'll have to take your share of the crow with the rest +of us," he went on, with a note of sternness in his tone. "My girl, when +I make a contract I live up to it and I intend that you shall do the +same. You'll have to learn to love and cherish this fellow, if he makes +it possible. I'll have no welching in my family. You and your mother +believe in woman's rights. I don't object to that, but you mustn't think +that you have the right to break your agreements unless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> there's a good +reason for it. My girl, the marriage contract is the most binding and +sacred of all contracts. I want you to do your best to make this one a success."</p> + +<p>There was the tinkle of the telephone bell. Mr. Bing put the receiver to +his ear and spoke into the instrument as follows:</p> + +<p>"Yes, she's here! I knew all the facts before she told me. Mr. Delane? +He's on his way back to New York. Left on the six-ten. Charged me to +present his regrets and farewells to you and Phyllis. I thought it best +for him to know and to go. Yes, we're coming right home to dress. Mr. +King will take Mr. Delane's place at the table. We'll make a clean +breast of the whole business. Brace up and eat your crow with a smiling +face. I'll make a little speech and present Mr. and Mrs. King to our +friends at the end of it. Oh, now, cut out the sobbing and leave this +unfinished business to me and don't worry. We'll be home in three minutes."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER EIGHT</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">In Which Judge Crooker Delivers a Few Opinions</span></p> + +<p>The pride of Bingville had fallen in the dust! It had arisen and gone on +with soiled garments and lowered head. It had suffered derision and +defeat. It could not ever be the same again. Sneed and Snodgrass +recovered, in a degree, from their feeling of opulence. Sneed had become +polite, industrious and obliging. Snodgrass and others had lost heavily +in stock speculation through the failure of a broker in Hazelmead. They +went to work with a will and without the haughty independence which, for +a time, had characterized their attitude. The spirit of the Little +Shepherd had entered the hearts and home of Emanuel Baker and his wife.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +Pauline and the baby were there and being tenderly loved and cared for. +But what humility had entered that home! Phyllis and her husband lived +with her parents, Gordon having taken a humble place in the mill. He +worked early and late. The Bings had made it hard for him, finding it +difficult to overcome their resentment, but he stood the gaff, as they +say, and won the regard of J. Patterson although Mrs. Bing could never +forgive him.</p> + +<p>In June, there had been a public meeting in the Town Hall addressed by +Judge Crooker and the Reverend Mr. Singleton. The Judge had spoken of +the grinding of the mills of God that was going on the world over.</p> + +<p>"Our civilization has had its time of trial not yet ended," he began. +"Its enemies have been busy in every city and village. Not only in the +cities and villages of France and Belgium have they been busy, but in +those of our own land. The Goths<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> and Vandals have invaded Bingville. +They have been destroying the things we loved. The false god is in our +midst. Many here, within the sound of my voice, have a god suited to +their own tastes and sins—an obedient, tractable, boneless god. It is +my deliberate opinion that the dances and costumes and moving pictures +we have seen in Bingville are doing more injury to Civilization than all +the guns of Germany. My friends, you can do nothing worse for my +daughter than deprive her of her modesty and I would rather, far rather, +see you slay my son than destroy his respect for law and virtue and decency.</p> + +<p>"The jazz band is to me a sign of spiritual decay. It is a step toward +the jungle. I hear in it the beating of the tom-tom. It is not music. It +is the barbaric yawp of sheer recklessness and daredevilism, and it is everywhere.</p> + +<p>"Even in our economic life we are dancing to the jazz band and with +utter <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>recklessness. American labor is being more and more absorbed in +the manufacture of luxuries—embroidered frocks and elaborate millinery +and limousines and landaulets and rich upholstery and cord tires and +golf courses and sporting goods and great country houses—so that there +is not enough labor to provide the comforts and necessities of life.</p> + +<p>"The tendency of all this is to put the stamp of luxury upon the +commonest needs of man. The time seems to be near when a boiled egg and +a piece of buttered bread will be luxuries and a family of children an +unspeakable extravagance. Let us face the facts. It is up to Vanity to +moderate its demands upon the industry of man. What we need is more +devotion to simple living and the general welfare. In plain +old-fashioned English we need the religion and the simplicity of our fathers."</p> + +<p class="space-above">Later, in June, a strike began in the big<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> plant of J. Patterson Bing. +The men demanded higher pay and shorter days. They were working under a +contract but that did not seem to matter. In a fight with "scabs" and +Pinkerton men they destroyed a part of the plant. Even the life of Mr. +Bing was threatened! The summer was near its end when J. Patterson Bing +and a committee of the labor union met in the office of Judge Crooker to +submit their differences to that impartial magistrate for adjustment. +The Judge listened patiently and rendered his decision. It was accepted.</p> + +<p>When the papers were signed, Mr. Bing rose and said, "Your Honor, +there's one thing I want to say. I have spent most of my life in this +town. I have built up a big business here and doubled the population. I +have built comfortable homes for my laborers and taken an interest in +the education of their children, and built a library where any one could +find the best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> books to read. I have built playgrounds for the children +of the working people. If I have heard of any case of need, I have done +my best to relieve it. I have always been ready to hear complaints and +treat them fairly. My men have been generously paid and yet they have +not hesitated to destroy my property and to use guns and knives and +clubs and stones to prevent the plant from filling its contracts and to +force their will upon me. How do you explain it? What have I done or +failed to do that has caused this bitterness?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bing, I am glad that you ask me that question," the old Judge +began. "It gives me a chance to present to you, and to these men who +work for you, a conviction which has grown out of impartial observation +of your relations with each other.</p> + +<p>"First, I want to say to you, Mr. Bing, that I regard you as a good +citizen. Your genius and generosity have put this community under great +obligation. Now, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> heading toward the hidden cause of your complaint, +I beg to ask you a question at the outset. Do you know that unfortunate +son of the Widow Moran known as the Shepherd of the Birds?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard much about him," Mr. Bing answered.</p> + +<p>"Do you know him?"</p> + +<p>"No. I have had letters from him acknowledging favors now and then, but +I do not know him."</p> + +<p>"We have hit at once the source of your trouble," the Judge went on. +"The Shepherd is a representative person. He stands for the poor and the +unfortunate in this village. You have never gone to see him +because—well, probably it was because you feared that the look of him +would distress you. The thing which would have helped and inspired and +gladdened his heart more than anything else would have been the feel of +your hand and a kind and cheering word and sympathetic counsel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> Under +those circumstances, I think I may say that it was your duty as a +neighbor and a human being to go to see him. Instead of that you sent +money to him. Now, he never needed money. In the kindest spirit, I ask +you if that money you sent to him in the best of good-will was not, in +fact, a species of bribery? Were you not, indeed, seeking to buy +immunity from a duty incumbent upon you as a neighbor and a human +being?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bing answered quickly, "There are plenty of people who have nothing +else to do but carry cheer and comfort to the unfortunate. I have other things to do."</p> + +<p>"That, sir, does not relieve you of the liabilities of a neighbor and a +human being, in my view. If your business has turned you into a shaft or +a cog-wheel, it has done you a great injustice. I fear that it has been +your master—that it has practised upon you a kind of despotism. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +would better get along with less—far less business than suffer such a +fate. I don't want to hurt you. We are looking for the cause of a +certain result and I can help you only by being frank. With all your +generosity you have never given your heart to this village. Some unkind +people have gone so far as to say that you have no heart. You can not +prove it with money that you do not miss. Money is good but it must be +warmed with sympathy and some degree of sacrifice. Has it never occurred +to you that the warm hand and the cheering word in season are more, +vastly more, than money in the important matter of making good-will? +Unconsciously, you have established a line and placed yourself on one +side of it and the people on the other. Broadly speaking, you are +capital and the rest are labor. Whereas, in fact, you are all working +men. Some of the rest have come to regard you as their natural enemy. +They ought to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> regard you as their natural friend. Two kinds of +despotism have prevented it. First, there is the despotism of your +business in making you a slave—so much of a slave that you haven't time +to be human; second, there is the despotism of the labor union in +discouraging individual excellence, in demanding equal pay for the +faithful man and the slacker, and in denying the right of free men to +labor when and where they will. All this is tyranny as gross and +un-American as that of George the Third in trying to force his will upon +the colonies. If America is to survive, we must set our faces against +every form of tyranny. The remedy for all our trouble and bitterness is +real democracy which is nothing more or less than the love of men—the +love of justice and fair play for each and all.</p> + +<p>"You men should know that every strike increases the burdens of the +people. Every day your idleness lifts the price of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> necessities. +Idleness is just another form of destruction. Why could you not have +listened to the counsel of Reason in June instead of in September, and +thus have saved these long months of loss and hardship and bitter +violence? It was because the spirit of Tyranny had entered your heart +and put your judgment in chains. It had blinded you to honor also, for +your men were working under contract. If the union is to command the +support of honest men, it must be honest. It was Tyranny that turned the +treaty with Belgium into a scrap of paper. That kind of a thing will not +do here. Let me assure you that Tyranny has no right to be in this land +of ours. You remind me of the Prodigal Son who had to know the taste of +husks and the companionship of swine before he came to himself. Do you +not know that Tyranny is swine and the fodder of swine? It is simply +human hoggishness.</p> + +<p>"I have one thing more to say and I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> finished. Mr. Bing, some time +ago you threw up your religion without realizing the effect that such an +act would be likely to produce on this community. You are, no doubt, +aware that many followed your example. I've got no preaching to do. I'm +just going to quote you a few words from an authority no less +respectable than George Washington himself. Our history has made one +fact very clear, namely, that he was a wise and far-seeing man."</p> + +<p>Judge Crooker took from a shelf, John Marshall's "Life of Washington," +and read:</p> + +<p>"'<i>It is substantially true that virtue or morality is a necessary +spring of popular government and let us, with caution, indulge the +supposition that morality can be maintained without religion.</i></p> + +<p>"'<i>Let it simply be asked where is the security for property, for +reputation, for life, if a sense of religious obligation</i> <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span><i>desert the +oaths which are the instruments of investigation in courts of justice?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Let me add, on my own account, that the treatment you receive from your +men will vary according to their respect for morality and religion.</p> + +<p>"They could manage very well with an irreligious master, for you are +only one. But an irreligious mob is a different and highly serious +matter, believe me. Away back in the seventeenth century, John Dryden +wrote a wise sentence. It was this:</p> + +<p>"'<i>I have heard, indeed, of some very virtuous persons who have ended +unfortunately but never of a virtuous nation; Providence is engaged too +deeply when the cause becomes general.</i></p> + +<p>"'If virtue is the price of a nation's life, let us try to keep our own +nation virtuous.'"</p> + +<p class="space-above">Mr. Bing and his men left the Judge's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> office in a thoughtful mood. The +next day, Judge Crooker met the mill owner on the street.</p> + +<p>"Judge, I accept your verdict," said the latter. "I fear that I have +been rather careless. It didn't occur to me that my example would be +taken so seriously. I have been a prodigal and have resolved to return +to my father's house."</p> + +<p>"Ho, servants!" said the Judge, with a smile. "Bring forth the best robe +and put it on him and put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet and +bring hither the fatted calf and kill it and let us eat and be merry."</p> + +<p>"We shall have to postpone the celebration," said Mr. Bing. "I have to +go to New York to-night, and I sail for England to-morrow. But I shall +return before Christmas."</p> + +<p>A little farther on Mr. Bing met Hiram Blenkinsop. The latter had a +plank on his shoulder.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>"I'd like to have a word with you," said the mill owner as he took hold +of the plank and helped Hiram to ease it down. "I hear many good things +about you, Mr. Blenkinsop. I fear that we have all misjudged you. If I +have ever said or done anything to hurt your feelings, I am sorry for it."</p> + +<p>Hiram Blenkinsop looked with astonishment into the eyes of the millionaire.</p> + +<p>"I—I guess I ain't got you placed right—not eggzac'ly," said he. "Some +folks ain't as good as they look an' some ain't as bad as they look. I +wouldn't wonder if we was mostly purty much alike, come to shake us down."</p> + +<p>"Let's be friends, anyhow," said Mr. Bing. "If there's anything I can do +for you, let me know."</p> + +<p>That evening, as he sat by the stove in his little room over the garage +of Mr. Singleton with his dog Christmas lying beside him, Mr. Blenkinsop +fell asleep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> and awoke suddenly with a wild yell of alarm.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" a voice inquired.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop turned and saw his Old Self standing in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Nothin' but a dream," said Blenkinsop as he wiped his eyes. "Dreamed I +had a dog with a terrible thirst on him. Used to lead him around with a +rope an' when we come to a brook he'd drink it dry. Suddenly I felt an +awful jerk on the rope that sent me up in the air an' I looked an' see +that the dog had turned into an elephant an' that he was goin' like Sam +Hill, an' that I was hitched to him and couldn't let go. Once in a while +he'd stop an' drink a river dry an' then he'd lay down an' rest. +Everybody was scared o' the elephant an' so was I. An' I'd try to cut +the rope with my jack knife but it wouldn't cut—it was so dull. Then +all of a sudden he'd start on the run an' twitch me over the hills an' +mountings, an' me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> takin' steps a mile long an' scared to death."</p> + +<p>"The fact is you're hitched to an elephant," his Old Self remarked. "The +first thing to do is to sharpen your jack knife."</p> + +<p>"It's Night an' Silence that sets him goin'," said Blenkinsop. "When +they come he's apt to start for the nighest river. The old elephant is +beginnin' to move."</p> + +<p>Blenkinsop put on his hat and hurried out of the door.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER NINE</h2> + +<p class="bold"><span class="smcap">Which Tells of a Merry Christmas Day in the Little Cottage of the Widow +Moran</span></p> + +<p>Night and Silence are a stern test of wisdom. For years, the fun loving, +chattersome Blenkinsop had been their enemy and was not yet at peace +with them. But Night and Silence had other enemies in the +village—ancient and inconsolable enemies, it must be said. They were +the cocks of Bingville. Every morning they fell to and drove Night and +Silence out of the place and who shall say that they did not save it +from being hopelessly overwhelmed. Day was their victory and they knew +how to achieve it. Noise was the thing most needed. So they roused the +people and called up the lights and set the griddles rattling. The +great, white cock<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> that roosted near the window in the Widow Moran's +hen-house watched for the first sign of weakness in the enemy. When it +came, he sent forth a bolt of sound that tumbled Silence from his throne +and shook the foundations of the great dome of Night. It rang over the +housetops and through every street and alley in the village. That +started the battle. Silence tried in vain to recover his seat. In a +moment, every cock in Bingville was hurling bombs at him. Immediately, +Darkness began to grow pale with fright. Seeing the fate of his ally, he +broke camp and fled westward. Soon the field was clear and every proud +cock surveyed the victory with a solemn sense of large accomplishment.</p> + +<p>The loud victorious trumpets sounding in the garden near the window of +the Shepherd awoke him that Christmas morning. The dawn light was on the windows.</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas!" said the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> round nickel clock in a cheerful +tone. "It's time to get up!"</p> + +<p>"Is it morning?" the Shepherd asked drowsily, as he rubbed his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Sure it's morning!" the little clock answered. "That lazy old sun is +late again. He ought to be up and at work. He's like a dishonest hired man."</p> + +<p>"He's apt to be slow on Christmas morning," said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Then people blame me and say I'm too fast," the little clock went on. +"They don't know what an old shirk the sun can be. I've been watching +him for years and have never gone to sleep at my post."</p> + +<p>After a moment of silence the little clock went on: "Hello! The old +night is getting a move on it. The cocks are scaring it away. Santa +Claus has been here. He brought ever so many things. The midnight train stopped."</p> + +<p>"I wonder who came," said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>"I guess it was the Bings," the clock answered.</p> + +<p>Just then it struck seven.</p> + +<p>"There, I guess that's about the end of it," said the little clock.</p> + +<p>"Of what?" the Shepherd asked.</p> + +<p>"Of the nineteen hundred and eighteen years. You know seven is the +favored number in sacred history. I'm sure the baby would have been born +at seven. My goodness! There's a lot of ticking in all that time. I've +been going only twelve years and I'm nearly worn out. Some young clock +will have to take my job before long."</p> + +<p>These reflections of the little clock were suddenly interrupted. The +Shepherd's mother entered with a merry greeting and turned on the +lights. There were many bundles lying about. She came and kissed her son +and began to build a fire in the little stove.</p> + +<p>"This'll be the merriest Christmas in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> yer life, laddie boy," she said, +as she lit the kindlings. "A great doctor has come up with the Bings to +see ye. He says he'll have ye out-o'-doors in a little while."</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho! That looks like the war was nearly over," said Mr. Bloggs.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moran did not hear the remark of the little tin soldier so she rattled on:</p> + +<p>"I went over to the station to meet 'em last night. Mr. Blenkinsop has +brought us a fine turkey. We'll have a gran' dinner—sure we will—an' I +axed Mr. Blenkinsop to come an' eat with us."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moran opened the gifts and spread them on the bed. There were books +and paints and brushes and clothing and silver articles and needle-work +and a phonograph and a check from Mr. Bing.</p> + +<p>The little cottage had never seen a day so full of happiness. It rang +with talk and merry laughter and the music of the phonograph. Mr. +Blenkinsop had come in his best mood and apparel with the dog<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +Christmas. He helped Mrs. Moran to set the table in the Shepherd's room +and brought up the platter with the big brown turkey on it, surrounded +by sweet potatoes, all just out of the oven. Mrs. Moran followed with +the jelly and the creamed onions and the steaming coffee pot and new +celery. The dog Christmas growled and ran under the bed when he saw his +master coming with that unfamiliar burden.</p> + +<p>"He's never seen a Christmas dinner before. I don't wonder he's kind o' +scairt! I ain't seen one in so long, I'm scairt myself," said Hiram +Blenkinsop as they sat down at the table.</p> + +<p>"What's scairin' ye, man?" said the widow.</p> + +<p>"'Fraid I'll wake up an' find myself dreamin'," Mr. Blenkinsop answered.</p> + +<p>"Nobody ever found himself dreamin' at my table," said Mrs. Moran. "Grab +the carvin' knife an' go to wurruk, man."</p> + +<p>"I ain't eggzac'ly used to this kind of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> a job, but if you'll look out +o' the winder, I'll have it chopped an' split an' corded in a minute," +said Mr. Blenkinsop.</p> + +<p>He got along very well with his task. When they began eating he +remarked, "I've been lookin' at that pictur' of a girl with a baby in +her arms. Brings the water to my eyes, it's so kind o' life like and +nat'ral. It's an A number one pictur'—no mistake."</p> + +<p>He pointed at a large painting on the wall.</p> + +<p>"It's Pauline!" said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Sure she's one o' the saints o' God!" the widow exclaimed. "She's +started a school for the children o' them Eytalians an' Poles. She's +tryin' to make 'em good Americans."</p> + +<p>"I'll never forget that night," Mr. Blenkinsop remarked.</p> + +<p>"If ye don't fergit it, I'll never mend another hole in yer pants," the +widow answered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p><p>"I've never blabbed a word about it to any one but Mr. Singleton."</p> + +<p>"Keep that in yer soul, man. It's yer ticket to Paradise," said the widow.</p> + +<p>"She goes every day to teach the Poles and Italians, but I have her here +with me always," the Shepherd remarked. "I'm glad when the morning comes +so that I can see her again."</p> + +<p>"God bless the child! We was sorry to lose her but we have the pictur' +an' the look o' her with the love o' God in her face," said the Widow Moran.</p> + +<p>"Now light yer pipe and take yer comfort, man," said the hospitable +widow, after the dishes were cleared away. "Sure it's more like +Christmas to see a man an' a pipe in the house. Heavens, no! A man in +the kitchen is worse than a hole in yer petticoat."</p> + +<p>So Mr. Blenkinsop sat with the Shepherd while the widow went about her +work. With his rumpled hair, clean<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> shaven face, long nose and prominent +ears, he was not a handsome man.</p> + +<p>"This is the top notch an' no mistake," he remarked as he lighted his +pipe. "Blenkinsop is happy. He feels like his Old Self. He has no fault +to find with anything or anybody."</p> + +<p>Mr. Blenkinsop delivered this report on the state of his feelings with a +serious look in his gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"It kind o' reminds me o' the time when I used to hang up my stockin' +an' look for the reindeer tracks in the snow on Christmas mornin'," he +went on. "Since then, my ol' socks have been full o' pain an' trouble +every Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Those I knit for ye left here full of good wishes," said the Shepherd.</p> + +<p>"Say, when I put 'em on this mornin' with the b'iled shirt an' the suit +that Mr. Bing sent me, my Old Self came an' asked me where I was goin', +an' when I said I was goin' to spen' Christmas with a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>respectable +fam'ly, he said, 'I guess I'll go with ye,' so here we be."</p> + +<p>"The Old Selves of the village have all been kicked out-of-doors," said +the Shepherd. "The other day you told me about the trouble you had had +with yours. That night, all the Old Selves of Bingville got together +down in the garden and talked and talked about their relatives so I +couldn't sleep. It was a kind of Selfland. I told Judge Crooker about it +and he said that that was exactly what was going on in the Town Hall the +other night at the public meeting."</p> + +<p>"The folks are drunk—as drunk as I was in Hazelmead last May," said Mr. +Blenkinsop. "They have been drunk with gold and pleasure——"</p> + +<p>"The fruit of the vine of plenty," said Judge Crooker, who had just come +up the stairs. "Merry Christmas!" he exclaimed as he shook hands. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, you look as if you were enjoying yourself."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>"An' why not when yer Self has been away an' just got back?"</p> + +<p>"And you've killed the fatted turkey," said the Judge, as he took out +his silver snuff box. "One by one, the prodigals are returning."</p> + +<p>They heard footsteps on the stairs and the merry voice of the Widow +Moran. In a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Bing stood in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Mr. and Mrs. Bing, I want to make you acquainted with my very dear +friend, Robert Moran," said Judge Crooker.</p> + +<p>There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes as Mrs. Bing stooped and kissed +him. He looked up at the mill owner as the latter took his hand.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Bing.</p> + +<p>"Is this—is this Mr. J. Patterson Bing?" the Shepherd asked, his eyes +wide with astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and it is my fault that you do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> not know me better. I want to be +your friend."</p> + +<p>The Shepherd put his handkerchief over his eyes. His voice trembled when +he said: "You have been very kind to us."</p> + +<p>"But I'm really hoping to do something for you," Mr. Bing assured him. +"I've brought a great surgeon from New York who thinks he can help you. +He will be over to see you in the morning."</p> + +<p>They had a half-hour's visit with the little Shepherd. Mr. Bing, who was +a judge of good pictures, said that the boy's work showed great promise +and that his picture of the mother and child would bring a good price if +he cared to sell it. When they arose to go, Mr. Blenkinsop thanked the +mill owner for his Christmas suit.</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it," said Mr. Bing.</p> + +<p>"Well, it mentions itself purty middlin' often," Mr. Blenkinsop laughed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the former asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, to tell ye the dead hones' truth, I've got a new ambition," +said Mr. Blenkinsop. "I've thought of it nights a good deal. I'd like to +be sextunt o' the church an' ring that ol' bell."</p> + +<p>"We'll see what can be done about it," Mr. Bing answered with a laugh, +as they went down-stairs with Judge Crooker, followed by the dog +Christmas, who scampered around them on the street with a merry growl of +challenge, as if the spirit of the day were in him.</p> + +<p>"What is it that makes the boy so appealing?" Mr. Bing asked of the Judge.</p> + +<p>"He has a wonderful personality," Mrs. Bing remarked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he has that. But the thing that underlies and shines through it is +his great attraction."</p> + +<p>"What do you call it?" Mrs. Bing asked.</p> + +<p>"A clean and noble spirit! Is there any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> other thing in this world that, +in itself, is really worth having?"</p> + +<p>"Compared with him, I recognize that I am very poor indeed," said J. +Patterson Bing.</p> + +<p>"You are what I would call a promising young man," the Judge answered. +"If you don't get discouraged, you're going to amount to something. I am +glad because you are, in a sense, the father of the great family of Bingville."</p> + +<p class="center space-above">THE END</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Prodigal Village, by Irving Bacheller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 44796-h.htm or 44796-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/7/9/44796/ + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/44796-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/44796-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b1c727 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44796-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/old/44796.txt b/old/44796.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a3a877b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44796.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3427 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prodigal Village, by Irving Bacheller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Prodigal Village + A Christmas Tale + +Author: Irving Bacheller + +Release Date: January 30, 2014 [EBook #44796] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE + +A Christmas Tale + + +_By_ +IRVING BACHELLER + +_Author of_ +THE LIGHT IN THE CLEARING +A MAN FOR THE AGES, Etc. + + +INDIANAPOLIS +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY +PUBLISHERS + + +COPYRIGHT 1920 +AMERICAN NATIONAL RED CROSS + + +COPYRIGHT 1920 +IRVING BACHELLER + + +_Printed in the United States of America_ + + +PRESS OF +BRAUNWORTH & CO. +BOOK MANUFACTURERS +BROOKLYN, N. Y. + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + I WHICH INTRODUCES THE SHEPHERD OF THE BIRDS 1 + + II THE FOUNDING OF THE PHYLLISTINES 18 + + III WHICH TELLS OF THE COMPLAINING COIN AND THE MAN + WHO LOST HIS SELF 68 + + IV IN WHICH MR. ISRAEL SNEED AND OTHER WORKING MEN + RECEIVE A LESSON IN TRUE DEMOCRACY 91 + + V IN WHICH J. PATTERSON BING BUYS A NECKLACE OF PEARLS 103 + + VI IN WHICH HIRAM BLENKINSOP HAS A NUMBER OF ADVENTURES 117 + + VII IN WHICH HIGH VOLTAGE DEVELOPS IN THE CONVERSATION 137 + +VIII IN WHICH JUDGE CROOKER DELIVERS A FEW OPINIONS 146 + + IX WHICH TELLS OF A MERRY CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE LITTLE + COTTAGE OF THE WIDOW MORAN 163 + + + + +THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +WHICH INTRODUCES THE SHEPHERD OF THE BIRDS + + +The day that Henry Smix met and embraced Gasoline Power and went up Main +Street hand in hand with it is not yet forgotten. It was a hasty +marriage, so to speak, and the results of it were truly deplorable. +Their little journey produced an effect on the nerves and the remote +future history of Bingville. They rushed at a group of citizens who were +watching them, scattered it hither and thither, broke down a section of +Mrs. Risley's picket fence and ran over a small boy. At the end of their +brief misalliance, Gasoline Power seemed to express its opinion of Mr. +Smix by hurling him against a telegraph pole and running wild in the +park until it cooled its passion in the fountain pool. In the language +of Hiram Blenkinsop, the place was badly "smixed up." Yet Mr. Smix was +the object of unmerited criticism. He was like many other men in that +quiet village--slow, deliberate, harmless and good-natured. The action +of his intellect was not at all like that of a gasoline engine. Between +the swiftness of the one and the slowness of the other, there was a wide +zone full of possibilities. The engine had accomplished many things +while Mr. Smix's intellect was getting ready to begin to act. + +In speaking of this adventure, Hiram Blenkinsop made a wise remark: "My +married life learnt me one thing," said he. "If you are thinkin' of +hitchin' up a wild horse with a tame one, be careful that the tame one +is the stoutest or it will do him no good." + +The event had its tragic side and whatever Hiram Blenkinsop and other +citizens of questionable taste may have said of it, the historian has no +intention of treating it lightly. Mr. Smix and his neighbor's fence +could be repaired but not the small boy--Robert Emmet Moran, six years +old, the son of the Widow Moran who took in washing. He was in the +nature of a sacrifice to the new god. He became a beloved cripple, known +as the Shepherd of the Birds and altogether the most cheerful person in +the village. His world was a little room on the second floor of his +mother's cottage overlooking the big flower garden of Judge Crooker--his +father having been the gardener and coachman of the Judge. There were in +this room an old pine bureau, a four post bedstead, an armchair by the +window, a small round nickel clock, that sat on the bureau, a rubber +tree and a very talkative little old tin soldier of the name of Bloggs +who stood erect on a shelf with a gun in his hand and was always looking +out of the window. The day of the tin soldier's arrival the boy had +named him Mr. Bloggs and discovered his unusual qualities of mind and +heart. He was a wise old soldier, it would seem, for he had some sort of +answer for each of the many questions of Bob Moran. Indeed, as Bob knew, +he had seen and suffered much, having traveled to Europe and back with +the Judge's family and been sunk for a year in a frog pond and been +dropped in a jug of molasses, but through it all had kept his look of +inextinguishable courage. The lonely lad talked, now and then, with the +round, nickel clock or the rubber-tree or the pine bureau, but mostly +gave his confidence to the wise and genial Mr. Bloggs. When the spring +arrived the garden, with its birds and flowers, became a source of joy +and companionship for the little lad. Sitting by the open window, he +used to talk to Pat Crowley, who was getting the ground ready for +sowing. Later the slow procession of the flowers passed under the boy's +window and greeted him with its fragrance and color. + +But his most intimate friends were the birds. Robins, in the elm tree +just beyond the window, woke him every summer morning. When he made his +way to the casement, with the aid of two ropes which spanned his room, +they came to him lighting on his wrists and hands and clamoring for the +seeds and crumbs which he was wont to feed them. Indeed, little Bob +Moran soon learned the pretty lingo of every feathered tribe that camped +in the garden. He could sound the pan pipe of the robin, the fairy flute +of the oriole, the noisy guitar of the bobolink and the little piccolo +of the song sparrow. Many of these dear friends of his came into the +room and explored the rubber tree and sang in its branches. A colony of +barn swallows lived under the eaves of the old weathered shed on the far +side of the garden. There were many windows, each with a saucy head +looking out of it. Suddenly half a dozen of these merry people would +rush into the air and fill it with their frolic. They were like a lot of +laughing schoolboys skating over invisible hills and hollows. + +With a pair of field-glasses, which Mrs. Crooker had loaned to him, Bob +Moran had learned the nest habits of the whole summer colony in that +wonderful garden. All day he sat by the open window with his work, an +air gun at his side. The robins would shout a warning to Bob when a cat +strolled into that little paradise. Then he would drop his brushes, +seize his gun and presently its missile would go whizzing through the +air, straight against the side of the cat, who, feeling the sting of it, +would bound through the flower beds and leap over the fence to avoid +further punishment. Bob had also made an electric search-light out of +his father's old hunting jack and, when those red-breasted policemen +sounded their alarm at night, he was out of bed in a jiffy and sweeping +the tree tops with a broom of light, the jack on his forehead. If he +discovered a pair of eyes, the stinging missiles flew toward them in the +light stream until the intruder was dislodged. Indeed, he was like a +shepherd of old, keeping the wolves from his flock. It was the parish +priest who first called him the Shepherd of the Birds. + +Just opposite his window was the stub of an old pine partly covered with +Virginia creeper. Near the top of it was a round hole and beyond it a +small cavern which held the nest of a pair of flickers. Sometimes the +female sat with her gray head protruding from this tiny oriel window of +hers looking across at Bob. Pat Crowley was in the habit of calling +this garden "Moran City," wherein the stub was known as Woodpecker +Tower and the flower bordered path as Fifth Avenue while the widow's +cottage was always referred to as City Hall and the weathered shed as +the tenement district. + + +What a theater of unpremeditated art was this beautiful, big garden of +the Judge! There were those who felt sorry for Bob Moran but his life +was fuller and happier than theirs. It is doubtful if any of the world's +travelers saw more of its beauty than he. + +He had sugared the window-sill so that he always had company--bees and +wasps and butterflies. The latter had interested him since the Judge had +called them "stray thoughts of God." Their white, yellow and blue wings +were always flashing in the warm sunlit spaces of the garden. He loved +the chorus of an August night and often sat by his window listening to +the songs of the tree crickets and katydids and seeing the innumerable +firefly lanterns flashing among the flowers. + +His work was painting scenes in the garden, especially bird tricks and +attitudes. For this, he was indebted to Susan Baker, who had given him +paints and brushes and taught him how to use them, and to an unusual +aptitude for drawing. + +One day Mrs. Baker brought her daughter Pauline with her--a pretty +blue-eyed girl with curly blonde hair, four years older than Bob, who +was thirteen when his painting began. The Shepherd looked at her with an +exclamation of delight; until then he had never seen a beautiful young +maiden. Homely, ill-clad daughters of the working folk had come to his +room with field flowers now and then, but no one like Pauline. He felt +her hair and looked wistfully into her face and said that she was like +pink and white and yellow roses. She was a discovery--a new kind of +human being. Often he thought of her as he sat looking out of the window +and often he dreamed of her at night. + +The little Shepherd of the Birds was not quite a boy. He was a spirit +untouched by any evil thought, unbroken to lures and thorny ways. He +still had the heart of childhood and saw only the beauty of the world. +He was like the flowers and birds of the garden, strangely fair and +winsome, with silken, dark hair curling about his brows. He had large, +clear, brown eyes, a mouth delicate as a girl's and teeth very white and +shapely. The Bakers had lifted the boundaries of his life and extended +his vision. He found a new joy in studying flower forms and in imitating +their colors on canvas. + +Now, indeed, there was not a happier lad in the village than this young +prisoner in one of the two upper bedrooms in the small cottage of the +Widow Moran. True, he had moments of longing for his lost freedom when +he heard the shouts of the boys in the street and their feet hurrying by +on the sidewalk. The steadfast and courageous Mr. Bloggs had said: "I +guess we have just as much fun as they do, after all. Look at them +roses." + +One evening, as his mother sat reading an old love tale to the boy, he +stopped her. + +"Mother," he said, "I love Pauline. Do you think it would be all right +for me to tell her?" + +"Never a word," said the good woman. "Ye see it's this way, my little +son, ye're like a priest an' it's not the right thing for a priest." + +"I don't want to be a priest," said he impatiently. + +"Tut, tut, my laddie boy! It's for God to say an' for us to obey," she +answered. + +When the widow had gone to her room for the night and Bob was thinking +it over, Mr. Bloggs remarked that in his opinion they should keep up +their courage for it was a very grand thing to be a priest after all. + + +Winters he spent deep in books out of Judge Crooker's library and +tending his potted plants and painting them and the thick blanket of +snow in the garden. Among the happiest moments of his life were those +that followed his mother's return from the post-office with _The +Bingville Sentinel_. Then, as the widow was wont to say, he was like a +dog with a bone. To him, Bingville was like Rome in the ancient world or +London in the British Empire. All roads led to Bingville. The _Sentinel_ +was in the nature of a habit. One issue was like unto another--as like +as "two chaws off the same plug of tobaccer," a citizen had once said. +Its editor performed his jokes with a wink and a nudge as if he were +saying, "I will now touch the light guitar." Anything important in the +_Sentinel_ would have been as misplaced as a cannon in a meeting-house. +Every week it caught the toy balloons of gossip, the thistledown events +which were floating in the still air of Bingville. The _Sentinel_ was a +dissipation as enjoyable and as inexplicable as tea. It contained +portraits of leading citizens, accounts of sundry goings and comings, +and teas and parties and student frolics. + +To the little Shepherd, Bingville was the capital of the world and Mr. +J. Patterson Bing, the first citizen of Bingville, who employed eleven +hundred men and had four automobiles, was a gigantic figure whose shadow +stretched across the earth. There were two people much in his thoughts +and dreams and conversation--Pauline Baker and J. Patterson Bing. Often +there were articles in the _Sentinel_ regarding the great enterprises of +Mr. Bing and the social successes of the Bing family in the metropolis. +These he read with hungry interest. His favorite heroes were George +Washington, St. Francis and J. Patterson Bing. As between the three he +would, secretly, have voted for Mr. Bing. Indeed, he and his friends and +intimates--Mr. Bloggs and the rubber tree and the little pine bureau and +the round nickel clock--had all voted for Mr. Bing. But he had never +seen the great man. + +Mr. Bing sent Mrs. Moran a check every Christmas and, now and then, some +little gift to Bob, but his charities were strictly impersonal. He used +to say that while he was glad to help the poor and the sick, he hadn't +time to call on them. Once, Mrs. Bing promised the widow that she and +her husband would go to see Bob on Christmas Day. The little Shepherd +asked his mother to hang his best pictures on the walls and to decorate +them with sprigs of cedar. He put on his starched shirt and collar and +silk tie and a new black coat which his mother had given him. The +Christmas bells never rang so merrily. + + +The great white bird in the Congregational Church tower--that being +Bob's thought of it--flew out across the valley with its tidings of good +will. + +To the little Shepherd it seemed to say: +"Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing--Bing! Com-ing, Com-ing, Com-ing!!" + +Many of the friends of his mother--mostly poor folk of the parish who +worked in the mill--came with simple gifts and happy greetings. There +were those among them who thought it a blessing to look upon the sweet +face of Bob and to hear his merry laughter over some playful bit of +gossip and Judge Crooker said that they were quite right about it. Mr. +and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing were never to feel this blessing. The +Shepherd of the Birds waited in vain for them that Christmas Day. Mrs. +Bing sent a letter of kindly greeting and a twenty-dollar gold piece +and explained that her husband was not feeling "quite up to the mark," +which was true. + +"I'm not going," he said decisively, when Mrs. Bing brought the matter +up as he was smoking in the library an hour or so after dinner. "No +cripples and misery in mine at present, thank you! I wouldn't get over +it for a week. Just send them our best wishes and a twenty-dollar gold +piece." + +There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes when his mother helped him into +his night clothes that evening. + +"I hate that twenty-dollar gold piece!" he exclaimed. + +"Laddie boy! Why should ye be sayin' that?" + +The shiny piece of metal was lying on the window-sill. She took it in +her hand. + +"It's as cold as a snow-bank!" she exclaimed. + +"I don't want to touch it! I'm shivering now," said the Shepherd. "Put +it away in the drawer. It makes me sick. It cheated me out of seeing Mr. +Bing." + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +THE FOUNDING OF THE PHYLLISTINES + + +One little word largely accounted for the success of J. Patterson Bing. +It was the word "no." It saved him in moments which would have been full +of peril for other men. He had never made a bad investment because he +knew how and when to say "no." It fell from his lips so sharply and +decisively that he lost little time in the consideration of doubtful +enterprises. Sometimes it fell heavily and left a wound, for which Mr. +Bing thought himself in no way responsible. There was really a lot of +good-will in him. He didn't mean to hurt any one. + +"Time is a thing of great value and what's the use of wasting it in idle +palaver?" he used to say. + +One day, Hiram Blenkinsop, who was just recovering from a spree, met +Mr. Bing at the corner of Main and School Streets and asked him for the +loan of a dollar. + +"_No sir!_" said Mr. J. Patterson Bing, and the words sounded like two +whacks of a hammer on a nail. "No _sir_," he repeated, the second whack +being now the more emphatic. "I don't lend money to people who make a +bad use of it." + +"Can you give me work?" asked the unfortunate drunkard. + +"No! But if you were a hired girl, I'd consider the matter." + +Some people who overheard the words laughed loudly. Poor Blenkinsop made +no reply but he considered the words an insult to his manhood in spite +of the fact that he hadn't any manhood to speak of. At least, there was +not enough of it to stand up and be insulted--that is sure. After that +he was always racking his brain for something mean to say about J. +Patterson Bing. Bing was a cold-blooded fish. Bing was a scrimper and a +grinder. If the truth were known about Bing he wouldn't be holding his +head so high. Judas Iscariot and J. Patterson Bing were off the same +bush. These were some of the things that Blenkinsop scattered abroad and +they were, to say the least of them, extremely unjust. Mr. Bing's +innocent remark touching Mr. Blenkinsop's misfortune in not being a +hired girl, arose naturally out of social conditions in the village. +Furthermore, it is quite likely that every one in Bingville, including +those impersonal creatures known as Law and Order, would have been much +happier if some magician could have turned Mr. Blenkinsop into a hired +girl and have made him a life member of "the Dish Water Aristocracy," as +Judge Crooker was wont to call it. + +The community of Bingville was noted for its simplicity and good sense. +Servants were unknown in this village of three thousand people. It had +lawyers and doctors and professors and merchants--some of whom were +deservedly well known--and J. Patterson Bing, the owner of the pulp +mill, celebrated for his riches; but one could almost say that its most +sought for and popular folk were its hired girls. They were few and +sniffy. They exercised care and discretion in the choice of their +employers. They regulated the diet of the said employers and the +frequency and quality of their entertainments. If it could be said that +there was an aristocracy in the place they were it. First, among the +Who's Who of Bingville, were the Gilligan sisters who worked in the big +brick house of Judge Crooker; another was Mrs. Pat Collins, seventy-two +years of age, who presided in the kitchen of the Reverend Otis +Singleton; the two others were Susan Crowder, a woman of sixty, and a +red-headed girl with one eye, of the name of Featherstraw, both of whom +served the opulent Bings. Some of these hired girls ate with the +family--save on special occasions when city folk were present. Mrs. +Collins and the Gilligans seemed to enjoy this privilege but Susan +Crowder, having had an ancestor who had fought in the Revolutionary War, +couldn't stand it, and Martha Featherstraw preferred to eat in the +kitchen. Indeed there was some warrant for this remarkable situation. +The Gilligan sisters had a brother who was a Magistrate in a large city +and Mrs. Collins had a son who was a successful and popular butcher in +the growing city of Hazelmead. + +That part of the village known as Irishtown and a settlement of Poles +and Italians furnished the man help in the mill, and its sons were also +seen more or less in the fields and gardens. Ambition and Education had +been working in the minds of the young in and about Bingville for two +generations. The sons and daughters of farmers and ditch-diggers had +read Virgil and Horace and plodded into the mysteries of higher +mathematics. The best of them had gone into learned professions; others +had enlisted in the business of great cities; still others had gone in +for teaching or stenography. + +Their success had wrought a curious devastation in the village and +countryside. The young moved out heading for the paths of glory. Many a +sturdy, stupid person who might have made an excellent plumber, or +carpenter, or farmer, or cook, armed with a university degree and a +sense of superiority, had gone forth in quest of fame and fortune +prepared for nothing in particular and achieving firm possession of it. +Somehow the elective system had enabled them "to get by" in a state of +mind that resembled the Mojave Desert. If they did not care for Latin or +mathematics they could take a course in Hierology or in The Taming of +the Wild Chickadee or in some such easy skating. Bingville was like many +places. The young had fled from the irksome tasks which had roughened +the hands and bent the backs of their parents. That, briefly, accounts +for the fewness and the sniffiness above referred to. + +Early in 1917, the village was shaken by alarming and astonishing news. +True, the sinking of the _Lusitania_ and our own enlistment in the World +War and the German successes on the Russian frontier had, in a way, +prepared the heart and intellect of Bingville for shocking events. +Still, these disasters had been remote. The fact that the Gilligan +sisters had left the Crookers and accepted an offer of one hundred and +fifty dollars a month from the wealthy Nixons of Hazelmead was an event +close to the footlights, so to speak. It caused the news of battles to +take its rightful place in the distant background. Men talked of this +event in stores and on street corners; it was the subject of +conversation in sewing circles and the Philomathian Literary Club. That +day, the Bings whispered about it at the dinner table between courses +until Susan Crowder sent in a summons by Martha Featherstraw with the +apple pie. She would be glad to see Mrs. J. Patterson Bing in the +kitchen immediately after dinner. There was a moment of silence in the +midst of which Mr. Bing winked knowingly at his wife, who turned pale as +she put down her pie fork with a look of determination and rose and went +into the kitchen. Mrs. Crowder regretted that she and Martha would have +to look for another family unless their wages were raised from one +hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars a month. + +"But, Susan, we all made an agreement for a year," said Mrs. Bing. + +Mrs. Crowder was sorry but she and Martha could not make out on the +wages they were getting--everything cost so much. If Mary Gilligan, who +couldn't cook, was worth a hundred dollars a month Mrs. Crowder +considered herself cheap at twice that figure. + + +Mrs. Bing, in her anger, was inclined to revolt, but Mr. Bing settled +the matter by submitting to the tyranny of Susan. With Phyllis and three +of her young friends coming from school and a party in prospect, there +was nothing else to do. + +Maggie Collins, who was too old and too firmly rooted in the village to +leave it, was satisfied with a raise of ten dollars a month. Even then +she received a third of the minister's salary. "His wife being a swell +leddy who had no time for wurruk, sure the boy was no sooner married +than he yelled for help," as Maggie was wont to say. + +All this had a decided effect on the economic life of the village. +Indeed, Hiram Blenkinsop, the village drunkard, who attended to the +lawns and gardens for a number of people, demanded an increase of a +dollar a day in his wages on account of the high cost of living, +although one would say that its effect upon him could not have been +serious. For years the historic figure of Blenkinsop had been the +destination and repository of the cast-off clothing and the worn and +shapeless shoes of the leading citizens. For a decade, the venerable +derby hat, which once belonged to Judge Crooker, had survived all the +incidents of his adventurous career. He was, indeed, as replete with +suggestive memories as the graveyard to which he was wont to repair for +rest and recuperation in summer weather. There, in the shade of a locust +tree hard by the wall, he was often discovered with his faithful dog +Christmas--a yellow, mongrel, good-natured cur--lying beside him, and +the historic derby hat in his hand. He had a persevering pride in that +hat. Mr. Blenkinsop showed a surprising and commendable industry under +the stimulation of increased pay. He worked hard for a month, then +celebrated his prosperity with a night of such noisy, riotous joy that +he landed in the lockup with a black eye and a broken nose and an empty +pocket. As usual, the dog Christmas went with him. + +When there was a loud yell in the streets at night Judge Crooker used to +say, "It's Hiram again! The poor fellow is out a-Hiraming." + +William Snodgrass, the carpenter, gave much thought and reflection to +the good fortune of the Gilligan girls. If a hired girl could earn +twenty-five dollars a week and her board, a skilled mechanic who had to +board himself ought to earn at least fifty. So he put up his prices. +Israel Sneed, the plumber, raised his scale to correspond with that of +the carpenter. The prices of the butcher and grocer kept pace with the +rise of wages. A period of unexampled prosperity set in. + +Some time before, the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice that +its services would no longer be required. It had been an industrious and +faithful Old Spirit. The new generation did not intend to be hard on it. +They were willing to give it a comfortable home as long as it lived. Its +home was to be a beautiful and venerable asylum called The Past. There +it was to have nothing to do but to sit around and weep and talk of +bygone days. The Old Spirit rebelled. It refused to abandon its +appointed tasks. + +The notice had been given soon after the new theater was opened in the +Sneed Block, and the endless flood of moving lights and shadows began to +fall on its screen. The low-born, purblind intellects of Bohemian New +York began to pour their lewd fancies into this great stream that flowed +through every city, town and village in the land. They had no more +compunction in the matter than a rattlesnake when it swallows a rabbit. +To them, there were only two great, bare facts in life--male and female. +The males, in their vulgar parlance, were either "wise guys" or +"suckers"! The females were all "my dears." + +Much of this mental sewage smelled to heaven. But it paid. It was cheap +and entertaining. It relieved the tedium of small-town life. + + +Judge Crooker was in the little theater the evening that the Old Spirit +of Bingville received notice to quit. The sons and daughters and even +the young children of the best families in the village were there. +Scenes from the shady side of the great cities, bar-room adventures with +pugilists and porcelain-faced women, the thin-ice skating of illicit +love succeeded one another on the screen. The tender souls of the young +received the impression that life in the great world was mostly +drunkenness, violence, lust, and Great White Waywardness of one kind or +another. + +Judge Crooker shook his head and his fist as he went out and expressed +his view to Phyllis and her mother in the lobby. Going home, they called +him an old prude. The knowledge that every night this false instruction +was going on in the Sneed Block filled the good man with sorrow and +apprehension. He complained to Mr. Leak, the manager, who said that he +would like to give clean shows, but that he had to take what was sent +him. + +Soon a curious thing happened to the family of Mr. J. Patterson Bing. It +acquired a new god--one that began, as the reader will have observed, +with a small "g." He was a boneless, India-rubber, obedient little god. +For years the need of one like that had been growing in the Bing family. +Since he had become a millionaire, Mr. Bing had found it necessary to +spend a good deal of time and considerable money in New York. Certain of +his banker friends in the metropolis had introduced him to the joys of +the Great White Way and the card room of the Golden Age Club. Always he +had been ill and disgruntled for a week after his return to the homely +realities of Bingville. The shrewd intuitions of Mrs. Bing alarmed her. +So Phyllis and John were packed off to private schools so that the good +woman would be free to look after the imperiled welfare of the lamb of +her flock--the great J. Patterson. She was really worried about him. +After that, she always went with him to the city. She was pleased and +delighted with the luxury of the Waldorf-Astoria, the costumes, the +dinner parties, the theaters, the suppers, the cabaret shows. The latter +shocked her a little at first. + + * * * * * + +They went out to a great country house, near the city, to spend a +week-end. There was a dinner party on Saturday night. One of the ladies +got very tipsy and was taken up-stairs. The others repaired to the music +room to drink their coffee and smoke. Mrs. Bing tried a cigarette and +got along with it very well. Then there was an hour of heart to heart, +central European dancing while the older men sat down for a night of +bridge in the library. Sunday morning, the young people rode to hounds +across country while the bridge party continued its session in the +library. It was not exactly a restful week-end. J. Patterson and his +wife went to bed, as soon as their grips were unpacked, on their return +to the city and spent the day there with aching heads. + +While they were eating dinner that night, the cocktail remarked with the +lips of Mrs. Bing: "I'm getting tired of Bingville." + +"Oh, of course, it's a picayune place," said J. Patterson. + +"It's so provincial!" the lady exclaimed. + +Soon, the oysters and the entree having subdued the cocktail, she +ventured: "But it does seem to me that New York is an awfully wicked +place." + +"What do you mean?" he asked. + +"Godless," she answered. "The drinking and gambling and those dances." + +"That's because you've been brought up in a seven-by-nine Puritan +village," J. Patterson growled very decisively. "Why shouldn't people +enjoy themselves? We have trouble enough at best. God gave us bodies to +get what enjoyment we could out of them. It's about the only thing we're +sure of, anyhow." + +It was a principle of Mrs. Bing to agree with J. Patterson. And why not? +He was a great man. She knew it as well as he did and that was knowing +it very well indeed. His judgment about many things had been +right--triumphantly and overwhelmingly right. Besides, it was the only +comfortable thing to do. She had been the type of woman who reads those +weird articles written by grass widows on "How to Keep the Love of a +Husband." + +So it happened that the Bings began to construct a little god to suit +their own tastes and habits--one about as tractable as a toy dog. They +withdrew from the Congregational Church and had house parties for sundry +visitors from New York and Hazelmead every week-end. + +Phyllis returned from school in May with a spirit quite in harmony with +that of her parents. She had spent the holidays at the home of a friend +in New York and had learned to love the new dances and to smoke, +although that was a matter to be mentioned only in a whisper and not in +the presence of her parents. She was a tall, handsome girl with blue +eyes, blonde hair, perfect teeth and complexion, and almost a perfect +figure. Here she was, at last, brought up to the point of a coming-out +party. + + +It had been a curious and rather unfortunate bringing up that the girl +had suffered. She had been the pride of a mother's heart and the +occupier of that position is apt to achieve great success in supplying a +mother's friends with topics of conversation. Phyllis had been flattered +and indulged. Mrs. Bing was entitled to much credit, having been born of +poor and illiterate parents in a small village on the Hudson a little +south of the Capital. She was pretty and grew up with a longing for +better things. J. Patterson got her at a bargain in an Albany department +store where she stood all day behind the notion counter. "At a bargain," +it must be said, because, on the whole, there were higher values in her +personality than in his. She had acquired that common Bertha Clay habit +of associating with noble lords who lived in cheap romances and had a +taste for poor but honest girls. The practical J. Patterson hated that +kind of thing. But his wife kept a supply of these highly flavored +novels hidden in the little flat and spent her leisure reading them. + +One of the earliest recollections of Phyllis was the caution, "Don't +tell father!" received on the hiding of a book. Mrs. Bing had bought, in +those weak, pinching times of poverty, extravagant things for herself +and the girl and gone in debt for them. Collectors had come at times to +get their money with impatient demands. + +The Bings were living in a city those days. Phyllis had been a witness +of many interviews of the kind. All along the way of life, she had heard +the oft-repeated injunction, "Don't tell father!" She came to regard men +as creatures who were not to be told. When Phyllis got into a scrape at +school, on account of a little flirtation, and Mrs. Bing went to see +about it, the two agreed on keeping the salient facts from father. + + +A dressmaker came after Phyllis arrived to get her ready for the party. +The afternoon of the event, J. Patterson brought the young people of the +best families of Hazelmead by special train to Bingville. The Crookers, +the Witherills, the Ameses, the Renfrews and a number of the most +popular students in the Normal School were also invited. They had the +famous string band from Hazelmead to furnish music, and Smith--an +impressive young English butler whom they had brought from New York on +their last return. + +Phyllis wore a gown which Judge Crooker described as "the limit." He +said to his wife after they had gone home: "Why, there was nothing on +her back but a pair of velvet gallowses and when I stood in front of +her my eyes were seared." + +"Mrs. Bing calls it high art," said the Judge's wife. + +"I call it down pretty close to see level," said the Judge. "When she +clinched with those young fellers and went wrestling around the room she +reminded me of a grape-vine growing on a tree." + +This reaction on the intellect of the Judge quite satisfies the need of +the historian. Again the Old Spirit of Bingville had received notice. It +is only necessary to add that the punch was strong and the house party +over the week-end made a good deal of talk by fast driving around the +country in motor-cars on Sunday and by loud singing in boats on the +river and noisy play on the tennis courts. That kind of thing was new to +Bingville. + +When it was all over, Phyllis told her mother that Gordon King--one of +the young men--had insulted her when they had been out in a boat +together on Sunday. Mrs. Bing was shocked. They had a talk about it up +in Phyllis' bedroom at the end of which Mrs. Bing repeated that familiar +injunction, "Don't tell father!" + +It was soon after the party that Mr. J. Patterson Bing sent for William +Snodgrass, the carpenter. He wanted an extension built on his house +containing new bedrooms and baths and a large sun parlor. The estimate +of Snodgrass was unexpectedly large. In explanation of the fact the +latter said: "We work only eight hours a day now. The men demand it and +they must be taken to and from their work. They can get all they want to +do on those terms." + +"And they demand seven dollars and a half a day at that? It's big pay +for an ordinary mechanic," said J. Patterson. + +"There's plenty of work to do," Snodgrass answered. "I don't care the +snap o' my finger whether I get your job or not. I'm forty thousand +ahead o' the game and I feel like layin' off for the summer and takin' a +rest." + +"I suppose I could get you to work overtime and hurry the job through if +I'm willing to pay for it?" the millionaire inquired. + +"The rate would be time an' a half for work done after the eight hours +are up, but it's hard to get any one to work overtime these days." + +"Well, go ahead and get all the work you can out of these plutocrats of +the saw and hammer. I'll pay the bills," said J. Patterson. + +The terms created a record in Bingville. But, as Mr. Bing had agreed to +them, in his haste, they were established. + +Israel Sneed, the plumber, was working with his men on a job at +Millerton, but he took on the plumbing for the Bing house extension, at +prices above all precedent, to be done as soon as he could get to it on +his return. The butcher and grocer had improved the opportunity to raise +their prices for Bing never questioned a bill. He set the pace. Prices +stuck where he put the peg. So, unwittingly, the millionaire had created +conditions of life that were extremely difficult. + + +Since prices had gone up the village of Bingville had been running down +at the heel. It had been at best and, in the main, a rather shiftless +and inert community. The weather had worn the paint off many houses +before their owners had seen the need of repainting. Not until the rain +drummed on the floor was the average, drowsy intellect of Bingville +roused to action on the roof. It must be said, however, that every one +was busy, every day, except Hiram Blenkinsop, who often indulged in +_ante mortem_ slumbers in the graveyard or went out on the river with +his dog Christmas, his bottle and his fishing rod. The people were +selling goods, or teaming, or working in the two hotels or the machine +shop or the electric light plant or the mill, or keeping the hay off the +lawns, or building, or teaching in the schools. The gardens were +suffering unusual neglect that season--their owners being so profitably +engaged in other work--and the lazy foreigners demanded four dollars and +a half a day and had to be watched and sworn at and instructed, and not +every one had the versatility for this task. The gardens were largely +dependent on the spasmodic industry of schoolboys and old men. So it +will be seen that the work of the community had little effect on the +supply of things necessary to life. Indeed, a general habit of +extravagance had been growing in the village. People were not so careful +of food, fuel and clothing as they had been. + +It was a wet summer in Bingville. The day after the rains began, +Professor Renfrew called at the house of the sniffy Snodgrass--the +nouveau riche and opulent carpenter. He sat reading the morning paper +with a new diamond ring on the third finger of his left hand. + +"My roof is leaking badly and it will have to be fixed at once," the +Professor announced. + +"I'm sorry, I can't do a thing for you now," said Snodgrass. "I've got +so much to do, I don't know which way to turn." + +"But you're not working this rainy day, are you?" the Professor asked. + +"No, and I don't propose to work in this rain for anybody; if I did I'd +fix my own roof. To tell you the truth, I don't have to work at all! I +calculate that I've got all the money I need. So, when it rains, I +intend to rest and get acquainted with my family." + +He was firm but in no way disagreeable about it. + +Some of the half-dozen men who, in like trouble, called on him for help +that day were inclined to resent his declaration of independence and his +devotion to leisure, but really Mr. Snodgrass was well within his +rights. + +It was a more serious matter when Judge Crocker's plumbing leaked and +flooded his kitchen and cellar. Israel Sneed was in Millerton every day +and working overtime more or less. He refused to put a hand on the +Judge's pipes. He was sorry but he couldn't make a horse of himself and +even if he could the time was past when he had to do it. Judge Crooker +brought a plumber from Hazelmead, sixty miles in a motor-car, and had to +pay seventy dollars for time, labor and materials. This mechanic +declared that there was too much pressure on the pipes, a judgment of +whose accuracy we have abundant proof in the history of the next week or +so. Never had there been such a bursting of pipes and flooding of +cellars. That little lake up in the hills which supplied the water of +Bingville seemed to have got the common notion of moving into the +village. A dozen cellars were turned into swimming pools. Modern +improvements were going out of commission. A committee went to Hazelmead +and after a week's pleading got a pair of young and inexperienced +plumbers to come to Bingville. + +"They must 'a' plugged 'em with gold," said Deacon Hosley, when the bill +arrived. + +New leaks were forthcoming, but Hiram Blenkinsop conceived the notion of +stopping them with poultices of white lead and bandages of canvas bound +with fine wire. They dripped and many of the pipes of Bingville looked +as if they were suffering from sprained ankles and sore throats, but +Hiram had prevented another deluge. + +The price of coal had driven the people of Bingville back to the woods +for fuel. The old wood stoves had been cleaned and set up in the +sitting-rooms and kitchens. The saving had been considerable. Now, so +many men were putting in their time on the house and grounds of J. +Patterson Bing and the new factory at Millerton that the local wood +dealer found it impossible to get the help he needed. Not twenty-five +per cent. of the orders on his books could be filled. + +Mr. Bing's house was finished in October. Then Snodgrass announced that +he was going to take it easy as became a man of his opulence. He had +bought a farm and would only work three days a week at his trade. Sneed +had also bought a farm and acquired a feeling of opulence. He was going +to work when he felt like it. Before he tackled any leaking pipes he +proposed to make a few leaks in the deer up in the Adirondacks. So the +roofs and the plumbing had to wait. + +Meanwhile, Bingville was in sore trouble. The ancient roof of its +respectability had begun to leak. The beams and rafters in the house of +its spirit were rotting away. Many of the inhabitants of the latter +regarded the great J. Patterson Bing with a kind of awe--like that of +the Shepherd of the Birds. He was the leading citizen. He had done +things. When J. Patterson Bing decided that rest or fresh air was better +for him than bad music and dull prayers and sermons, and that God was +really not much concerned as to whether a man sat in a pew or a rocking +chair or a motor-car on Sunday, he was, probably, quite right. Really, +it was a matter much more important to Mr. Bing and his neighbors than +to God. Indeed, it is not at all likely that the ruler of the universe +was worrying much about them. But when J. Patterson Bing decided in +favor of fun and fresh air, R. Purdy--druggist--made a like decision, +and R. Purdy was a man of commanding influence in his own home. His +daughters, Mabel and Gladys, and his son, Richard, Jr., would not have +been surprised to see him elected President of the United States, some +day, believing that that honor was only for the truly great. Soon Mrs. +Purdy stood alone--a hopeless minority of one--in the household. By much +pleading and nagging, she kept the children in the fold of the church +for a time but, by and by, grew weary of the effort. She was converted +by nervous exhaustion to the picnic Sunday. Her conscience worried her. +She really felt sorry for God and made sundry remarks calculated to +appease and comfort Him. + + +Now all this would seem to have been in itself a matter of slight +importance. But Orville Gates, the superintendent of the mill, and John +Seaver, attorney at law, and Robert Brown, the grocer, and Pendleton +Ames, who kept the book and stationery store, and William Ferguson, the +clothier, and Darwin Sill, the butcher, and Snodgrass, the carpenter, +and others had joined the picnic caravan led by the millionaire. These +good people would not have admitted it, but the truth is J. Patterson +Bing held them all in the hollow of his hand. Nobody outside his own +family had any affection for him. Outwardly, he was as hard as nails. +But he owned the bank and controlled credits and was an extravagant +buyer. He had given freely for the improvement of the village and the +neighboring city of Hazelmead. His family was the court circle of +Bingville. Consciously or unconsciously, the best people imitated the +Bings. + +Judge Crooker was, one day, discussing with a friend the social +conditions of Bingville. In regard to picnic Sundays he made this +remark: "George Meredith once wrote to his son that he would need the +help of religion to get safely beyond the stormy passions of youth. It +is very true!" + +The historian was reminded of this saying by the undertow of the life +currents in Bingville. The dances in the Normal School and in the homes +of the well-to-do were imitations of the great party at J. Patterson +Bing's. The costumes of certain of the young ladies were, to quote a +clause from the posters of the Messrs. Barnum and Bailey, still clinging +to the bill-board: "the most daring and amazing bareback performances in +the history of the circus ring." Phyllis Bing, the unrivaled +metropolitan performer, set the pace. It was distinctly too rapid for +her followers. If one may say it kindly, she was as cold and heartless +and beautiful in her act as a piece of bronze or Italian marble. She was +not ashamed of herself. She did it so easily and gracefully and +unconsciously and obligingly, so to speak, as if her license had never +been questioned. It was not so with Vivian Mead and Frances Smith and +Pauline Baker. They limped and struggled in their efforts to keep up. To +begin with, the art of their modiste had been fussy, imitative and +timid. It lacked the master touch. Their spirits were also improperly +prepared for such publicity. They blushed and looked apologies and were +visibly uncomfortable when they entered the dance-hall. + + +On this point, Judge Crooker delivered a famous opinion. It was: "I feel +sorry for those girls but their mothers ought to be spanked!" + +There is evidence that this sentence of his was carried out in due time +and in a most effectual manner. But the works of art which these mothers +had put on exhibition at the Normal School sprang into overwhelming +popularity with the young men and their cards were quickly filled. In +half an hour, they had ceased to blush. Their eyes no longer spoke +apologies. They were new women. Their initiation was complete. They had +become in the language of Judge Crooker, "perfect Phyllistines!" + +The dancing tried to be as naughty as that remarkable Phyllistinian +pastime at the mansion of the Bings and succeeded well, if not +handsomely. The modern dances and dress were now definitely established +in Bingville. + +Just before the holidays, the extension of the ample home of the +millionaire was decorated, furnished, and ready to be shown. Mrs. Bing +and Phyllis who had been having a fling in New York came home for the +holidays. John arrived the next day from the great Padelford School to +be with the family through the winter recess. Mrs. Bing gave a tea to +the ladies of Bingville. She wanted them to see the improvements and +become aware of her good will. She had thought of an evening party, but +there were many men in the village whom she didn't care to have in her +house. So it became a tea. + +The women talked of leaking roofs and water pipes and useless bathrooms +and outrageous costs. Phyllis sat in the Palm Room with the village +girls. It happened that they talked mainly about their fathers. Some had +complained of paternal strictness. + +"Men are terrible! They make so much trouble," said Frances Smith. "It +seems as if they hated to see anybody have a good time." + +"Mother and I do as we please and say nothing," said Phyllis. "We never +tell father anything. Men don't understand." + +Some of the girls smiled and looked into one another's eyes. + +There had been a curious undercurrent in the party. It did not break the +surface of the stream until Mrs. Bing asked Mrs. Pendleton Ames, "Where +is Susan Baker?" + +A silence fell upon the group around her. + +Mrs. Ames leaned toward Mrs. Bing and whispered, "Haven't you heard the +news?" + +"No. I had to scold Susan Crowder and Martha Featherstraw as soon as I +got here for neglecting their work and they've hardly spoken to me +since. What is it?" + +"Pauline Baker has run away with a strange young man," Mrs. Ames +whispered. + +Mrs. Bing threw up both hands, opened her mouth and looked toward the +ceiling. + +"You don't mean it," she gasped. + +"It's a fact. Susan told me. Mr. Baker doesn't know the truth yet and +she doesn't dare to tell him. She's scared stiff. Pauline went over to +Hazelmead last week to visit Emma Stacy against his wishes. She met the +young man at a dance. Susan got a letter from Pauline last night making +a clean breast of the matter. They are married and stopping at a hotel +in New York." + +"My lord! I should think she _would_ be scared stiff," said Mrs. Bing. + +"I think there is a good reason for the stiffness of Susan," said Mrs. +Singleton, the wife of the Congregational minister. "We all know that +Mr. Baker objected to these modern dances and the way that Pauline +dressed. He used to say that it was walking on the edge of a precipice." + +There was a breath of silence in which one could hear only a faint +rustle like the stir of some invisible spirit. + +Mrs. Bing sighed. "He may be all right," she said in a low, calm voice. + +"But the indications are not favorable," Mrs. Singleton remarked. + +The gossip ceased abruptly, for the girls were coming out of the Palm +Room. + +The next morning, Mrs. Bing went to see Susan Baker to offer sympathy +and a helping hand. Mamie Bing was, after all, a good-hearted woman. By +this time, Mr. Baker had been told. He had kicked a hole in the long +looking-glass in Pauline's bedroom and flung a pot of rouge through the +window and scattered talcum powder all over the place and torn a new +silk gown into rags and burnt it in the kitchen stove and left the house +slamming the door behind him. Susan had gone to bed and he had probably +gone to the club or somewhere. Perhaps he would commit suicide. Of all +this, it is enough to say that for some hours there was abundant +occupation for the tender sympathies of Mrs. J. Patterson Bing. Before +she left, Mr. Baker had returned for luncheon and seemed to be quite +calm and self-possessed when he greeted her in the hall below stairs. + +On entering her home, about one o'clock, Mrs. Bing received a letter +from the hand of Martha. + +"Phyllis told me to give you this as soon as you returned," said the +girl. + +"What does this mean?" Mrs. Bing whispered to herself, as she tore open +the envelope. + +Her face grew pale and her hands trembled as she read the letter. + + + "_Dearest Mamma_," it began. "I am going to Hazelmead for luncheon + with Gordon King. I couldn't ask you because I didn't know where + you were. We have waited an hour. I am sure you wouldn't want me to + miss having a lovely time. I shall be home before five. Don't tell + father! He hates Gordon so. + + "_Phyllis._" + + +"The boy who insulted her! My God!" Mrs. Bing exclaimed in a whisper. +She hurried to the door of the butler's pantry. Indignation was in the +sound of her footsteps. + +"Martha!" she called. + +Martha came. + +"Tell James to bring the big car at once. I'm going to Hazelmead." + +"Without luncheon?" the girl asked. + +"Just give me a sandwich and I'll eat it in my hand." + +"I want you to hurry," she said to James as she entered the glowing +limousine with the sandwich half consumed. + +They drove at top speed over the smooth, state road to the mill city. At +half past two, Mrs. Bing alighted at the fashionable Gray Goose Inn +where the best people had their luncheon parties. She found Phyllis and +Gordon in a cozy alcove, sipping cognac and smoking cigarettes, with an +ice tub and a champagne bottle beside them. To tell the whole truth, it +was a timely arrival. Phyllis, with no notion of the peril of it, was +indeed having "a lovely time"--the time of her young life, in fact. For +half an hour, she had been hanging on the edge of the giddy precipice of +elopement. She was within one sip of a decision to let go. + +Mrs. Bing was admirably cool. In her manner there was little to indicate +that she had seen the unusual and highly festive accessories. She sat +down beside them and said, "My dear, I was very lonely and thought I +would come and look you up. Is your luncheon finished?" + +"Yes," said Phyllis. + +"Then let us go and get into the car. We'll drop Mr. King at his home." + +When at last they were seated in the limousine, the angry lady lifted +the brakes in a way of speaking. + +"I am astonished that you would go to luncheon with this young man who +has insulted you," she said. + +Phyllis began to cry. + +Turning to young Gordon King, the indignant lady added: "I think you are +a disreputable boy. You must never come to my house again--_never_!" + +He made no answer and left the car without a word at the door of the +King residence. + + +There were miles and miles of weeping on the way home. Phyllis had +recovered her composure but began again when her mother remarked, "I +wonder where you learned to drink champagne and cognac and smoke +cigarettes," as if her own home had not been a perfect academy of +dissipation. The girl sat in a corner, her eyes covered with her +handkerchief and the only words she uttered on the way home were these: +"Don't tell father!" + +While this was happening, Mr. Baker confided his troubles to Judge +Crooker in the latter's office. The Judge heard him through and then +delivered another notable opinion, to wit: "There are many subjects on +which the judgment of the average man is of little value, but in the +matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be sound. Also there are +many subjects on which the judgment of the average woman may be trusted, +but in the matter of bringing up a daughter it is apt to be unsound. I +say this, after some forty years of observation." + +"What is the reason?" Mr. Baker asked. + +"Well, a daughter has to be prepared to deal with men," the Judge went +on. "The masculine temperament is involved in all the critical problems +of her life. Naturally the average man is pretty well informed on the +subject of men. You have prospered these late years. You have been so +busy getting rich that you have just used your home to eat and sleep in. +You can't do a home any good by eating and snoring and reading a paper +in it." + +"My wife would have her own way there," said Baker. + +"That doesn't alter the fact that you have neglected your home. You have +let things slide. You wore yourself out in this matter of money-getting. +You were tired when you got home at night--all in, as they say. The bank +was the main thing with you. I repeat that you let things slide at home +and the longer they slide the faster they slide when they're going down +hill. You can always count on that in a case of sliding. The young have +a taste for velocity and often it comes so unaccountably fast that they +don't know what to do with it, so they're apt to get their necks broken +unless there's some one to put on the brakes." + +Mr. Emanuel Baker arose and began to stride up and down the room. + +"Upon my word, Judge! I don't know what to do," he exclaimed. + +"There's only one thing to do. Go and find the young people and give +them your blessing. If you can discover a spark of manhood in the +fellow, make the most of it. The chances are against that, but let us +hope for the best. Above all, I want you to be gentle with Pauline. You +are more to blame than she is." + +"I don't see how I can spare the time, but I'll have to," said Baker. + +"Time! Fiddlesticks!" the Judge exclaimed. "What a darn fool money +makes of a man! You have lost your sense of proportion, your +appreciation of values. Bill Pritchard used to talk that way to me. He +has been lying twenty years in his grave. He hadn't a minute to spare +until one day he fell dead--then leisure and lots of leisure it would +seem--and the business has doubled since he quit worrying about it. My +friend, you can not take a cent into Paradise, but the soul of Pauline +is a different kind of property. It might be a help to you there. Give +plenty of time to this job, and good luck to you." + +The spirit of the old, dead days spoke in the voice of the Judge--spoke +with a kindly dignity. It had ever been the voice of Justice, tempered +with Mercy--the most feared and respected voice in the upper counties. +His grave, smooth-shaven face, his kindly gray eyes, his noble brow with +its crown of white hair were fitting accessories of the throne of +Justice and Mercy. + +"I'll go this afternoon. Thank you, Judge!" said Baker, as he left the +office. + + +Pauline had announced in her letter that her husband's name was Herbert +Middleton. Mr. Baker sent a telegram to Pauline to apprise her of his +arrival in the morning. It was a fatherly message of love and good-will. +At the hotel in New York, Mr. Baker learned that Mr. and Mrs. Middleton +had checked out the day before. Nobody could tell him where they had +gone. One of the men at the porter's desk told of putting them in a +taxicab with their grips and a steamer trunk soon after luncheon. He +didn't know where they went. Mr. Baker's telegram was there unopened. He +called at every hotel desk in the city, but he could get no trace of +them. He telephoned to Mrs. Baker. She had heard nothing from Pauline. +In despair, he went to the Police Department and told his story to the +Chief. + +"It looks as if there was something crooked about it," said the Chief. +"There are many cases like this. Just read that." + +The officer picked up a newspaper clipping, which lay on his desk, and +passed it to Mr. Baker. It was from the _New York Evening Post_. The +banker read aloud this startling information: + + + "'The New York police report that approximately 3600 girls have run + away or disappeared from their homes in the past eleven months, and + the Bureau of Missing Persons estimates that the number who have + disappeared throughout the country approximates 68,000.'" + + +"It's rather astonishing," the Chief went on. "The women seem to have +gone crazy these days. Maybe it's the new dancing and the movies that +are breaking down the morals of the little suburban towns or maybe it's +the excitement of the war. Anyhow, they keep the city supplied with +runaways and vamps. You are not the first anxious father I have seen +to-day. You can go home. I'll put a man on the case and let you know +what happens." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +WHICH TELLS OF THE COMPLAINING COIN AND THE MAN WHO LOST HIS SELF + + +There was a certain gold coin in a little bureau drawer in Bingville +which began to form a habit of complaining to its master. + +"How cold I am!" it seemed to say to the boy. "I was cold when you put +me in here and I have been cold ever since. Br-r-r! I'm freezing." + +Bob Moran took out the little drawer and gave it a shaking as he looked +down at the gold piece. + +"Don't get rattled," said the redoubtable Mr. Bloggs, who had a great +contempt for cowards. + +It was just after the Shepherd of the Birds had heard of a poor widow +who was the mother of two small children and who had fallen sick of the +influenza with no fuel in her house. + +"I am cold, too!" said the Shepherd. + +"Why, of course you are," the coin answered. "That's the reason I'm +cold. A coin is never any warmer than the heart of its owner. Why don't +you take me out of here and give me a chance to move around?" + +Things that would not say a word to other boys often spoke to the +Shepherd. + +"Let him go," said Mr. Bloggs. + +Indeed it was the tin soldier, who stood on his little shelf looking out +of the window, who first reminded Bob of the loneliness and discomfort +of the coin. As a rule whenever the conscience of the boy was touched +Mr. Bloggs had something to say. + +It was late in February and every one was complaining of the cold. Even +the oldest inhabitants of Bingville could not recall so severe a +winter. Many families were short of fuel. The homes of the working folk +were insufficiently heated. Money in the bank had given them a sense of +security. They could not believe that its magic power would fail to +bring them what they needed. So they had been careless of their +allowance of wood and coal. There were days when they had none and could +get none at the yard. Some of them took boards out of their barn floors +and cut down shade trees and broke up the worst of their furniture to +feed the kitchen stove in those days of famine. Some men with hundreds +of dollars in the bank went out into the country at night and stole +rails off the farmers' fences. The homes of these unfortunate people +were ravaged by influenza and many died. + +Prices at the stores mounted higher. Most of the gardens had been lying +idle. The farmers had found it hard to get help. Some of the latter, +indeed, had decided that they could make more by teaming at Millerton +than by toiling in the fields, and with less effort. They left the boys +and the women to do what they could with the crops. Naturally the latter +were small. So the local sources of supply had little to offer and the +demand upon the stores steadily increased. Certain of the merchants had +been, in a way, spoiled by prosperity. They were rather indifferent to +complaints and demands. Many of the storekeepers, irritated, doubtless, +by overwork, had lost their former politeness. The two butchers, having +prospered beyond their hopes, began to feel the need of rest. They cut +down their hours of labor and reduced their stocks and raised their +prices. There were days when their supplies failed to arrive. The +railroad service had been bad enough in times of peace. Now, it was +worse than ever. + + +Those who had plenty of money found it difficult to get a sufficient +quantity of good food, Bingville being rather cut off from other centers +of life by distance and a poor railroad. Some drove sixty miles to +Hazelmead to do marketing for themselves and their neighbors. + +Mr. and Mrs. J. Patterson Bing, however, in their luxurious apartment at +the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York, knew little of these conditions +until Mr. Bing came up late in March for a talk with the mill +superintendent. Many of the sick and poor suffered extreme privation. +Father O'Neil and the Reverend Otis Singleton of the Congregational +Church went among the people, ministering to the sick, of whom there +were very many, and giving counsel to men and women who were +unaccustomed to prosperity and ill-qualified wisely to enjoy it. One +day, Father O'Neil saw the Widow Moran coming into town with a great +bundle of fagots on her back. + +"This looks a little like the old country," he remarked. + +She stopped and swung her fagots to the ground and announced: "It do +that an' may God help us! It's hard times, Father. In spite o' all the +money, it's hard times. It looks like there wasn't enough to go +'round--the ships be takin' so many things to the old country." + +"How is my beloved Shepherd?" the good Father asked. + +"Mother o' God! The house is that cold, he's been layin' abed for a week +an' Judge Crooker has been away on the circuit." + +"Too bad!" said the priest. "I've been so busy with the sick and the +dying and the dead I have hardly had time to think of you." + +Against her protest, he picked up the fagots and carried them on his own +back to her kitchen. + +He found the Shepherd in a sweater sitting up in bed and knitting socks. + +"How is my dear boy?" the good Father asked. + +"Very sad," said the Shepherd. "I want to do something to help and my +legs are useless." + +"Courage!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to shout from his shelf at the window-side +and just then he assumed a most valiant and determined look as he added: +"Forward! march!" + +Father O'Neil did what he could to help in that moment of peril by +saying: + +"Cheer up, boy. I'm going out to Dan Mullin's this afternoon and I'll +make him bring you a big load of wood. I'll have you back at your work +to-morrow. The spring will be coming soon and your flock will be back in +the garden." + + +It was not easy to bring a smile to the face of the little Shepherd +those days. A number of his friends had died and others were sick and he +was helpless. Moreover, his mother had told him of the disappearance of +Pauline and that her parents feared she was in great trouble. This had +worried him, and the more because his mother had declared that the girl +was probably worse than dead. He could not quite understand it and his +happy spirit was clouded. The good Father cheered him with merry jests. +Near the end of their talk the boy said: "There's one thing in this room +that makes me unhappy. It's that gold piece in the drawer. It does +nothing but lie there and shiver and talk to me. Seems as if it +complained of the cold. It says that it wants to move around and get +warm. Every time I hear of some poor person that needs food or fuel, it +calls out to me there in the little drawer and says, 'How cold I am! How +cold I am!' My mother wishes me to keep it for some time of trouble that +may come to us, but I can't. It makes me unhappy. Please take it away +and let it do what it can to keep the poor people warm." + +"Well done, boys!" Mr. Bloggs seemed to say with a look of joy as if he +now perceived that the enemy was in full retreat. + +"There's no worse company, these days, than a hoarded coin," said the +priest. "I won't let it plague you any more." + +Father O'Neil took the coin from the drawer. It fell from his fingers +with a merry laugh as it bounded on the floor and whirled toward the +doorway like one overjoyed and eager to be off. + +"God bless you, my boy! May it buy for you the dearest wish of your +heart." + +"Ha ha!" laughed the little tin soldier for he knew the dearest wish of +the boy far better than the priest knew it. + +Mr. Singleton called soon after Father O'Neil had gone away. + +"The top of the morning to you!" he shouted, as he came into Bob's room. + +"It's all right top and bottom," Bob answered cheerfully. + +"Is there anything I can do for you?" the minister went on. "I'm a +regular Santa Claus this morning. I've got a thousand dollars that Mr. +Bing sent me. It's for any one that needs help." + +"We'll be all right as soon as our load of wood comes. It will be here +to-morrow morning," said the Shepherd. + +"I'll come and cut and split it for you," the minister proposed. "The +eloquence of the axe is better than that of the tongue these days. +Meanwhile, I'm going to bring you a little jag in my wheelbarrow. How +about beefsteak and bacon and eggs and all that?" + +"I guess we've got enough to eat, thank you." This was not quite true, +for Bob, thinking of the sick, whose people could not go to market, was +inclined to hide his own hunger. + +"Ho, ho!" exclaimed Mr. Bloggs, for he knew very well that the boy was +hiding his hunger. + +"Do you call that a lie?" the Shepherd asked as soon as the minister had +gone. + +"A little one! But in my opinion it don't count," said Mr. Bloggs. "You +were thinking of those who need food more than you and that turns it +square around. I call it a golden lie--I do." + +The minister had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when he met +Hiram Blenkinsop, who was shivering along without an overcoat, the dog +Christmas at his heels. + +Mr. Singleton stopped him. + +"Why, man! Haven't you an overcoat?" he asked. + +"No, sir! It's hangin' on a peg in a pawn-shop over in Hazelmead. It +ain't doin' the peg any good nor me neither!" + +"Well, sir, you come with me," said the minister. "It's about dinner +time, anyway, and I guess you need lining as well as covering." + +The drunkard looked into the face of the minister. + +"Say it ag'in," he muttered. + +"I wouldn't wonder if a little food would make you feel better," Mr. +Singleton added. + +"A little, did ye say?" Blenkinsop asked. + +"Make it a lot--as much as you can accommodate." + +"And do ye mean that ye want me to go an' eat in yer house?" + +"Yes, at my table--why not?" + +"It wouldn't be respectable. I don't want to be too particular but a +tramp must draw the line somewhere." + +"I'll be on my best behavior. Come on," said the minister. + +The two men hastened up the street followed by the dejected little +yellow dog, Christmas. + +Mrs. Singleton and her daughter were out with a committee of the +Children's Helpers and the minister was dining alone that day and, as +usual, at one o'clock, that being the hour for dinner in the village of +Bingville. + +"Tell me about yourself," said the minister as they sat down at the +table. + +"Myself--did you say?" Hiram Blenkinsop asked as one of his feet crept +under his chair to conceal its disreputable appearance, while his dog +had partly hidden himself under a serving table where he seemed to be +shivering with apprehension as he peered out, with raised hackles, at +the stag's head over the mantel. + +"Yes." + +"I ain't got any _Self_, sir; it's all gone," said Blenkinsop, as he +took a swallow of water. + +"A man without any Self is a curious creature," the minister remarked. + +"I'm as empty as a woodpecker's hole in the winter time. The bird has +flown. I belong to this 'ere dog. He's a poor dog. I'm all he's got. If +he had to pay a license on me I'd have to be killed. He's kind to me. +He's the only friend I've got." + +Hiram Blenkinsop riveted his attention upon an old warming-pan that hung +by the fireplace. He hardly looked at the face of the minister. + +"How did you come to lose your Self?" the latter asked. + +"Married a bad woman and took to drink. A man's Self can stand cold an' +hunger an' shipwreck an' loss o' friends an' money an' any quantity o' +bad luck, take it as it comes, but a bad woman breaks the works in him +an' stops his clock dead. Leastways, it done that to me!" + +"She is like an arrow in his liver," the minister quoted. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, where do you stay nights?" + +"I've a shake-down in the little loft over the ol' blacksmith shop on +Water Street. There are cracks in the gable, an' the snow an' the wind +blows in, an' the place is dark an' smells o' coal gas an' horses' feet, +but Christmas an' I snug up together an' manage to live through the +winter. In hot weather, we sleep under a tree in the ol' graveyard an' +study astronomy. Sometimes, I wish I was there for good." + +"Wouldn't you like a bed in a comfortable house?" + +"No. I couldn't take the dog there an' I'd have to git up like other +folks." + +"Would you think that a hardship?" + +"Well, ye see, sir, if ye're layin' down ye ain't hungry. Then, too, I +likes to dilly-dally in bed." + +"What may that mean?" the minister asked. + +"I likes to lay an' think an' build air castles." + +"What kind of castles?" + +"Well, sir, I'm thinkin' often o' a time when I'll have a grand suit o' +clothes, an' a shiny silk tile on my head, an' a roll o' bills in my +pocket, big enough to choke a dog, an' I'll be goin' back to the town +where I was brought up an' I'll hire a fine team an' take my ol' mother +out for a ride. An' when we pass by, people will be sayin': 'That's +Hiram Blenkinsop! Don't you remember him? Born on the top floor o' the +ol' sash mill on the island. He's a multi-millionaire an' a great man. +He gives a thousand to the poor every day. Sure, he does!'" + +"Blenkinsop, I'd like to help you to recover your lost Self and be a +useful and respected citizen of this town," said Mr. Singleton. "You can +do it if you will and I can tell you how." + +Tears began to stream down the cheeks of the unfortunate man, who now +covered his eyes with a big, rough hand. + +"If you will make an honest effort, I'll stand by you. I'll be your +friend through thick and thin," the minister added. "There's something +good in you or you wouldn't be having a dream like that." + +"Nobody has ever talked to me this way," poor Blenkinsop sobbed. "Nobody +but you has ever treated me as if I was human." + +"I know--I know. It's a hard old world, but at last you've found a man +who is willing to be a brother to you if you really want one." + +The poor man rose from the table and went to the minister's side and +held out his hand. + +"I do want a brother, sir, an' I'll do anything at all," he said in a +broken voice. + +"Then come with me," the minister commanded. "First, I'm going to +improve the outside of you." + +When they were ready to leave the house, Blenkinsop and his dog had had +a bath and the former was shaved and in clean and respectable garments +from top to toe. + +"You look like a new man," said Mr. Singleton. + +"Seems like, I felt more like a proper human bein'," Blenkinsop +answered. + +Christmas was scampering up and down the hall as if he felt like a new +dog. Suddenly he discovered the stag's head again and slunk into a dark +corner growling. + +"A bath is a good sort of baptism," the minister remarked. "Here's an +overcoat that I haven't worn for a year. It's fairly warm, too. Now if +your Old Self should happen to come in sight of you, maybe he'd move +back into his home. I remember once that we had a canary bird that got +away. We hung his cage in one of the trees out in the yard with some +food in it. By and by, we found him singing on the perch in his little +home. Now, if we put some good food in the cage, maybe your bird will +come back. Our work has only just begun." + +They went out of the door and crossed the street and entered the big +stone Congregational Church and sat down together in a pew. A soft light +came through the great jeweled windows above the altar, and in the +clearstory, and over the organ loft. They were the gift of Mr. Bing. It +was a quiet, restful, beautiful place. + +"I used to stand in the pulpit there and look down upon a crowd of +handsomely dressed people," said Mr. Singleton in a low voice. "'There +is something wrong about this,' I thought. 'There's too much +respectability here. There are no flannel shirts and gingham dresses in +the place. I can not see half a dozen poor people. I wish there was some +ragged clothing down there in the pews. There isn't an out-and-out +sinner in the crowd. Have we set up a little private god of our own that +cares only for the rich and respectable?' I asked myself. 'This is the +place for Hiram Blenkinsop and old Bill Lang and poor Lizzie Quesnelle, +if they only knew it. Those are the kind of people that Jesus cared most +about.' They're beginning to come to us now and we are glad of it. I +want to see you here every Sunday after this. I want you to think of +this place as your home. If you really wish to be my brother, come with +me." + +Blenkinsop trembled with strange excitement as he went with Mr. +Singleton down the broad aisle, the dog Christmas following meekly. Man +and minister knelt before the altar. Christmas sat down by his master's +side, in a prayerful attitude, as if he, too, were seeking help and +forgiveness. + +"I feel better inside an' outside," said Blenkinsop as they were leaving +the church. + +"When you are tempted, there are three words which may be useful to +you. They are these, 'God help me,'" the minister told him. "They are +quickly said and I have often found them a source of strength in time of +trouble. I am going to find work for you and there's a room over my +garage with a stove in it which will make a very snug little home for +you and Christmas." + + +That evening, as the dog and his master were sitting comfortably by the +stove in their new home, there came a rap at the door. In a moment, +Judge Crooker entered the room. + +"Mr. Blenkinsop," said the Judge as he held out his hand, "I have heard +of your new plans and I want you to know that I am very glad. Every one +will be glad." + +When the Judge had gone, Blenkinsop put his hand on the dog's head and +asked with a little laugh: "Did ye hear what he said, Christmas? He +called me _Mister_. Never done that before, no sir!" + +Mr. Blenkinsop sat with his head upon his hand listening to the wind +that whistled mournfully in the chimney. Suddenly he shouted: "Come in!" + +The door opened and there on the threshold stood his Old Self. + +It was not at all the kind of a Self one would have expected to see. It +was, indeed, a very youthful and handsome Self--the figure of a +clear-eyed, gentle-faced boy of about sixteen with curly, dark hair +above his brows. + +Mr. Blenkinsop covered his face and groaned. Then he held out his hands +with an imploring gesture. + +"I know you," he whispered. "Please come in." + +"Not yet," the young man answered, and his voice was like the wind in +the chimney. "But I have come to tell you that I, too, am glad." + +Then he vanished. + +Mr. Blenkinsop arose from his chair and rubbed his eyes. + +"Christmas, ol' boy, I've been asleep," he muttered. "I guess it's time +we turned in!" + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +IN WHICH MR. ISRAEL SNEED AND OTHER WORKING MEN RECEIVE A LESSON IN TRUE +DEMOCRACY + + +Next morning, Mr. Blenkinsop went to cut wood for the Widow Moran. The +good woman was amazed by his highly respectable appearance. + +"God help us! Ye look like a lawyer," she said. + +"I'm a new man! Cut out the blacksmith shop an' the booze an' the +bummers." + +"May the good God love an' help ye! I heard about it." + +"Ye did?" + +"Sure I did. It's all over the town. Good news has a lively foot, man. +The Shepherd clapped his hands when I told him. Ye got to go straight, +my laddie buck. All eyes are on ye now. Come up an' see the boy. It's +his birthday!" + +Mr. Blenkinsop was deeply moved by the greeting of the little Shepherd, +who kissed his cheek and said that he had often prayed for him. + +"If you ever get lonely, come and sit with me and we'll have a talk and +a game of dominoes," said the boy. + +Mr. Blenkinsop got strength out of the wonderful spirit of Bob Moran and +as he swung his axe that day, he was happier than he had been in many +years. Men and women who passed in the street said, "How do you do, Mr. +Blenkinsop? I'm glad to see you." + +Even the dog Christmas watched his master with a look of pride and +approval. Now and then, he barked gleefully and scampered up and down +the sidewalk. + +The Shepherd was fourteen years old. On his birthday, from morning until +night, people came to his room bringing little gifts to remind him of +their affection. No one in the village of Bingville was so much beloved. +Judge Crooker came in the evening with ice-cream and a frosted cake. +While he was there, a committee of citizens sought him out to confer +with him regarding conditions in Bingville. + +"There's more money than ever in the place, but there never was so much +misery," said the chairman of the committee. + +"We have learned that money is not the thing that makes happiness," +Judge Crooker began. "With every one busy at high wages, and the banks +overflowing with deposits, we felt safe. We ceased to produce the +necessaries of life in a sufficient quantity. We forgot that the all +important things are food, fuel, clothes and comfortable housing--not +money. Some of us went money mad. With a feeling of opulence we refused +to work at all, save when we felt like it. We bought diamond rings and +sat by the fire looking at them. The roofs began to leak and our +plumbing went wrong. People going to buy meat found the shops closed. +Roofs that might have been saved by timely repairs will have to be +largely replaced. Plumbing systems have been ruined by neglect. With all +its money, the town was never so poverty-stricken, the people never so +wretched." + +Mr. Sneed, who was a member of the committee, slyly turned the ring on +his finger so that the diamond was concealed. He cleared his throat and +remarked, "We mechanics had more than we could do on work already +contracted." + +"Yes, you worked eight hours a day and refused to work any longer. You +were legally within your rights, but your position was ungrateful and +even heartless and immoral. Suppose there were a baby coming at your +house and you should call for the doctor and he should say, 'I'm sorry, +but I have done my eight hours' work to-day and I can't help you.' Then +suppose you should offer him a double fee and he should say, 'No, +thanks, I'm tired. I've got forty thousand dollars in the bank and I +don't have to work when I don't want to.' + +"Or suppose I were trying a case for you and, when my eight hours' work +had expired, I should walk out of the court and leave your case to take +care of itself. What do you suppose would become of it? Yet that is +exactly what you did to my pipes. You left them to take care of +themselves. You men, who use your hands, make a great mistake in +thinking that you are the workers of the country and that the rest of us +are your natural enemies. In America, we are all workers! The idle man +is a mere parasite and not at heart an American. Generally, I work +fifteen hours a day. + +"This little lad has been knitting night and day for the soldiers +without hope of reward and has spent his savings for yarn. There isn't +a doctor in Bingville who isn't working eighteen hours a day. I met a +minister this afternoon who hasn't had ten hours of sleep in a +week--he's been so busy with the sick, and the dying and the dead. He is +a nurse, a friend, a comforter to any one who needs him. No charge for +overtime. My God! Are we all going money mad? Are you any better than he +is, or I am, or than these doctors are who have been killing themselves +with overwork? Do you dare to tell me that prosperity is any excuse for +idleness in this land of ours, if one's help is needed?" + +Judge Crooker's voice had been calm, his manner dignified. But the last +sentences had been spoken with a quiet sternness and with his long, bony +forefinger pointing straight at Mr. Sneed. The other members of the +committee clapped their hands in hearty approval. Mr. Sneed smiled and +brushed his trousers. + +"I guess you're right," he said. "We're all off our balance a little, +but what is to be done now?" + +"We must quit our plumbing and carpentering and lawyering and banking +and some of us must quit merchandising and sitting in the chimney corner +and grab our saws and axes and go out into the woods and make some fuel +and get it hauled into town," said Judge Crooker. "I'll be one of a +party to go to-morrow with my axe. I haven't forgotten how to chop." + +The committee thought this a good suggestion. They all rose and started +on a search for volunteers, except Mr. Sneed. He tarried saying to the +Judge that he wished to consult him on a private matter. It was, indeed, +just then, a matter which could not have been more public although, so +far, the news of it had traveled in whispers. The Judge had learned the +facts since his return. + +"I hope your plumbing hasn't gone wrong," he remarked with a smile. + +"No, it's worse than that," said Mr. Sneed ruefully. + +They bade the little Shepherd good night and went down-stairs where the +widow was still at work with her washing, although it was nine o'clock. + +"Faithful woman!" the Judge exclaimed as they went out on the street. +"What would the world do without people like that? No extra charge for +overtime either." + +Then, as they walked along, he cunningly paved the way for what he knew +was coming. + +"Did you notice the face of that boy?" he asked. + +"Yes, it's a wonderful face," said Israel Sneed. + +"It's a God's blessing to see a face like that," the Judge went on. +"Only the pure in heart can have it. The old spirit of youth looks out +of his eyes--the spirit of my own youth. When I was fourteen, I think +that my heart was as pure as his. So were the hearts of most of the boys +I knew." + +"It isn't so now," said Mr. Sneed. + +"I fear it isn't," the Judge answered. "There's a new look in the faces +of the young. Every variety of evil is spread before them on the stage +of our little theater. They see it while their characters are in the +making, while their minds are like white wax. Everything that touches +them leaves a mark or a smirch. It addresses them in the one language +they all understand, and for which no dictionary is needed--pictures. +The flower of youth fades fast enough, God knows, without the withering +knowledge of evil. They say it's good for the boys and girls to know all +about life. We shall see!" + + +Mr. Sneed sat down with Judge Crooker in the handsome library of the +latter and opened his heart. His son Richard, a boy of fifteen, and +three other lads of the village, had been committing small burglaries +and storing their booty in a cave in a piece of woods on the river bank +near the village. A constable had secured a confession and recovered a +part of the booty. Enough had been found to warrant a charge of grand +larceny and Elisha Potts, whose store had been entered, was clamoring +for the arrest of the boys. + +"It reminds me of that picture of the Robbers' Cave that was on the +billboard of our school of crime a few weeks ago," said the Judge. "I'm +tired enough to lie down, but I'll go and see Elisha Potts. If he's +abed, he'll have to get up, that's all. There's no telling what Potts +has done or may do. Your plumbing is in bad shape, Mr. Sneed. The public +sewer is backing into your cellar and in a case of that kind the less +delay the better." + +He went into the hall and put on his coat and gloves and took his cane +out of the rack. He was sixty-five years of age that winter. It was a +bitter night when even younger men found it a trial to leave the comfort +of the fireside. Sneed followed in silence. Indeed, his tongue was +shame-bound. For a moment, he knew not what to say. + +"I--I'm much o-obliged to you," he stammered as they went out into the +cold wind. "I-I don't care what it costs, either." + +The Judge stopped and turned toward him. + +"Look here," he said. "Money does not enter into this proceeding or any +motive but the will to help a neighbor. In such a matter overtime +doesn't count." + +They walked in silence to the corner. There Sneed pressed the Judge's +hand and tried to say something, but his voice failed him. + +"Have the boys at my office at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. I want to +talk to them," said the kindly old Judge as he strode away in the +darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +IN WHICH J. PATTERSON BING BUYS A NECKLACE OF PEARLS + + +Meanwhile, the Bings had been having a busy winter in New York. J. +Patterson Bing had been elected to the board of a large bank in Wall +Street. His fortune had more than doubled in the last two years and he +was now a considerable factor in finance. + +Mrs. Bing had been studying current events and French and the English +accent and other social graces every morning, with the best tutors, as +she reclined comfortably in her bedchamber while Phyllis went to sundry +shops. Mrs. Crooker had once said, "Mamie Bing has a passion for +self-improvement." It was mainly if not quite true. + +Phyllis had been "beating the bush" with her mother at teas and dinners +and dances and theaters and country house parties in and about the city. +The speedometer on the limousine had doubled its mileage since they came +to town. They were, it would seem, a tireless pair of hunters. Phyllis's +portrait had appeared in the Sunday papers. It showed a face and form of +unusual beauty. The supple grace and classic outlines of the latter were +touchingly displayed at the dances in many a handsome ballroom. At last, +they had found a promising and most eligible candidate in Roger +Delane--a handsome stalwart youth, a year out of college. His father was +a well-known and highly successful merchant of an old family which, for +generations, had "belonged"--that is to say, it had been a part of the +aristocracy of Fifth Avenue. + +There could be no doubt of this great good luck of theirs--better, +indeed, than Mrs. Bing had dared to hope for--the young man having +seriously confided his intentions to J. Patterson. But there was one +shadow on the glowing prospect; Phyllis had suddenly taken a bad turn. +She moped, as her mother put it. She was listless and unhappy. She had +lost her interest in the chase, so to speak. She had little heart for +teas and dances and dinner parties. One day, her mother returned from a +luncheon and found her weeping. Mrs. Bing went at once to the telephone +and called for the stomach specialist. He came and made a brief +examination and said that it was all due to rich food and late hours. He +left some medicine, advised a day or two of rest in bed, charged a +hundred dollars and went away. They tried the remedies, but Phyllis +showed no improvement. The young man sent American Beauty roses and a +graceful note of regret to her room. + +"You ought to be very happy," said her mother. "He is a dear." + +"I know it," Phyllis answered. "He's just the most adorable creature I +ever saw in my life." + +"For goodness' sake! What is the matter of you? Why don't you brace up?" +Mrs. Bing asked with a note of impatience in her tone. "You act like a +dead fish." + +Phyllis, who had been lying on the couch, rose to a sitting posture and +flung one of the cushions at her mother, and rather swiftly. + +"How can I brace up?" she asked with indignation in her eyes. "Don't +_you_ dare to scold me." + +There was a breath of silence in which the two looked into each other's +eyes. Many thoughts came flashing into the mind of Mrs. Bing. Why had +the girl spoken the word "you" so bitterly? Little echoes of old history +began to fill the silence. She arose and picked up the cushion and threw +it on the sofa. + +"What a temper!" she exclaimed. "Young lady, you don't seem to know +that these days are very precious for you. They will not come again." + +Then, in the old fashion of women who have suddenly come out of a moment +of affectionate anger, they fell to weeping in each other's arms. The +storm was over when they heard the feet of J. Patterson Bing in the +hall. Phyllis fled into the bathroom. + +"Hello!" said Mr. Bing as he entered the door. "I've found out what's +the matter with Phyllis. It's nerves. I met the great specialist, John +Hamilton Gibbs, at luncheon to-day. I described the symptoms. He says +it's undoubtedly nerves. He has any number of cases just like this +one--rest, fresh air and a careful diet are all that's needed. He says +that if he can have her for two weeks, he'll guarantee a cure. I've +agreed to have you take her to his sanitarium in the Catskills +to-morrow. He has saddle horses, sleeping balconies, toboggan slides, +snow-shoe and skating parties and all that." + +"I think it will be great," said Phyllis, who suddenly emerged from her +hiding-place and embraced her father. "I'd love it! I'm sick of this old +town. I'm sure it's just what I need." + +"I couldn't go to-morrow," said Mrs. Bing. "I simply must go to Mrs. +Delane's luncheon." + +"Then I'll ask Harriet to go up with her," said J. Patterson. + +Harriet, who lived in a flat on the upper west side, was Mr. Bing's +sister. + +Phyllis went to bed dinnerless with a headache. Mr. and Mrs. Bing sat +for a long time over their coffee and cigarettes. + +"It's something too dreadful that Phyllis should be getting sick just at +the wrong time," said the madame. "She has always been well. I can't +understand it." + +"She's had a rather strenuous time here," said J. Patterson. + +"But she seemed to enjoy it until--until the right man came along. The +very man I hoped would like her! Then, suddenly, she throws up her hands +and keels over. It's too devilish for words." + +Mr. Bing laughed at his wife's exasperation. + +"To me, it's no laughing matter," said she with a serious face. + +"Perhaps she doesn't like the boy," J. Patterson remarked. + +Mrs. Bing leaned toward him and whispered: "She adores him!" She held +her attitude and looked searchingly into her husband's face. + +"Well, you can't say I did it," he answered. "The modern girl is a +rather delicate piece of machinery. I think she'll be all right in a +week or two. Come, it's time we went to the theater if we're going." + +Nothing more was said of the matter. Next morning immediately after +breakfast, "Aunt Harriet" set out with Phyllis in the big limousine for +Doctor Gibbs' sanitarium. + + +Phyllis found the remedy she needed in the ceaseless round of outdoor +frolic. Her spirit washed in the glowing air found refreshment in the +sleep that follows weariness and good digestion. Her health improved so +visibly that her stay was far prolonged. It was the first week of May +when Mrs. Bing drove up to get her. The girl was in perfect condition, +it would seem. No rustic maid, in all the mountain valleys, had lighter +feet or clearer eyes or a more honest, ruddy tan in her face due to the +touch of the clean wind. She had grown as lithe and strong as a young +panther. + +They were going back to Bingville next day. Martha and Susan had been +getting the house ready. Mrs. Bing had been preparing what she fondly +hoped would be "a lovely surprise" for Phyllis. Roger Delane was coming +up to spend a quiet week with the Bings--a week of opportunity for the +young people with saddle horses and a new steam launch and a +Peterborough canoe and all pleasant accessories. Then, on the twentieth, +which was the birthday of Phyllis, there was to be a dinner and a house +party and possibly an announcement and a pretty wagging of tongues. +Indeed, J. Patterson had already bought the wedding gift, a necklace of +pearls, and paid a hundred thousand dollars for it and put it away in +his safe. The necklace had pleased him. He had seen many jewels, but +nothing so satisfying--nothing that so well expressed his affection for +his daughter. He might never see its like again. So he bought it against +the happy day which he hoped was near. He had shown it to his wife and +charged her to make no mention of it until "the time was ripe," in his +way of speaking. + +Mrs. Bing had promised on her word and honor to respect the confidence +of her husband, with all righteous intention, but on the very day of +their arrival in Bingville, Sophronia (Mrs. Pendleton) Ames called. +Sophronia was the oldest and dearest friend that Mamie Bing had in the +village. The latter enjoyed her life in New York, but she felt always a +thrill at coming back to her big garden and the green trees and the +ample spaces of Bingville, and to the ready, sympathetic confidence of +Sophronia Ames. She told Sophronia of brilliant scenes in the changing +spectacle of metropolitan life, of the wonderful young man and the +untimely affliction of Phyllis, now happily past. Then, in a whisper, +while Sophronia held up her right hand as a pledge of secrecy, she told +of the necklace of which the lucky girl had no knowledge. Now Mrs. Ames +was one of the best of women. People were wont to speak of her, and +rightly, as "the salt of the earth." She would do anything possible for +a friend. But Mamie Bing had asked too much. Moreover, always it had +been understood between them that these half playful oaths were not to +be taken too seriously. Of course, "the fish had to be fed," as Judge +Crooker had once put it. By "the fish," he meant that curious under-life +of the village--the voracious, silent, merciless, cold-blooded thing +which fed on the sins and follies of men and women and which rarely came +to the surface to bother any one. + +"The fish are very wise," Judge Crooker used to say. "They know the +truth about every one and it's well that they do. After all, they +perform an important office. There's many a man and woman who think +they've been fooling the fish but they've only fooled themselves." + +And within a day or two, the secrets of the Bing family were swimming +up and down the stream of the under-life of Bingville. + + +Mr. Bing had found a situation in the plant which was new to him. The +men were discontented. Their wages were "sky high," to quote a phrase of +one of the foremen. Still, they were not satisfied. Reports of the +fabulous earnings of the mill had spread among them. They had begun to +think that they were not getting a fair division of the proceeds of +their labor. At a meeting of the help, a radical speaker had declared +that one of the Bing women wore a noose of pearls on her neck worth half +a million dollars. The men wanted more pay and less work. A committee of +their leaders had called at Mr. Bing's office with a demand soon after +his arrival. Mr. Bing had said "no" with a bang of his fist on the +table. A worker's meeting was to be held a week later to act upon the +report of the committee. + +Meanwhile, another cause of worry had come or rather returned to him. +Again, Phyllis had begun to show symptoms of the old trouble. Mrs. Bing, +arriving at dusk from a market trip to Hazelmead with Sophronia Ames, +had found Phyllis lying asleep among the cushions on the great couch in +the latter's bedroom. She entered the room softly and leaned over the +girl and looked into her face, now turned toward the open window and +lighted by the fading glow in the western sky and relaxed by sleep. It +was a sad face! There were lines and shadows in it which the anxious +mother had not seen before and--had she been crying? Very softly, the +woman sat down at the girl's side. Darkness fell. Black, menacing +shadows filled the corners of the room. The spirit of the girl betrayed +its trouble in a sorrowful groan as she slept. Roger Delane was coming +next day. There was every reason why Phyllis should be happy. Silently, +Mrs. Bing left the room. She met Martha in the hall. + +"I shall want no dinner and Mr. Bing is dining in Hazelmead," she +whispered. "Miss Phyllis is asleep. Don't disturb her." + +Then she sat down in the darkness of her own bedroom alone. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +IN WHICH HIRAM BLENKINSOP HAS A NUMBER OF ADVENTURES + + +The Shepherd of the Birds had caught the plague of influenza in March +and nearly lost his life with it. Judge Crooker and Mr. and Mrs. +Singleton and their daughter and Father O'Neil and Mrs. Ames and Hiram +Blenkinsop had taken turns in the nursing of the boy. He had come out of +it with impaired vitality. + +The rubber tree used to speak to him in those days of his depression and +say, "It will be summer soon." + +"Oh dear! But the days pass so slowly," Bob would answer with a sigh. + +Then the round nickel clock would say cheerfully, "I hurry them along as +fast as ever I can." + +"Seems as if old Time was losing the use of his legs," said the +Shepherd. "I wouldn't wonder if some one had run over him with an +automobile." + +"Everybody is trying to kill Time these days," ticked the clock with a +merry chuckle. + +Bob looked at the clock and laughed. "You've got some sense," he +declared. + +"Nonsense!" the clock answered. + +"You can talk pretty well," said the boy. + +"I can run too. If I couldn't, nobody would look at me." + +"The more I look at you the more I think of Pauline. It's a long time +since she went away," said the Shepherd. "We must all pray for her." + +"Not I," said the little pine bureau. "Do you see that long scratch on +my side? She did it with a hat pin when I belonged to her mother, and +she used to keep her dolls in my lower drawer." + +Mr. Bloggs assumed a look of great alertness as if lie spied the enemy. +"What's the use of worrying?" he quoted. + +"You'd better lie down and cover yourself up or you'll never live to see +her or the summer either," the clock warned the Shepherd. + +Then Bob would lie down quickly and draw the clothes over his shoulders +and sing of the Good King Wenceslas and The First Noel which Miss Betsy +Singleton had taught him at Christmas time. + +All this is important only as showing how a poor lad, of a lively +imagination, was wont to spend his lonely hours. He needed company and +knew how to find it. + +Christmas Day, Judge Crooker had presented him with a beautiful copy of +Raphael's _Madonna and Child_. + +"It's the greatest theme and the greatest picture this poor world of +ours can boast of," said the Judge. "I want you to study the look in +that mother's face, not that it is unusual. I have seen the like of it +a hundred times. Almost every young mother with a child in her arms has +that look or ought to have it--the most beautiful and mysterious thing +in the world. The light of that old star which led the wise men is in +it, I sometimes think. Study it and you may hear voices in the sky as +did the shepherds of old." + +So the boy acquired the companionship of those divine faces that looked +down at him from the wall near his bed and had something to say to him +every day. + +Also, another friend--a very humble one--had begun to share his +confidence. He was the little yellow dog, Christmas. He had come with +his master, one evening in March, to spend a night with the sick +Shepherd. Christmas had lain on the foot of the bed and felt the loving +caress of the boy. He never forgot it. The heart of the world, that +loves above all things the touch of a kindly hand, was in this little +creature. Often, when Hiram was walking out in the bitter winds, +Christmas would edge away when his master's back was turned. In a jiffy, +he was out of sight and making with all haste for the door of the Widow +Moran. There, he never failed to receive some token of the generous +woman's understanding of the great need of dogs--a bone or a doughnut or +a slice of bread soaked in meat gravy--and a warm welcome from the boy +above stairs. The boy always had time to pet him and play with him. He +was never fooling the days away with an axe and a saw in the cold wind. +Christmas admired his master's ability to pick up logs of wood and heave +them about and to make a great noise with an axe but, in cold weather, +all that was a bore to him. When he had been missing, Hiram Blenkinsop +found him, always, at the day's end lying comfortably on Bob Moran's +bed. + +May had returned with its warm sunlight. The robins had come back. The +blue martins had taken possession of the bird house. The grass had +turned green on the garden borders and was now sprinkled with the golden +glow of dandelions. The leaves were coming but Pat Crowley was no longer +at work in the garden. He had fallen before the pestilence. Old Bill +Rutherford was working there. The Shepherd was at the open window every +day, talking with him and watching and feeding the birds. + + +Now, with the spring, a new feeling had come to Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He +had been sober for months. His Old Self had come back and had imparted +his youthful strength to the man Hiram. He had money in the bank. He was +decently dressed. People had begun to respect him. Every day, Hiram was +being nudged and worried by a new thought. It persisted in telling him +that respectability was like the Fourth of July--a very dull thing +unless it was celebrated. He had been greatly pleased with his own +growing respectability. He felt as if he wanted to take a look at it, +from a distance, as it were. That money in the bank was also nudging and +calling him. It seemed to be lonely and longing for companionship. + +"Come, Hiram Blenkinsop," it used to say. "Let's go off together and get +a silk hat and a gold headed cane an' make 'em set up an' take notice. +Suppose you should die sudden an' leave me without an owner?" + +The warmth and joy of the springtime had turned his fancy to the old +dream. So one day, he converted his bank balance into "a roll big enough +to choke a dog," and took the early morning train to Hazelmead, having +left Christmas at the Widow Moran's. + +In the mill city he bought a high silk hat and a gold headed cane and a +new suit of clothes and a boiled shirt and a high collar and a red +necktie. It didn't matter to him that the fashion and fit of his +garments were not quite in keeping with the silk hat and gold headed +cane. There were three other items in the old dream of splendor--the +mother, the prancing team, and the envious remarks of the onlookers. His +mother was gone. Also there were no prancing horses in Hazelmead, but he +could hire an automobile. + +In the course of his celebration he asked a lady, whom he met in the +street, if she would kindly be his mother for a day. He meant well but +the lady, being younger than Hiram and not accustomed to such +familiarity from strangers, did not feel complimented by the question. +They fled from each other. Soon, Hiram bought a big custard pie in a +bake-shop and had it cut into smallish pieces and, having purchased pie +and plate, went out upon the street with it. He ate what he wanted of +the pie and generously offered the rest of it to sundry people who +passed him. It was not impertinence in Hiram; it was pure generosity--a +desire to share his riches, flavored, in some degree, by a feeling of +vanity. It happened that Mr. J. Patterson Bing came along and received a +tender of pie from Mr. Blenkinsop. + +"No!" said Mr. Bing, with that old hammer whack in his voice which +aroused bitter memories in the mind of Hiram. + +That tone was a great piece of imprudence. There was a menacing gesture +and a rapid succession of footsteps on the pavement. Mr. Bing's retreat +was not, however, quite swift enough to save him. The pie landed on his +shoulder. In a moment, Hiram was arrested and marching toward the lockup +while Mr. Bing went to the nearest drug store to be cleaned and scoured. + + +A few days later Hiram Blenkinsop arrived in Bingville. Mr. Singleton +met him on the street and saw to his deep regret that Hiram had been +drinking. + +"I've made up my mind that religion is good for some folks, but it won't +do for me," said the latter. + +"Why not?" the minister asked. + +"I can't afford it." + +"Have you found religion a luxury?" Mr. Singleton asked. + +"It's grand while it lasts, but it's like p'ison gettin' over it," said +Hiram. "I feel kind o' ruined." + +"You look it," said the minister, with a glance at Hiram's silk hat and +soiled clothing. "A long spell of sobriety is hard on a man if he quits +it sudden. You've had your day of trial, my friend. We all have to be +tried soon or late. People begin to say, 'At last he's come around all +right. He's a good fellow.' And the Lord says: 'Perhaps he's worthy of +better things. I'll try him and see.' + +"That's His way of pushing people along, Hiram. He doesn't want them to +stand still. You've had your trial and failed, but you mustn't give up. +When your fun turns into sorrow, as it will, come back to me and we'll +try again." + + +Hiram sat dozing in a corner of the bar-room of the Eagle Hotel that +day. He had been ashamed to go to his comfortable room over the garage. +He did not feel entitled to the hospitality of Mr. Singleton. Somehow, +he couldn't bear the thought of going there. His new clothes and silk +hat were in a state which excited the derision of small boys and audible +comment from all observers while he had been making his way down the +street. His money was about gone. The barkeeper had refused to sell him +any more drink. In the early dusk he went out-of-doors. It was almost as +warm as midsummer and the sky was clear. He called at the door of the +Widow Moran for his dog. In a moment, Christmas came down from the +Shepherd's room and greeted his master with fond affection. The two went +away together. They walked up a deserted street and around to the old +graveyard. When it was quite dark, they groped their way through the +weedy, briered aisles, between moss-covered toppling stones, to their +old nook under the ash tree. There Hiram made a bed of boughs, picked +from the evergreens that grow in the graveyard, and lay down upon it +under his overcoat with the dog Christmas. He found it impossible to +sleep, however. When he closed his eyes a new thought began nudging him. + +It seemed to be saying, "What are you going to do now, Mr. Hiram +Blenkinsop?" + +He was pleased that it seemed to say Mr. Hiram Blenkinsop. He lay for a +long time looking up at the starry moonlit sky, and at the marble, +weather-spotted angel on the monument to the Reverend Thaddeus Sneed, +who had been lying there, among the rude forefathers of the village, +since 1806. Suddenly the angel began to move. Mr. Blenkinsop observed +with alarm that it had discovered him and that its right forefinger was +no longer directed toward the sky but was pointing at his face. The +angel had assumed the look and voice of his Old Self and was saying: + +"I don't see why angels are always cut in marble an' set up in +graveyards with nothing to do but point at the sky. It's a cold an' +lonesome business. Why don't you give me a job?" + +His Old Self vanished and, as it did so, the spotted angel fell to +coughing and sneezing. It coughed and sneezed so loudly that the sound +went echoing in the distant sky and so violently that it reeled and +seemed to be in danger of falling. Mr. Blenkinsop awoke with a rude jump +so that the dog Christmas barked in alarm. It was nothing but the +midnight train from the south pulling out of the station which was near +the old graveyard. The spotted angel stood firmly in its place and was +pointing at the sky as usual. + +It was probably an hour or so later, when Mr. Blenkinsop was awakened by +the barking of the dog Christmas. He quieted the dog and listened. He +heard a sound like that of a baby crying. It awoke tender memories in +the mind of Hiram Blenkinsop. One very sweet recollection was about all +that the barren, bitter years of his young manhood had given him worth +having. It was the recollection of a little child which had come to his +home in the first year of his married life. + +"She lived eighteen months and three days and four hours," he used to +say, in speaking of her, with a tender note in his voice. + +Almost twenty years, she had been lying in the old graveyard near the +ash tree. Since then the voice of a child crying always halted his +steps. It is probable that, in her short life, the neglected, pathetic +child Pearl--that having been her name--had protested much against a +plentiful lack of comfort and sympathy. + +So Mr. Blenkinsop's agitation at the sound of a baby crying somewhere +near him, in the darkness of the old graveyard, was quite natural and +will be readily understood. He rose on his elbow and listened. Again he +heard that small, appealing voice. + +"By thunder! Christmas," he whispered. "If that ain't like Pearl when +she was a little, teeny, weeny thing no bigger'n a pint o' beer! Say it +is, sir, sure as sin!" + +He scrambled to his feet, suddenly, for now, also, he could distinctly +hear the voice of a woman crying. He groped his way in the direction +from which the sound came and soon discovered the woman. She was +kneeling on a grave with a child in her arms. Her grief touched the +heart of the man. + +"Who be you?" he asked. + +"I'm cold, and my baby is sick, and I have no friends," she sobbed. + +"Yes, ye have!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "I don't care who ye be. I'm yer +friend and don't ye fergit it." + + +There was a reassuring note in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. Its +gentleness had in it a quiver of sympathy. She felt it and gave to +him--an unknown, invisible man, with just a quiver of sympathy in his +voice--her confidence. + +If ever any one was in need of sympathy, she was at that moment. She +felt that she must speak out to some one. So keenly she felt the impulse +that she had been speaking to the stars and the cold gravestones. Here +at last was a human being with a quiver of sympathy in his voice. + +"I thought I would come home, but when I got here I was afraid," the +girl moaned. "I wish I could die." + +"No, ye don't neither!" said Hiram Blenkinsop. "Sometimes, I've thought +that I hadn't no friends an' wanted to die, but I was just foolin' +myself. To be sure, I ain't had no baby on my hands but I've had +somethin' just as worrisome, I guess. Folks like you an' me has got +friends a-plenty if we'll only give 'em a chance. I've found that out. +You let me take that baby an' come with me. I know where you'll git the +glad hand. You just come right along with me." + +The unmistakable note of sincerity was in the voice of Hiram Blenkinsop. +She gave the baby into his arms. He held it to his breast a moment +thinking of old times. Then he swung his arms like a cradle saying: + +"You stop your hollerin'--ye gol'darn little skeezucks! It ain't decent +to go on that way in a graveyard an' ye ought to know it. Be ye tryin' +to wake the dead?" + +The baby grew quiet and finally fell asleep. + +"Come on, now," said Hiram, with the baby lying against his breast. "You +an' me are goin' out o' the past. I know a little house that's next door +to Heaven. They say ye can see Heaven from its winders. It's where the +good Shepherd lives. Christmas an' I know the place--don't we, ol' boy? +Come right along. There ain't no kind o' doubt o' what they'll say to +us." + + +The young woman followed him out of the old graveyard and through the +dark, deserted streets until they came to the cottage of the Widow +Moran. They passed through the gate into Judge Crooker's garden. Under +the Shepherd's window, Hiram Blenkinsop gave the baby to its mother and +with his hands to his mouth called "Bob!" in a loud whisper. Suddenly a +robin sounded his alarm. Instantly, the Shepherd's room was full of +light. In a moment, he was at the window sweeping the garden paths and +the tree tops with his search-light. It fell on the sorrowful figure of +the young mother with the child in her arms and stopped. She stood +looking up at the window bathed in the flood of light. It reminded the +Shepherd of that glow which the wise men saw in the manger at Bethlehem. + +"Pauline Baker!" he exclaimed. "Have you come back or am I dreaming? +It's you--thanks to the Blessed Virgin! It's you! Come around to the +door. My mother will let you in." + +It was a warm welcome that the girl received in the little home of the +Widow Moran. Many words of comfort and good cheer were spoken in the +next hour or so after which the good woman made tea and toast and +broiled a chop and served them in the Shepherd's room. + +"God love ye, child! So he was a married man--bad 'cess to him an' the +likes o' him!" she said as she came in with the tray. "Mother o' Jesus! +What a wicked world it is!" + +The prudent dog Christmas, being afraid of babies, hid under the +Shepherd's bed, and Hiram Blenkinsop lay down for the rest of the night +on the lounge in the cottage kitchen. + +An hour after daylight, when the Judge was walking in his garden, he +wondered why the widow and the Shepherd were sleeping so late. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +IN WHICH HIGH VOLTAGE DEVELOPS IN THE CONVERSATION + + +It was a warm, bright May day. There was not a cloud in the sky. Roger +Delane had arrived and the Bings were giving a dinner that evening. The +best people of Hazelmead were coming over in motor-cars. Phyllis and +Roger had had a long ride together that day on the new Kentucky saddle +horses. Mrs. Bing had spent the morning in Hazelmead and had stayed to +lunch with Mayor and Mrs. Stacy. She had returned at four and cut some +flowers for the table and gone to her room for an hour's rest when the +young people returned. She was not yet asleep when Phyllis came into the +big bedroom. Mrs. Bing lay among the cushions on her couch. She partly +rose, tumbled the cushions into a pile and leaned against them. + +"Heavens! I'm tired!" she exclaimed. "These women in Hazelmead hang on +to one like a lot of hungry cats. They all want money for one thing or +another--Red Cross or Liberty bonds or fatherless children or tobacco +for the soldiers or books for the library. My word! I'm broke and it +seems as if each of my legs hung by a thread." + +Phyllis smiled as she stood looking down at her mother. + +"How beautiful you look!" the fond mother exclaimed. "If he didn't +propose to-day, he's a chump." + +"But he did," said Phyllis. "I tried to keep him from it, but he just +would propose in spite of me." + +The girl's face was red and serious. She sat down in a chair and began +to remove her hat. Mrs. Bing rose suddenly, and stood facing Phyllis. + +"I thought you loved him," she said with a look of surprise. + +"So I do," the girl answered. + +"What did you say?" + +"I said no." + +"What!" + +"I refused him!" + +"For God's sake, Phyllis! Do you think you can afford to play with a man +like that? He won't stand for it." + +"Let him sit for it then and, mother, you might as well know, first as +last, that I am not playing with him." + +There was a calm note of firmness in the voice of the girl. She was +prepared for this scene. She had known it was coming. Her mother was hot +with irritating astonishment. The calmness of the girl in suddenly +beginning to dig a grave for this dear ambition--rich with promise--in +the very day when it had come submissively to their feet, stung like the +tooth of a serpent. She stood very erect and said with an icy look in +her face: + +"You young upstart! What do you mean?" + +There was a moment of frigid silence in which both of the women began to +turn cold. Then Phyllis answered very calmly as she sat looking down at +the bunch of violets in her hand: + +"It means that I am married, mother." + +Mrs. Bing's face turned red. There was a little convulsive movement of +the muscles around her mouth. She folded her arms on her breast, lifted +her chin a bit higher and asked in a polite tone, although her words +fell like fragments of cracked ice: + +"Married! To whom are you married?" + +"To Gordon King." + +Phyllis spoke casually as if he were a piece of ribbon that she had +bought at a store. + +Mrs. Bing sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands for +half a moment. Suddenly she picked up a slipper that lay at her feet and +flung it at the girl. + +"My God!" she exclaimed. "What a nasty liar you are!" + +It was not ladylike but, at that moment, the lady was temporarily +absent. + +"Mother, I'm glad you say that," the girl answered still very calmly, +although her fingers trembled a little as she felt the violets, and her +voice was not quite steady. "It shows that I am not so stupid at home as +I am at school." + +The girl rose and threw down the violets and her mild and listless +manner. A look of defiance filled her face and figure. Mrs. Bing arose, +her eyes aglow with anger. + +"I'd like to know what you mean," she said under her breath. + +"I mean that if I am a liar, you taught me how to be it. Ever since I +was knee-high, you have been teaching me to deceive my father. I am not +going to do it any longer. I am going to find my father and tell him the +truth. I shall not wait another minute. He will give me better advice +than you have given, I hope." + +The words had fallen rapidly from her lips and, as the last one was +spoken, she hurried out of the room. Mrs. Bing threw herself on the +couch where she lay with certain bitter memories, until the new maid +came to tell her that it was time to dress. + +She was like one reminded of mortality after coming out of ether. + +"Oh, Lord!" she murmured wearily. "I feel like going to bed! How _can_ I +live through that dinner? Please bring me some brandy." + +Phyllis learned that her father was at his office whither she proceeded +without a moment's delay. She sent in word that she must see him alone +and as soon as possible. He dismissed the men with whom he had been +talking and invited her into his private office. + +"Well, girl, I guess I know what is on your mind," he said. "Go ahead." + +Phyllis began to cry. + +"All right! You do the crying and I'll do the talking," he went on. "I +feel like doing the crying myself, but if you want the job I'll resign +it to you. Perhaps you can do enough of that for both of us. I began to +smell a rat the other day. So I sent for Gordon King. He came here this +morning. I had a long talk with him. He told me the truth. Why didn't +you tell me? What's the good of having a father unless you use him at +times when his counsel is likely to be worth having? I would have made a +good father, if I had had half a chance. I should like to have been your +friend and confidant in this important enterprise. I could have been a +help to you. But, somehow, I couldn't get on the board of directors. You +and your mother have been running the plant all by yourselves and I +guess it's pretty near bankrupt. Now, my girl, there's no use crying +over spilt tears. Gordon King is not the man of my choice, but we must +all take hold and try to build him up. Perhaps we can make him pay." + +"I do not love him," Phyllis sobbed. + +"You married him because you wanted to. You were not coerced?" + +"No, sir." + +"I'm sorry, but you'll have to take your share of the crow with the rest +of us," he went on, with a note of sternness in his tone. "My girl, when +I make a contract I live up to it and I intend that you shall do the +same. You'll have to learn to love and cherish this fellow, if he makes +it possible. I'll have no welching in my family. You and your mother +believe in woman's rights. I don't object to that, but you mustn't think +that you have the right to break your agreements unless there's a good +reason for it. My girl, the marriage contract is the most binding and +sacred of all contracts. I want you to do your best to make this one a +success." + +There was the tinkle of the telephone bell. Mr. Bing put the receiver to +his ear and spoke into the instrument as follows: + +"Yes, she's here! I knew all the facts before she told me. Mr. Delane? +He's on his way back to New York. Left on the six-ten. Charged me to +present his regrets and farewells to you and Phyllis. I thought it best +for him to know and to go. Yes, we're coming right home to dress. Mr. +King will take Mr. Delane's place at the table. We'll make a clean +breast of the whole business. Brace up and eat your crow with a smiling +face. I'll make a little speech and present Mr. and Mrs. King to our +friends at the end of it. Oh, now, cut out the sobbing and leave this +unfinished business to me and don't worry. We'll be home in three +minutes." + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +IN WHICH JUDGE CROOKER DELIVERS A FEW OPINIONS + + +The pride of Bingville had fallen in the dust! It had arisen and gone on +with soiled garments and lowered head. It had suffered derision and +defeat. It could not ever be the same again. Sneed and Snodgrass +recovered, in a degree, from their feeling of opulence. Sneed had become +polite, industrious and obliging. Snodgrass and others had lost heavily +in stock speculation through the failure of a broker in Hazelmead. They +went to work with a will and without the haughty independence which, for +a time, had characterized their attitude. The spirit of the Little +Shepherd had entered the hearts and home of Emanuel Baker and his wife. +Pauline and the baby were there and being tenderly loved and cared for. +But what humility had entered that home! Phyllis and her husband lived +with her parents, Gordon having taken a humble place in the mill. He +worked early and late. The Bings had made it hard for him, finding it +difficult to overcome their resentment, but he stood the gaff, as they +say, and won the regard of J. Patterson although Mrs. Bing could never +forgive him. + +In June, there had been a public meeting in the Town Hall addressed by +Judge Crooker and the Reverend Mr. Singleton. The Judge had spoken of +the grinding of the mills of God that was going on the world over. + +"Our civilization has had its time of trial not yet ended," he began. +"Its enemies have been busy in every city and village. Not only in the +cities and villages of France and Belgium have they been busy, but in +those of our own land. The Goths and Vandals have invaded Bingville. +They have been destroying the things we loved. The false god is in our +midst. Many here, within the sound of my voice, have a god suited to +their own tastes and sins--an obedient, tractable, boneless god. It is +my deliberate opinion that the dances and costumes and moving pictures +we have seen in Bingville are doing more injury to Civilization than all +the guns of Germany. My friends, you can do nothing worse for my +daughter than deprive her of her modesty and I would rather, far rather, +see you slay my son than destroy his respect for law and virtue and +decency. + +"The jazz band is to me a sign of spiritual decay. It is a step toward +the jungle. I hear in it the beating of the tom-tom. It is not music. It +is the barbaric yawp of sheer recklessness and daredevilism, and it is +everywhere. + +"Even in our economic life we are dancing to the jazz band and with +utter recklessness. American labor is being more and more absorbed in +the manufacture of luxuries--embroidered frocks and elaborate millinery +and limousines and landaulets and rich upholstery and cord tires and +golf courses and sporting goods and great country houses--so that there +is not enough labor to provide the comforts and necessities of life. + +"The tendency of all this is to put the stamp of luxury upon the +commonest needs of man. The time seems to be near when a boiled egg and +a piece of buttered bread will be luxuries and a family of children an +unspeakable extravagance. Let us face the facts. It is up to Vanity to +moderate its demands upon the industry of man. What we need is more +devotion to simple living and the general welfare. In plain +old-fashioned English we need the religion and the simplicity of our +fathers." + + +Later, in June, a strike began in the big plant of J. Patterson Bing. +The men demanded higher pay and shorter days. They were working under a +contract but that did not seem to matter. In a fight with "scabs" and +Pinkerton men they destroyed a part of the plant. Even the life of Mr. +Bing was threatened! The summer was near its end when J. Patterson Bing +and a committee of the labor union met in the office of Judge Crooker to +submit their differences to that impartial magistrate for adjustment. +The Judge listened patiently and rendered his decision. It was accepted. + +When the papers were signed, Mr. Bing rose and said, "Your Honor, +there's one thing I want to say. I have spent most of my life in this +town. I have built up a big business here and doubled the population. I +have built comfortable homes for my laborers and taken an interest in +the education of their children, and built a library where any one could +find the best books to read. I have built playgrounds for the children +of the working people. If I have heard of any case of need, I have done +my best to relieve it. I have always been ready to hear complaints and +treat them fairly. My men have been generously paid and yet they have +not hesitated to destroy my property and to use guns and knives and +clubs and stones to prevent the plant from filling its contracts and to +force their will upon me. How do you explain it? What have I done or +failed to do that has caused this bitterness?" + +"Mr. Bing, I am glad that you ask me that question," the old Judge +began. "It gives me a chance to present to you, and to these men who +work for you, a conviction which has grown out of impartial observation +of your relations with each other. + +"First, I want to say to you, Mr. Bing, that I regard you as a good +citizen. Your genius and generosity have put this community under great +obligation. Now, in heading toward the hidden cause of your complaint, +I beg to ask you a question at the outset. Do you know that unfortunate +son of the Widow Moran known as the Shepherd of the Birds?" + +"I have heard much about him," Mr. Bing answered. + +"Do you know him?" + +"No. I have had letters from him acknowledging favors now and then, but +I do not know him." + +"We have hit at once the source of your trouble," the Judge went on. +"The Shepherd is a representative person. He stands for the poor and the +unfortunate in this village. You have never gone to see him +because--well, probably it was because you feared that the look of him +would distress you. The thing which would have helped and inspired and +gladdened his heart more than anything else would have been the feel of +your hand and a kind and cheering word and sympathetic counsel. Under +those circumstances, I think I may say that it was your duty as a +neighbor and a human being to go to see him. Instead of that you sent +money to him. Now, he never needed money. In the kindest spirit, I ask +you if that money you sent to him in the best of good-will was not, in +fact, a species of bribery? Were you not, indeed, seeking to buy +immunity from a duty incumbent upon you as a neighbor and a human +being?" + +Mr. Bing answered quickly, "There are plenty of people who have nothing +else to do but carry cheer and comfort to the unfortunate. I have other +things to do." + +"That, sir, does not relieve you of the liabilities of a neighbor and a +human being, in my view. If your business has turned you into a shaft or +a cog-wheel, it has done you a great injustice. I fear that it has been +your master--that it has practised upon you a kind of despotism. You +would better get along with less--far less business than suffer such a +fate. I don't want to hurt you. We are looking for the cause of a +certain result and I can help you only by being frank. With all your +generosity you have never given your heart to this village. Some unkind +people have gone so far as to say that you have no heart. You can not +prove it with money that you do not miss. Money is good but it must be +warmed with sympathy and some degree of sacrifice. Has it never occurred +to you that the warm hand and the cheering word in season are more, +vastly more, than money in the important matter of making good-will? +Unconsciously, you have established a line and placed yourself on one +side of it and the people on the other. Broadly speaking, you are +capital and the rest are labor. Whereas, in fact, you are all working +men. Some of the rest have come to regard you as their natural enemy. +They ought to regard you as their natural friend. Two kinds of +despotism have prevented it. First, there is the despotism of your +business in making you a slave--so much of a slave that you haven't time +to be human; second, there is the despotism of the labor union in +discouraging individual excellence, in demanding equal pay for the +faithful man and the slacker, and in denying the right of free men to +labor when and where they will. All this is tyranny as gross and +un-American as that of George the Third in trying to force his will upon +the colonies. If America is to survive, we must set our faces against +every form of tyranny. The remedy for all our trouble and bitterness is +real democracy which is nothing more or less than the love of men--the +love of justice and fair play for each and all. + +"You men should know that every strike increases the burdens of the +people. Every day your idleness lifts the price of their necessities. +Idleness is just another form of destruction. Why could you not have +listened to the counsel of Reason in June instead of in September, and +thus have saved these long months of loss and hardship and bitter +violence? It was because the spirit of Tyranny had entered your heart +and put your judgment in chains. It had blinded you to honor also, for +your men were working under contract. If the union is to command the +support of honest men, it must be honest. It was Tyranny that turned the +treaty with Belgium into a scrap of paper. That kind of a thing will not +do here. Let me assure you that Tyranny has no right to be in this land +of ours. You remind me of the Prodigal Son who had to know the taste of +husks and the companionship of swine before he came to himself. Do you +not know that Tyranny is swine and the fodder of swine? It is simply +human hoggishness. + +"I have one thing more to say and I am finished. Mr. Bing, some time +ago you threw up your religion without realizing the effect that such an +act would be likely to produce on this community. You are, no doubt, +aware that many followed your example. I've got no preaching to do. I'm +just going to quote you a few words from an authority no less +respectable than George Washington himself. Our history has made one +fact very clear, namely, that he was a wise and far-seeing man." + +Judge Crooker took from a shelf, John Marshall's "Life of Washington," +and read: + +"'_It is substantially true that virtue or morality is a necessary +spring of popular government and let us, with caution, indulge the +supposition that morality can be maintained without religion._ + +"'_Let it simply be asked where is the security for property, for +reputation, for life, if a sense of religious obligation desert the +oaths which are the instruments of investigation in courts of justice?_" + +"Let me add, on my own account, that the treatment you receive from your +men will vary according to their respect for morality and religion. + +"They could manage very well with an irreligious master, for you are +only one. But an irreligious mob is a different and highly serious +matter, believe me. Away back in the seventeenth century, John Dryden +wrote a wise sentence. It was this: + +"'_I have heard, indeed, of some very virtuous persons who have ended +unfortunately but never of a virtuous nation; Providence is engaged too +deeply when the cause becomes general._ + +"'If virtue is the price of a nation's life, let us try to keep our own +nation virtuous.'" + + +Mr. Bing and his men left the Judge's office in a thoughtful mood. The +next day, Judge Crooker met the mill owner on the street. + +"Judge, I accept your verdict," said the latter. "I fear that I have +been rather careless. It didn't occur to me that my example would be +taken so seriously. I have been a prodigal and have resolved to return +to my father's house." + +"Ho, servants!" said the Judge, with a smile. "Bring forth the best robe +and put it on him and put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet and +bring hither the fatted calf and kill it and let us eat and be merry." + +"We shall have to postpone the celebration," said Mr. Bing. "I have to +go to New York to-night, and I sail for England to-morrow. But I shall +return before Christmas." + +A little farther on Mr. Bing met Hiram Blenkinsop. The latter had a +plank on his shoulder. + +"I'd like to have a word with you," said the mill owner as he took hold +of the plank and helped Hiram to ease it down. "I hear many good things +about you, Mr. Blenkinsop. I fear that we have all misjudged you. If I +have ever said or done anything to hurt your feelings, I am sorry for +it." + +Hiram Blenkinsop looked with astonishment into the eyes of the +millionaire. + +"I--I guess I ain't got you placed right--not eggzac'ly," said he. "Some +folks ain't as good as they look an' some ain't as bad as they look. I +wouldn't wonder if we was mostly purty much alike, come to shake us +down." + +"Let's be friends, anyhow," said Mr. Bing. "If there's anything I can do +for you, let me know." + +That evening, as he sat by the stove in his little room over the garage +of Mr. Singleton with his dog Christmas lying beside him, Mr. Blenkinsop +fell asleep and awoke suddenly with a wild yell of alarm. + +"What's the matter?" a voice inquired. + +Mr. Blenkinsop turned and saw his Old Self standing in the doorway. + +"Nothin' but a dream," said Blenkinsop as he wiped his eyes. "Dreamed I +had a dog with a terrible thirst on him. Used to lead him around with a +rope an' when we come to a brook he'd drink it dry. Suddenly I felt an +awful jerk on the rope that sent me up in the air an' I looked an' see +that the dog had turned into an elephant an' that he was goin' like Sam +Hill, an' that I was hitched to him and couldn't let go. Once in a while +he'd stop an' drink a river dry an' then he'd lay down an' rest. +Everybody was scared o' the elephant an' so was I. An' I'd try to cut +the rope with my jack knife but it wouldn't cut--it was so dull. Then +all of a sudden he'd start on the run an' twitch me over the hills an' +mountings, an' me takin' steps a mile long an' scared to death." + +"The fact is you're hitched to an elephant," his Old Self remarked. "The +first thing to do is to sharpen your jack knife." + +"It's Night an' Silence that sets him goin'," said Blenkinsop. "When +they come he's apt to start for the nighest river. The old elephant is +beginnin' to move." + +Blenkinsop put on his hat and hurried out of the door. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +WHICH TELLS OF A MERRY CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE LITTLE COTTAGE OF THE WIDOW +MORAN + + +Night and Silence are a stern test of wisdom. For years, the fun loving, +chattersome Blenkinsop had been their enemy and was not yet at peace +with them. But Night and Silence had other enemies in the +village--ancient and inconsolable enemies, it must be said. They were +the cocks of Bingville. Every morning they fell to and drove Night and +Silence out of the place and who shall say that they did not save it +from being hopelessly overwhelmed. Day was their victory and they knew +how to achieve it. Noise was the thing most needed. So they roused the +people and called up the lights and set the griddles rattling. The +great, white cock that roosted near the window in the Widow Moran's +hen-house watched for the first sign of weakness in the enemy. When it +came, he sent forth a bolt of sound that tumbled Silence from his throne +and shook the foundations of the great dome of Night. It rang over the +housetops and through every street and alley in the village. That +started the battle. Silence tried in vain to recover his seat. In a +moment, every cock in Bingville was hurling bombs at him. Immediately, +Darkness began to grow pale with fright. Seeing the fate of his ally, he +broke camp and fled westward. Soon the field was clear and every proud +cock surveyed the victory with a solemn sense of large accomplishment. + +The loud victorious trumpets sounding in the garden near the window of +the Shepherd awoke him that Christmas morning. The dawn light was on the +windows. + +"Merry Christmas!" said the little round nickel clock in a cheerful +tone. "It's time to get up!" + +"Is it morning?" the Shepherd asked drowsily, as he rubbed his eyes. + +"Sure it's morning!" the little clock answered. "That lazy old sun is +late again. He ought to be up and at work. He's like a dishonest hired +man." + +"He's apt to be slow on Christmas morning," said the Shepherd. + +"Then people blame me and say I'm too fast," the little clock went on. +"They don't know what an old shirk the sun can be. I've been watching +him for years and have never gone to sleep at my post." + +After a moment of silence the little clock went on: "Hello! The old +night is getting a move on it. The cocks are scaring it away. Santa +Claus has been here. He brought ever so many things. The midnight train +stopped." + +"I wonder who came," said the Shepherd. + +"I guess it was the Bings," the clock answered. + +Just then it struck seven. + +"There, I guess that's about the end of it," said the little clock. + +"Of what?" the Shepherd asked. + +"Of the nineteen hundred and eighteen years. You know seven is the +favored number in sacred history. I'm sure the baby would have been born +at seven. My goodness! There's a lot of ticking in all that time. I've +been going only twelve years and I'm nearly worn out. Some young clock +will have to take my job before long." + +These reflections of the little clock were suddenly interrupted. The +Shepherd's mother entered with a merry greeting and turned on the +lights. There were many bundles lying about. She came and kissed her son +and began to build a fire in the little stove. + +"This'll be the merriest Christmas in yer life, laddie boy," she said, +as she lit the kindlings. "A great doctor has come up with the Bings to +see ye. He says he'll have ye out-o'-doors in a little while." + +"Ho, ho! That looks like the war was nearly over," said Mr. Bloggs. + +Mrs. Moran did not hear the remark of the little tin soldier so she +rattled on: + +"I went over to the station to meet 'em last night. Mr. Blenkinsop has +brought us a fine turkey. We'll have a gran' dinner--sure we will--an' I +axed Mr. Blenkinsop to come an' eat with us." + +Mrs. Moran opened the gifts and spread them on the bed. There were books +and paints and brushes and clothing and silver articles and needle-work +and a phonograph and a check from Mr. Bing. + +The little cottage had never seen a day so full of happiness. It rang +with talk and merry laughter and the music of the phonograph. Mr. +Blenkinsop had come in his best mood and apparel with the dog +Christmas. He helped Mrs. Moran to set the table in the Shepherd's room +and brought up the platter with the big brown turkey on it, surrounded +by sweet potatoes, all just out of the oven. Mrs. Moran followed with +the jelly and the creamed onions and the steaming coffee pot and new +celery. The dog Christmas growled and ran under the bed when he saw his +master coming with that unfamiliar burden. + +"He's never seen a Christmas dinner before. I don't wonder he's kind o' +scairt! I ain't seen one in so long, I'm scairt myself," said Hiram +Blenkinsop as they sat down at the table. + +"What's scairin' ye, man?" said the widow. + +"'Fraid I'll wake up an' find myself dreamin'," Mr. Blenkinsop answered. + +"Nobody ever found himself dreamin' at my table," said Mrs. Moran. "Grab +the carvin' knife an' go to wurruk, man." + +"I ain't eggzac'ly used to this kind of a job, but if you'll look out +o' the winder, I'll have it chopped an' split an' corded in a minute," +said Mr. Blenkinsop. + +He got along very well with his task. When they began eating he +remarked, "I've been lookin' at that pictur' of a girl with a baby in +her arms. Brings the water to my eyes, it's so kind o' life like and +nat'ral. It's an A number one pictur'--no mistake." + +He pointed at a large painting on the wall. + +"It's Pauline!" said the Shepherd. + +"Sure she's one o' the saints o' God!" the widow exclaimed. "She's +started a school for the children o' them Eytalians an' Poles. She's +tryin' to make 'em good Americans." + +"I'll never forget that night," Mr. Blenkinsop remarked. + +"If ye don't fergit it, I'll never mend another hole in yer pants," the +widow answered. + +"I've never blabbed a word about it to any one but Mr. Singleton." + +"Keep that in yer soul, man. It's yer ticket to Paradise," said the +widow. + +"She goes every day to teach the Poles and Italians, but I have her here +with me always," the Shepherd remarked. "I'm glad when the morning comes +so that I can see her again." + +"God bless the child! We was sorry to lose her but we have the pictur' +an' the look o' her with the love o' God in her face," said the Widow +Moran. + +"Now light yer pipe and take yer comfort, man," said the hospitable +widow, after the dishes were cleared away. "Sure it's more like +Christmas to see a man an' a pipe in the house. Heavens, no! A man in +the kitchen is worse than a hole in yer petticoat." + +So Mr. Blenkinsop sat with the Shepherd while the widow went about her +work. With his rumpled hair, clean shaven face, long nose and prominent +ears, he was not a handsome man. + +"This is the top notch an' no mistake," he remarked as he lighted his +pipe. "Blenkinsop is happy. He feels like his Old Self. He has no fault +to find with anything or anybody." + +Mr. Blenkinsop delivered this report on the state of his feelings with a +serious look in his gray eyes. + +"It kind o' reminds me o' the time when I used to hang up my stockin' +an' look for the reindeer tracks in the snow on Christmas mornin'," he +went on. "Since then, my ol' socks have been full o' pain an' trouble +every Christmas." + +"Those I knit for ye left here full of good wishes," said the Shepherd. + +"Say, when I put 'em on this mornin' with the b'iled shirt an' the suit +that Mr. Bing sent me, my Old Self came an' asked me where I was goin', +an' when I said I was goin' to spen' Christmas with a respectable +fam'ly, he said, 'I guess I'll go with ye,' so here we be." + +"The Old Selves of the village have all been kicked out-of-doors," said +the Shepherd. "The other day you told me about the trouble you had had +with yours. That night, all the Old Selves of Bingville got together +down in the garden and talked and talked about their relatives so I +couldn't sleep. It was a kind of Selfland. I told Judge Crooker about it +and he said that that was exactly what was going on in the Town Hall the +other night at the public meeting." + +"The folks are drunk--as drunk as I was in Hazelmead last May," said Mr. +Blenkinsop. "They have been drunk with gold and pleasure----" + +"The fruit of the vine of plenty," said Judge Crooker, who had just come +up the stairs. "Merry Christmas!" he exclaimed as he shook hands. "Mr. +Blenkinsop, you look as if you were enjoying yourself." + +"An' why not when yer Self has been away an' just got back?" + +"And you've killed the fatted turkey," said the Judge, as he took out +his silver snuff box. "One by one, the prodigals are returning." + +They heard footsteps on the stairs and the merry voice of the Widow +Moran. In a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Bing stood in the doorway. + +"Mr. and Mrs. Bing, I want to make you acquainted with my very dear +friend, Robert Moran," said Judge Crooker. + +There were tears in the Shepherd's eyes as Mrs. Bing stooped and kissed +him. He looked up at the mill owner as the latter took his hand. + +"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Bing. + +"Is this--is this Mr. J. Patterson Bing?" the Shepherd asked, his eyes +wide with astonishment. + +"Yes, and it is my fault that you do not know me better. I want to be +your friend." + +The Shepherd put his handkerchief over his eyes. His voice trembled when +he said: "You have been very kind to us." + +"But I'm really hoping to do something for you," Mr. Bing assured him. +"I've brought a great surgeon from New York who thinks he can help you. +He will be over to see you in the morning." + +They had a half-hour's visit with the little Shepherd. Mr. Bing, who was +a judge of good pictures, said that the boy's work showed great promise +and that his picture of the mother and child would bring a good price if +he cared to sell it. When they arose to go, Mr. Blenkinsop thanked the +mill owner for his Christmas suit. + +"Don't mention it," said Mr. Bing. + +"Well, it mentions itself purty middlin' often," Mr. Blenkinsop laughed. + +"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the former asked. + +"Well, sir, to tell ye the dead hones' truth, I've got a new ambition," +said Mr. Blenkinsop. "I've thought of it nights a good deal. I'd like to +be sextunt o' the church an' ring that ol' bell." + +"We'll see what can be done about it," Mr. Bing answered with a laugh, +as they went down-stairs with Judge Crooker, followed by the dog +Christmas, who scampered around them on the street with a merry growl of +challenge, as if the spirit of the day were in him. + +"What is it that makes the boy so appealing?" Mr. Bing asked of the +Judge. + +"He has a wonderful personality," Mrs. Bing remarked. + +"Yes, he has that. But the thing that underlies and shines through it is +his great attraction." + +"What do you call it?" Mrs. Bing asked. + +"A clean and noble spirit! Is there any other thing in this world that, +in itself, is really worth having?" + +"Compared with him, I recognize that I am very poor indeed," said J. +Patterson Bing. + +"You are what I would call a promising young man," the Judge answered. +"If you don't get discouraged, you're going to amount to something. I am +glad because you are, in a sense, the father of the great family of +Bingville." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Prodigal Village, by Irving Bacheller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGAL VILLAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 44796.txt or 44796.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/7/9/44796/ + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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