Books: In His Steps

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"And whosoever forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my
disciple."

WHEN Rachel Winslow and Virginia Page separated after the meeting at
the First Church on Sunday they agreed to continue their
conversation the next day. Virginia asked Rachel to come and lunch
with her at noon, and Rachel accordingly rang the bell at the Page
mansion about half-past eleven. Virginia herself met her and the two
were soon talking earnestly.

"The fact is," Rachel was saying, after they had been talking a few
moments, "I cannot reconcile it with my judgment of what Christ
would do. I cannot tell another person what to do, but I feel that I
ought not to accept this offer."

"What will you do then?" asked Virginia with great interest.

"I don't know yet, but I have decided to refuse this offer."

Rachel picked up a letter that had been lying in her lap and ran
over its contents again. It was a letter from the manager of a comic
opera offering her a place with a large traveling company of the
season. The salary was a very large figure, and the prospect held
out by the manager was flattering. He had heard Rachel sing that
Sunday morning when the stranger had interrupted the service. He had
been much impressed. There was money in that voice and it ought to
be used in comic opera, so said the letter, and the manager wanted a
reply as soon as possible.

"There's no great virtue in saying 'No' to this offer when I have
the other one," Rachel went on thoughtfully. "That's harder to
decide. But I've about made up my mind. To tell the, truth,
Virginia, I'm completely convinced in the first case that Jesus
would never use any talent like a good voice just to make money. But
now, take this concert offer. Here is a reputable company, to travel
with an impersonator and a violinist and a male quartet, all people
of good reputation. I'm asked to go as one of the company and sing
leading soprano. The salary--I mentioned it, didn't I?--is
guaranteed to be $200 a month for the season. But I don't feel
satisfied that Jesus would go. What do you think?"

"You mustn't ask me to decide for you," replied Virginia with a sad
smile. "I believe Mr. Maxwell was right when he said we must each
one of us decide according to the judgment we feel for ourselves to
be Christ-like. I am having a harder time than you are, dear, to
decide what He would do."

"Are you?" Rachel asked. She rose and walked over to the window and
looked out. Virginia came and stood by her. The street was crowded
with life and the two young women looked at it silently for a
moment. Suddenly Virginia broke out as Rachel had never heard her
before:

"Rachel, what does all this contrast in conditions mean to you as
you ask this question of what Jesus would do? It maddens me to think
that the society in which I have been brought up, the same to which
we are both said to belong, is satisfied year after year to go on
dressing and eating and having a good time, giving and receiving
entertainments, spending its money on houses and luxuries and,
occasionally, to ease its conscience, donating, without any personal
sacrifice, a little money to charity. I have been educated, as you
have, in one of the most expensive schools in America; launched into
society as an heiress; supposed to be in a very enviable position.
I'm perfectly well; I can travel or stay at home. I can do as I
please. I can gratify almost any want or desire; and yet when I
honestly try to imagine Jesus living the life I have lived and am
expected to live, and doing for the rest of my life what thousands
of other rich people do, I am under condemnation for being one of
the most wicked, selfish, useless creatures in all the world. I have
not looked out of this window for weeks without a feeling of horror
toward myself as I see the humanity that passes by this house."

Virginia turned away and walked up and down the room. Rachel watched
her and could not repress the rising tide of her own growing
definition of discipleship. Of what Christian use was her own talent
of song? Was the best she could do to sell her talent for so much a
month, go on a concert company's tour, dress beautifully, enjoy the
excitement of public applause and gain a reputation as a great
singer? Was that what Jesus would do?

She was not morbid. She was in sound health, was conscious of her
great powers as a singer, and knew that if she went out into public
life she could make a great deal of money and become well known. It
is doubtful if she overestimated her ability to accomplish all she
thought herself capable of. And Virginia--what she had just said
smote Rachel with great force because of the similar position in
which the two friends found themselves.

Lunch was announced and they went out and were joined by Virginia's
grandmother, Madam Page, a handsome, stately woman of sixty-five,
and Virginia's brother Rollin, a young man who spent most of his
time at one of the clubs and had no ambition for anything but a
growing admiration for Rachel Winslow, and whenever she dined or
lunched at the Page's, if he knew of it he always planned to be at
home.

These three made up the Page family. Virginia's father had been a
banker and grain speculator. Her mother had died ten years before,
her father within the past year. The grandmother, a Southern woman
in birth and training, had all the traditions and feelings that
accompany the possession of wealth and social standing that have
never been disturbed. She was a shrewd, careful business woman of
more than average ability. The family property and wealth were
invested, in large measure, under her personal care. Virginia's
portion was, without any restriction, her own. She had been trained
by her father to understand the ways of the business world, and even
the grandmother had been compelled to acknowledge the girl's
capacity for taking care of her own money.

Perhaps two persons could not be found anywhere less capable of
understanding a girl like Virginia than Madam Page and Rollin.
Rachel, who had known the family since she was a girl playmate of
Virginia's, could not help thinking of what confronted Virginia in
her own home when she once decided on the course which she honestly
believed Jesus would take. Today at lunch, as she recalled
Virginia's outbreak in the front room, she tried to picture the
scene that would at some time occur between Madam Page and her
granddaughter.

"I understand that you are going on the stage, Miss Winslow. We
shall all be delighted, I'm sure," said Rollin during the
conversation, which had not been very animated.

Rachel colored and felt annoyed. "Who told you?" she asked, while
Virginia, who had been very silent and reserved, suddenly roused
herself and appeared ready to join in the talk.

"Oh! we hear a thing or two on the street. Besides, every one saw
Crandall the manager at church two weeks ago. He doesn't go to
church to hear the preaching. In fact, I know other people who don't
either, not when there's something better to hear."

Rachel did not color this time, but she answered quietly, "You're
mistaken. I'm not going on the stage."

"It's a great pity. You'd make a hit. Everybody is talking about
your singing."

This time Rachel flushed with genuine anger. Before she could say
anything, Virginia broke in: "Whom do you mean by 'everybody?'"

"Whom? I mean all the people who hear Miss Winslow on Sundays. What
other time do they hear her? It's a great pity, I say, that the
general public outside of Raymond cannot hear her voice."

"Let us talk about something else," said Rachel a little sharply.
Madam Page glanced at her and spoke with a gentle courtesy.

"My dear, Rollin never could pay an indirect compliment. He is like
his father in that. But we are all curious to know something of your
plans. We claim the right from old acquaintance, you know; and
Virginia has already told us of your concert company offer."

"I supposed of course that was public property," said Virginia,
smiling across the table. "I was in the NEWS office day before
yesterday."

"Yes, yes," replied Rachel hastily. "I understand that, Madam Page.
Well, Virginia and I have been talking about it. I have decided not
to accept, and that is as far as I have gone at present."

Rachel was conscious of the fact that the conversation had, up to
this point, been narrowing her hesitation concerning the concert
company's offer down to a decision that would absolutely satisfy her
own judgment of Jesus' probable action. It had been the last thing
in the world, however, that she had desired, to have her decision
made in any way so public as this. Somehow what Rollin Page had said
and his manner in saying it had hastened her decision in the matter.

"Would you mind telling us, Rachel, your reasons for refusing the
offer? It looks like a great opportunity for a young girl like you.
Don't you think the general public ought to hear you? I feel like
Rollin about that. A voice like yours belongs to a larger audience
than Raymond and the First Church."

Rachel Winslow was naturally a girl of great reserve. She shrank
from making her plans or her thoughts public. But with all her
repression there was possible in her an occasional sudden breaking
out that was simply an impulsive, thoroughly frank, truthful
expression of her most inner personal feeling. She spoke now in
reply to Madam Page in one of those rare moments of unreserve that
added to the attractiveness of her whole character.

"I have no other reason than a conviction that Jesus Christ would do
the same thing," she said, looking into Madam Page's eyes with a
clear, earnest gaze.

Madam Page turned red and Rollin stared. Before her grandmother
could say anything, Virginia spoke. Her rising color showed how she
was stirred. Virginia's pale, clear complexion was that of health,
but it was generally in marked contrast with Rachel's tropical type
of beauty.

"Grandmother, you know we promised to make that the standard of our
conduct for a year. Mr. Maxwell's proposition was plain to all who
heard it. We have not been able to arrive at our decisions very
rapidly. The difficulty in knowing what Jesus would do has perplexed
Rachel and me a good deal."

Madam Page looked sharply at Virginia before she said anything.

"Of course I understand Mr. Maxwell's statement. It is perfectly
impracticable to put it into practice. I felt confident at the time
that those who promised would find it out after a trial and abandon
it as visionary and absurd. I have nothing to say about Miss
Winslow's affairs, but," she paused and continued with a sharpness
that was new to Rachel, "I hope you have no foolish notions in this
matter, Virginia."

"I have a great many notions," replied Virginia quietly. "Whether
they are foolish or not depends upon my right understanding of what
He would do. As soon as I find out I shall do it."

"Excuse me, ladies," said Rollin, rising from the table. "The
conversation is getting beyond my depth. I shall retire to the
library for a cigar."

He went out of the dining-room and there was silence for a moment.
Madam Page waited until the servant had brought in something and
then asked her to go out. She was angry and her anger was
formidable, although checked I m some measure by the presence of
Rachel.

"I am older by several years than you, young ladies," she said, and
her traditional type of bearing seemed to Rachel to rise up like a
great frozen wall between her and every conception of Jesus as a
sacrifice. "What you have promised, in a spirit of false emotion I
presume, is impossible of performance."

"Do you mean, grandmother, that we cannot possibly act as our Lord
would? or do you mean that, if we try to, we shall offend the
customs and prejudices of society?" asked Virginia.

"It is not required! It is not necessary! Besides how can you act
with any--" Madam Page paused, broke off her sentence, and then
turned to Rachel. "What will your mother say to your decision? My
dear, is it not foolish? What do you expect to do with your voice
anyway?"

"I don't know what mother will say yet," Rachel answered, with a
great shrinking from trying to give her mother's probable answer. If
there was a woman in all Raymond with great ambitions for her
daughter's success as a singer, Mrs. Winslow was that woman.

"Oh! you will see it in a different light after wiser thought of it.
My dear," continued Madam Page rising from the table, "you will live
to regret it if you do not accept the concert company's offer or
something like it."

Chapter Seven

RACHEL was glad to escape and be by herself. A plan was slowly
forming in her mind, and she wanted to be alone and think it out
carefully. But before she had walked two blocks she was annoyed to
find Rollin Page walking beside her.

"Sorry to disturb your thoughts, Miss Winslow, but I happened to be
going your way and had an idea you might not object. In fact, I've
been walking here for a whole block and you haven't objected."

"I did not see you," said Rachel briefly.

"I wouldn't mind that if you only thought of me once in a while,"
said Rollin suddenly. He took one last nervous puff on his cigar,
tossed it into the street and walked along with a pale look on his
face.

Rachel was surprised, but not startled. She had known Rollin as a
boy, and there had been a time when they had used each other's first
name familiarly. Lately, however, something in Rachel's manner had
put an end to that. She was used to his direct attempts at
compliments and was sometimes amused by them. Today she honestly
wished him anywhere else.

"Do you ever think of me, Miss Winslow?" asked Rollin after a pause.

"Oh, yes, quite often!" said Rachel with a smile.

"Are you thinking of me now?"

"Yes. That is--yes--I am."

"What?"

"Do you want me to be absolutely truthful?"

"Of course."

"Then I was thinking that I wished you were not here." Rollin bit
his lip and looked gloomy.

"Now look here, Rachel--oh, I know that's forbidden, but I've got to
speak some time!--you know how I feel. What makes you treat me so?
You used to like me a little, you know."

"Did I? Of course we used to get on very well as boy and girl. But
we are older now."

Rachel still spoke in the light, easy way she had used since her
first annoyance at seeing him. She was still somewhat preoccupied
with her plan which had been disturbed by Rollin's sudden
appearance.

They walked along in silence a little way. The avenue was full of
people. Among the persons passing was Jasper Chase. He saw Rachel
and Rollin and bowed as they went by. Rollin was watching Rachel
closely.

"I wish I was Jasper Chase. Maybe I would stand some chance then,"
he said moodily.

Rachel colored in spite of herself. She did not say anything and
quickened her pace a little. Rollin seemed determined to say
something, and Rachel seemed helpless to prevent him. After all, she
thought, he might as well know the truth one time as another.

"You know well enough, Rachel, how I feel toward you. Isn't there
any hope? I could make you happy. I've loved you a good many
years--"

"Why, how old do you think I am?" broke in Rachel with a nervous
laugh. She was shaken out of her usual poise of manner.

"You know what I mean," went on Rollin doggedly. "And you have no
right to laugh at me just because I want you to marry me."

"I'm not! But it is useless for you to speak, Rollin," said Rachel
after a little hesitation, and then using his name in such a frank,
simple way that he could attach no meaning to it beyond the
familiarity of the old family acquaintance. "It is impossible." She
was still a little agitated by the fact of receiving a proposal of
marriage on the avenue. But the noise on the street and sidewalk
made the conversation as private as if they were in the house.

"Would that is--do you think--if you gave me time I would."

"No!" said Rachel. She spoke firmly; perhaps, she thought afterward,
although she did not mean to, she spoke harshly.

They walked on for some time without a word. They were nearing
Rachel's home and she was anxious to end the scene.

As they turned off the avenue into one of the quieter streets Rollin
spoke suddenly and with more manliness than he had yet shown. There
was a distinct note of dignity in his voice that was new to Rachel.

"Miss Winslow, I ask you to be my wife. Is there any hope for me
that you will ever consent?"

"None in the least." Rachel spoke decidedly.

"Will you tell me why?" He asked the question as if he had a right
to a truthful answer.

"Because I do not feel toward you as a woman ought to feel toward
the man she marries."

"In other words, you do not love me?"

"I do not and I cannot."

"Why?" That was another question, and Rachel was a little surprised
that he should ask it.

"Because--" she hesitated for fear she might say too much in an
attempt to speak the exact truth.

"Tell me just why. You can't hurt me more than you have already."

"Well, I do not and I cannot love you because you have no purpose in
life. What do you ever do to make the world better? You spend your
time in club life, in amusements, in travel, in luxury. What is
there in such a life to attract a woman?"

"Not much, I guess," said Rollin with a bitter laugh. "Still, I
don't know that I'm any worse than the rest of the men around me.
I'm not so bad as some. I'm glad to know your reasons."

He suddenly stopped, took off his hat, bowed gravely and turned
back. Rachel went on home and hurried into her room, disturbed in
many ways by the event which had so unexpectedly thrust itself into
her experience.

When she had time to think it all over she found herself condemned
by the very judgment she had passed on Rollin Page. What purpose had
she in life? She had been abroad and studied music with one of the
famous teachers of Europe. She had come home to Raymond and had been
singing in the First Church choir now for a year. She was well paid.
Up to that Sunday two weeks ago she had been quite satisfied with
herself and with her position. She had shared her mother's ambition,
and anticipated growing triumphs in the musical world. What possible
career was before her except the regular career of every singer?

She asked the question again and, in the light of her recent reply
to Rollin, asked again, if she had any very great purpose in life
herself. What would Jesus do? There was a fortune in her voice. She
knew it, not necessarily as a matter of personal pride or
professional egotism, but simply as a fact. And she was obliged to
acknowledge that until two weeks ago she had purposed to use her
voice to make money and win admiration and applause. Was that a much
higher purpose, after all, than Rollin Page lived for?

She sat in her room a long time and finally went downstairs,
resolved to have a frank talk with her mother about the concert
company's offer and the new plan which was gradually shaping in her
mind. She had already had one talk with her mother and knew that she
expected Rachel to accept the offer and enter on a successful career
as a public singer.

"Mother," Rachel said, coming at once to the point, much as she
dreaded the interview, "I have decided not to go out with the
company. I have a good reason for it."

Mrs. Winslow was a large, handsome woman, fond of much company,
ambitious for distinction in society and devoted, according to her
definitions of success, to the success of her children. Her youngest
boy, Louis, two years younger than Rachel, was ready to graduate
from a military academy in the summer. Meanwhile she and Rachel were
at home together. Rachel's father, like Virginia's, had died while
the family was abroad. Like Virginia she found herself, under her
present rule of conduct, in complete antagonism with her own
immediate home circle. Mrs. Winslow waited for Rachel to go on.

"You know the promise I made two weeks ago, mother?"

"Mr. Maxwell's promise?"

"No, mine. You know what it was, do you not, mother?"

"I suppose I do. Of course all the church members mean to imitate
Christ and follow Him, as far as is consistent with our present day
surroundings. But what has that to do with your decision in the
concert company matter?"

"It has everything to do with it. After asking, 'What would Jesus
do?' and going to the source of authority for wisdom, I have been
obliged to say that I do not believe He would, in my case, make that
use of my voice."

"Why? Is there anything wrong about such a career?"

"No, I don't know that I can say there is."

"Do you presume to sit in judgment on other people who go out to
sing in this way? Do you presume to say they are doing what Christ
would not do?"

"Mother, I wish you to understand me. I judge no one else; I condemn
no other professional singer. I simply decide my own course. As I
look at it, I have a conviction that Jesus would do something else."

"What else?" Mrs. Winslow had not yet lost her temper. She did not
understand the situation nor Rachel in the midst of it, but she was
anxious that her daughter's course should be as distinguished as her
natural gifts promised. And she felt confident that when the present
unusual religious excitement in the First Church had passed away
Rachel would go on with her public life according to the wishes of
the family. She was totally unprepared for Rachel's next remark.

"What? Something that will serve mankind where it most needs the
service of song. Mother, I have made up my mind to use my voice in
some way so as to satisfy my own soul that I am doing something
better than pleasing fashionable audiences, or making money, or even
gratifying my own love of singing. I am going to do something that
will satisfy me when I ask: 'What would Jesus do?' I am not
satisfied, and cannot be, when I think of myself as singing myself
into the career of a concert company performer."

Rachel spoke with a vigor and earnestness that surprised her mother.
But Mrs. Winslow was angry now; and she never tried to conceal her
feelings.

"It is simply absurd! Rachel, you are a fanatic! What can you do?"

"The world has been served by men and women who have given it other
things that were gifts. Why should I, because I am blessed with a
natural gift, at once proceed to put a market price on it and make
all the money I can out of it? You know, mother, that you have
taught me to think of a musical career always in the light of
financial and social success. I have been unable, since I made my
promise two weeks ago, to imagine Jesus joining a concert company to
do what I should do and live the life I should have to live if I
joined it."

Mrs. Winslow rose and then sat down again. With a great effort she
composed herself.

"What do you intend to do then? You have not answered my question."

"I shall continue to sing for the time being in the church. I am
pledged to sing there through the spring. During the week I am going
to sing at the White Cross meetings, down in the Rectangle."

"What! Rachel Winslow! Do you know what you are saying? Do you know
what sort of people those are down there?"

Rachel almost quailed before her mother. For a moment she shrank
back and was silent. Then she spoke firmly: "I know very well. That
is the reason I am going. Mr. and Mrs. Gray have been working there
several weeks. I learned only this morning that they want singers
from the churches to help them in their meetings. They use a tent.
It is in a part of the city where Christian work is most needed. I
shall offer them my help. Mother!" Rachel cried out with the first
passionate utterance she had yet used, "I want to do something that
will cost me something in the way of sacrifice. I know you will not
understand me. But I am hungry to suffer for something. What have we
done all our lives for the suffering, sinning side of Raymond? How
much have we denied ourselves or given of our personal ease and
pleasure to bless the place in which we live or imitate the life of
the Savior of the world? Are we always to go on doing as society
selfishly dictates, moving on its little narrow round of pleasures
and entertainments, and never knowing the pain of things that cost?"

"Are you preaching at me?" asked Mrs. Winslow slowly. Rachel rose,
and understood her mother's words.

"No. I am preaching at myself," she replied gently. She paused a
moment as if she thought her mother would say something more, and
then went out of the room. When she reached her own room she felt
that so far as her own mother was concerned she could expect no
sympathy, nor even a fair understanding from her.

She kneeled. It is safe to say that within the two weeks since Henry
Maxwell's church had faced that shabby figure with the faded hat
more members of his parish had been driven to their knees in prayer
than during all the previous term of his pastorate.

She rose, and her face was wet with tears. She sat thoughtfully a
little while and then wrote a note to Virginia Page. She sent it to
her by a messenger and then went downstairs and told her mother that
she and Virginia were going down to the Rectangle that evening to
see Mr. and Mrs. Gray, the evangelists.

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