Books: In His Steps

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Gray had at first hesitated about having a meeting that night. But
he had a simple rule of action, and was always guided by it. The
Spirit seemed to lead him to continue the meeting, and so Saturday
night he went on as usual.

The excitement all over the city had reached its climax when the
polls closed at six o'clock. Never before had there been such a
contest in Raymond. The issue of license or no-license had never
been an issue under such circumstances. Never before had such
elements in the city been arrayed against each other. It was an
unheard-of thing that the President of Lincoln College, the pastor
of the First Church, the Dean of the Cathedral, the professional men
living in fine houses on the boulevard, should come personally into
the wards, and by their presence and their example represent the
Christian conscience of the place. The ward politicians were
astonished at the sight. However, their astonishment did not prevent
their activity. The fight grew hotter every hour, and when six
o'clock came neither side could have guessed at the result with any
certainty. Every one agreed that never before had there been such an
election in Raymond, and both sides awaited the announcement of the
result with the greatest interest.

It was after ten o'clock when the meeting at the tent was closed. It
had been a strange and, in some respects, a remarkable meeting.
Maxwell had come down again at Gray's request. He was completely
worn out by the day's work, but the appeal from Gray came to him in
such a form that he did not feel able to resist it. President Marsh
was also present. He had never been to the Rectangle, and his
curiosity was aroused from what he had noticed of the influence of
the evangelist in the worst part of the city. Dr. West and Rollin
had come with Rachel and Virginia; and Loreen, who still stayed with
Virginia, was present near the organ, in her right mind, sober, with
a humility and dread of herself that kept her as close to Virginia
as a faithful dog. All through the service she sat with bowed head,
weeping a part of the time, sobbing when Rachel sang the song, "I
was a wandering sheep," clinging with almost visible, tangible
yearning to the one hope she had found, listening to prayer and
appeal and confession all about her like one who was a part of a new
creation, yet fearful of her right to share in it fully.

The tent had been crowded. As on some other occasions, there was
more or less disturbance on the outside. This had increased as the
night advanced, and Gray thought it wise not to prolong the service.

Once in a while a shout as from a large crowd swept into the tent.
The returns from the election were beginning to come in, and the
Rectangle had emptied every lodging house, den and hovel into the
streets.

In spite of these distractions Rachel's singing kept the crowd in
the tent from dissolving. There were a dozen or more conversions.
Finally the people became restless and Gray closed the service,
remaining a little while with the converts.

Rachel, Virginia, Loreen, Rollin and the Doctor, President Marsh,
Mr. Maxwell and Dr. West went out together, intending to go down to
the usual waiting place for their car. As they came out of the tent
they were at once aware that the Rectangle was trembling on the
verge of a drunken riot, and as they pushed through the gathering
mobs in the narrow streets they began to realize that they
themselves were objects of great attention.

"There he is--the bloke in the tall hat! He's the leader! shouted a
rough voice. President Marsh, with his erect, commanding figure, was
conspicuous in the little company.

"How has the election gone? It is too early to know the result yet,
isn't it?" He asked the question aloud, and a man answered:

"They say second and third wards have gone almost solid for
no-license. If that is so, the whiskey men have been beaten."

"Thank God! I hope it is true!" exclaimed Maxwell. "Marsh, we are in
danger here. Do you realize our situation? We ought to get the
ladies to a place of safety."

"That is true," said Marsh gravely. At that moment a shower of
stones and other missiles fell over them. The narrow street and
sidewalk in front of them was completely choked with the worst
elements of the Rectangle.

"This looks serious," said Maxwell. With Marsh and Rollin and Dr.
West he started to go forward through a small opening, Virginia,
Rachel, and Loreen following close and sheltered by the men, who now
realized something of their danger. The Rectangle was drunk and
enraged. It saw in Marsh and Maxwell two of the leaders in the
election contest which had perhaps robbed them of their beloved
saloon.

"Down with the aristocrats!" shouted a shrill voice, more like a
woman's than a man's. A shower of mud and stones followed. Rachel
remembered afterwards that Rollin jumped directly in front of her
and received on his head and chest a number of blows that would
probably have struck her if he had not shielded her from them.

And just then, before the police reached them, Loreen darted forward
in front of Virginia and pushed her aside, looking up and screaming.
It was so sudden that no one had time to catch the face of the one
who did it. But out of the upper window of a room, over the very
saloon where Loreen had come out a week before, someone had thrown a
heavy bottle. It struck Loreen on the head and she fell to the
ground. Virginia turned and instantly kneeled down by her. The
police officers by that time had reached the little company.

President Marsh raised his arm and shouted over the howl that was
beginning to rise from the wild beast in the mob.

"Stop! You've killed a woman!" The announcement partly sobered the
crowd.

"Is it true?" Maxwell asked it, as Dr. West kneeled on the other
side of Loreen, supporting her.

"She's dying!" said Dr. West briefly.

Loreen opened her eyes and smiled at Virginia, who wiped the blood
from her face and then bent over and kissed her. Loreen smiled
again, and the next minute her soul was in Paradise.

Chapter Fifteen

"He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness."

THE body of Loreen lay in state at the Page mansion on the avenue.
It was Sunday morning and the clear sweet spring air, just beginning
to breathe over the city the perfume of early blossoms in the woods
and fields, swept over the casket from one of the open windows at
the end of the grand hall. The church bells were ringing and people
on the avenue going by to service turned curious, inquiring looks up
at the great house and then went on, talking of the recent events
which had so strangely entered into and made history in the city.

At the First Church, Mr. Maxwell, bearing on his face marks of the
scene he had been through, confronted an immense congregation, and
spoke to it with a passion and a power that came so naturally out of
the profound experiences of the day before that his people felt for
him something of the old feeling of pride they once had in his
dramatic delivery. Only this was with a different attitude. And all
through his impassioned appeal this morning, there was a note of
sadness and rebuke and stern condemnation that made many of the
members pale with self-accusation or with inward anger.

For Raymond had awakened that morning to the fact that the city had
gone for license after all. The rumor at the Rectangle that the
second and third wards had gone no-license proved to be false. It
was true that the victory was won by a very meager majority. But the
result was the same as if it had been overwhelming. Raymond had
voted to continue for another year the saloon. The Christians of
Raymond stood condemned by the result. More than a hundred
professing Christian disciples had failed to go to the polls, and
many more than that number had voted with the whiskey men. If all
the church members of Raymond had voted against the saloon, it would
today be outlawed instead of crowned king of the municipality. For
that had been the fact in Raymond for years. The saloon ruled. No
one denied that. What would Jesus do? And this woman who had been
brutally struck down by the very hand that had assisted so eagerly
to work her earthly ruin what of her? Was it anything more than the
logical sequence of the whole horrible system of license, that for
another year the very saloon that received her so often and
compassed her degradation, from whose very spot the weapon had been
hurled that struck her dead, would, by the law which the Christian
people of Raymond voted to support, perhaps open its doors tomorrow
and damn a hundred Loreens before the year had drawn to its bloody
close?

All this, with a voice that rang and trembled and broke in sobs of
anguish for the result, did Henry Maxwell pour out upon his people
that Sunday morning. And men and women wept as he spoke. President
Marsh sat there, his usual erect, handsome, firm, bright
self-confident bearing all gone; his head bowed upon his breast, the
great tears rolling down his cheeks, unmindful of the fact that
never before had he shown outward emotion in a public service.
Edward Norman near by sat with his clear-cut, keen face erect, but
his lip trembled and he clutched the end of the pew with a feeling
of emotion that struck deep into his knowledge of the truth as
Maxwell spoke it. No man had given or suffered more to influence
public opinion that week than Norman. The thought that the Christian
conscience had been aroused too late or too feebly, lay with a
weight of accusation upon the heart of the editor. What if he had
begun to do as Jesus would have done, long ago? Who could tell what
might have been accomplished by this time! And up in the choir,
Rachel Winslow, with her face bowed on the railing of the oak
screen, gave way to a feeling which she had not allowed yet to
master her, but it so unfitted her for her part that when Mr.
Maxwell finished and she tried to sing the closing solo after the
prayer, her voice broke, and for the first time in her life she was
obliged to sit down, sobbing, and unable to go on.

Over the church, in the silence that followed this strange scene,
sobs and the noise of weeping arose. When had the First Church
yielded to such a baptism of tears? What had become of its regular,
precise, conventional order of service, undisturbed by any vulgar
emotion and unmoved by any foolish excitement? But the people had
lately had their deepest convictions touched. They had been living
so long on their surface feelings that they had almost forgotten the
deeper wells of life. Now that they had broken the surface, the
people were convicted of the meaning of their discipleship.

Mr. Maxwell did not ask, this morning, for volunteers to join those
who had already pledged to do as Jesus would. But when the
congregation had finally gone, and he had entered the lecture-room,
it needed but a glance to show him that the original company of
followers had been largely increased. The meeting was tender; it
glowed with the Spirit's presence; it was alive with strong and
lasting resolve to begin a war on the whiskey power in Raymond that
would break its reign forever. Since the first Sunday when the first
company of volunteers had pledged themselves to do as Jesus would
do, the different meetings had been characterized by distinct
impulses or impressions. Today, the entire force of the gathering
seemed to be directed to this one large purpose. It was a meeting
full of broken prayers of contrition, of confession, of strong
yearning for a new and better city life. And all through it ran one
general cry for deliverance from the saloon and its awful curse.

But if the First Church was deeply stirred by the events of the last
week, the Rectangle also felt moved strangely in its own way. The
death of Loreen was not in itself so remarkable a fact. It was her
recent acquaintance with the people from the city that lifted her
into special prominence and surrounded her death with more than
ordinary importance. Every one in the Rectangle knew that Loreen was
at this moment lying in the Page mansion up on the avenue.
Exaggerated reports of the magnificence of the casket had already
furnished material for eager gossip. The Rectangle was excited to
know the details of the funeral. Would it be public? What did Miss
Page intend to do? The Rectangle had never before mingled even in
this distant personal manner with the aristocracy on the boulevard.
The opportunities for doing so were not frequent. Gray and his wife
were besieged by inquirers who wanted to know what Loreen's friends
and acquaintances were expected to do in paying their last respects
to her. For her acquaintance was large and many of the recent
converts were among her friends.

So that is how it happened that Monday afternoon, at the tent, the
funeral service of Loreen was held before an immense audience that
choked the tent and overflowed beyond all previous bounds. Gray had
gone up to Virginia's and, after talking it over with her and
Maxwell, the arrangement had been made.

"I am and always have been opposed to large public funerals," said
Gray, whose complete wholesome simplicity of character was one of
its great sources of strength; "but the cry of the poor creatures
who knew Loreen is so earnest that I do not know how to refuse this
desire to see her and pay her poor body some last little honor. What
do you think, Mr. Maxwell? I will be guided by your judgment in the
matter. I am sure that whatever you and Miss Page think best, will
be right."

"I feel as you do," replied Mr. Maxwell. "Under the circumstances I
have a great distaste for what seems like display at such times. But
this seems different. The people at the Rectangle will not come here
to service. I think the most Christian thing will be to let them
have the service at the tent. Do you think so, Miss Virginia?"

"Yes," said Virginia. "Poor soul! I do not know but that some time I
shall know she gave her life for mine. We certainly cannot and will
not use the occasion for vulgar display. Let her friends be allowed
the gratification of their wishes. I see no harm in it."

So the arrangements were made, with some difficulty, for the service
at the tent; and Virginia with her uncle and Rollin, accompanied by
Maxwell, Rachel and President Marsh, and the quartet from the First
Church, went down and witnessed one of the strange things of their
lives.

It happened that that afternoon a somewhat noted newspaper
correspondent was passing through Raymond on his way to an editorial
convention in a neighboring city. He heard of the contemplated
service at the tent and went down. His description of it was written
in a graphic style that caught the attention of very many readers
the next day. A fragment of his account belongs to this part of the
history of Raymond:

"There was a very unique and unusual funeral service held here this
afternoon at the tent of an evangelist, Rev. John Gray, down in the
slum district known as the Rectangle. The occasion was caused by the
killing of a woman during an election riot last Saturday night. It
seems she had been recently converted during the evangelist's
meetings, and was killed while returning from one of the meetings in
company with other converts and some of her friends. She was a
common street drunkard, and yet the services at the tent were as
impressive as any I ever witnessed in a metropolitan church over the
most distinguished citizen.

"In the first place, a most exquisite anthem was sung by a trained
choir. It struck me, of course--being a stranger in the place--with
considerable astonishment to hear voices like those one naturally
expects to hear only in great churches or concerts, at such a
meeting as this. But the most remarkable part of the music was a
solo sung by a strikingly beautiful young woman, a Miss Winslow who,
if I remember right, is the young singer who was sought for by
Crandall the manager of National Opera, and who for some reason
refused to accept his offer to go on the stage. She had a most
wonderful manner in singing, and everybody was weeping before she
had sung a dozen words. That, of course, is not so strange an effect
to be produced at a funeral service, but the voice itself was one of
thousands. I understand Miss Winslow sings in the First Church of
Raymond and could probably command almost any salary as a public
singer. She will probably be heard from soon. Such a voice could win
its way anywhere.

"The service aside from the singing was peculiar. The evangelist, a
man of apparently very simple, unassuming style, spoke a few words,
and he was followed by a fine-looking man, the Rev. Henry Maxwell,
pastor of the First Church of Raymond. Mr. Maxwell spoke of the fact
that the dead woman had been fully prepared to go, but he spoke in a
peculiarly sensitive manner of the effect of the liquor business on
the lives of men and women like this one. Raymond, of course, being
a railroad town and the centre of the great packing interests for
this region, is full of saloons. I caught from the minister's
remarks that he had only recently changed his views in regard to
license. He certainly made a very striking address, and yet it was
in no sense inappropriate for a funeral.

"Then followed what was perhaps the queer part of this strange
service. The women in the tent, at least a large part of them up
near the coffin, began to sing in a soft, tearful way, 'I was a
wandering sheep.' Then while the singing was going on, one row of
women stood up and walked slowly past the casket, and as they went
by, each one placed a flower of some kind upon it. Then they sat
down and another row filed past, leaving their flowers. All the time
the singing continued softly like rain on a tent cover when the wind
is gentle. It was one of the simplest and at the same time one of
the most impressive sights I ever witnessed. The sides of the tent
were up, and hundreds of people who could not get in, stood outside,
all as still as death itself, with wonderful sadness and solemnity
for such rough looking people. There must have been a hundred of
these women, and I was told many of them had been converted at the
meetings just recently. I cannot describe the effect of that
singing. Not a man sang a note. All women's voices, and so soft, and
yet so distinct, that the effect was startling.

"The service closed with another solo by Miss Winslow, who sang,
'There were ninety and nine.' And then the evangelist asked them all
to bow their heads while he prayed. I was obliged in order to catch
my train to leave during the prayer, and the last view I caught of
the service as the train went by the shops was a sight of the great
crowd pouring out of the tent and forming in open ranks while the
coffin was borne out by six of the women. It is a long time since I
have seen such a picture in this unpoetic Republic."

If Loreen's funeral impressed a passing stranger like this, it is
not difficult to imagine the profound feelings of those who had been
so intimately connected with her life and death. Nothing had ever
entered the Rectangle that had moved it so deeply as Loreen's body
in that coffin. And the Holy Spirit seemed to bless with special
power the use of this senseless clay. For that night He swept more
than a score of lost souls, mostly women, into the fold of the Good
Shepherd.

Chapter Sixteen

No one in all Raymond, including the Rectangle, felt Loreen's death
more keenly than Virginia. It came like a distinct personal loss to
her. That short week while the girl had been in her home had opened
Virginia's heart to a new life. She was talking it over with Rachel
the day after the funeral. Thee were sitting in the hall of the Page
mansion.

"I am going to do something with my money to help those women to a
better life." Virginia looked over to the end of the hall where, the
day before, Loreen's body had lain. "I have decided on a good plan,
as it seems to me. I have talked it over with Rollin. He will devote
a large part of his money also to the same plan."

"How much money have you, Virginia, to give in this way?" asked
Rachel. Once, she would never have asked such a personal question.
Now, it seemed as natural to talk frankly about money as about
anything else that belonged to God.

"I have available for use at least four hundred and fifty-thousand
dollars. Rollin has as much more. It is one of his bitter regrets
now that his extravagant habits of life before his conversion
practically threw away half that father left him. We are both eager
to make all the reparation in our power. 'What would Jesus do with
this money?' We want to answer that question honestly and wisely.
The money I shall put into the NEWS is, I am confident, in a line
with His probable action. It is as necessary that we have a
Christian daily paper in Raymond, especially now that we have the
saloon influence to meet, as it is to have a church or a college. So
I am satisfied that the five hundred thousand dollars that Mr.
Norman will know how to use so well will be a powerful factor in
Raymond to do as Jesus would.

"About my other plan, Rachel, I want you to work with me. Rollin and
I are going to buy up a large part of the property in the Rectangle.
The field where the tent now is, has been in litigation for years.
We mean to secure the entire tract as soon as the courts have
settled the title. For some time I have been making a special study
of the various forms of college settlements and residence methods of
Christian work and Institutional church work in the heart of great
city slums. I do not know that I have yet been able to tell just
what is the wisest and most effective kind of work that can be done
in Raymond. But I do know this much. My money--I mean God's, which
he wants me to use--can build wholesome lodging-houses, refuges for
poor women, asylums for shop girls, safety for many and many a lost
girl like Loreen. And I do not want to be simply a dispenser of this
money. God help me! I do want to put myself into the problem. But
you know, Rachel, I have a feeling all the time that all that
limitless money and limitless personal sacrifice can possibly do,
will not really lessen very much the awful condition at the
Rectangle as long as the saloon is legally established there. I
think that is true of any Christian work now being carried on in any
great city. The saloon furnishes material to be saved faster than
the settlement or residence or rescue mission work can save it."

Virginia suddenly rose and paced the hall. Rachel answered sadly,
and yet with a note of hope in her voice:

"It is true. But, Virginia, what a wonderful amount of good can be
done with this money! And the saloon cannot always remain here. The
time must come when the Christian forces in the city will triumph."

Virginia paused near Rachel, and her pale, earnest face lighted up.

"I believe that too. The number of those who have promised to do as
Jesus would is increasing. If we once have, say, five hundred such
disciples in Raymond, the saloon is doomed. But now, dear, I want
you to look at your part in this plan for capturing and saving the
Rectangle. Your voice is a power. I have had many ideas lately. Here
is one of them. You could organize among the girls a Musical
Institute; give them the benefit of your training. There are some
splendid voices in the rough there. Did any one ever hear such
singing as that yesterday by those women? Rachel, what a beautiful
opportunity! You shall have the best of material in the way of
organs and orchestras that money can provide, and what cannot be
done with music to win souls there into higher and purer and better
living?"

Before Virginia had ceased speaking Rachel's face was perfectly
transformed with the thought of her life work. It flowed into her
heart and mind like a flood, and the torrent of her feeling
overflowed in tears that could not be restrained. It was what she
had dreamed of doing herself. It represented to her something that
she felt was in keeping with a right use of her talent.

"Yes," she said, as she rose and put her arm about Virginia, while
both girls in the excitement of their enthusiasm paced the hall.
"Yes, I will gladly put my life into that kind of service. I do
believe that Jesus would have me use my life in this way. Virginia,
what miracles can we not accomplish in humanity if we have such a
lever as consecrated money to move things with!"

"Add to it consecrated personal enthusiasm like yours, and it
certainly can accomplish great things," said Virginia smiling. And
before Rachel could reply, Rollin came in.

He hesitated a moment, and then was passing out of the hall into the
library when Virginia called him back and asked some questions about
his work.

Rollin came back and sat down, and together the three discussed
their future plans. Rollin was apparently entirely free from
embarrassment in Rachel's presence while Virginia was with them,
only his manner with her was almost precise, if not cold. The past
seemed to have been entirely absorbed in his wonderful conversion.
He had not forgotten it, but he seemed to be completely caught up
for this present time in the purpose of his new life. After a while
Rollin was called out, and Rachel and Virginia began to talk of
other things.

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