

ABOUT THIS BOOK

**(56 chapters, 61,000 words)**

This new edition of a classic story contains Charles Sheldon's original writing, with some passages sensitively abridged to allow his powerful story to come through for modern readers. Nothing in the storyline has been changed.

A homeless man staggers into a wealthy church and upsets the congregation. A week later he is dead. This causes the Rev. Henry Maxwell to issue a startling challenge to his congregation and to himself -- whatever you do in life over the next twelve months, ask yourself this question before making any decision: "What would Jesus do?"

The local newspaper editor, a novelist, a wealthy young woman who has inherited a million dollars, her friend who has been offered a professional singing career, the superintendent of the railroad workshops, a leading city merchant and others take up the challenge. But how will it all work out when things don't go as expected?

A bishop gives up his comfortable lifestyle \-- and finds his life threatened in the city slums. The story is timeless. A great read, and a challenge to every Christian today.

### In His Steps

Charles M. Sheldon

First published 1896

This Abridged Edition ©2015 Chris Wright

E-BOOK ISBN: 978-0-9927642-9-6

Also available as e-books from

White Tree Publishing

are these abridged editions of

three Classic Romances by Mrs. O. F. Walton

(see end of this e-book)

_The Lost Clue_ ISBN: 978-0-9932760-2-6

_Was I Right?_ ISBN: 978-0-9932760-1-9

_Doctor Forester_ ISBN: 978-0-9932760-0-2

Paperback editions of all four books

are available from most internet book sellers

This book is a work of fiction. Named locations are used fictitiously, and characters and incidents are the product of the original author's imagination. The names of places and people are from the original work. Any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

Published by

White Tree Publishing Bristol

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### Table of Contents

Cover

About this Book

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

About White Tree Publishing

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#  Introduction

CHARLES MONROE SHELDON wrote _In His Steps_ in the summer of 1896. It was one of several of his stories that he read aloud in the evening services in the Central Congregational Church in Topeka, Kansas, where he was the church's first minister. His plan was to leave his stories on a cliffhanger, to make sure the congregation returned the following Sunday! _In His Steps_ was written partly from Sheldon's own experience. In order to try to understand the difficulties of men who were out of work, he sometimes disguised himself as an unemployed worker or tramp, walking around the district "seeking work." He was appalled by the indifference he was shown.

_In His Steps_ was published in installments in the Chicago _Advance_ magazine, and in November 1897 it was published as a book. The magazine publishers failed to register the copyright correctly. If they had, the book might have made Charles Sheldon a fortune, or it might have faded into obscurity, as did his other books. Although we can question the ethics of many publishers who immediately published the story without payment (the whole book was printed and sold in the States for a few cents, and in England in a paper cover for just one penny a copy), the outcome was a book that sold in vast quantities around the world. To date, it is estimated that over 30 million copies have been sold in book and magazine form. It was a story that challenged Christian thinking at the time, and still does so today in reprints and in original copies found in used book stores.

Although there are readers who enjoy old books for their wordy descriptions and dialog, many now find them too drawn out for easy reading. This abridged edition is not a retelling or rewording. It contains Charles Sheldon's original writing, but with words, sentences and even whole paragraphs sensitively cut. This allows the powerful story to come through in a memorable way.

Right to the core, this story is Charles Sheldon's work. Nothing in the storyline has been altered in its meaning, or modernized, although the occasional word has been replaced where its meaning has changed over the years and would e misleading. The use of first names, as an alternative to titles such as Mister and Miss, vary slightly between the very earliest editions. So although men here generally address each other by their surnames, as was the convention of the period, I have occasionally used the first name instead of the title in the narrative, in keeping with some of the early editions. It should also be noted that chapter divisions in this abridged book are not from the original.

The use of the word "audience" rather than "congregation" to describe the people in Henry Maxwell's church on Sunday is interesting, and may be intended to convey the nature of the services at the time the story starts, where people seem to be going to church to be entertained by the singers and the remarkable delivery of the minister's sermon, rather than being there to worship.

The tenements described here are not what we might think of today as rundown apartment blocks. They were the worst slums imaginable that existed in American, British and European cities at the time. This is not a story that can be modernized or updated in its telling. It belongs firmly in the end of the nineteenth century, in the way that people react with each other and live their lives. The problems of extreme squalor and unemployment were compounded by the ready availability of cheap, unsafe alcohol that destroyed many families. Contaminated food containing dangerous additives and impurities was also a scandal in inner cities.

Nowadays, thanks to the reforming movements similar to the ones described here, insanitary slums and mass drunkenness that devastated families have largely disappeared in Western civilization. Unfortunately their place has been taken by a large increase in drug trafficking and addiction, the growing sex trade and exploitation, and widespread online crime, to name just some challenges to modern society. So social problems haven't gone away so much as changed their nature, and the solutions required now to fight these concerns are not necessarily the ones in this story.

It is also worth noting that the characters in this book decide for themselves what changes they should make in their own lives to do what they believe Jesus would do in their circumstances. They don't impose their opinions on others. What one person does with their work or leisure time may not be right for another. The question Christians who have a genuine faith have to ask themselves (and answer) today is the one posed in this book -- "What would Jesus do?"

Chris Wright

Editor

Publisher's Note

There are 56 chapters in this book. In the second half are advertisements for our other books, so this book may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known. When the book finishes, please take a look at the other books we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

#  Chapter One

IT WAS Friday, and the Rev. Henry Maxwell was trying to finish his Sunday morning sermon. He had been interrupted several times and was growing nervous as the morning wore away, and the sermon grew very slowly toward a satisfactory finish.

"Mary," he called to his wife, as he went upstairs after the last interruption, "if anyone comes, I wish you would say I am very busy and cannot come down -- unless it is something very important."

"Yes, Henry. But I am going over to visit the kindergarten, and you will have the house all to yourself."

The minister went up into his study and shut the door. In a few minutes he heard his wife go out, and then everything was quiet. He settled himself at his desk with a sigh of relief and began to write. His text was from 1 Peter 2:21: "For hereunto were ye called; because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example that ye should follow His steps."

He had put down "Steps. What are they?" and was about to enumerate them in logical order when the doorbell rang sharply.

Henry Maxwell sat at his desk and frowned. He made no movement to answer the doorbell. Very soon it rang again. Then he rose and walked over to one of his windows which commanded the view of the front door. A man was standing on the steps, very shabbily dressed.

"Looks like a tramp," said the minister, as he went downstairs and opened the front door.

There was a moment's pause as the two men stood facing each other, then the shabby-looking young man said, "I'm out of a job, sir, and thought maybe you might put me in the way of getting something."

"I don't know of anything. Jobs are scarce," replied the minister, beginning to shut the door slowly.

"I didn't know but you might perhaps be able to give me a line to the city railway or the superintendent of the railroad workshops, or something," continued the young man, shifting his faded hat from one hand to the other nervously.

"It would be of no use. You will have to excuse me; I am very busy this morning. I'm sorry I can't find you anything to do here, but I hope you find something."

The Rev. Henry Maxwell closed the door and heard the man walk down the steps. As he went up into his study he saw from his hall window that the man was going slowly down the street, still holding his hat between his hands. There was something in the figure so dejected, homeless and forsaken that the minister hesitated a moment as he stood looking at it. Then he turned to his desk and with a sigh began the writing where he had left off.

He had no more interruptions, and when his wife came in two hours later the sermon was finished, the loose leaves gathered up, neatly tied together, and laid on his Bible ready for the Sunday morning service.

"A strange thing happened at the kindergarten this morning, Henry," said his wife while they were eating dinner. "I went over with Mrs. Brown to visit the school, and just after the games, while the children were at the tables, the door opened and a young man came in holding a dirty hat in both hands. He sat down near the door and never said a word. He was evidently a tramp, and Miss Wren and her assistant Miss Kyle were a little frightened at first, but he sat there very quietly and after a few minutes he went out."

"Perhaps he was tired and wanted to rest somewhere. The same man called here, I think. Did you say he looked like a tramp?"

"Yes, very dusty, shabby and generally tramp-like. Not more than thirty or thirty-three years old, I should say."

"The same man," said the Rev. Henry Maxwell thoughtfully.

"Did you finish your sermon, Henry?" his wife asked after a pause.

"Yes, all done. It has been a very busy week with me. The two sermons have cost me a good deal of labor."

"They will be appreciated by a large audience, Sunday, I hope," replied his wife smiling. "What are you going to preach about in the morning?"

"Following Christ. I take up the Atonement under the head of sacrifice and example, and then show the steps needed to follow His sacrifice and example."

"I am sure it is a good sermon. I hope it won't rain Sunday. We have had so many stormy Sundays lately."

"Yes, the audiences have been quite small for some time. People will not come out to church in a storm."

The Rev. Henry Maxwell sighed as he said it. He was thinking of the careful, laborious effort he had made in preparing sermons for large audiences that failed to appear.

#  Chapter Two

SUNDAY morning dawned one of the perfect days that come after long periods of wind and mud and rain. The air was clear and bracing, the sky was free from all threatening signs, and everyone in Henry Maxwell's parish prepared to go to church.

When the service opened at eleven o'clock the large building was filled with an audience of the best-dressed, most comfortable-looking people of Raymond.

The First Church of Raymond believed in having the best music that money could buy, and its quartet choir this morning was a source of great pleasure to the congregation. The anthem was inspiring, all the music was in keeping with the subject of the sermon. And the anthem was an elaborate adaptation of the hymn, "Jesus, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow Thee."

Just before the sermon, the soprano sang a solo, the well-known hymn, "Where He leads me I will follow, I'll go with Him, with Him, all the way."

Rachel Winslow looked beautiful that morning as she stood up behind the screen of carved oak which was marked with the cross and the crown. Her voice was even more beautiful than her face, and that meant a great deal. There was a general rustle of expectation over the audience as she rose. Henry Maxwell settled himself contentedly behind the pulpit.

People said to themselves they had never heard such singing in the First Church. If it had not been a church service, her solo would have been vigorously applauded. It even seemed to the minister when Rachel sat down that something like an attempted clapping of hands or a striking of feet on the floor swept through the church. He was startled by it. As he rose, however, and laid his sermon on the Bible, he said to himself he had been deceived. Of course it could not occur. In a few moments he was absorbed in his sermon and everything else was forgotten in the pleasure of his delivery.

No one had ever accused Henry Maxwell of being a dull preacher. On the contrary, he had often been charged with being sensational; not in what he had said so much as in his way of saying it. But the First Church people liked that. It gave their preacher and their parish a pleasant distinction that was agreeable.

It was also true that the pastor of the First Church loved to preach. There was an exhilarating half hour for him as he faced a church full of people. He never preached well before a small audience. He was at his best before just such an audience as faced him now, on just such a morning. He felt a glow of satisfaction as he went on. The church was the first in the city. It had the best choir. It had a membership composed of representatives of the wealth, society and intelligence of Raymond.

The sermon had come to a close. Henry Maxwell was about to sit down as the quartet prepared to sing the closing selection, when the entire congregation was startled by the sound of a man's voice. It came from the rear of the church, from one of the seats under the gallery. The next moment the figure of a man came out of the shadow and walked down the middle aisle.

Before the startled congregation realized what was going on, the man reached the open space in front of the pulpit and turned about facing the people.

"I've been wondering since I came in here if it would be just the thing to say a word at the close of the service. I'm not drunk and I'm not crazy, and I am perfectly harmless. But if I die, as there is every likelihood I shall in a few days, I want the satisfaction of thinking that I said my say in a place like this, and before this sort of a crowd."

Henry Maxwell had not taken his seat, and he now remained standing, leaning on his pulpit, looking down at the stranger. It was the man who had come to his house Friday, the same dusty, worn, shabby-looking young man. He held his faded hat in his hands. It seemed to be a favorite gesture.

He had not shaved, and his hair was rough and tangled. It is doubtful if anyone like this had ever confronted the First Church within the sanctuary. It was familiar with this sort of humanity out on the street, around the railroad workshops, wandering up and down the avenue, but it had never dreamed of such an incident as this so near.

There was nothing offensive in the man's manner or tone. He spoke in a low but distinct voice. No one made any motion to stop the stranger or in any way interrupt him. All the while he was speaking, the minister leaded over the pulpit, and the people sat smitten into breathless silence. Rachel Winslow, from the choir, stared intently down at the shabby figure with the faded hat.

"I'm not an ordinary tramp, though I don't know of any teaching of Jesus that makes one kind of a tramp less worth saving than another. Do you?" He put the question as naturally as if the whole congregation had been a small Bible class. He paused just a moment and coughed painfully. Then he went on.

"I lost my job ten months ago. I am a printer by trade. The new linotype machines are beautiful specimens of invention, but I know six men put out of work who have killed themselves inside of the year just on account of those machines. Of course I don't blame the newspapers for getting the machines. Meanwhile, what can a man do? I never learned but the one trade, and that's all I can do.

"I've tramped all over the country trying to find something. There are a good many others like me. I'm not complaining. Just stating facts. But I was, wondering as I sat there under the gallery, if what you call following Jesus is the same thing as what He taught. What did Jesus mean when He said: 'Follow Me'? The minister said that it is necessary for the disciple of Jesus to follow His steps, and he said the steps are 'obedience, faith, love and imitation.' But I did not hear him tell you just what he meant that to mean. What do you Christians mean by following the steps of Jesus?

"I've tramped through this city for three days trying to find a job, and in all that time I've not had a word of sympathy or comfort except from your minister here, who said he was sorry for me and hoped I would find a job somewhere. I suppose it is because you get so imposed on by the professional tramp that you have lost your interest in any other sort. I'm not blaming anybody. Just stating facts. Of course, I understand you can't all go out of your way to hunt up jobs for people like me. I'm not asking you to; but what I feel puzzled about is, what is meant by following Jesus?

"What do you mean when you sing, 'I'll go with Him, with Him, all the way'? Do you mean that you are suffering and denying yourselves and trying to save lost, suffering humanity just as Jesus did? I understand there are more than five hundred men in this city in my case. Most of them have families. My wife died four months ago. I'm glad she is out of trouble. My little girl is staying with a printer's family until I find a job. I get puzzled when I see so many Christians living in luxury, and singing, 'Jesus, I my cross have taken, all to leave and follow Thee,' and remember how my wife died in a tenement in New York City, gasping for air and asking God to take the little girl too.

"Of course, I don't expect you people can prevent everyone from dying of starvation, lack of proper nourishment and tenement air. But what does following Jesus mean? I understand that Christian people own a good many of the tenements. A member of a church was the owner of the one where my wife died, and I have wondered if following Jesus all the way was true in his case. I heard some people singing at a church prayer meeting the other night, 'All for Jesus, all for Jesus, All my being's ransomed powers, All my thoughts, and all my doings, All my days, and all my hours.'

"I kept wondering as I sat on the steps outside just what they meant by it. It seems to me there's an awful lot of trouble in the world that somehow wouldn't exist if all the people who sing such songs went and lived them out. What would Jesus do? Is that what you mean by following His steps? It seems to me sometimes as if the people in the big churches have good clothes and nice houses to live in, and money to spend for luxuries, and can go away on summer vacations and all that, while the people outside the churches, thousands of them die in tenements, and walk the streets for jobs, and grow up in misery and drunkenness and sin."

The man suddenly gave a lurch in the direction of the communion table and laid one grimy hand on it. His hat fell upon the carpet at his feet. A stir went through the congregation. Dr. West half rose from his pew, but as yet the silence was unbroken by any voice or movement in the audience. The man passed his other hand across his eyes, and then, without any warning, fell heavily forward on his face, full length up the aisle.

Henry Maxwell spoke. "We will consider the service closed."

He was down the pulpit stairs and kneeling by the prostrate form, before anyone else. The audience instantly rose and the aisles were crowded.

Dr. West pronounced the man alive. "Some heart trouble," the doctor muttered, as he helped carry him out into the minister's study.

Maxwell and a group of his church members remained some time in the study. The man lay on the couch there and breathed heavily. When the question of what to do with him came up, the minister insisted on taking the man to his own house. He lived nearby and had an extra room.

Rachel Winslow said, "Mother has no company at present. I am sure we would be glad to give him a place with us."

But Maxwell insisted on taking charge of the man, and when a carriage came the unconscious form was carried to the minister's house, and a new chapter in Henry Maxwell's life began.

People talked of nothing else for a week. It was the general impression that the man had wandered into the church in a condition of mental disturbance caused by his troubles, and that all the time he was talking he was in a strange delirium of fever and really ignorant of his surroundings. That was the most charitable construction to put upon his action.

It was the general agreement also that there was a singular absence of anything bitter or complaining in what the man had said. He had, throughout, spoken in a mild, apologetic tone, almost as if he were one of the congregation seeking for light on a very difficult subject.

The third day after his removal to the minister's house there was a marked change in his condition. The doctor spoke of it and offered no hope. Saturday morning he still lingered, although he had rapidly failed as the week drew near its close. That night, just before the clock struck one, he rallied and asked if his child had come. The minister had sent for her at once as soon as he had been able to secure her address from some letters found in the man's pocket.

"The child is coming. She will be here," Henry Maxwell said as he sat there, his face showing marks of the strain of the week's vigil; for he had insisted on sitting up nearly every night.

"I shall never see her in this world," the man whispered. Then he uttered with great difficulty the words, "You have been good to me. Somehow I feel as if it was what Jesus would do."

After a few minutes he turned his head slightly, and before Henry Maxwell could realize the fact, the doctor said quietly, "He is gone."

#  Chapter Three

THE SUNDAY morning that dawned on the city of Raymond was exactly like the Sunday of a week before. Henry Maxwell entered his pulpit to face one of the largest congregations that had ever crowded the First Church. He was haggard, and looked as if he had just risen from a long illness. His wife was at home with the little girl, who had come on the morning train after her father died.

The service that morning contained a new element. No one could remember when Henry Maxwell had preached in the morning without notes. For a long time he had carefully written every word of his morning sermon, and nearly always his evening discourse as well. It cannot be said that his sermon this morning was striking or impressive. He talked with considerable hesitation. It was near the close of his sermon that he began to gather a strength that had been painfully lacking at the beginning.

He closed the Bible, and stepping out at the side of the desk faced his people and began to talk to them about the remarkable scene of the week before.

"Our brother," somehow the words sounded a little strange coming from his lips, "passed away this morning. I have not yet had time to learn all his history. He had one sister living in Chicago. I have written her and have not yet received an answer. His little girl is with us and will remain for the time."

He paused and looked over the house. He had never seen so many earnest faces during his entire pastorate. "The appearance and words of this stranger in the church last Sunday made a very powerful impression on me. I am not able to conceal from you or myself the fact that what he said, followed as it has been by his death in my house, has compelled me to ask as I never asked before: 'What does following Jesus mean?'

"A good deal that was said here last Sunday was in the nature of a challenge to Christianity as it is seen and felt in our churches. I have felt this with increasing emphasis every day since. And I do not know that any time is more appropriate than the present for me to propose a plan which has been forming in my mind as a satisfactory reply to much that was said here last Sunday."

Again Henry Maxwell paused and looked into the faces of his people. There were some strong, earnest men and women in the First Church.

He could see Edward Norman, editor of the Raymond _Daily News_. He had been a member of the First Church for ten years. No man was more honored in the community.

There was Alexander Powers, superintendent of the great railroad workshops in Raymond, a typical railroad man, one who had been born into the business. There sat Donald Marsh, president of Lincoln College, situated in the suburbs of Raymond.

There was Milton Wright, one of the great merchants of Raymond, having in his employ at least one hundred men in various shops. There was Dr. West who, although still comparatively young, was quoted as authority in special surgical cases.

There was young Jasper Chase, the author who had written one successful book and was said to be at work on a new novel. There was Miss Virginia Page, the heiress, who through the recent death of her father had inherited a million at least.

(Publisher's note: A figure of one million dollars is worth around $25 million in the early twenty-first century using the Consumer Price Index. It is difficult to compare money exactly because not all prices and salaries have risen equally. To unskilled workers it would have seemed nearer $125 million in relation to their wages and outgoings. However you look at it, it was a lot of money for a young, single woman to inherit.)

Not least of all, Rachel Winslow, who from her seat in the choir glowed with her peculiar beauty of light because she was so intensely interested in the whole scene.

As he noted their faces, the pastor wondered how many of them would respond to the strange proposition he was about to make. He continued slowly, taking time to choose his words.

"I will put my proposition plainly, perhaps bluntly. I want volunteers from the First Church who will pledge themselves, earnestly and honestly for an entire year, not to do anything without first asking the question, 'What would Jesus do?' And after asking that question, each one will follow Jesus as exactly as he knows how, no matter what the result may be.

"I will of course include myself in this company of volunteers, and take for granted that my church here will not be surprised at my future conduct, as based upon this standard of action, and will not oppose whatever is done if they think Christ would do it. Have I made my meaning clear? At the close of the service I want all those members who are willing to join such a company to remain, and we will talk over the details of the plan. Our motto will be, 'What would Jesus do?'

"Our aim will be to act just as He would if He were in our places, regardless of immediate results. In other words, we propose to follow Jesus' steps as closely and as literally as we believe He taught His disciples to do. And those who volunteer to do this will pledge themselves for an entire year, beginning today, so to act."

Henry Maxwell paused again and looked out over his people. Men glanced at one another in astonishment. It was not like their pastor to define Christian discipleship in this way. There was evident confusion of thought over his proposition. It was understood well enough, but there was apparently a great difference of opinion as to the application of Jesus' teaching and example.

The minister calmly closed the service with a brief prayer. The organist began his postlude immediately after the benediction and the people began to go out. There was a great deal of conversation. Animated groups stood all over the church discussing the minister's proposition. After several minutes he asked all who expected to remain to pass into the lecture room which joined the large room on the side.

#  Chapter Four

HENRY MAXWELL was himself detained at the front of the church talking with several persons there, and when he finally turned around, the church was empty. He walked over to the lecture room entrance and went in, startled to see the people who were there. He had hardly expected that so many were ready to enter into such a literal testing of their Christian discipleship as now awaited him. There were perhaps fifty present, among them Rachel Winslow and Virginia Page, Edward Norman from the _Daily News_ , President Marsh from Lincoln College, Alexander Powers the railroad superintendent, Milton Wright the city merchant, Dr. West, and Jasper Chase the novelist.

He closed the door of the lecture room and went and stood before the little group. His face was moved with a depth of feeling he could not measure as he looked into the faces of those men and women on this occasion.

It seemed to him that the most fitting word to be spoken first was that of prayer. He asked them all to pray with him. And almost with the first syllable he uttered there was a distinct presence of the Holy Spirit felt by them all. As the prayer went on, this presence grew in power. They all felt it. The room was filled with it as plainly as if it had been visible. When the prayer closed there was a silence that lasted several moments.

All the heads were bowed.

Henry Maxwell's face was wet with tears. And so the most serious movement ever started in the First Church of Raymond was begun.

"We all understand," said he, speaking very quietly, "what we have undertaken to do. We pledge ourselves to do everything in our daily lives after asking the question, 'What would Jesus do?' regardless of what may be the result to us. The experience I have been through since last Sunday has left me so dissatisfied with my previous definition of Christian discipleship that I have been compelled to take this action. I did not dare begin it alone. Do we understand fully what we have undertaken?"

"I want to ask a question," said Rachel Winslow. Everyone turned towards her. "I am a little in doubt as to the source of our knowledge concerning what Jesus would do. Who is to decide for me just what He would do in _my_ case? It is a different age. There are many perplexing questions in our civilization that are not mentioned in the teachings of Jesus. How am I going to tell what He would do?"

"There is no way that I know of," replied the pastor, "except as we study Jesus through the medium of the Holy Spirit. You remember what Christ said speaking to His disciples about the Holy Spirit: 'When He, the Spirit of truth, is come, He will guide you into all truth: for He shall not speak of Himself; but whatsoever He shall hear, that shall He speak: and He will show you things to come. He shall glorify Me: for He shall receive of Mine, and shall show it unto you.' We shall all have to decide what Jesus would do, after going to that source of knowledge."

"What if others say, when we do certain things, that Jesus would not do so?" asked Powers, the superintendent of railroad workshops.

"We cannot prevent that. But we must be absolutely honest with ourselves. The standard of Christian action cannot vary in most of our acts."

"What is to render our conduct uniformly Christ-like?" asked President Marsh of Lincoln College. "Will it be possible to reach the same conclusions always in all cases?"

Henry Maxwell was silent some time. Then he answered, "No, I don't know that we can expect that. But when it comes to a genuine, honest, enlightened following of Jesus' steps, I cannot believe there will be any confusion either in our own minds or in the judgment of others. We must be free from fanaticism on one hand, and too much caution on the other. If Jesus' example is the example for the world to follow, it certainly must be feasible to follow it. But we need to remember this great fact: after we have asked the Holy Spirit to tell us what Jesus would do and have received an answer to it, we are to act regardless of the results to ourselves. Is that understood?"

All the faces in the room were raised towards the minister in solemn assent.

#  Chapter Five

EDWARD NORMAN, editor of the Raymond _Daily News_ , sat in his office Monday morning and faced a new world of action. He had made his pledge in good faith to do everything after asking "What would Jesus do?" and, as he supposed, with his eyes open to all the possible results. But as the regular life of the paper started on another week's rush and whirl of activity, he confronted it with a degree of hesitation and a feeling nearly akin to fear.

He had come down to the office very early, and for a few minutes was by himself. The Spirit of Life was moving in power through his own life as never before. He rose and shut his door, and then did what he had not done for years. He kneeled down by his desk and prayed for the Divine Presence and wisdom to direct him.

He rose with the day before him, and his promise distinct and clear in his mind. "Now for action," he seemed to say. But he would be led by events as fast as they came on.

He opened his door and began the routine of the office work. Clark, the managing editor, had just come in and was at his desk in the adjoining room. One of the reporters there was pounding out something on a typewriter. Edward Norman began to write an editorial. The _Daily News_ was an evening paper, and Norman usually completed his leading editorial before nine o'clock.

He had been writing for fifteen minutes when the managing editor called out: "Here's this press report of yesterday's prize fight at the Resort. It will make up three columns and a half. I suppose it all goes in?"

Edward Norman was one of those newspaper men who keep an eye on every detail of the paper. The managing editor always consulted his chief in matters of both small and large importance. Sometimes, as in this case, it was merely a nominal inquiry.

"Yes -- no. Let me see it."

He took the typewritten matter just as it came from the telegraph editor and ran over it carefully. Then he laid the sheets down on his desk and did some very hard thinking.

"We won't run this today," he said finally.

The managing editor was standing in the doorway between the two rooms. He was astounded at his chief's remark, and thought he had perhaps misunderstood him.

"What did you say?"

"Leave it out. We won't use it."

"But-- The managing editor was simply dumbfounded. He stared at Norman as if the man was out of his mind.

"I don't think, Clark, that it ought to be printed, and that's the end of it," said Norman, looking up from his desk.

"Do you mean that the paper is to go to press without a word of the prize fight in it?"

"Yes, that's what I mean."

"But it's unheard of. All the other papers will print it. What will our subscribers say? Why, it is simply..." Clark paused, unable to find words to say what he thought.

(Publisher's note: Boxers at this time fought for money in illegal bare knuckled bouts that fell foul of local authorities' laws. Prize fights were usually organized by criminal gangs and attracted professional gamblers.)

Norman looked at Clark thoughtfully. The managing editor was a member of a church of a different denomination from his. The two men had never talked together on religious matters although they had been associated on the paper for several years.

"Come in here a minute, Clark, and shut the door," said Edward Norman.

Clark came in and the two men faced each other alone. The editor did not speak for a minute. Then he said abruptly, "Clark, if Christ were editor of a daily paper, do you honestly think He would print three columns and a half of prize fight in it?"

"No, I don't suppose He would."

"Well, that's my only reason for shutting this account out of the _News_. I have decided not to do a thing in connection with the paper for a whole year that I honestly believe Jesus would not do."

Clark could not have looked more amazed if the chief had suddenly gone crazy. In fact, he did think something was wrong, though Mr. Norman was one of the last men in the world, in his judgment, to lose his mind.

"What effect will that have on the paper?" he finally managed to ask.

"What do you think?" asked Norman, with a keen glance.

"I think it will simply ruin the paper," replied Clark promptly. He was gathering up his bewildered senses, and began to remonstrate. "Why, it isn't feasible to run a paper nowadays on any such basis. It's too ideal. The world isn't ready for it. You can't make it pay. Just as sure as you live, if you shut out this prize fight report you will lose hundreds of subscribers. It doesn't take a prophet to see that. The very best people in town are eager to read it. They know it has taken place, and when they get the paper this evening they will expect half a page at least. You can't afford to disregard the wishes of the public to such an extent. It will be a great mistake if you do, in my opinion."

Norman sat silent a minute. Then he spoke gently but firmly. "Clark, would you say that the highest, best law for a man to live by was contained in asking the question, 'What would Jesus do?' And then doing it regardless of results? In other words, do you think men everywhere ought to follow Jesus' example as closely as they can in their daily lives?"

Clark turned red, and moved uneasily in his chair before he answered the editor's question. "Why ... yes ... I suppose if you put it on the ground of what men ought to do, there is no other standard of conduct. But the question is, what is feasible? Is it possible to make it pay? To succeed in the newspaper business we have got to conform to custom and the recognized methods of society. We can't do as we would in an ideal world."

"Do you mean that we can't run the paper strictly on Christian principles, and make it succeed?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. It can't be done. We'll go bankrupt in thirty days."

Norman did not reply at once. He was very thoughtful.

"We shall have occasion to talk this over again, Clark. Meanwhile I think we ought to understand each other frankly. I have pledged myself for a year to do everything connected with the paper after answering the question, 'What would Jesus do?' as honestly as possible. I shall continue to do this in the belief that not only can we succeed, but that we can succeed better than we ever did."

Clark rose. "The report does not go in?"

"It does not. There is plenty of good material to take its place."

Clark hesitated. "Are you going to say anything about the absence of the report?"

"No, let the paper go to press as if there had been no such thing as a prize fight yesterday."

Clark walked out of the room to his own desk, feeling as if the bottom had dropped out of everything. He was astonished, bewildered, and considerably angered. His great respect for Edward Norman checked his rising indignation and disgust, but with it all was a feeling of growing wonder at the sudden change of motive which had entered the office of the _Daily News_ and threatened, as he firmly believed, to destroy it.

#  Chapter Six

BEFORE NOON every reporter, pressman and employee on the _Daily News_ was informed of the remarkable fact that the paper was going to press without a word in it about the famous prize fight of Sunday. The reporters were simply astonished beyond measure. Everyone in the stereotyping and composing rooms had something to say about the unheard-of omission. Two or three times during the day when Mr. Norman had occasion to visit the composing rooms, the men stopped their work or glanced around their cases looking at him curiously. He knew that he was being observed, but said nothing and did not appear to note it.

There had been several minor changes in the paper, suggested by the editor, but nothing marked. He was waiting and thinking deeply, because he was honestly in doubt concerning what action Jesus would take.

When the _News_ came out that evening it carried to its subscribers a distinct sensation. Hundreds of men in the hotels and stores downtown, as well as regular subscribers, eagerly opened the paper and searched for the account of the great fight. Not finding it, they rushed to the news stands and bought other papers. Even the newsboys had not all understood the fact of omission. One of them was calling out " _Daily News_! Full 'count great prize fight at Resort. _News_ , sir?"

A man on the corner of the avenue close by the _News_ office bought the paper, looked over its front page hurriedly and then angrily called the boy back. "Here, boy! What's the matter with your paper? There's no prize fight here! What do you mean by selling old papers?"

"Old papers nuthin'!" replied the boy indignantly. "That's today's paper! What's the matter with you?"

"But there is no account of the prize fight here! Look!"

The man handed back the paper and the boy glanced at it hurriedly. Then he whistled, while a bewildered look crept over his face. Seeing another boy running by with papers, he called out "Say, Sam, lemme see your pile."

A hasty examination revealed the remarkable fact that all the copies of the Raymond _Daily News_ were silent on the subject of the prize fight.

"Here, give me a different paper!" shouted the customer. "One with the prize fight account."

He received it and walked off, while the two boys remained comparing notes and lost in wonder at the result. "Sumpin' slipped a cog in the _Newsy_ , sure," said the first boy. But he couldn't tell why, and ran over to the _News_ office to find out.

There were several other boys at the delivery room and they were all agitated and disgusted. Edward Norman was just coming downstairs on his way home, and he paused as he went by the door of the delivery room and looked in.

"What's the matter here, George?" he asked the clerk behind the long counter, as he noted the confusion.

"The boys say they can't sell any copies of the _News_ tonight because the prize fight isn't in it," replied George, looking curiously at the editor, as so many of the employees had done during the day.

Edward Norman hesitated a moment, then walked into the room and confronted the boys. "How many papers are there here? Boys, count them out, and I'll buy them back."

There was a combined stare and a wild counting of papers on the part of the boys.

"Give them their money, George, and if any of the other boys come in with the same complaint, buy their unsold copies. Is that fair?" he asked the boys, who were smitten into unusual silence by the unheard-of action on the part of the editor.

"Fair! Well, I should--------! But will you keep this up?"

Mr. Norman smiled slightly, but he did not think it was necessary to answer the question.

He walked out of the office and went home. On the way he could not avoid that constant query, "Would Jesus have done it?" It was not so much with reference to this last transaction, as to the entire motive that had urged him on since he had made the promise.

The newsboys were sufferers through the action he had taken. Why should they lose money by it? They were not to blame. He was a rich man and could afford to put a little brightness into their lives if he chose to do it. He believed, as he went on his way home, that Jesus would have done either what he did, or something similar, in order to be free from any possible feeling of injustice.

#  Chapter Seven

DURING the week, Edward Norman was in receipt of numerous letters commenting on the absence from the _News_ of the account of the prize fight. Two or three of these letters may be of interest.

Editor of the News:

Dear Sir,

I have been thinking for some time of changing my paper. I want a journal that is up to the times, progressive and enterprising, supplying the public demand at all points. The recent freak of your paper in refusing to print the account of the famous contest at the Resort has decided me finally to change my paper.

Please discontinue it.

Very truly yours, ------

Here followed the name of a businessman who had been a subscriber for many years.

Edward Norman,

Editor of the Daily News,

Raymond:

Dear Ed,

What is this sensation you have given the people of your burg? What new policy have you taken up? Hope you don't intend to try the "Reform Business" through the avenue of the press. It's dangerous to experiment much along that line. Take my advice and stick to the enterprising modern methods you have made so successful for the _News_. The public wants prize fights and such. Give it what it wants, and let someone else do the reforming business.

Yours, ------

Here followed the name of one of Norman's old friends, the editor of a daily in an adjoining town.

My Dear Mr. Norman:

I hasten to write you a note of appreciation for the evident carrying out of your promise. It is a splendid beginning, and no one feels the value of it more than I do. I know something of what it will cost you, but not all.

Your pastor,

HENRY MAXWELL

One other letter, which he opened immediately after reading this from Maxwell, revealed to him something of the loss to his business that possibly awaited him.

Mr. Edward Norman,

Editor of the Daily News:

Dear Sir,

At the expiration of my advertising limit, you will do me the favor not to continue it as you have done heretofore. I enclose check for payment in full and shall consider my account with your paper closed after date.

Very truly yours, -----

Here followed the name of one of the largest dealers in tobacco in the city. He had been in the habit of inserting a column of conspicuous advertising and paying for it a very large price.

Norman laid this letter down thoughtfully, and then after a moment he took up a copy of his paper and looked through the advertising columns. There was no connection implied in the tobacco merchant's letter between the omission of the prize fight and the withdrawal of the advertisement, but he could not avoid putting the two together. In point of fact, he afterward learned that the tobacco dealer withdrew his advertisement because he had heard that the editor of the _Daily News_ was about to enter upon some reform policy that would be certain to reduce its subscription list.

But the letter directed Norman's attention to the advertising phase of his paper. He had not considered this before.

As he glanced over the columns he could not escape the conviction that his Master could not permit some of them in His paper. What would He do with that other long advertisement of choice liquors and cigars? As a member of a church and a respected citizen, he had incurred no special censure because the saloon men advertised in his columns. No one thought anything about it. It was all legitimate business. Why not? Raymond enjoyed a system of high license, and the saloon and the billiard hall and the beer garden were a part of the city's Christian civilization. He was simply doing what every other businessman in Raymond did. And it was one of the best paying sources of revenue.

(Publisher's note: Throughout this story, "the saloon" is generally used as a term that encompasses the whole saloon trade in the city, not one saloon in particular.)

What would the paper do if it cut these out? Could it live? That was the question. But was that the question after all? "What would Jesus do?" That was the real question he was answering, or trying to answer, this week. Would Jesus advertise whiskey and tobacco in His paper?

Edward Norman asked it honestly, and after a prayer for help and wisdom he called to Clark to come into the office.

Clark came in, feeling that the paper was at a crisis, prepared for almost anything after his Monday morning experience. This was Thursday.

"Clark," said Edward Norman, speaking slowly and carefully, "I have been looking at our advertising columns and have decided to dispense with some of them as soon as the contracts run out. I wish you would notify the advertising agent not to solicit or renew the ads that I have marked here."

He handed the paper over to Clark, who took it and looked over the columns with a very serious air.

Clark was astounded at the editor's action and could not understand it. "This will mean a great loss to the _News_. How long do you think you can keep this sort of thing up?"

"Clark, do you think if Jesus were the editor and proprietor of a daily paper in Raymond He would permit advertisements of whiskey and tobacco in it?"

"Well no ... I ... don't suppose He would. But what has that to do with _us_? We can't do as He would. Newspapers can't be run on any such basis."

"Why not?" asked Norman, quietly.

"Why not? Because they will lose more money than they make, that's why!" Clark spoke out with an irritation that he really felt. "We shall certainly bankrupt the paper with this sort of business policy."

"Do you think so?" Norman asked the question, not as if he expected an answer, but simply as if he were talking with himself. After a pause he said, "You may direct Marks to do as I have said. I believe it is what Christ would do, and as I told you, Clark, that is what I have promised to try to do for a year, regardless of what the results may be to me. There are other advertisements of a doubtful character on which I shall have to make a decision."

Clark went back to his desk. He could not grasp the meaning of it all. He felt enraged and alarmed. He was sure any such policy would ruin the paper as soon as it became generally known that the editor was trying to do everything by such an absurd moral standard. What would become of business if this standard were adopted widely? It would upset every custom, and introduce endless confusion. It was simply foolishness. It was downright idiocy.

When Marks was informed of the action, he seconded the managing editor with some very forcible words. What was the matter with the chief? Was he insane? Was he going to bankrupt the whole business?

#  Chapter Eight

EDWARD NORMAN had not yet faced his most serious problem. When he came down to the office Friday morning he was confronted with the usual program for the Sunday morning edition. The _Daily News_ was one of the few evening papers in Raymond to issue a Sunday edition, and it had always been remarkably successful financially. There was an average of one page of literary and religious items to thirty or forty pages of sport, theatre, gossip, fashion, society and political material. This made a very interesting magazine of all sorts of reading matter, and had always been welcomed by the subscribers, church members and all, as a Sunday morning necessity.

Edward Norman now faced this fact and put to himself the question: "What would Jesus do?" If He were editor of a paper, would He deliberately plan to put into the homes of all the church people and Christians of Raymond such a collection of reading matter on the one day in the week which ought to be given up to something better, holier?

He was of course familiar with the regular arguments of the Sunday paper, that the public needed something of the sort; and the working man especially, who would not go to church anyway, ought to have something entertaining and instructive on Sunday, his only day of rest. But suppose the Sunday morning paper did not pay? Suppose there was no money in it? How eager would the editor or publisher be then to supply this "crying need" of the poor workman?

Taking everything into account, would Jesus edit a Sunday morning paper? No matter whether it paid? That was not the question. As a matter of fact, the Sunday _News_ paid so well that it would be a direct loss of thousands of dollars to discontinue it. Besides, the regular subscribers had paid for a seven-day paper. Had he any right now to give them less than they had paid for?

He was honestly perplexed by the question. So much was involved in the discontinuance of the Sunday edition that for the first time he almost decided to refuse to be guided by the standard of Jesus' probable action. He was sole proprietor of the paper; it was his to shape as he chose. He had no board of directors to consult as to policy. But as Edward Norman sat there surrounded by the usual quantity of material for the Sunday edition, he reached some definite conclusions. And among them was a determination to call in the staff and workforce of the paper and frankly state his motive and purpose.

He sent word for Clark and the other men in the office, including the few reporters who were in the building, and the foreman, with what men were in the composing room (it was early in the morning and they were not all in) to come into the mailing room. This was a large room, and the men came in curiously and perched around on the tables and counters. It was a very unusual proceeding, but they all agreed that the paper was being run on new principles anyhow, and they watched the editor carefully as he spoke.

"I called you in here to let you know my further plans for the _News_. I propose certain changes which I believe are necessary. I understand very well that some things I have already done are regarded as very strange. I wish to state my motive in doing what I have done."

He told the men what he had already told Clark, and they stared as Clark had done, and looked as painfully conscious.

"Now, in acting on this standard of conduct I have reached a conclusion which will, no doubt, cause some surprise. I have decided that the Sunday morning edition of the _News_ shall be discontinued after next Sunday's issue. I shall state in that issue my reasons for discontinuing. In order to make up to the subscribers the amount of reading matter they may suppose themselves entitled to, we can issue a double number on Saturday, as is done by many evening papers that made no attempt at a Sunday edition.

"I am convinced that, from a Christian point of view, more harm than good has been done by our Sunday morning paper. I do not believe that Jesus would be responsible for it if He were in my place today. It will occasion some trouble to arrange the details caused by this change with the advertisers and subscribers. That is for me to look after. The change itself is one that will take place. So far as I can see, the loss will fall on myself. Neither the reporters nor the pressmen need make any changes in their plans."

He looked around the room and no one spoke. He was struck for the first time in his life with the fact that in all the years of his newspaper life he had never had the force of the paper together in this way. Would Jesus do that? That is, would He run a newspaper on some loving family plan, where editors, reporters, pressmen and all, meet to discuss and devise and plan for the making of a paper that should have in view...

He caught himself drawing away from the facts of typographical unions and office rules and reporters' enterprise and all the cold, businesslike methods that make a great daily successful. But still, the vague picture that came up in the mailing room would not fade away when he had gone into his office, and the men had gone back to their places with wonder in their looks, and questions of all sorts on their tongues as they talked over the editor's remarkable actions.

Clark came in and had a long, serious talk with his chief. He was thoroughly roused, and his protest almost reached the point of resigning his place. Edward Norman guarded himself carefully. Every minute of the interview was painful to him, but he felt more than ever the necessity of doing the Christ-like thing. Clark was a very valuable man. It would be difficult to fill his place. But he was not able to give any reasons for continuing the Sunday paper that answered the question, "What would Jesus do?" by letting Jesus print that edition.

"It comes to this, then," said Clark frankly. "You will bankrupt the paper in thirty days. We might as well face that fact."

"I don't think we shall. Will you stay by the _News_ until it is bankrupt?" asked Norman.

"Mr. Norman, I don't understand you. You are not the same man this week that I always knew before."

"I don't know myself either, Clark. Something remarkable has caught me up and borne me on. But I was never more convinced of final success and power for the paper. You have not answered my question. Will you stay with me?"

Clark hesitated a moment, and finally said, "Yes."

Edward Norman shook hands with him and turned to his desk. Clark went back into his room stirred by a number of conflicting emotions. He had never before known such an exciting and mentally disturbing week, and he felt now as if he was connected with an enterprise that might at any moment collapse, and ruin him and all connected with it.

#  Chapter Nine

SUNDAY morning dawned on Raymond, and Henry Maxwell's church was again crowded. Before the service began, Edward Norman attracted great attention. He sat quietly in his usual place about three seats from the pulpit. The Sunday morning issue of the _News_ containing the statement of its discontinuance had been expressed in such remarkable language that every reader was struck by it.

The events connected with the _News_ were not all. People were eagerly talking about strange things done during the week by Alexander Powers at the railroad workshops, and Milton Wright in his stores on the avenue. The service progressed upon a wave of excitement in the pews. Henry Maxwell faced it all with a calmness which indicated a strength and purpose more than usual.

He did not preach as he had done two Sundays before. Tuesday of the past week he had stood by the grave of the dead stranger, and said the words, "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust," and still he was moved by the spirit of a deeper impulse than he could measure, as he thought of his people and yearned for the Christ-message when he should be in his pulpit again.

Now that Sunday had come, and the people were there to hear. What would the Master tell them? He agonized over his preparation, and yet he knew he had not been able to fit his message into his ideal of Christ. Nevertheless no one in the First Church could remember ever hearing such a sermon before. There was in it rebuke for sin, especially hypocrisy; there was definite rebuke of the greed of wealth and the selfishness of fashion, two things that First Church never heard rebuked this way before; and there was a love of his people that gathered new force as the sermon went on. When it was finished, there were those who were saying in their hearts, "The Holy Spirit moved that sermon."

Then Rachel Winslow rose to sing, this time after the sermon by Henry Maxwell's request. Rachel's singing did not provoke applause. Deeper feeling carried the people's hearts into a reverent silence and tenderness of thought. Rachel was beautiful, but her consciousness of her remarkable loveliness had always marred her singing with those who had the deepest spiritual feeling. It had also marred her rendering of certain kinds of music with herself. Today this was all gone. There was no lack of power in her voice, but there was an added element of humility and purity which the audience distinctly felt.

Before service closed, Henry Maxwell asked those who had remained the week before to stay again for a few moments of consultation, and any others who were willing to make the pledge taken at that time. When he was at liberty, he went into the lecture room. To his astonishment it was almost filled. This time a large proportion of young people had come, but among them were a few businessmen, and officers of the church.

As before, Maxwell asked them to pray with him. And as before, a distinct answer came from the presence of the Holy Spirit. There was no doubt in the minds of any present that what they purposed to do was so clearly in line with the divine will, that a blessing rested upon it in a very special manner.

They remained some time to ask questions and consult together. There was a feeling of fellowship such as they had never known in their church membership. Mr. Norman's action with the Sunday _News_ was well understood by them all, and he answered several questions.

"What will be the probable result of your discontinuance of the Sunday paper?" asked Alexander Powers from the railroad, who sat next to him.

"I don't know yet. I presume it will result in the falling off of subscriptions and advertisements. I anticipate that."

"Do you have any doubts about your action? I mean, do you regret it, or fear it is not what Jesus would do?" asked the Rev. Henry Maxwell.

"Not in the least. But I would like to ask, for my own satisfaction, if any of you here think Jesus would issue a Sunday morning paper?"

No one spoke for a minute.

Then Jasper Chase the author said, "We seem to think alike on that, but I have been puzzled several times during the week to know just what Jesus would do. It is not always an easy question to answer."

Virginia Page sat by Rachel Winslow. Everyone who knew Virginia was wondering how she would succeed in keeping her promise. "I think perhaps I find it specially difficult to answer that question on account of my money. Our Lord never owned any property, and there is nothing in His example to guide me in the use of mine. I am studying and praying. I think I see clearly a part of what He would do, but not all. What would He do with a million dollars? That is _my_ question. I confess I am not yet able to answer it to my satisfaction."

"I could tell you what you could do with a _part_ of it," said Rachel, turning her face toward Virginia.

"That does not trouble me," replied Virginia with a slight smile. "What I am trying to discover is a principle that will enable me to come to the nearest possible to His action, as it ought to influence the entire course of my life so far as my wealth and its use are concerned."

"That will take time," said the minister slowly.

All the rest in the room were thinking hard of the same thing. Milton Wright told something of his experience. He was gradually working out a plan for his business relations with his employees in his stores, and it was opening up a new world to him and to them.

When they finally adjourned after a silent prayer that marked with growing power the Divine Presence, they went away discussing earnestly their difficulties and seeking light from one another.

Rachel Winslow and Virginia Page went out together. Edward Norman and Milton Wright became so interested in their mutual conference that they walked on past Norman's house and came back together. Jasper Chase and the president of the Endeavor Society stood talking in one corner of the room. Alexander Powers and Henry Maxwell remained, even after the others had gone.

(Publisher's note: Francis E. Clark formed the first Christian Endeavor Society in 1881 in Portland, Maine, in order to help bring youth to accept Christ and work for Him.)

"I want you to come down to the machine shops tomorrow and see my plan, and talk to the men," said Powers, the railroad superintendent. "Somehow I feel as if you could get nearer to them than anyone else just now."

"I don't know about that, but I will come," replied Henry Maxwell, a little unhappily. How was he fitted to stand before two or three hundred working men and give them a message? Yet in the moment of his weakness, as he asked the question, he rebuked himself for it. What would Jesus do? That was an end to the discussion.

He went down the next day and found Alexander Powers in his office. It lacked a few minutes of twelve and the superintendent said, "Come upstairs, and I'll show you what I've been trying to do."

They went through the railroad machine shop, climbed a long flight of stairs and entered a very large, empty room. It had once been used by the company for a store room.

"Since making that promise a week ago I have had a good many things to think of," said the superintendent, "and among them is this. The railroad company gives me the use of this room, and I am going to fit it up with tables and a coffee making machine in the corner where those steam pipes are. My plan is to provide a good place where the men can come up and eat their noon lunch, and give them, two or three times a week, the privilege of a fifteen minute talk on some subject that will be a real help to them in their lives."

Maxwell looked surprised and asked if the men would come for any such purpose.

"Yes, they'll come. After all, I know the men pretty well. They are among the most intelligent working men in the country today. But they are, as a whole, entirely removed from church influence. I asked, 'What would Jesus do?' and among other things it seemed to me He would begin to act in some way to add to the lives of these men more physical and spiritual comfort. It is a very little thing, this room and what it represents, but I want to work out this idea. I want you to speak to the men when they come up at noon. I have asked them to come up and see the place, and I'll tell them something about it."

Henry Maxwell was too ashamed to say how uneasy he felt at being asked to speak a few words to a company of working men. How could he speak without notes, or to such a crowd? He actually felt afraid of facing those men. He shrank from the ordeal of confronting such a crowd, so different from the Sunday audiences he was familiar with.

There were a dozen rough benches and tables in the room, and when the noon whistle sounded the men poured upstairs from the machine shops below. Seating themselves at the tables they began to eat their lunch. There were present about three hundred of them. They had read the superintendent's notice which he had posted up in various places, and came largely out of curiosity.

They were favorably impressed. The room was large and airy, free from smoke and dust, and well warmed from the steam pipes. At about twenty minutes to one, Alexander Powers told the men what he had in mind. He spoke very simply, like one who understands thoroughly the character of his audience, and then introduced the Rev. Henry Maxwell of the First Church, his pastor, who had consented to speak a few minutes.

#  Chapter Ten

HENRY MAXWELL for the first time stood before a grimy-faced audience of working men. Like hundreds of other ministers, he had never spoken to any gatherings except those made up of people of his own class. This was a new world to him.

He spoke on the subject of satisfaction with life; what caused it, what its real sources were. He had the good sense on this his first appearance not to recognize the men as a class distinct from himself. He did not use the term working man, and did not say a word to suggest any difference between their lives and his own.

The men were pleased. A good many of them shook hands with him before going down to their work, and the minister, telling it all to his wife when he reached home, said that never in all his life had he known the delight he felt in having the handshake from a man of physical labor.

The day marked an important one in his Christian experience. It was the beginning of a fellowship between him and the working world. It was the first plank laid down to help bridge the chasm between the church and labor in Raymond.

Alexander Powers went back to his desk that afternoon pleased with his plan, and seeing much help in it for the men. He knew where he could get some better tables from an abandoned eating house at one of the railroad stations down the road, and he saw how the coffee arrangement could be made a very attractive feature. The men had responded even better than he anticipated, and the whole thing could not help being a great benefit to them.

He took up the routine of his work with a glow of satisfaction. After all, he said to himself, he wanted to do as Jesus would.

It was nearly four o'clock when he opened one of the company's long envelopes which he supposed contained orders for the purchasing of stores. He ran over the first page of typewritten matter before he saw that what he was reading was not intended for his office but for the superintendent of the freight department.

He turned over a page mechanically, not meaning to read what was not addressed to him, but before he knew it he was in possession of evidence which conclusively proved that the company was engaged in a systematic violation of the Interstate Commerce Laws of the United States.

It was as distinct and unequivocal a breaking of law as if a private citizen should enter a house and rob the inmates. The discrimination shown in rebates was in total contempt of all the statutes. Under the laws of the state it was also a distinct violation of certain provisions recently passed by the legislature to prevent railroad trusts. There was no question that he had in his hands evidence sufficient to convict the company of willful violation of the law of the commission, and the law of the state also.

He dropped the papers on his desk as if they were poison, and instantly the question flashed across his mind, "What would Jesus do?" He tried to shut the question out. He tried to reason with himself by saying it was none of his business. He had known in a more or less definite way, as did nearly all the officers of the company, that this had been going on right along on nearly all the railroads.

He was not in a position, owing to his place in the workshops, to prove anything direct, and he had regarded it as a matter which did not concern him at all. The papers now before him revealed the entire affair. They had through some carelessness been addressed to him. Was it _now_ his business? If he saw a man entering his neighbor's house to steal, would it not be his duty to inform the officers of the law? Was a railroad company such a different thing? Was it under a different rule of conduct, so that it could rob the public and defy the law and be undisturbed because it was such a great organization? What would Jesus do?

Then there was his family, of course. If he took any steps to inform the commission, it would mean the loss of his position. His wife and daughter had always enjoyed luxury and a good place in society. If he came out against this lawlessness as a witness, it would drag him into the courts. His motives would be misunderstood, and the whole thing would end in his disgrace and the loss of his position. Surely it was none of his business.

He could easily get the papers back to the freight department and no one be the wiser. Let the iniquity go on. Let the law be defied. What was it to him? He would work out his plans for bettering the condition just before him. What more could a man do in this railroad business when there was so much going on anyway that made it impossible to live by the Christian standard? But what would Jesus do if He knew the facts? That was the question that confronted Alexander Powers, as the day wore into evening.

The lights in the office had been turned on. The whirr of the great engine and the clash of the planers in the big machine shop continued until six o'clock. Then the whistle blew, the engine slowed up, the men dropped their tools and ran for the block-house.

Powers said to his clerks, "I'm not going just yet. I have something extra tonight."

The engineer and his assistants had work for half an hour but they went out by another door. At seven o'clock Alexander Powers was kneeling, his face was buried in his hands as he bowed his head upon the papers on his desk.

#  Chapter Eleven

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 doorbell 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, "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 I have received."

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

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

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 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 already have one from the concert company," Rachel went on thoughtfully. "To tell the truth, Virginia, I'm completely convinced that Jesus would never use any talent like a good voice just to make money. But now, take the 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?"

(Publisher's note: About $5,000 in the early twenty-first century -- but see earlier note.)

"You mustn't ask me to decide for you," replied Virginia. "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, 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, 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 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 in sound health, was conscious of her 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. And Virginia -- what she had just said smote her with great force, because of the similar position in which they 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. Whenever Rachel 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 businesswoman 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 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 inevitably 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.

"Oh, we hear a thing or two on the street. Besides, everyone 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," exclaimed Rollin. "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'?"

"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. 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?" Madam Page asked. "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 shrank from making her plans or her thoughts public. But 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.

"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 Jesus 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 was angry and her anger was formidable, although checked in 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." Madam Page continued rising from the table. "My dear, you will live to regret it if you do not accept the concert company's offer, or something like it."

#  Chapter Twelve

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 was used to Rollin's 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 are you thinking?"

"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 sometime! -- 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 the author, Jasper Chase. He saw Rachel and Rollin, and bowed as they went by.

Rollin was watching Rachel closely. "I wish I were 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 laughing at you! But it is useless for you to speak, Rollin," said Rachel after a little hesitation. "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 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. 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 by the event which had so unexpectedly thrust itself into her experience.

#  Chapter Thirteen

WHEN RACHEL 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 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 once more, and in the light of her recent reply to Rollin asked herself again if _she_ had any great purpose in life. 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 was expected 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 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. And 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, 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 else? 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 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? 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."

Mrs. Winslow rose angrily in her seat. " _What!_ Rachel Winslow, do you know what you are saying? Do you know what sort of people 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. The Rev. 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 in the way of sacrifice. I know you will not understand me. 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 to 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. 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, her face 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 the Rev. and Mrs. Gray, the evangelists.

"Virginia's uncle, Dr. West, will go with us, if she goes. I have asked her to call him up by telephone and go with us. The doctor is a friend of the Grays, and attended some of their meetings last winter."

Mrs. Winslow did not say anything. Her manner showed her complete disapproval of Rachel's course, and Rachel felt her mother's unspoken bitterness.

#  Chapter Fourteen

ABOUT SEVEN O'CLOCK the Doctor and Virginia appeared, and together the three started for the scene of the White Cross meetings.

The Rectangle was the most notorious district in Raymond. It was on the territory close by the railroad machine shops and the packing houses. The great slum and tenement district of Raymond congested its worst elements about the Rectangle. This was a barren field used in the summer by circus companies and wandering showmen, shut in by rows of saloons, gambling dens, and cheap, dirty boarding and lodging houses.

The First Church of Raymond had never touched the Rectangle problem. It was too dirty, too coarse, too sinful, too awful for close contact. Let us be honest. There had been an attempt to cleanse this sore spot by sending down an occasional committee of singers or Sunday school teachers or gospel visitors from various churches. But the First Church of Raymond, as an institution, had never done anything to make the Rectangle any less a stronghold of the devil as the years went by.

Into this heart of the part of Raymond the traveling evangelist and his wife had pitched a good-sized tent and begun meetings. It was the spring of the year and the evenings were beginning to be pleasant. The evangelists had asked for the help of Christian people, and had received more than the usual amount of encouragement. But they felt a great need of more and better music. During the meetings on the Sunday just gone, the assistant at the organ had been taken ill. The volunteers from the city were few and the voices were of ordinary quality.

"There will only be a small meeting tonight, John," said his wife, as they entered the tent a little after seven o'clock and began to arrange the chairs and light the lamps.

"Yes, I fear so." The Rev. John Gray was a small, energetic man, with a pleasant voice and the courage of a high-born fighter. He had already made friends in the neighborhood, and one of his converts, who had just come in, began to help in the arranging of seats.

* * *

It was after eight o'clock when Alexander Powers, superintendent of the railroad workshops, opened the door of his office and started for home. He was going to take a car at the corner of the Rectangle. But he was roused by a voice coming from the tent.

(Publisher's note: This would be a streetcar, originally pulled on rails by a horse or mule, but in many cities by this time (1896) powered by electricity. The word "streetcar" has been substituted from here on.)

It was the voice of Rachel Winslow. It struck through his consciousness of struggle over his own question of the letter that had sent him into the Divine Presence for an answer. He had not yet reached a conclusion. He was tortured with uncertainty. His whole previous course of action as a railroad man was the poorest possible preparation for anything sacrificial. And he could not yet say what he would do in the matter.

How did Rachel Winslow happen to be down here? Several windows nearby went up. Some men quarreling near a saloon stopped and listened. Other figures were walking rapidly in the direction of the Rectangle and the tent. Surely Rachel Winslow had never sung like this in the First Church. It was a marvelous voice. What was it she was singing? Again, Alexander Powers paused and listened.

"Where He leads me I will follow,

Where He leads me I will follow,

Where He leads me I will follow,

I'll go with Him, with Him,

All the way!"

The brutal life of the Rectangle stirred itself into new life as the song, as pure as the surroundings were vile, floated out and into saloon and den and foul lodging.

Someone, stumbling hastily by Alexander Powers, said, "The tent's beginning to run over tonight. That's what the talent calls music, eh?"

The superintendent turned towards the tent. Then he stopped. And after a moment of indecision he went on to the corner and took the streetcar for his home. But before he was out of the sound of Rachel's voice he knew that he had settled for himself the question of what Jesus would do.

#  Chapter Fifteen

THE REV. HENRY MAXWELL paced his study back and forth. It was Wednesday and he had started to think out the subject of his midweek service which fell upon that night. Out of one of his study windows he could see the tall chimney of the railroad workshops. The top of the evangelist's tent just showed over the buildings around the Rectangle. He looked out of his window every time he turned in his walk. After a while he sat down at his desk and drew a large piece of paper toward him. After thinking several moments he wrote in large letters the following:

A NUMBER OF THINGS THAT JESUS

WOULD PROBABLY DO IN THIS PARISH

1. Live in a simple, plain manner, without needless luxury on the one hand or undue asceticism on the other.

2. Preach fearlessly to the hypocrites in the church, no matter what their social importance or wealth.

3. Show in some practical form His sympathy and love for the common people as well as for the well-to-do, educated, refined people who make up the majority of the parish.

4. Identify Himself with the great causes of humanity in some personal way that would call for self-denial and suffering.

5. Preach against the saloon [trade] in Raymond.

6. Become known as a friend and companion of the people in the Rectangle.

7. Give up the summer trip to Europe this year. (I have been abroad twice and cannot claim any special need of rest. I am well, and could forego this pleasure, using the money for someone who needs a vacation more than I do. There are probably plenty of such people in the city.)

8. What else would Jesus do as Henry Maxwell?

He was conscious that his outline of Jesus' probable action was painfully lacking in depth and power. In spite of that, he still searched deeper for sources of the Christ-like spirit. He did not attempt to write any more, but sat at his desk absorbed in his effort to catch more and more the Spirit of Jesus in his own life.

He was so absorbed over his thought that he did not hear the doorbell ring. He was roused by the servant who announced a caller. He had sent up his name, the Rev. John Gray.

Maxwell stepped to the head of the stairs and asked Gray to come up.

So Gray came up and stated the reason for his call. "I want your help, Maxwell. Of course you have heard what a wonderful meeting we had Monday night and last night. Miss Winslow has done more with her voice than I could do, and the tent won't hold the people."

"I've heard of that. It is the first time the people there have heard her. It is no wonder they are attracted."

"It has been a wonderful revelation to us, and a most encouraging event in our work. But I came to ask you if you could come down tonight and preach. I am suffering from a severe cold. I do not dare trust my voice again. I know it is asking a good deal from such a busy man, but if you can't come, say so frankly, and I'll try somewhere else."

"I'm sorry, but it's my regular prayer meeting night," began Henry Maxwell. Then he flushed and added, "Yes, I shall be able to arrange it in some way so as to come down. You can count on me."

Gray thanked him earnestly and rose to go.

"Stay a minute, Gray, and let us have a prayer together."

So the two men kneeled together in the study. Henry Maxwell who had lived his ministerial life in such a narrow limit of exercise now begged for wisdom and strength to speak a message to the people in the Rectangle.

John Gray rose and held out his hand. "God bless you, Mr. Maxwell. I'm sure the Holy Spirit will give you power tonight."

Henry Maxwell made no answer. He did not even trust himself to say that he hoped so. But he thought of his promise, and it brought him a certain peace that was refreshing to his heart and mind alike.

* * *

When the First Church audience came into the lecture room that evening it met with another surprise. There was an unusually large number present. The prayer meetings ever since that remarkable Sunday morning had been attended as never before in the history of the First Church. Henry Maxwell came at once to the point.

"I feel that I am called to go down to the Rectangle tonight, and I will leave it with you to say whether you will go on with this meeting here. I think perhaps the best plan would be for a few volunteers to come down to the Rectangle with me, prepared to help in the after-meeting if necessary, and the rest to remain here and pray that the Spirit's power may go with us."

So half a dozen of the men went with the pastor, and the rest stayed in the lecture room. Maxwell could not escape the thought that probably in his entire church membership there might not be a score of disciples who were capable of doing work that would successfully lead needy men into the knowledge of Christ. The thought was simply a part of his whole new conception of the meaning of Christian discipleship.

#  Chapter Sixteen

WHEN MAXWELL and his little company of volunteers reached the Rectangle, the tent was already crowded. They had difficulty in getting to the platform. Rachel was there with Virginia and Jasper Chase, who had come instead of the Doctor tonight.

The meeting began with a song, in which Rachel sang the solo and the people were asked to join in the chorus. Not a foot of standing room was left in the tent. The night was mild and the sides of the tent were up. A great border of faces stretched around, looking in and forming part of the audience.

After the singing, and a prayer by one of the city pastors who was present, John Gray stated the reason for his inability to speak, and turned the service over to "Brother Maxwell of the First Church."

"Who's the bloke?" asked a hoarse voice near the outside of the tent.

"The First Church parson. We've got the whole high-tone swell outfit tonight."

"Did you say First Church? I know him. My landlord's got a front pew up there," said another voice. And there was a laugh, for the speaker was a saloon keeper.

"Throw out the lifeline 'cross the dark wave!" began a drunken man nearby, singing in such an unconscious imitation of a local traveling singer's nasal tone that roars of laughter and jeers of approval rose around him. The people in the tent turned in the direction of the disturbance. There were shouts of "Put him out!" "Give the First Church a chance!" "Song! Song! Give us another song!"

Henry Maxwell stood up, and a great wave of actual terror swept over him. This was not like preaching to the well-dressed, respectable, good-mannered people up on the boulevard. He began to speak, but the confusion increased.

John Gray went down into the crowd, but did not seem able to quiet it. Maxwell raised his arm and his voice. The crowd in the tent began to pay some attention, but the noise on the outside increased. In a few minutes the audience was beyond his control. He turned to Rachel with a smile.

"Sing something, Miss Winslow. They will listen to you," he said, and then sat down and covered his face with his hands.

It was Rachel's opportunity, and she was fully equal to it. Virginia was at the organ and Rachel asked her to play a few notes of the hymn.

Savior, I follow on,

Guided by Thee,

Seeing not yet the hand

That leadeth me;

Hushed be my heart and still,

Fear I no further ill,

Only to meet Thy will,

My will shall be.

Rachel had not sung the first line, before the people in the tent were all turned toward her, hushed and reverent. Before she had finished the verse the Rectangle was subdued and tamed. It lay like some wild beast at her feet, and she sang it into harmlessness.

Henry Maxwell, as he raised his head and saw the transformed mob, had a glimpse of something that Jesus would probably do with a voice like Rachel Winslow's.

Jasper Chase sat with his eyes on the singer, and his greatest longing as an ambitious author was swallowed up in his thought of what Rachel Winslow's love might mean to him.

Over in the shadow outside stood the last person anyone might have expected to see at a gospel tent service \-- Rollin Page, who, jostled on every side by men and women who stared at the swell in fine clothes, seemed careless of his surroundings and at the same time evidently swayed by the power that Rachel possessed. He had just come over from the clubhouse. Neither Rachel nor Virginia saw him that night.

The song was over. Henry Maxwell rose again. This time he felt calmer. What would Jesus do? He spoke as he once thought he never could speak. Who were these people? They were immortal souls. What was Christianity? A calling of sinners, not the righteous, to repentance. How would Jesus speak? What would He say?

He could not tell all that Jesus' message would include, but he felt sure of a part of it. And in that certainty he spoke on. Never before had he felt "compassion for the multitude." What had the multitude been to him during his ten years in the First Church but a vague, dangerous, dirty, troublesome factor in society, outside of the church and of his reach, an element that caused him occasionally an unpleasant twinge of conscience, a factor in Raymond that was talked about at associations as the "masses," in papers written by the brethren in attempts to show why the "masses" were not being reached.

Tonight as he faced the masses he asked himself whether, after all, this was not just about such a multitude as Jesus faced oftenest. He felt the genuine emotion of love for a crowd. He knew that it was easy to love an individual sinner, especially if he was personally picturesque or interesting. To love a multitude of sinners was distinctively a Christ-like quality.

When the meeting closed, there was no special interest shown. No one stayed to the after-meeting. The people rapidly melted away from the tent, and the saloons, which had been experiencing a dull season while the meetings progressed, again drove a thriving trade. Maxwell and his little party, including Virginia, Rachel, and Jasper Chase, walked down past the row of saloons until they reached the corner where the streetcars passed.

"This is a terrible spot," said the minister as he stood waiting for their streetcar. "I never realized that Raymond had such a festering sore. Would Jesus keep silent? Would He vote to license these causes of crime and death? Would the Master preach and act against the saloon if He lived today? How would He preach and act? Suppose the church members themselves owned the property where the saloons stood. What then?"

#  Chapter Seventeen

HENRY MAXWELL went up into his study the next morning with that question only partly answered. He thought of it all day. He was still thinking of it and reaching certain real conclusions when the evening _News_ came. His wife brought it up and sat down a few minutes while he read to her.

The _News_ was at present the most sensational paper in Raymond. That is to say, it was being edited in such a remarkable fashion that its subscribers had never been so animated over a newspaper before. First they had noticed the absence of the prize fight, and gradually it began to dawn upon them that the _News_ no longer printed accounts of crime with detailed descriptions, or scandals in private life.

Then they noticed that the advertisements of liquor and tobacco were dropped, together with certain others of a questionable character. The discontinuance of the Sunday paper caused the greatest comment of all, and now the character of the editorials was creating the greatest excitement.

Hundreds of men in Raymond had rubbed their eyes in amazement at the new style and content. A good many of them had promptly written to the _News_ , telling the editor to stop their paper. The paper still came out, however, and was eagerly read all over the city.

At the end of a week, Edward Norman knew very well that he was fast losing a large number of subscribers. He faced the conditions calmly, although Clark, the managing editor, grimly anticipated ultimate bankruptcy.

Tonight, as Maxwell read to his wife, he could see in almost every column evidences of Norman's conscientious obedience to his promise. There was an absence of sensational scare heads. The reading matter under the headlines was in perfect keeping with them. He noticed in two columns that the reporters' name appeared at the bottom. And there was a distinct advance in the dignity and style of their contributions.

"So Norman is beginning to get his reporters to sign their work. He has talked with me about that. It is a good thing. It fixes responsibility for items where it belongs and raises the standard of work done. A good thing all around for the public and the writers."

Maxwell suddenly paused. His wife looked up from some work she was doing. He was reading something with the utmost interest. "Listen to this, Mary," he said, after a moment.

* * *

This morning Alexander Powers, superintendent of the L. and T. R. R. workshops in this city, handed in his resignation to the railroad, and gave as his reason the fact that certain proofs had fallen into his hands of the violation of the Interstate Commerce Law, and also of the state law which has recently been framed to prevent and punish railroad pooling for the benefit of certain favored shippers.

Mr. Powers states in his resignation that he can no longer consistently withhold the information he possesses against the railroad. He will be a witness against it. He has placed his evidence against the company in the hands of the Commission and it is now for them to take action upon it.

The _News_ wishes to express itself on this action of Mr. Powers. In the first place he has nothing to gain by it. He has lost a very valuable place voluntarily, when by keeping silent he might have retained it. In the second place, we believe his action ought to receive the approval of all thoughtful, honest citizens who believe in seeing law obeyed and lawbreakers brought to justice.

In a case like this, where evidence against a railroad company is generally understood to be almost impossible to obtain, it is the general belief that the officers of the railroad are often in possession of incriminating facts but do not consider it to be any of their business to inform the authorities that the law is being defied. The entire result of this evasion of responsibility is demoralizing to every young man connected with the railroad.

In our judgment Mr. Powers has done all that a loyal, patriotic citizen could do. It now remains for the Commission to act upon his evidence. Let the law be enforced, no matter who the persons may be who have been guilty.

#  Chapter Eighteen

HENRY MAXWELL finished reading, and dropped the paper. "I must go and see Powers. This is the result of his promise."

He rose, and as he was going out, his wife said, "Do you think, Henry, that Jesus would have done that?"

Maxwell paused a moment. Then he answered slowly, "Yes, I think He would. At any rate, Powers has decided so, and each one of us who made the promise understands that he is not deciding Jesus' conduct for anyone else, only for himself."

"How about his family? How will Mrs. Powers and Celia be likely to take it?"

"Very hard, I've no doubt. That will be Powers' cross in this matter. They will not understand his motive."

Maxwell went out and walked over to the next block where Superintendent Alexander Powers lived. To his relief, Powers himself came to the door.

The two men shook hands silently. They instantly understood each other without words. There had never before been such a bond of union between the minister and his parishioner.

"What are you going to do?" Henry Maxwell asked, after they had talked over the facts in the case.

"You mean another position? I have no plans yet. I can go back to my old work as a telegraph operator. My family will not suffer, except in a social way."

Powers spoke calmly. Henry Maxwell did not need to ask how his wife and daughter felt. He knew well enough that the superintendent had suffered deepest at that point.

"There is one matter I wish you would see to," said Powers after a while, "and that is the work I have begun at the machine shops. It is well understood that it pays a railroad to have in its employ men who are temperate, honest and Christian. So I have no doubt the master mechanic will have the same courtesy shown him in the use of the room. But what I want you to do, Mr. Maxwell, is to see that my plan is carried out. Will you? You made a very favorable impression on the men. Go down there as often as you can. Get Milton Wright interested to provide something for the furnishing and expense of the coffee machine and reading tables from his stores. Will you do it?"

"I will," replied Henry Maxwell.

He stayed a little longer. Before he went away, he and the superintendent had a prayer together, and they parted with that silent hand grasp that seemed to them like a new token of their Christian discipleship and fellowship.

The pastor of the First Church went home stirred deeply by the events of the week. Gradually the truth was growing upon him that the pledge, to do as Jesus would, was working out a revolution in his parish and throughout the city. Every day added to the serious results of obedience to that pledge. Maxwell did not pretend to see the end. He was, in fact, only now at the very beginning of events that were destined to change the history of hundreds of families not only in Raymond but throughout the entire country.

As he thought of Edward Norman and Rachel Winslow and Alexander Powers, and of the results that had already come from their actions, he could not help a feeling of intense interest in the probable effect if all the persons in the First Church who had made the pledge, faithfully kept it. Would they all keep it, or would some of them turn back when the cross became too heavy?

#  Chapter Nineteen

THE MINISTER was asking this question the next morning as he sat in his study when young Fred Morris, the president of the Endeavor Society of his church, called to see him.

"I suppose I ought not to trouble you with my case," said Morris coming at once to his errand, "but I thought, Mr. Maxwell, that you might advise me a little."

"I'm glad you came. Go on, Fred."

He had known the young man ever since his first year in the pastorate, and loved and honored him for his consistent, faithful service in the church.

"Well, the fact is, I am out of a job. You know I've been doing reporter work on the morning _Sentinel_ since I graduated last year. Well, last Saturday Mr. Burr asked me to go down the railroad Sunday morning and get the details of that train robbery at the Junction, and write the thing up for the extra edition that came out Monday morning, just to get the start of the _News_. I refused to go, and Burr gave me my dismissal. He was in a bad temper, or I think perhaps he would not have done it. He has always treated me well before. Now, do you think Jesus would have done as I did? I ask, because the other fellows say I was a fool not to do the work. I want to feel that a Christian acts from motives that may seem strange to others sometimes, but not foolish. What do you think?"

"I think you kept your promise, Fred. I cannot believe Jesus would do newspaper reporting on Sunday as you were asked to do it."

"Thank you, Mr. Maxwell. I felt a little troubled over it, but the longer I think it over the better I feel."

Morris rose to go, and his pastor rose and laid a loving hand on the young man's shoulder. "What are you going to do, Fred?"

"I don't know yet. I have thought of going to Chicago or some large city."

"Why don't you try the _News_?"

"They are all supplied. I have not thought of applying there."

Maxwell thought a moment. "Come down to the _News_ office with me, and let us see Mr. Norman about it."

So a few minutes later Edward Norman received into his room the minister and young Fred Morris, and Henry Maxwell briefly told the cause of the errand.

"I can give you a place on the _News_ ," said Norman, with his keen look softened by a smile. "I want reporters who won't work Sundays. And what is more, I am making plans for a special kind of reporting which I believe you can develop, because you are in sympathy with what Jesus would do."

#  Chapter Twenty

HENRY MAXWELL had intended to go right to his study, but on his way home he passed by one of Milton Wright's stores. He thought he would simply step in and shake hands with his parishioner and bid him God-speed in what he had heard he was doing to put Christ into his business. But when he went into the office, Milton Wright insisted on detaining him to talk over some of his new plans.

Maxwell asked himself if this was the Milton Wright he used to know: eminently practical, business-like according to the regular code of the business world, and viewing everything first and foremost from the standpoint of, "Will it pay?"

"There is no use to disguise the fact, Mr. Maxwell, that I have been compelled to revolutionize the entire method of my business since I made that promise. I have been doing a great many things during the last twenty years in this store that I know Jesus would _not_ do. But that is a small item compared with the number of things I begin to believe Jesus _would_ do. My sins of commission have not been as many as those of omission in business relations."

"What was the first change you made?" Henry Maxwell felt as if his sermon could wait for him in his study. As the interview with Milton Wright continued, he was not so sure but that he had found material for a sermon without going back to his study.

"I think the first change I had to make was in my thought of my employees. I came down here Monday morning after that Sunday and asked myself, 'What would Jesus do in His relation to these clerks, bookkeepers, office boys, draymen, salesmen? Would He try to establish some sort of personal relation to them, different from that which I have sustained all these years?' I soon answered this by saying yes.

"Then came the question of what that relation would be, and what it would lead me to do. I did not see how I could answer it to my satisfaction without getting all my employees together and having a talk with them. So I sent invitations to all of them, and we had a meeting out there in the warehouse Tuesday night. A good many things came out of that meeting. I can't tell you all. I tried to talk with the men as I imagined Jesus might. It was hard work, for I have not been in the habit of it, and must have made some mistakes.

"But I can hardly make you believe, Mr. Maxwell, the effect of that meeting on some of the men. Before it closed, I saw more than a dozen of them with tears on their faces. I kept asking, 'What would Jesus do?' and the more I asked it, the further along it pushed me into the most close and loving relations with the men who have worked for me all these years.

"Every day something new is coming up, and I am right now in the midst of a reconstruction of the entire business so far as its motive for being conducted is concerned. I am so ignorant of all plans for cooperation and its application to business that I am trying to get information from every possible source.

"I have lately made a special study of the life of Titus Salt, the great mill-owner of Bradford, England, who afterward built that model town on the banks of the Aire. There is a good deal in his plans that will help me, but I have not yet reached definite conclusions in regard to all the details. I am not used to Jesus' methods. But see here."

(Publisher's note: Sir Titus Salt, (1803 -- 1876), was born in Morley, near Leeds in England. He was a textile manufacturer, politician and philanthropist in Bradford, West Yorkshire. The town he founded is Saltaire, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.)

Wright eagerly reached up into one of the pigeon holes of his desk and took out a paper.

"I have sketched out what seems to me like a program such as Jesus might go by in a business like mine. I want you to tell me what you think of it.

WHAT JESUS WOULD PROBABLY DO

IN MILTON WRIGHT'S PLACE AS A BUSINESSMAN

1. Jesus would engage in the business first of all for the purpose of glorifying God, and not for the primary purpose of making money.

2. All money that might be made, Jesus would never regard as His own, but as trust funds to be used for the good of humanity.

3. Jesus' relations with all the persons in His employ would be loving and helpful. Jesus could not help thinking of them in the light of souls to be saved. This thought would always be greater than His thought of making money in the business.

4. Jesus would never do a single dishonest or questionable thing, or try in any remotest way to get the advantage of anyone else in the same business.

5. The principle of unselfishness and helpfulness in the business would direct all its details.

6. Upon this principle Jesus would shape the entire plan of His relations to His employees, to the people who were His customers and to the general business world with which He was connected.

Henry Maxwell read this over slowly. It reminded him of his own attempts the day before to put into a concrete form his thought of Jesus' probable action. He looked up and met Wright's eager gaze. "Do you believe you can continue to make your business pay on these lines?"

"I do. I am absolutely convinced that Jesus in my place would be absolutely unselfish. He would love all these men in His employ. He would consider the main purpose of all the business to be a mutual helpfulness, and would conduct it all so that God's kingdom would be evidently the first object sought. On those general principles, as I say, I am working. I must have time to complete the details."

When Maxwell left, he was impressed with the revolution that was being wrought already in the business. As he passed out of the store he caught something of the new spirit of the place. There was no mistaking the fact that Milton Wright's new relations to his employees were beginning, after less than two weeks, to transform the entire business. This was apparent in the conduct and faces of the clerks.

"If Milton Wright keeps on, he will be one of the most effective Christian witnesses in Raymond," said Maxwell to himself when he reached his study.

The question rose as to Milton Wright's continuance in this course when he began to lose money by it, as was possible. The minister prayed that the Holy Spirit, who had shown Himself with growing power in the company of First Church disciples, might abide long with them all. And with that prayer on his lips and in his heart he began the preparation of a sermon in which he was going to present to his people on Sunday: the subject of the saloon in Raymond, as he now believed Jesus would do.

He had never preached against the saloon in this way before. He knew that the things he should say would lead to serious results. Nevertheless, he went on with his work, and every sentence he wrote or shaped was preceded with the question, "Would Jesus say that?" Once in the course of his study he went down on his knees. No one except himself could know what that meant to him.

When had he done that in his preparation of sermons, before the change that had come into his thought of discipleship? As he viewed his ministry now, he did not dare preach without praying long for wisdom. He no longer thought of his dramatic delivery and its effect on his audience. The great question with him now was, "What would Jesus do?"

#  Chapter Twenty-One

SATURDAY NIGHT at the Rectangle witnessed some of the most remarkable scenes that the Rev. John Gray and his wife had ever known. The meetings had intensified with each night of Rachel Winslow's singing. A stranger passing through the Rectangle in the daytime might have heard a good deal about the meetings in one way and another. The Rectangle would not have acknowledged that it was growing any better, or that even the singing had softened its outward manner. It had too much local pride in being "tough." But in spite of itself, there was a yielding to a power it had never measured and did not know well enough to resist beforehand.

John Gray had recovered his voice, so that by Saturday he was able to speak. Gradually the people had come to understand that this man was talking, and giving his time and strength, to give them a knowledge of a Savior, all out of a perfectly unselfish love for them. Tonight the great crowd was as quiet as Henry Maxwell's decorous audience ever was. The fringe around the tent was deeper and the saloons were practically empty. The Holy Spirit had come at last, and Gray knew that one of the great prayers of his life was going to be answered.

And Rachel, her singing was the best, most wonderful, that Virginia Page or Jasper Chase had ever known. They came together again tonight, this time with Dr. West, who had spent all his spare time that week in the Rectangle with some charity cases. Virginia was at the organ, Jasper sat on a front seat looking up at Rachel, and the Rectangle swayed as one man towards the platform as she sang.

"Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me,

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,

O Lamb of God, I come, I come."

John Gray hardly said a word. He stretched out his hand with a gesture of invitation. And down the two aisles of the tent, broken, sinful men and women stumbled towards the platform. One woman out of the street was near the organ. Virginia caught the look of her face, and for the first time in the life of the rich girl the thought of what Jesus was to the sinful woman came with a suddenness and power that was like a new birth.

Virginia left the organ, went to her, looked into her face and caught her hands in her own. The other girl trembled, then fell on her knees sobbing, with her head down upon the back of the bench in front of her, still clinging to Virginia. And Virginia, after a moment's hesitation, kneeled down by her and the two heads were bowed close together.

When the people had crowded in a double row around the platform, most of them kneeling and crying, a man in evening dress, different from the others, pushed through the seats and came and kneeled down by the side of the drunken man who had disturbed the meeting when Maxwell spoke. He kneeled within a few feet of Rachel Winslow, who was still singing softly. And as she turned for a moment and looked in his direction, she was amazed to see the face of Rollin Page.

For a moment her voice faltered. Then she went on.

"Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,

Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;

Because Thy promise I believe,

O Lamb of God, I come, I come."

And the Rectangle, for the time being, was swept into the harbor of redemptive grace.

#  Chapter Twenty-Two

IT WAS nearly midnight before the services at the Rectangle closed. John Gray stayed up long into Sunday morning, praying and talking with a little group of converts who, in the great experiences of their new life, clung to the evangelist with a personal helplessness that made it as impossible for him to leave them. Among these converts was Rollin Page.

Virginia and her uncle had gone home about eleven o'clock, and Rachel and Jasper Chase had gone with them as far as the avenue where Virginia lived. Dr. West had walked on a little way with them to his own home, and Rachel and Jasper had then gone on together to her mother's.

Jasper began to speak to Rachel just at that point on the avenue where, a few days before, he had met Rachel walking with Rollin Page. He had wondered at the time what Rollin was saying.

"Rachel," Jasper said, and it was the first time he had ever spoken her first name, "I never knew till tonight how much I loved you. Why should I try to conceal any longer what you have seen me look? You know I love you as my life. I can no longer hide it from you, if I would."

The first intimation he had of a repulse was the trembling of Rachel's arm in his. She allowed him to speak, and neither turned her face toward him nor away from him. She looked straight on and her voice was sad but firm and quiet when she spoke.

"Why do you speak to me now? I cannot bear it -- after what we have seen tonight."

"Why ... what..." he stammered, and then was silent.

Rachel withdrew her arm from his, but still walked near him. Then he cried out with the anguish of one who begins to see a great loss facing him where he expected a great joy.

"Rachel! Do you not love me? Is not my love for you as sacred as anything in all of life itself?"

She walked silent for a few steps after that. They passed a street lamp. Her face was pale and beautiful. He made a movement to clutch her arm and she moved a little farther from him.

"No," she replied. "There was a time ... I cannot answer for that ... you should not have spoken to me tonight."

He saw in these words his answer. Nothing short of a joyous response to his own love would ever have satisfied him. He could not think of pleading with her.

"Some time -- when I am more worthy?" he asked, but she did not seem to hear, and they parted at her home, and he recalled vividly the fact that no goodnight had been said.

He had not reckoned on Rachel's tense absorption of all her feeling in the scenes at the tent, which were so new in her mind. But he did not know her well enough to understand the meaning of her refusal.

It was now striking midnight, and Jasper Chase sat in his room staring at the papers on his desk and going over the events of the evening with painful persistence.

He had told Rachel Winslow of his love for her, and she had not given him her love in return. He had yielded to his feelings without any special thought of results to himself, because he had felt so certain that Rachel would respond to his love.

Never had her beauty and her strength influenced him as tonight. While she was singing, he saw and heard no one else. The tent swarmed with a confused crowd of faces and he knew he was sitting there hemmed in by a mob of people, but they had no meaning to him. He felt powerless to avoid speaking to her.

Now that he had spoken, he felt that he had misjudged either Rachel or the opportunity. He knew, or thought he knew, that she had begun to care something for him. It was no secret between them that the heroine of his first novel had been his own ideal of Rachel, and the hero in the story was himself, and they had loved each other in the book. Rachel had not objected. No one else knew. The names and characters had been drawn with a subtle skill that revealed to Rachel, when she received a copy of the book from Jasper, the fact of his love for her, and she had not been offended. That was nearly a year ago.

When the clock in the First Church struck one, he was still sitting at his desk staring at the last page of manuscript of his unfinished novel.

#  Chapter Twenty-Three

RACHEL had gone up to her room and faced her evening's experience with conflicting emotions. Had she ever loved Jasper Chase? Yes. No. One moment she felt that her life's happiness was at stake over the result of her action. Another, she had a strange feeling of relief that she had spoken as she had.

The response in the tent to her singing, the swift, powerful, awesome presence of the Holy Spirit had affected her as never in all her life before. The moment Jasper had spoken her name, and she realized that he was telling her of his love, she had felt a sudden revulsion for him, as if he should have respected the events they had just witnessed. She felt as if it was not the time to be absorbed in anything less than the divine glory of those conversions.

All the time she was singing, with the one passion of her soul to touch the conscience of that tent full of sin, Jasper Chase had been unmoved by it except to love her for herself The thought gave her a shock as of irreverence on her part as well as on his.

She could not tell why she felt as she did, only she knew that if he had not told her tonight she would still have felt the same toward him as she always had. What was that feeling? What had he been to her? Had she made a mistake? She went to her bookcase and took out the novel which Jasper had given her. Her face deepened in color as she turned to passages which she had read often and which she knew Jasper had written for her. She read them again. Somehow they failed to touch her strongly.

She closed the book and let it lie on the table. Her thought was busy with the sights she had witnessed in the tent. Those faces, men and women, touched for the first time with the Holy Spirit's glory, kneeling down to give themselves to a life of purity and Christ-likeness. And the face of Rollin Page by the side of that miserable wreck out of the gutter! She could recall as if she now saw it: Virginia crying with her arms about her brother just before she left the tent, and the Rev. John Gray kneeling close by -- and the girl Virginia had taken into her heart while she whispered something to her before she went out.

All these pictures stood out in Rachel's memory, a memory so recent that her room seemed for the time being to contain all the actors and their movements.

"No! No!" she said aloud. "He had no right to speak after all that! He should have respected the place where our thoughts should have been. I am sure I do not love him -- not enough to give him my life."

#  Chapter Twenty-Four

THE PEOPLE of Raymond awoke Sunday morning to a growing knowledge of events which were beginning to revolutionize many of the regular, customary habits of the town. Alexander Powers' action in the matter of the railroad frauds had created a sensation not only in Raymond but throughout the country.

Edward Norman's changes of policy in the conduct of his paper had startled the community and caused more comment than any recent political event. Rachel Winslow's singing at the Rectangle meetings had made a stir in society and excited the wonder of all her friends.

Virginia's presence every night with Rachel, her absence from the usual circle of her wealthy, fashionable acquaintances, had furnished a great deal of material for gossip. In addition, there had been all through the city in many homes and in business and social circles strange happenings. Nearly one hundred persons in Henry Maxwell's church had made the pledge to do everything after asking: "What would Jesus do?" and the result had been, in many cases, unheard-of actions.

The city was stirred as it had never been before. As a climax to the week's events, had come the spiritual manifestation at the Rectangle, and the announcement which came to most people before church time of the actual conversion at the tent of nearly fifty of the worst characters in that neighborhood, together with the conversion of Rollin Page, the well-known society and club man.

It is no wonder that the First Church of Raymond came to the morning service sensitive to any large truth. Nothing had astonished the people more than the change that had come over the minister since he had proposed to them the imitation of Jesus in conduct.

The dramatic delivery of his sermons no longer impressed them. The self-satisfied, contented, easy attitude of the fine figure and refined face in the pulpit had been replaced by a manner that could not be compared with the old style of his delivery.

The sermon was brought to them with a love, an earnestness, a passion, a humility that poured its enthusiasm about the truth, and made the speaker no more prominent than he had to be as the living voice of God.

The minister's prayers were unlike any the people had heard before. They were often broken, even once or twice they had been actually ungrammatical in a phrase or two. When had Henry Maxwell so far forgotten himself in a prayer as to make a mistake of that sort? He had often taken as much pride in the diction and delivery of his prayers as of his sermons. His great longing to voice the needs and wants of his people made him unmindful of an occasional mistake. He had never prayed so effectively as he did now.

Henry Maxwell had never in the course of his ten years' pastorate mentioned the saloon as something to be regarded in the light of an enemy, not only to the poor and tempted, but to the business life of the place and the church itself. He spoke now with a freedom that seemed to measure his complete sense of conviction that Jesus would speak so.

At the close, he pleaded with the people to remember the new life that had begun at the Rectangle. The regular election of city officers was near at hand. The question of license would be an issue in the election. What of the poor just beginning to feel the joy of deliverance from sin? Was there one word to be said by the Christian disciple, businessman, citizen, in favor of continuing the license to crime and shame-producing institutions?

The most Christian thing they could do was to act as citizens in the matter, fight the saloon at the polls, elect good men to the city offices, and clean the municipality. How much had prayers helped to make Raymond better, while votes and actions had really been on the side of the enemies of Jesus?

How much had the members of the First Church ever suffered in an attempt to imitate Jesus? Where did the suffering come in? Was it necessary to go up Calvary as well as the Mount of Transfiguration in order to follow Jesus' steps?

His appeal was stronger at this point than he knew. The spiritual tension of the people reached its highest point right there. The imitation of Jesus, which had begun with the volunteers in the church, was working like leaven in the organization. Henry Maxwell would have been amazed if he could have measured the extent of desire on the part of his people to take up the cross.

While he was speaking, many a man and woman in the church was saying, as Rachel had said so passionately to her mother, "I want to do something that will cost me something in the way of sacrifice."

The service was over, the great audience had gone, and Maxwell again faced the company gathered in the lecture room, as on the two previous Sundays. He had asked all to remain who had made the pledge of discipleship, and any others who wished to be included. The after-service seemed now to be a necessity.

As he went in and faced the people there, his heart trembled. There were at least one hundred present. The Holy Spirit was never before so manifest. He missed Jasper Chase, but all the others were present.

He asked Milton Wright, the city merchant, to pray. The very air was charged with divine possibilities. What could resist such a baptism of power? How had they lived all these years without it?

#  Chapter Twenty-Five

DONALD MARSH, president of Lincoln College, walked home with Henry Maxwell. "I have reached one conclusion, Maxwell," said Marsh, speaking slowly. "I have found my cross, and it is a heavy one, but I shall never be satisfied until I take it up and carry it."

Maxwell was silent and the college president went on.

"Your sermon today made clear to me what I have long been feeling. 'What would Jesus do in my place?' I have asked the question repeatedly since I made my promise. I have tried to satisfy myself that Jesus would simply go on as I have done, attending to the duties of my college work, teaching the classes in Ethics and Philosophy. But I have not been able to avoid the feeling that He would do something more, something that I do not want to do. It will cause me genuine suffering to do it. I dread it with all my soul. You may be able to guess what it is."

"Yes, I think I know. It is my cross too. I would almost rather do anything else."

Donald Marsh looked surprised, then relieved. Then he spoke sadly but with great conviction. "Maxwell, you and I belong to a class of professional men who have always avoided the duties of citizenship. We have lived in a little world of literature and scholarly seclusion, doing work we have enjoyed, and shrinking from the disagreeable duties that belong to the life of the citizen. My plain duty is to take a personal part in this coming election, go to the primaries, throw the weight of my influence, whatever it is, toward the nomination and election of good men, and plunge into the very depths of the entire horrible whirlpool of deceit, bribery, political trickery and saloonism as it exists in Raymond today. I would give almost anything to be able to say, 'I do not believe Jesus would do anything of the sort.' But I am more and more persuaded that He would."

"You have spoken for me also," replied Maxwell, with a sad smile. "Why should I, simply because I am a minister, shelter myself behind my refined, sensitive feelings, and like a coward refuse to touch, except in a sermon possibly, the duty of citizenship? I could go and live at the Rectangle the rest of my life and work in the slums for a bare living, and I could enjoy it more than the thought of plunging into a fight for the reform of this city. It would cost me less. But, like you, I have been unable to shake off my responsibility. Marsh, as you say, we professional men have avoided the sacred duties of citizenship, either ignorantly or selfishly. Certainly Jesus in our age would not do that. We can do no less than take up this cross, and follow Him."

The two men walked on in silence for a while. Finally Marsh said, "We do not need to act alone in this matter. With all the men who have made the promise we certainly can have companionship, and strength even, of numbers. Let us organize the Christian forces of Raymond for the battle against corruption. We certainly ought to enter the primaries with a force that will be able to do more than enter a protest. Jesus would use great wisdom in this matter. He would make large plans. Let us do so. If we bear this cross, let us do it bravely."

#  Chapter Twenty-Six

DONALD MARSH and Henry Maxwell talked over the matter a long time and met again the next day in Maxwell's study to develop plans. The city primaries were called for Friday. The Crawford system of balloting for nominations was not in use in the State, and the primary was called for a public meeting at the court house.

The citizens of Raymond will never forget that meeting. It was so unlike any political meeting ever held in Raymond before. The special officers to be nominated were mayor, city council, chief of police, city clerk and city treasurer.

The evening _News_ in its Saturday edition gave a full account of the primaries. In the editorial columns Edward Norman spoke with a directness and conviction that the Christian people of Raymond were learning to respect deeply, because it was so evidently sincere and unselfish. A part of that editorial is also a part of this story:

It is safe to say that never before in the history of Raymond was there a primary like the one in the courthouse last night. It was, first of all, a complete surprise to the city politicians who have been in the habit of carrying on the affairs of the city as if they owned them, and everyone else was simply a tool or a cipher. The overwhelming surprise of the wire-puller last night consisted in the fact that a large number of the citizens of Raymond, who have heretofore taken no part in the city's affairs, entered the primary and controlled it, nominating some of the best men for all the offices to be filled at the coming election.

It was a tremendous lesson in good citizenship. President Marsh of Lincoln College, who never before entered a city primary, and whose face was not even known to the ward politicians, made one of the best speeches ever made in Raymond. It was almost ludicrous to see the faces of the men who for years have done as they pleased, when President Marsh rose to speak. Many of them asked, "Who is he?" The consternation deepened as the primary proceeded and it became evident that the old-time ring of city rulers was outnumbered. Rev. Henry Maxwell of the First Church, Milton Wright, Alexander Powers, Professors Brown, Willard and Park of Lincoln College, Dr. West, Rev. George Main of the Pilgrim Church, Dean Ward of the Holy Trinity, and scores of well-known businessmen and professional men, most of them church members, were present, and it did not take long to see that they had all come with the one direct and definite purpose of nominating the best men possible.

As soon as it became plain that the primary was out of their control, the regular ring withdrew in disgust and nominated another ticket. The _News_ simply calls the attention of all decent citizens to the fact that the line is sharply and distinctly drawn between the saloon and corrupt management such as we have known for years, and a clean, honest, capable, business-like city administration, such as every good citizen ought to want.

It is not necessary to remind the people of Raymond that the crisis of our city affairs has been reached. The issue is squarely before us. Shall we continue the rule of rum and boodle and shameless incompetency, or shall we, as President Marsh said in his speech, rise as good citizens and begin a new order of things, cleansing our city of the worst enemy known to municipal honesty, and doing what lies in our power to do with the ballot to purify our civic life?

The _News_ is positively and without reservation on the side of the new movement. We shall henceforth do all in our power to drive out the saloon and destroy its political strength. We shall advocate the election of the men nominated by the majority of citizens met in the first primary, and we call upon all Christians, church members, lovers of right, temperance and the home, to stand by President Marsh and the rest of the citizens who have thus begun a long-needed reform in our city.

President Marsh read this editorial and thanked God for Edward Norman. At the same time he understood well enough that every other paper in Raymond was on the other side. He did not underestimate the importance and seriousness of the fight which was only just begun.

It was no secret that the _News_ had lost enormously since it had been governed by the standard of "What would Jesus do?" And the question was, "Would the Christian people of Raymond make it possible for Edward Norman to conduct a daily Christian paper? Or would the desire for crime, scandal, political partisanship of the regular sort, and a dislike to champion so remarkable a reform in journalism, influence them to drop the paper and refuse to give it their financial support?

That was, in fact, the question Edward Norman was asking himself even while he wrote that Saturday editorial. He knew well enough that his actions expressed in that editorial would cost him heavily from the hands of many businessmen in Raymond. And still, as he drove his pen over the paper, he asked another question, "What would Jesus do?" That question had become a part of this whole life now. It was greater than any other.

For the first time in its history Raymond had seen the professional men, the teachers, the college professors, the doctors, the ministers, take political action and put themselves definitely and sharply in public antagonism to the evil forces that had so long controlled the machine of municipal government.

#  Chapter Twenty-Seven

AT THE RECTANGLE that week the tide of spiritual life rose high, and as yet showed no signs of flowing back. Rachel and Virginia went every night. Virginia was rapidly reaching a conclusion with respect to a large part of her money. She had talked it over with Rachel and they had been able to agree that if Jesus had a vast amount of money at His disposal He might do with some of it as Virginia planned. There could be no one fixed Christian way of using money. The rule that regulated its use was unselfish utility.

Night after night that week witnessed miracles as great as walking on the sea or feeding the multitude with a few loaves and fishes. The transformation of lives into praying, rapturous lovers of Christ, struck Rachel and Virginia every time with the feeling that people may have had when they saw Lazarus walk out of the tomb. It was an experience full of profound excitement for them.

Rollin Page came to all the meetings. There was no doubt of the change that had come over him. Rachel had not yet spoken much with him. He seemed as if he was thinking all the time. Certainly he was not the same person. He talked more with the evangelist John Gray than with anyone else. He did not avoid Rachel, but he seemed to shrink from any appearance of seeming to renew the acquaintance with her.

The end of the week found the Rectangle struggling hard between two mighty opposing forces. The Holy Spirit was battling with all His supernatural strength against the saloon devil which had so long held a jealous grasp on its slaves. If the Christian people of Raymond once could realize what the contest meant to the souls newly awakened to a purer life, it did not seem possible that the election could result in the old system of license. But that remained yet to be seen.

The horror of the daily surroundings of many of the converts was slowly burning its way into the knowledge of Virginia and Rachel, and every night as they went uptown to their luxurious homes they carried heavy hearts.

"A good many of these poor creatures will go back again," Gray would say with sadness too deep for tears. "The environment does have a good deal to do with the character. O Lord, how long shall Christian people continue to support by their silence and their ballots the greatest form of slavery known in America?"

He asked the question, and did not have much hope of an immediate answer. There was a ray of hope in the action of Friday night's primary, but what the result would be he did not dare to anticipate. The whiskey forces were organized, alert, aggressive, roused into unusual hatred by the events of the last week at the tent and in the city. Would the Christian forces act as a unit against the saloon, or would they be divided on account of their business interests? That remained to be seen. Meanwhile the saloon reared itself about the Rectangle like some deadly viper hissing and coiling, ready to strike its poison into any unguarded part.

#  Chapter Twenty-Eight

Saturday afternoon, as Virginia was just stepping out of her house to go and see Rachel to talk over her new plans, a carriage drove up containing three of her fashionable friends. Virginia went out to the driveway and stood there talking with them. They had not come to make a formal call, but wanted Virginia to go driving with them up on the boulevard. There was a band concert in the park. The day was too pleasant to be spent indoors.

"Where have you been all this time, Virginia?" asked one of the girls, tapping her playfully on the shoulder with a red silk parasol. "We hear that you have gone into the show business. Tell us about it."

Virginia colored, but after a moment's hesitation she frankly told something of her experience at the Rectangle.

The girls in the carriage began to be interested. "I tell you, girls, let's go slumming with Virginia this afternoon, instead of going to the band concert. I've never been down to the Rectangle. I've heard it's an awful wicked place and lots to see. Virginia will act as guide, and it would be ..." Fun, the girl was going to say, but Virginia's look made her substitute the word "interesting."

Virginia felt angry. At first thought she said to herself she would never go under such circumstances. The other girls seemed to be of the same mind with the speaker. They chimed in with earnestness and asked Virginia to take them down there.

Suddenly she saw in the idle curiosity of the girls an opportunity. They had never seen the sin and misery of Raymond. Why should they not see it, even if their motive in going down there was simply to pass away an afternoon?

"Very well, I'll go with you. You must obey my orders and let me take you where you can see the most," she said, as she entered the carriage and took the seat beside the girl who had first suggested the trip to the Rectangle.

"Hadn't we better take a policeman along?" said one of the girls, with a nervous laugh. "It really isn't safe down there, you know."

"There's no danger," said Virginia briefly.

"Is it true that your brother Rollin has been converted?" asked the first speaker, looking at Virginia curiously.

During the drive to the Rectangle all three of her friends were regarding her with close attention as if she were peculiar. "Yes, he certainly is. I saw him kneel down, a week ago Saturday," replied Virginia, who did not know just how to tell that scene.

"I understand he is going around to the clubs talking with his old friends there, trying to preach to them. Doesn't that seem funny?" said the girl with the red silk parasol.

Virginia did not answer, and the other girls were beginning to feel sober as the carriage turned into a street leading to the Rectangle. As they neared the district they grew more and more nervous. The sights and smells and sounds which had become familiar to Virginia struck the senses of these refined, delicate society girls as something horrible.

As they entered further into the district, the Rectangle seemed to stare as with one great, bleary, beer-soaked countenance at this fine carriage with its load of fashionably dressed young women. This was perhaps the first time that the two had come together. The girls felt that instead of seeing the Rectangle, they were being made the objects of curiosity. They were frightened and disgusted.

"Let's go back. I've seen enough," said the girl who was sitting with Virginia.

They were at that moment just opposite a notorious saloon and gambling house. The street was narrow and the sidewalk crowded. Suddenly, out of the door of this saloon a young woman reeled. She was singing in a broken, drunken sob that seemed to indicate that she partly realized her awful condition, "Just as I am, without one plea."

As the carriage rolled past she leered at it, raising her face so that Virginia saw it very close to her own. It was the face of the girl who had kneeled, sobbing that night, with Virginia kneeling beside her and praying for her.

"Stop!" cried Virginia, motioning to the driver who was looking around. The carriage stopped, and in a moment she was out and had gone up to the girl and taken her by the arm.

"Loreen!" she said, and that was all.

The girl looked into her face, and her own changed into a look of utter horror. The girls in the carriage were smitten into helpless astonishment. The saloon keeper had come to the door of the saloon and was standing there looking on with his hands on his hips. And the Rectangle from its windows, its saloon steps, its filthy sidewalk, gutter and roadway, paused, and with undisguised wonder stared at the two girls.

Virginia had no definite idea as to what she would do or what the result of her action would be. She simply saw a soul that had tasted of the joy of a better life slipping back again into its old hell of shame and death. And before she had touched the drunken girl's arm she had asked only one question, "What would Jesus do?" That question was becoming with her, as with many others, a habit of life.

She looked around now as she stood close by Loreen, and the whole scene was cruelly vivid to her. She thought first of the girls in the carriage.

"Drive on. Don't wait for me. I am going to see my friend home," she said calmly enough.

The girl with the red parasol seemed to gasp at the word "friend," when Virginia spoke it. She did not say anything.

The other girls seemed speechless.

"Go on. I cannot go back with you," said Virginia.

The driver started the horses slowly. One of the girls leaned a little out of the carriage. "Can't we ... that is ... do you want our help? Couldn't you..."

"No, no!" exclaimed Virginia. "You cannot be of any help to me."

The carriage moved on and Virginia was alone with her charge. She looked up and around. Many faces in the crowd were sympathetic. They were not all cruel or brutal. The Holy Spirit had softened a good deal of the Rectangle.

"Where does she live?" asked Virginia.

No one answered. The girl suddenly wrenched her arm from Virginia's grasp. In doing so she nearly threw Virginia down.

"Don't touch me! Leave me! Let me go to hell! That's where I belong! The devil is waiting for me. See him?" she exclaimed hoarsely. She turned and pointed with a shaking finger at the saloon keeper. The crowd laughed. Virginia stepped up to her and put her arm about her.

"Loreen," she said firmly, "come with me. You do not belong to hell. You belong to Jesus and He will save you. Come."

The girl suddenly burst into tears. She was only partly sobered by the shock of meeting Virginia.

Virginia looked around again. "Where does the Rev. John Gray live?" she asked. She knew that the evangelist boarded somewhere near the tent. A number of voices gave the direction.

"Come, Loreen, I want you to go with me to Mr. Gray," she said, still keeping her hold of the swaying, trembling creature who moaned and sobbed and now clung to her as firmly as before she had repulsed her.

The two moved on through the Rectangle toward the evangelist's lodging place. The sight seemed to impress the Rectangle. The fact that one of the richest, most beautifully-dressed girls in all Raymond was taking care of one of the Rectangle's most noted characters, who reeled along under the influence of liquor, was a fact astounding enough to throw dignity and importance about Loreen herself.

The event of Loreen's stumbling through the gutter dead-drunk always made the Rectangle laugh and jest. But Loreen staggering along with a young lady from the society circles uptown supporting her, was another thing. The Rectangle viewed it with wondering admiration.

When they finally reached the John Gray's lodging place the woman who answered Virginia's knock said that both Mr. and Mrs. Gray were out somewhere and would not be back until six o'clock.

Virginia had not planned anything further than a possible appeal to the Grays, either to take charge of Loreen for a while or find some safe place for her until she was sober. She stood now at the door after the woman had spoken, and was really at a loss to know what to do. Loreen sank down on the steps and buried her face in her arms. Virginia eyed the girl with a feeling that she was afraid would grow into disgust.

Finally a thought possessed her that she could not escape. What was to hinder her from taking Loreen home with her? Why should not this homeless, wretched creature, reeking with liquor, be cared for in Virginia's own home instead of being consigned to strangers in some hospital or house of charity?

Virginia really knew very little about any such places of refuge. As a matter of fact, there were two or three such institutions in Raymond, but it is doubtful if any of them would have taken a person like Loreen in her present condition. But that was not the question with Virginia just now. "What would Jesus do with Loreen?" That was what she faced, and she finally answered it by touching the girl again.

"Loreen, come. You are going home with me. We will take the streetcar here at the corner."

Loreen staggered to her feet, and to Virginia's surprise made no trouble. She had expected resistance or a stubborn refusal to move. When they reached the corner and took the streetcar, it was nearly full of people going uptown. Virginia was painfully conscious of the stares that greeted her and her companion as they entered. But her thought was directed more and more to the approaching scene with her grandmother. What would Madam Page say when she saw Loreen?

Loreen was lapsing into a state of stupor, and Virginia was obliged to hold fast to her arm. Several times the girl lurched heavily against her as the two walked up the avenue, and a curious crowd of so-called civilized people turned and gazed at them.

When she mounted the steps of her handsome house Virginia breathed a sigh of relief, even in the face of the interview with the grandmother, and when the door shut and she was in the wide hall with her homeless outcast, she felt equal to anything that might now come.

#  Chapter Twenty-Nine

MADAM PAGE was in the library. Hearing Virginia come in, she came into the hall. Virginia stood there supporting Loreen, who stared stupidly at the rich magnificence of the furnishings around her.

"Grandmother," Virginia said, without hesitation and very clearly, "I have brought one of my friends from the Rectangle. She is in trouble and has no home. I am going to care for her here a little while."

Madam Page glanced from her granddaughter to Loreen in astonishment. "Did you say she is one of your _friends_?" she asked in a cold, sneering voice that hurt Virginia more than anything she had yet felt.

"Yes, I said so." Virginia's face flushed, but she seemed to recall a verse that Mr. Gray had used for one of his recent sermons, "A friend of publicans and sinners." Surely Jesus would do what she was doing.

"Do you know what this girl is?" asked Madam Page, in an angry whisper, stepping near Virginia.

"I know very well. You need not tell me, grandmother. I know it even better than you do. She is drunk at this minute. But she is also a child of God. I have seen her on her knees, repentant. Grandmother, we call ourselves Christians. Here is a poor, lost human creature without a home, slipping back into a life of misery and possibly eternal loss, and we have more than enough. I have brought her here, and I shall keep her."

Madam Page glared at Virginia and clenched her hands. All this was contrary to her social code of conduct. How could society excuse familiarity with the scum of the streets? What would Virginia's action cost the family in the way of criticism and loss of standing? The loss of its goodwill was a loss more to be dreaded than anything, except the loss of wealth itself.

She stood erect and stern and confronted Virginia, fully roused and determined. Virginia placed her arm about Loreen and calmly looked her grandmother in the face.

"You shall not do this, Virginia! You can send her to the asylum for helpless women. We can pay all the expenses. We cannot afford for the sake of our reputations to shelter such a person."

"Grandmother, I do not wish to do anything that is displeasing to you, but I must keep Loreen here tonight -- and longer if it seems best."

Madam Page lost her self-control. "Then you can answer for the consequences! I do not stay in the same house with a miserable ------"

Virginia stopped her before she could speak the next word. "Grandmother, this house is mine. It is your home with me as long as you choose to remain. But in this matter I must act as I fully believe Jesus would in my place. I am willing to bear all that society may say or do. Society is not my God. By the side of this poor soul I do not count the verdict of society as of any value."

"I shall not stay here, then!" said Madam Page. She turned and walked to the end of the hall. She then came back, and going up to Virginia said, "You can always remember that you have driven your grandmother out of your house in favor of a drunken woman!"

Without waiting for Virginia to reply, she turned again and went upstairs. Virginia called a servant and soon had Loreen cared for. During the brief scene in the hall Loreen had clung to Virginia so hard that her arm was sore from the clutch of the girl's fingers.

Virginia did not know whether her grandmother would leave the house or not. She had abundant means of her own, was perfectly well and vigorous, and capable of caring for herself. She had sisters and brothers living in the South, and was in the habit of spending several weeks in the year with them. Virginia was not anxious about her welfare, so far as that went, but the interview had been a painful one to her. Going over it, as she did in her room before she went down to tea, she found little cause for regret, however.

There was no question in Virginia's mind that she had done the right thing. If she had made a mistake, it was one of judgment and not of the heart. When the bell rang for tea, she went down, and her grandmother did not appear. She sent a servant to her room, and the servant brought back word that Madam Page was not there.

A few minutes later, Rollin came in. He brought word that his grandmother had taken the evening train for the South. He had been at the station to see some friends off, and had by chance met his grandmother as he was coming out. She told him her reason for going.

"Rollin," said Virginia, and for the first time almost since his conversion she realized what a wonderful thing her brother's change of life meant to her, "do you blame me? Am I wrong?"

"No, I cannot believe you are. This is very painful for us. But if you think this poor girl owes her safety and salvation to your personal care, it was the only thing for you to do. Oh, Virginia, to think that we have all these years enjoyed our beautiful home and all these luxuries selfishly, forgetful of the multitude like this woman. Surely Jesus in our places would do what you have done."

Of all the wonderful changes that Virginia was to know on account of her great pledge, nothing affected her so powerfully as the thought of her brother's change in life. Truly, this man in Christ was a new creature. Old things were passed away. Behold, all things in him had become new.

Dr. West came that evening at Virginia's summons, and did everything necessary for the outcast. She had drunk herself almost into delirium. The best that could be done for her now was quiet nursing and careful watching, and personal love.

So in a beautiful room, with a picture of Christ walking by the sea hanging on the wall, where her bewildered eyes caught daily something more of its hidden meaning, Loreen lay, tossed she hardly knew how into this haven. And Virginia crept nearer the Master than she had ever been, as her heart went out towards this wreck which had thus been flung, torn and beaten, at her feet.

#  Chapter Thirty

THE RECTANGLE awaited the issue of the election with more than usual interest. John Gray and his wife wept over the pitiable creatures who, after a struggle with surroundings that daily tempted them, like Loreen, threw up their arms and went whirling into the boiling abyss of their previous condition.

The after-meeting at the First Church was now regularly established. Henry Maxwell went into the lecture room on the Sunday following the week of the primary, and was greeted with an enthusiasm that made him tremble for its reality. He noted again the absence of Jasper Chase the novelist, but all the others were present, and they seemed drawn close together by a bond of common fellowship that demanded and enjoyed mutual confidences.

It was the general feeling that the Spirit of Jesus was a Spirit of very open, frank confession of experience. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Edward Norman to be telling all the rest of the company about the details of his newspaper.

"The fact is, I have lost a good deal of money during the last three weeks. I cannot tell how much. I am losing a great many subscribers every day."

""What do the subscribers give as their reason for dropping the paper?" asked Henry Maxwell.

The rest in the after-meeting were listening eagerly.

"There are a good many different reasons. Some say they want a paper that prints all the news; meaning by that, the crime details, sensations like prize fights, scandals and horrors of various kinds. Others object to the discontinuance of the Sunday edition. I have lost hundreds of subscribers by that action, although I have made satisfactory arrangements with many of the subscribers by giving them even more in the extra Saturday edition than they formerly had in the Sunday issue.

"My greatest loss has come from a falling-off in advertisements, and from the attitude I have felt obliged to take on political questions. This last action has really cost me more than any other. The bulk of my subscribers are intensely partisan. I may as well tell you all frankly that, if I continue to pursue the plan which I honestly believe Jesus would, in the matter of political issues and their treatment from a non-partisan and moral standpoint, the _News_ will not be able to pay its operating expenses, unless one factor in Raymond can be depended on."

He paused a moment, and the room was very quiet. Virginia seemed specially interested. Her face glowed with the interest of a person who had been thinking hard of the same thing that Edward Norman went on now to mention.

"That one factor is the Christian element in Raymond. The _News_ has lost heavily from the dropping-off of people who do not care for a Christian daily, and from others who simply look upon a newspaper as a purveyor of all sorts of material to amuse and interest them. As I understand the promise we made, we were not to ask any questions about 'Will it pay?' but all our action was to be based on the one question, 'What would Jesus do?' Acting on that rule of conduct, I have been obliged to lose nearly all the money I have accumulated in my paper. As it is now, unless the Christian people of Raymond will support the paper with subscriptions and advertisements, I cannot continue its publication on the present basis."

Virginia had followed Edward Norman's confession with the most intense eagerness. "Do you mean that a Christian daily ought to be endowed with a large sum, like a Christian college, in order to make it pay?"

"That is exactly what I mean. I have laid out plans for putting into the _News_ such a variety of material, in such a strong and truly interesting way, that it would more than make up for whatever was absent from its columns in the way of un-Christian matter. But my plans call for a very large outlay of money. I am confident that a Christian daily such as Jesus would approve, containing only what He would print, can be made to succeed financially if it is planned on the right lines. But it will take a large sum of money to work out the plans."

"How much do you think?" asked Virginia quietly.

Edward Norman looked at her keenly, and his face flushed a moment as an idea of Virginia's purpose crossed his mind. He had known her when she was a little girl in the Sunday school, and he had been on intimate business relations with her father.

"I should say a half a million dollars, in a town like Raymond, could be well spent in the establishment of a paper such as we have in mind," he answered.

"Then," said Virginia, speaking as if the thought were fully considered, "I am ready to put that amount of money into the paper, on the one condition, of course, that it be carried on as it has been begun."

"Thank God!" exclaimed Henry Maxwell softly. Edward Norman was pale. The rest were looking at Virginia. She had more to say.

"Dear friends," she went on, "I do not want any of you to credit me with an act of great generosity or philanthropy. I have come to know lately that the money which I have called my own is not my own, but God's. I have been thinking of this very plan for some time. The fact is, dear friends, that in our coming fight with the whiskey power in Raymond -- and it has only just begun -- we shall need the _News_ to champion the Christian side. What can Mr. Gray do with his gospel meetings when half his converts are drinking people, daily tempted and enticed by the saloon on every corner? What have I done with God's money all these years but gratify my own selfish, physical, personal desires? What can I do with the rest of it but try to make some reparation for what I have stolen from God? That is the way I look at it now. I believe it is what Jesus would do."

No one spoke for a while. Henry Maxwell standing there, where the faces lifted their intense gaze into his, felt what he had already felt before -- a strange stepping out of the nineteenth century back into the first, when the disciples had all things in common, and a spirit of fellowship must have flowed freely between them, such as the First Church of Raymond had never known.

Before they went away, some of the young men told of the loss of places owing to their honest obedience to their promise. Alexander Powers from the railroad spoke briefly of the fact that the Commission had promised to take action at the earliest date possible. He was already at his old work of telegraphy.

It was a significant fact that since his action in resigning his position, neither his wife nor daughter had appeared in public. No one but himself knew the bitterness of that family estrangement, and misunderstanding of the higher motive. Yet many of the disciples present in the meeting carried similar burdens. These were things which they could not talk about. Who could measure their influence at the end of the year?

One practical form of this fellowship showed itself in the assurances which Edward Norman received in support of his paper. The value of such a paper in the homes and in behalf of good citizenship, especially at the present crisis in the city, could not be measured. It remained to be seen what could be done now that the paper was endowed so liberally. But it still was true, as Edward Norman insisted, that money alone could not make the paper a power. It must receive the support of the Christians in Raymond before it could be counted as one of the great Christian forces of the city.

#  Chapter Thirty-One

WHEN SATURDAY, the Election Day came, the excitement rose to its height. An attempt was made to close all the saloons. It was partly successful, but there was a great deal of drinking going on all day. The Rectangle boiled and heaved and cursed, and turned its worst side out to the gaze of the city. John Gray had continued his meetings during the week, and the results had been even greater than he had dared to hope. When Saturday came, it seemed to him that the crisis in his work had been reached.

The Holy Spirit and Satan seemed to rouse up to a desperate conflict. The more interest in the meetings, the more ferocity outside. The saloon men no longer concealed their feelings. Open threats of violence were made. Once during the week John Gray and his little company of helpers were assailed with missiles of various kinds as they left the tent late at night.

The police sent down special protection, and Virginia and Rachel were always under the protection of Rollin or Dr. West. Rachel's power in song had not diminished. Rather, with each night, it seemed to add to the intensity and reality of the Holy Spirit's presence.

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 Holy Spirit seemed to lead them to continue the meeting, and so on 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 had there been such a contest in Raymond. The issue of license or no license had never been an issue. 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 the fine houses on the boulevard, should come personally into the wards to 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. Everyone agreed that never 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. Henry 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.

Donald Marsh, president of Lincoln College, 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. Loreen, who had stayed with Virginia, was present near the organ, in her right mind, sober, with a humility and dread of herself that kept her close to Virginia.

All through the service Loreen 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 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 disturbance on the outside of the tent. 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 the distractions, Rachel's singing kept the crowd in the tent from dissolving. There were a dozen or more conversions. Finally, the crowd became restless, and Gray closed the service, remaining a little while with the converts.

Rachel, Virginia, Loreen, Rollin, and the doctor, President Marsh, and Henry Maxwell, went out together, intending to go down to their usual waiting-place for their streetcar.

As they came out of the tent they became aware that the Rectangle was trembling on the edge 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.

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 Henry Maxwell. "Marsh, we are in danger here. Do you realize our situation? We ought to get the ladies to a place of safety."

At that moment a shower of stones and other missiles fell over them. The narrow street and sidewalk in front of them were completely choked with the worst elements of the Rectangle.

"This looks serious," said Maxwell.

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

"Down with the aristocrats!" shouted a shrill voice.

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 then, just before the police reached them, Loreen darted forward pushed Virginia 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.

Donald 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?" Henry 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. Virginia wiped the blood from her face, and then bent over and kissed her. Loreen smiled again, and the next moment her soul was in paradise.

#  Chapter Thirty-Two

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

At the First Church, Henry Maxwell, bearing on his face marks of the scene he had been through the night before, 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 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.

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 for 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 the saloon another year. The Christians of Raymond stood condemned by the result.

More than a hundred Christians, professing 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 now 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.

And the young 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 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, open its doors perhaps tomorrow, and damn with earthly and eternal destruction 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. Donald Marsh sat there, his usual self-confident bearing gone; his head bowed; 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 face erect, 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 last week than Norman with his paper. The thought that the Christian conscience had been aroused too late or too feebly lay with a weight of accusation upon his heart. What if he had begun to do with the _News_ as Jesus would long ago? Who could tell what might have been accomplished by this time?

Up in the choir, Rachel Winslow, with her face bowed on the railing of the oak screen, gave way to a feeling she had not yet allowed to master her. When Henry 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, cold, conventional order of service, undisturbed by any 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 to the surface, the people were convicted of the meaning of their discipleship.

Henry 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 greatly increased. The meeting was tender, it glowed with the Holy Spirit's presence.

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, it was a meeting full of broken prayers, of contrition, confession, of strong yearning for a new and better city life.

But if the First Church was deeply stirred by the events of the week gone, the Rectangle also felt moved strongly 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. Everyone 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 with the aristocracy on the boulevard. The opportunities for doing so were not frequent.

The Rev. John Gray and his wife were besieged by inquiries wanting to know what Loreen's friends and acquaintances were expected to do in paying their last respects to her. Her acquaintance was large, and many of the recent converts were among her friends. John Gray had gone to see Virginia, and after talking it over with her and Henry Maxwell, the arrangements had been made.

#  Chapter Thirty-Three

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.

"I am and always have been opposed to large public funerals," said Gray, "but the cry of the poor creatures who knew Loreen is so earnest that I do not know how to refuse their 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 is best will be right."

"I feel as you do," replied Henry Maxwell. "Under most 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 want to come to my church to a service. I think the most Christian thing will be to let them have the service at the tent. Do you think so, Virginia?"

"Yes," said Virginia sadly. "Poor soul, I do not know but that some time I shall know she gave her life for mine. Let her friends be allowed the gratification of their wishes. I see no harm in it."

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

It happened that that afternoon a noted newspaper correspondent was passing through Raymond on his way to an editorial convention in a neighboring city. He heard of the service at the tent, and was present that afternoon. His description of it was written in a graphic style that caught the attention of 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 to the place, with considerable astonishment, to hear voices like those one naturally expects to hear only in great churches or concerts. 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 rightly, 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 ten thousand. I understand Miss Winslow sings in the First Church, 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 evangelist, a man of apparently very simple, unassuming style, spoke a few words, and he was followed by 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, and yet it was in no sense an inappropriate, address for a funeral.

Then followed what was perhaps the strange part of this 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."

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 on it. Then they sat down and another row filed past, leaving their flowers. 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, 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 scene as the train went by the railroad machine 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 unpoetical 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 Loreen's 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 swept more than a score of lost souls, mostly women, into the fold of the Good Shepherd.

The saloon, from whose window Loreen had been killed, was formally closed Monday and Tuesday while the authorities made arrests of the proprietor charged with the murder. But nothing could be proved against anyone, and before Saturday of that week the saloon was running as regularly as ever. No one on the earth was ever punished by earthly courts for the murder of Loreen.

#  Chapter Thirty-Four

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 Loreen 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, sitting in the hall of the Page mansion.

Virginia looked over to the end of the hall where, the day before, Loreen's body had lain. "I am going to do something with my money to help these women to a better life. 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 still 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 line with Jesus' probable action. It is as necessary that we have a daily Christian 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 do.

"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. My money -- I mean God's, which He wants me to use -- can build wholesome lodging houses, refuges for poor women, asylums [ _asylums -- secure places offering shelter and individual support_ ] for shop girls, safety for many and many a lost girl like Loreen.

"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 do you know, Rachel, I have a feeling that all that limitless money and limitless personal sacrifice can possibly do, will not really lessen very much the awful conditions at the Rectangle as long as the saloon trade 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 Rescue Mission work can save it."

Virginia suddenly rose and paced the hall. Rachel answered with a note of hope in her voice. "It is true. But, Virginia, what a wonderful amount of happiness and power can come out of this money. And the saloons cannot always remain here. The time must come when the Christian force in the city will triumph."

Virginia paused near Rachel, and her face lighted up. "I believe that too. The number of those who have promised to do as Jesus would is increasing. If we have, say, five hundred such disciples in Raymond, the saloon is doomed. But now, 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 anyone ever hear such singing as that yesterday by those women? Rachel, what a beautiful opportunity. Think what can be done with music to win souls there."

Before Virginia had ceased speaking, Rachel's face was transfigured 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 own talent.

She rose and put her arms 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 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.

Before Rachel could reply, Rollin came in. He hesitated a moment, and was passing out of the hall into the library, when Virginia called him 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. The past seemed to be entirely absorbed in his wonderful conversion. He seemed to be completely caught up in the purpose of this new life.

After a while, Rollin was called away, and Rachel and Virginia began to talk of other things.

"By the way, what has become of Jasper Chase?" Virginia asked the question innocently enough, but Rachel blushed, and Virginia added with a smile, "I suppose he is writing another book. Is he going to put you into this one, Rachel? You know I always suspected Jasper Chase of doing that very thing in his first story."

"Virginia," Rachel spoke with the frankness that had always existed between the two friends, "Jasper Chase has told me that he ... in fact ... he proposed to me ... or he would, if..."

Rachel stopped, and sat with her hands clasped on her lap, and there were tears in her eyes. "Virginia, I thought a little while ago that I loved him, as he said he loved me. But when he spoke, my heart felt repelled. I told him no. I have not seen him since. That was the night of the first conversions at the Rectangle."

"I am glad for you," said Virginia quietly.

"Why?" asked Rachel, a little startled.

"Because I have never really liked Jasper Chase. He is too cold, and -- I do not like to judge him, but I have always distrusted his sincerity in taking the pledge at the church with the rest."

Rachel looked at Virginia thoughtfully. "I have never given my heart to him, I am sure. He touched my emotions, and I admired his skill as a writer. I have thought at times that I cared a good deal for him. I think, perhaps, if he had spoken to me at any other time than the one he chose, I could easily have persuaded myself that I loved him. But not now."

Again Rachel paused, and when she looked up at Virginia again, there were tears on her face. Virginia came to her and put her arm about her.

#  Chapter Thirty-Five

WHEN RACHEL had left the house, Virginia sat in the hall thinking over the confidence her friend had just shown her. There was something still to be told, Virginia felt sure from Rachel's manner, but she did not feel hurt that Rachel had kept back something. She was simply conscious of more on Rachel's mind than she had revealed.

Very soon Rollin came back, and he and Virginia, arm in arm, as they had lately been in the habit of doing, walked up and down the long hall.

It was easy for their talk to settle finally upon Rachel, because of the place she was to occupy in the plans which were being made for the purchase of the property at the Rectangle.

"Did you ever know a girl of such really gifted powers in vocal music who was willing to give her whole life to the people as Rachel is going to do?" asked Virginia. "She is going to give music lessons in the city, have private pupils to make her living, and then give the people in the Rectangle the benefit of her voice."

"It is certainly a very good example of self-sacrifice," replied Rollin, a little stiffly.

Virginia looked at him sharply. "But don't you think it is a very unusual example?" Virginia named half a dozen famous opera singers. "Can you imagine them doing anything of this sort? "

"No, I can't," Rollin answered briefly. He spoke the name of the girl with the red parasol who had begged Virginia to take the girls to the Rectangle, "Neither can I imagine her doing what you are doing, Virginia."

Virginia mentioned the name of a young society leader. "Anymore than I can imagine him going about to the clubs doing your work, Rollin."

The two walked on in silence for the length of the hall.

"Coming back to Rachel," began Virginia; "Rollin, why do you treat her with such a distant manner? I think, pardon me if I hurt you, that she is annoyed by it. You used to be on easy terms. I don't think Rachel likes this change."

Rollin suddenly stopped. He took his arm from Virginia's and walked down to the end of the hall. Then he returned, with his arms behind him, and stopping near his sister he said, "Virginia, have you not learned my secret?"

Virginia looked bewildered, then over her face the unusual color crept, showing that she understood.

"I have never loved anyone but Rachel Winslow." Rollin spoke calmly enough now. "That day she was here, when you talked about her refusal to join the concert company, I asked her to be my wife -- out there on the avenue. She refused me, as I knew she would. And she gave as her reason the fact that I had no purpose in life, which was true enough. Now that I _have_ a purpose, now that I am a new man, don't you see, Virginia, how impossible it is for me to say anything?

"I owe my very conversion to Rachel's singing. And yet that night while she sang I can honestly say that for the time being I never thought of her voice except as God's message. I believe all my personal love for her was for the time merged into a personal love to God and my Savior." Rollin was silent; then he went on, with more emotion, "I am still in love with her, Virginia, but I do not think she could ever love me." He stopped and looked his sister in the face with a sad smile.

"I don't know about that," said Virginia to herself. She was noting Rollin's face, the clear eyes looking into hers frankly. Rollin was a new man now. Why should not Rachel come to love him in time? Surely the two were well fitted for each other, especially now that their purpose in life was moved by the same Christian source.

She said something of all this to Rollin, but he did not find much comfort. Virginia carried away the impression that Rollin meant to go his way with his chosen work, trying to reach the fashionable men at the clubs, and while not avoiding Rachel, seeking no occasion for meeting her. He was distrustful of his power to control his feelings. And Virginia could see that he dreaded the thought of a second refusal.

#  Chapter Thirty-Six

THE NEXT DAY Virginia went down to the _News_ office to see Edward Norman and arrange the details of her part in the establishment of the paper on its new foundation. Henry Maxwell was present at this conference, and the three agreed that, whatever Jesus would do as editor of a daily paper, He would be guided by the same general principles that directed His conduct as the Savior of the world.

Edward Norman looked up. "I am not passing judgment on other newspaper men, who may have a different conception of Jesus' probable action from mine. I am simply trying to answer honestly, 'What would Jesus do as Edward Norman?' The aim of a daily paper conducted by Jesus would be to do the will of God. That is, His main purpose in carrying on a newspaper would not be to make money or gain political influence. It would be evident to all His subscribers that He was trying to seek first the kingdom of God by means of His paper. All questionable advertisements would be impossible, and the relation of Jesus to the employees on the paper would be of the most loving character.

"If Jesus had the amount of money to use on a paper which we have, He would probably secure the best and strongest Christian men and women to cooperate with Him in the matter of contributors. That will be my purpose. I have a hundred ideas for making the paper powerful that I have not yet thought out fully. The paper will not necessarily be weak because it is good. Good things are more powerful than bad.

"The question with me is largely one of support from the Christian people of Raymond. There are over twenty thousand church members here in the city. If half of them will stand by the _News,_ its life is assured. What do you think, Maxwell, is the probability of such support?"

Maxwell frowned. "I don't know enough about it to give an intelligent answer. I believe in the paper with all my heart. If it lives a year, as Miss Virginia said, there is no telling what it can do. The great thing will be for you to issue such a paper as near as we can judge as Jesus would. Such a paper will call for the best that human thought and action are capable of giving. The greatest minds in the world would have their powers taxed to the utmost to issue a Christian daily."

"Yes," Edward Norman said humbly, "I shall make great mistakes, no doubt. I need a great deal of wisdom. But I want to do as Jesus would. 'What would He do?' I have asked it daily, and shall continue to do so, and abide by results."

"I think we are beginning to understand," said Virginia, "the meaning of that command, 'Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.' I am sure I do not know all that He would do in detail until I know Him better."

"That is very true," said Henry Maxwell. "I am beginning to understand that I cannot interpret the probable action of Jesus until I know better what His Spirit is. When we ask, 'What would Jesus do?' we must know Jesus before we can imitate Him."

When the arrangements had been made between Virginia and Edward Norman, he found himself in possession of the sum of five hundred thousand dollars, exclusively his to use for the establishment of a Christian daily paper.

When Virginia and Henry Maxwell had gone, Edward Norman closed his door, and asked like a child for help from his All-powerful Father. All through his prayer, as he kneeled before his desk, ran the promise, "If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him."

#  Chapter Thirty-Seven

TWO MONTHS went by. They were full of action and results in the city of Raymond, especially in the First Church. In spite of the approaching heat of the summer season, the after-meeting of the disciples who had made the pledge to do as Jesus would do, continued with enthusiasm and power.

John Gray had finished his work at the Rectangle, and an outward observer going through the place could not have seen any difference in the old conditions, although there was an actual change in hundreds of lives. But the saloons, dens, hovels, gambling-houses still ran, overflowing their vileness into the lives of fresh victims to take the place of those rescued by the evangelist. And the devil recruited his ranks very fast.

Henry Maxwell did not go abroad. Instead, he took the money he had been saving for the trip and quietly arranged a summer vacation for a family living in the Rectangle, who had never gone outside of the foul district of the tenement.

The pastor of the First Church would never forget the week he spent with this family, making the arrangements. He went down into the Rectangle one hot day, when something of the terrible heat of the tenements was beginning to be felt, and helped the family to the station. He went with them to a beautiful spot on the coast where, in the home of a Christian woman, these bewildered city tenants breathed for the first time the cool salt air, and felt blow about them the pine-scented fragrance of a new lease of life.

There was a sickly baby with a mother. Three other children, one a cripple. The father, who had been out of work and had been, as he afterwards confessed to Maxwell, several times on the verge of suicide, sat with the baby in his arms during the journey.

The mother, a wearied woman who had lost three children the year before from a fever scourge in the Rectangle, sat by the window all the way and drank in the delights of sea and sky and field. It was all a miracle to her. And Henry Maxwell coming back into Raymond, feeling the scorching, sickening heat all the more because of his little taste of the ocean breezes, thanked God for the joy he had witnessed, and entered upon his discipleship with a humble heart, knowing for almost the first time in his life this special kind of sacrifice. For never before had he denied himself his regular summer trip away from the heat of Raymond, whether he felt in any great need of rest or not.

"It is a fact," he said, in reply to several inquiries on the part of his church, "I do not feel in need of a vacation this year. I am very well, and prefer to stay here."

It was with a feeling of relief that he succeeded in concealing from everyone but his wife what he had done with this other family. He felt the need of doing anything of that sort without display or approval from others.

So the summer came on. The First Church was still swayed by the power of the Holy Spirit. Maxwell marveled at the continuance of His stay. He knew very well that from the beginning nothing but the Spirit's presence had kept the church from being torn asunder by this remarkable testing it had received of its discipleship. There were many who had not taken the pledge, who regarded the whole movement as Mrs. Winslow did, in the nature of a fanatical interpretation of Christian duty, and looked for a return of the old normal condition.

Meanwhile, the whole body of disciples was under the influence of the Holy Spirit, and Henry Maxwell went his way that summer doing his parish work in great joy, keeping up his meetings with the railroad men as he had promised Alexander Powers, and daily growing into a better knowledge of the Master.

#  Chapter Thirty-Eight

EARLY ONE EVENING in August, after a day of refreshing coolness following a long period of heat, Jasper Chase walked to the window of his room in the apartment house on the avenue and looked out.

Since that evening when he had spoken to Rachel Winslow he had not met her again. All through the heat of the summer he had been writing, and his book was nearly done now. He had thrown himself into its construction with a feverish strength that threatened at any moment to desert him and leave him helpless.

He had not forgotten his pledge with the other members of the First Church. It had forced itself upon his notice all through his writing, and ever since Rachel Winslow had said no to him.

He had asked a thousand times, "Would Jesus do this? Would He write this story?" It was a society novel, written in a style that had proved popular. Jasper Chase knew that such a story would sell.

"What would Jesus do?" The question obtruded on him at the most inopportune times. He became quick-tempered over it. The standard of Jesus as an author was too ideal. Of course Jesus would use His powers to produce something useful, or helpful, or with a purpose. What was he, Jasper Chase, writing this novel for? Why, what nearly every writer wrote for, namely money and fame.

There was no secret with him that he was writing this new story with that object. He was not poor, and so had no temptation to write for money. But he was urged on by his desire for fame as much as anything. He must write this kind of matter. "But what would Jesus do?" The question plagued him even more than Rachel's refusal. Was he going to break his promise?

As he stood at the window, Rollin Page came out of the clubhouse just opposite. Jasper went hack to his desk and turned over some papers there. Then he returned to the window. Rollin was walking down past the block, and Rachel Winslow was walking beside him. Rollin must have overtaken her as she was coming from Virginia's that afternoon. Jasper watched the two figures until they disappeared in the crowd on the walk. Then he turned to his desk and began to write.

When he had finished the last page of the last chapter of his book it was nearly dark. "What would Jesus do?" He had finally answered the question by denying his Lord. It grew darker in Jasper's room. He had deliberately chosen his course, urged on by his disappointment and loss.

"But Jesus said unto him, No man having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of heaven." Luke 9:62.

#  Chapter Thirty-Nine

WHEN ROLLIN started down the street the afternoon that Jasper stood looking out of his window, he was not thinking of Rachel Winslow, and did not expect to see her. He had come suddenly upon her as she turned into the avenue, and his heart had leaped up at the sight of her. He walked along by her now, rejoicing after all in a little moment of this earthly love he could not drive out of his life.

"I have just been over to see Virginia," said Rachel. "She tells me the arrangements are nearly completed for the transfer of the Rectangle property."

"Yes. It has been a tedious case in the courts. Did Virginia show you all the plans and specifications for buildings?"

"We looked over a good many. It is astonishing to me where Virginia has managed to get all her ideas about this work."

"Virginia knows more now about Arnold Toynbee and East End London, and institutional church work in America than a good many professional slum workers. She has been spending nearly all summer in getting information." Rollin was beginning to feel more at ease as they talked over this coming work for humanity. It was safe common ground.

(Publisher's note: Arnold Toynbee died in 1883 at the age of only 30. He was well-known for his work on improving the living conditions of the poor.)

"What have you been doing all summer? I have not seen much of you," Rachel suddenly asked, and then her face warmed with its quick flush of color, as if she might have implied too much interest in Rollin, or too much regret at not seeing him oftener.

"I have been busy," replied Rollin briefly.

"Tell me something about it," persisted Rachel. "You say so little. Have I a right to ask?" She put the question very frankly, turning towards Rollin in real interest.

"Yes, certainly," he replied, with a grateful smile. "I am not so certain that I can tell you much. I have been trying to find some way to reach the men I once knew, and win them into more useful lives. I have made the pledge to do as I believe Jesus would do, and it is in trying to answer this question that I have been doing my work."

"That is what I do not understand. It seems wonderful to think that you are trying to keep that pledge with us. But what can you do with the club-men?"

"You have asked me a direct question and I shall have to answer it now," replied Rollin, smiling again. "You see, I asked myself after that night at the tent, you remember," -- he spoke hurriedly, and his voice trembled a little, -- "what purpose I could now have in my life to redeem it, to satisfy my thought of Christian discipleship. And the more I thought of it, the more I was driven to a place where I knew I must take up this cross. Did you ever think that of all the neglected beings in our social system none are quite so completely left alone as the young men who fill the clubs and waste their time and money as I used to?

"The churches look after the poor like those in the Rectangle, they make some effort to reach the working men, they send money and missionaries to the foreign heathen. But the fashionable, dissipated young men around town, the club-men, are left out of all plans for reaching and Christianizing. And yet no class of people needs it more.

"I said to myself, 'I know these men, their good and bad qualities. I am not fitted to reach the Rectangle people, but I think I could possibly reach some of these young men and boys who have money and time to spend.' So that is what I have been trying to do. When I asked, as you did, 'What would Jesus do?' \-- that was my answer."

Rollin's voice was so low on the last sentence that Rachel had difficulty in hearing him above the noise around them. But she knew what he had said. She wanted to ask him what his methods were, but she did not know just how to ask. Her interest in his plans was larger than mere curiosity. Rollin Page was so different now from the fashionable young man who had asked her to be his wife. She could not help thinking of him and talking with him as if he were a new acquaintance.

They had turned off the avenue and were going up the street to Rachel's home. It was the same street where Rollin had asked Rachel why she could not love him. They were both stricken by a sudden shyness as they went on. Rachel had not forgotten that day, and Rollin could not. She finally broke a long silence by asking him what she had not found words for before.

"In your work for the club-men, with your old acquaintances, what sort of reception do they give you? How do you approach them? What do they say?"

Rollin answered after a moment. "Oh, it depends on the man. A good many of them think I am a crank. I have kept my membership up and am in good standing in that way, and I try not to provoke any unnecessary criticism. You would be surprised to know how many of the men have responded to my appeal. I could hardly make you believe that, only a few nights ago, a dozen men became honestly and earnestly engaged in a conversation over religious questions.

"I have had the great joy of seeing some of the men give up bad habits and begin a new life. 'What would Jesus do?' I keep asking it. The answer comes slowly, for I am feeling my way along. One thing I have found out. The men are not fighting shy of me. I think that is a good sign. I have actually interested some of them in the Rectangle work, and when it is started up they will give something to help make it more powerful. And, in addition to all the rest, I have found a way to save some of the young fellows from going to the bad in gambling."

Rollin spoke with enthusiasm. His face was transformed by his interest in the subject which had now become a part of his life. Rachel noted the strong tone of his speech. With it all she knew was a deep, underlying seriousness which felt the burden of the cross even while carrying it with joy. The next time she spoke it was with a swift feeling of justice due to Rollin and his new life.

"Do you remember I reproached you once for not having any purpose worth living for?" she asked, while her face seemed to Rollin more beautiful than ever. "I want to say, I feel the need of saying in justice to you now, that I honor you for your courage and your obedience to your promise. The life you are living now is a very noble one."

Rollin's agitation was greater than he could control. Rachel could not help seeing it. They walked along in silence.

At last Rollin said, "I thank you. It has been more than I can tell to hear you say that." He looked into her face for one moment. She read his love for her in that look. But he did not speak.

When they separated, Rachel went into the house. Sitting down in her room she put her face in her hands and said to herself, "I am beginning to know what it means to be loved by a noble man. I shall love Rollin Page after all... What am I saying!"

She rose and walked back and forth, deeply moved. Nevertheless, it was evident to herself that her emotion was not that of regret or sorrow. Somehow a glad new joy had come to her. She had entered another circle of experience, and she rejoiced with a very strong and sincere gladness that her Christian discipleship found room for this crisis in her feeling. It was indeed a part of it, for if she was beginning to love Rollin Page, it was the Christian man who had won her heart. The other never would have moved her to this great change.

And Rollin, as he went back, treasured a hope that had been a stranger to him since Rachel had said no that day.

#  Chapter Forty

THE SUMMER had gone, and Raymond was once more facing the rigor of her winter season. Virginia had been able to accomplish a part of her plan for "capturing the Rectangle," as she called it. But the building of houses in the field, the transforming of its bleak, bare aspect into an attractive park, all of which was included in her plan, was a work too large to be completed that fall after she had secured the property.

But a million dollars, in the hands of a person who really wants to do with it as Jesus would, ought to accomplish wonders for humanity in a short time; and Henry Maxwell, going over to the scene of the new work one day after a noon hour with the newspaper men, was amazed to see how much had been done outwardly.

Yet he walked home thoughtfully, and on his way he could not avoid the question of the continual problem thrust into his notice by the saloon. How much had been done for the Rectangle after all? Even counting in Virginia's and Rachel's work and Mr. Gray's, where had it actually counted in any visible quantity?

Of course, he said to himself that the redemptive work begun and carried on by the Holy Spirit in His wonderful displays of power in the First Church, and in the tent meetings, had had its effect on the life of Raymond. But as he walked past saloon after saloon, and noted the crowds going in and coming out of them, as he caught the brutality and squalor and open misery and degradation on countless faces of men and women and children, he sickened at the sight.

He found himself asking how much cleansing could even a million dollars poured into this cesspool accomplish? He could not escape the question. It was the same that Virginia had put to Rachel in her statement that in her opinion nothing really would ever be done until the saloons were taken out of the Rectangle.

Henry Maxwell went back to his parish work that afternoon with added convictions on the license business.

But if the saloons were a factor in the problem of the life of Raymond, no less was the First Church and its little company of disciples who had pledged themselves to do as Jesus would do. Henry Maxwell, standing at the very centre of the movement, was not in a position to judge of its power as someone from the outside might have done. But Raymond itself felt the touch of this new discipleship, and was changed in very many ways, not knowing all the reasons for the change.

* * *

The winter had gone and the year was ended, the year which Henry Maxwell had fixed as the time during which the pledge should be kept to do as Jesus would do. Sunday, the anniversary of that one a year ago, was in many ways the most remarkable day the First Church ever knew. It was more important than the disciples in the First Church realized.

It happened that the week before that anniversary Sunday, the Rev. Calvin Bruce, D.D. of the Nazareth Avenue Church, Chicago, was in Raymond where he had come on a visit to some old friends, and incidentally to see his old seminary classmate, Henry Maxwell.

He was present at the First Church, and was an exceedingly attentive and interested spectator. His account of events in Raymond, and especially of that Sunday, may throw more light on the entire situation than any description or record from other sources.

#  Chapter Forty-One

LETTER from the Rev. Calvin Bruce, D.D., of the Nazareth Avenue Church, Chicago, to the Rev. Philip S. Caxton, D.D., New York City.

My Dear Caxton,

It is late Sunday night, but I am so intensely awake, and so overflowing with what I have seen and heard, that I feel driven to write you now some account of the situation in Raymond, as it has apparently come to a climax today. So this is my only excuse for writing so extended a letter at this time.

You remember Henry Maxwell in the seminary? I think you said, the last time I visited you in New York, that you had not seen him since we graduated. He was a refined, scholarly fellow, you remember, and when he was called to the First Church of Raymond, within a year after leaving the seminary, I said to my wife, "Raymond has made a good choice. Maxwell will satisfy them as a "sermonizer." He has now been here eleven years, and I understand that up to a year ago he had gone on in the regular course of the ministry, drawing a good congregation to his morning preaching service.

His church was counted the largest, most wealthy church in Raymond. All the best people attended it. The quartette choir was famous for its music, especially for its soprano, Miss Winslow, of whom I shall have more to say; and on the whole, as I understand the facts, Maxwell was in a comfortable berth, with a very good salary, pleasant surroundings, a parish of refined, rich, respectable people -- such a church and parish as nearly all the young men in the seminary in our time looked forward to as desirable.

But a year ago today, Maxwell came into his church on Sunday morning, and at the close of his service made the astounding proposition that the members of his church volunteer for a year not to do anything without first asking the question, "What would Jesus do?" and, after answering it, to do what in their honest judgment He would do, regardless of what the result might be to them.

Those who have not taken the pledge regard the others as foolishly literal in their attempts to imitate the example of Jesus. Some of them have drawn out of the church and no longer attend. Some are an internal element of strife, and I heard rumors of an attempt on their part to force Maxwell's resignation. I do not know that this element is very strong. It has been held in check by a wonderful continuance of spiritual power, which dates from the first Sunday the pledge was taken a year ago, and also by the fact that so many prominent members have been identified with the movement.

I do not know if I agree with Maxwell altogether; but, my dear Caxton, it is certainly astonishing to note the results of this idea, as they have impressed themselves upon this city and this church.

At the end of the meeting, Maxwell frankly admitted that he was still, to a certain degree, uncertain as to Jesus' probable action when it came to the details of household living, the possession of wealth, the holding of certain luxuries. It is, however, evident that many of these disciples have repeatedly carried their obedience to Jesus to the extreme limit, regardless of financial loss. There is no lack of courage or consistency at this point.

It is also true that some of the businessmen who took the pledge have lost great sums of money in this imitation of Jesus, and very many have, like Alexander Powers, lost valuable positions owing to the impossibility of doing what they had been accustomed to do, and at the same time doing what they felt Jesus would do in the same place.

In connection with these cases it is pleasant to record the fact that many who have suffered in this way have been helped financially by those who still have means. In this respect I think it is true that these disciples have all things in common. Certainly such scenes as I witnessed at the First Church at that after-service this morning I never saw in my church or any other. I never dreamed that such Christian fellowship could exist in this age of the world.

Before the meeting closed today, steps were taken to secure the cooperation of all other Christian disciples in this country. I think Henry Maxwell took this step after long deliberation. He said as much to me one day when I called upon him and we were discussing the effect of this movement upon the Church in general.

This is a grand idea, Caxton, but right here is where I find myself hesitating. I do not deny that the Christian disciple ought to follow Christ's steps as closely as these here in Raymond have tried to do. But I cannot avoid asking what the result will be if I ask my church in Chicago to do it.

I am writing this after feeling the solemn, profound touch of the Holy Spirit's presence, and I confess to you, old friend, that I cannot call up in my church a dozen prominent business or professional men who would make this trial at the risk of all that they hold dear. Can you do any better in your church? What are we to say? That the church would not respond to the call, "Come and suffer"?

My church is wealthy, full of well-to-do, satisfied people. The standard of their discipleship is, I am aware, not of a nature to respond to the call to suffering or personal loss. I say, "I am aware." I may be mistaken. I may have erred in not stirring their deeper life.

Caxton, my friend, I have spoken my inmost thought to you. Shall I go back to my people next Sunday and stand up before them in my large city church and say, "Let us follow Jesus closer. Let us walk in His steps where it will cost us something more than it is costing us now. Let us pledge not to do anything without first asking, 'What would Jesus do?'"

If I should go before them with that message, it would be a strange and startling one to them. But why? Are we not really to follow Jesus all the way? What is it to be a follower of Jesus? What does it mean to imitate Him? What does it mean to walk in His steps?

* * *

The Rev. Calvin Bruce, D.D., of the Nazareth Avenue Church, Chicago, let his pen fall on the paper. The night was very still. The clock in the First Church was striking midnight. As it finished, a clear strong voice down in the direction of the Rectangle came floating up to him as if home on radiant pinions.

"Must Jesus bear the cross alone,

And all the world go free?

No! There's a cross for everyone,

And there's a cross for me."

It was the voice of one of Gray's old converts, a night watchman at the packing houses, who sometimes solaced his lonesome hours by a verse or two from some familiar hymn.

The Rev. Calvin Bruce turned away from the window, and after a little hesitation he kneeled down. "What would Jesus do? What would Jesus do?"

Never had he yielded himself so completely to the Spirit's searching, revealing of Jesus. He was on his knees a long time. He retired, and slept fitfully, with many awakenings. He rose before it was clear dawn, and threw open his window again. As the light in the east grew stronger, he repeated to himself, "What would Jesus do? What would He do? Shall I follow His steps?"

The sun rose and flooded the city with its power. With this question throbbing through his whole being, the Rev. Calvin Bruce went back to Chicago, and the great crisis of his Christian life in the ministry suddenly broke irresistibly upon him.

#  Chapter Forty-Two

THE SATURDAY MATINEE at the Auditorium in Chicago was just over, and the usual crowd was struggling to get to its carriage before anyone else. The Auditorium attendant was shouting out the number of different carriages, and the carriage doors were slamming as the horses were driven rapidly to the curb, held there impatient by the drivers who had shivered long in the raw east wind, and then let go to plunge for a few minutes into the river of vehicles that tossed under the elevated railway and finally went whirling off up the avenue.

"Now, then, six-two-four!" shouted the Auditorium attendant; "Six-two-four!" he repeated, and there dashed up to the curb a splendid span of black horses attached to a carriage having the monogram C. R. S. in gilt letters on the panel of the door.

Two girls stepped out of the crowd towards the carriage. The older one had entered and taken her seat, and the attendant was still holding the door open for the younger, who stood hesitating on the curb.

"Come, Felicia! What are you waiting for? I shall freeze to death!" called the voice from the carriage.

The girl outside of the carriage hastily unpinned a bunch of English violets from her dress and handed them to a small boy who was standing shivering on the edge of the sidewalk, almost under the horses' feet. He took them with a look of astonishment and a "Thank ye, lady!" and instantly buried a very grimy face in the bunch of perfume.

The girl stepped into the carriage, the door shut with the incisive bang peculiar to well-made carriages of this sort, and in a few moments the coachman was speeding the horses rapidly up one of the boulevards.

"You are always doing some strange thing or other, Felicia," said the older girl, as the carriage whirled on past the great residences already brilliantly lighted.

"Am I? What have I done that is strange now, Rose?" asked the other, looking up suddenly and turning her head towards her sister.

"Oh, giving those violets to that boy. He looked as if he needed a good hot supper more than a bunch of violets. It's a wonder you didn't invite him home with us. I shouldn't have been surprised if you had. You are always doing such strange things."

"Would it be strange to invite a boy like that to come to the house and get a hot supper?" Felicia asked the question softly, and almost as if she was alone.

"Strange isn't just the word, of course," replied Rose indifferently. "It would be what Madam Blanc calls _outré_. Decidedly. Therefore, you will please _not_ invite him, _or_ others like him, to hot suppers because you think I suggested it. Oh dear, I'm awfully tired!"

She yawned, and Felicia silently looked out of the window in the door.

"The concert was stupid, and the violinist was simply a bore. I don't see how you could sit so still through it all," Rose exclaimed, a little impatiently.

"I liked the music," answered Felicia.

"You like anything. I never saw a girl with so little critical taste."

Felicia colored slightly, but would not answer. Rose yawned again, and then hummed a fragment of a popular song. Then she exclaimed abruptly, "I'm sick of most everything. I hope _The Shadows of London_ will be exciting tonight."

"The shadows of Chicago," murmured Felicia, her attention fixed on the dark city streets.

"The Shadows of Chicago! _The Shadows of London_ , the play, the great drama with its wonderful scenery, the sensation of New York for two months. You know we have a box with the Delanos tonight."

Felicia turned her face towards her sister. Her great brown eyes were very expressive and not altogether free from a sparkle of luminous heat. "And yet we never weep over the real thing on the actual stage of life. What are the shadows of London on the stage to the shadows of London or Chicago as they really exist? Why don't we get excited over the facts as they are?"

"Because the actual people are dirty and disagreeable and it's too much bother, I suppose," replied Rose carelessly. "Felicia, you never can reform the world. What's the use? We're not to blame for the poverty and misery. There have always been rich and poor. And there always will be. We ought to be thankful we're rich."

"Suppose Jesus Christ had gone on that principle," replied Felicia, with unusual persistence. "Do you remember Dr. Bruce's sermon on that verse a few Sundays ago: 'For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might become rich'?"

"I remember it well enough," said Rose, with some petulance. "And didn't Dr. Bruce go on to say that there was no blame attached to people who have wealth, if they are kind and give to the needs of the poor? And I am sure the Doctor himself is pretty comfortably settled. He never gives up his luxuries just because some people in the city go hungry. What good would it do if he did? I tell you, Felicia, there will always be poor and rich in spite of all we can do. Ever since Cousin Rachel has written about the strange doings in Raymond, you have upset the whole family. People can't live at that pitch all the time. You see if Rachel doesn't give it up soon. It's a great pity she doesn't come to Chicago and sing in the Auditorium concerts. I'm going to write and urge her to come. I'm just dying to hear her sing."

Felicia looked out of the window and was silent. The carriage rolled on past two blocks of magnificent private residences and turned into a wide driveway under a covered passage, and the sisters hurried into the house. It was an elegant mansion of gray stone, furnished like a palace, every comer of it warm with the luxury of paintings, sculpture, art, and modern refinement.

The owner of it all, Mr. Charles R. Sterling, stood before an open fire smoking a cigar. He had made his money in grain speculation and railroad ventures, and was reputed to be worth something over two millions. His wife was a sister of Mrs. Winslow of Raymond, and had been an invalid for several years. The two girls, Rose and Felicia, were the only children. Rose was twenty-one years old -- fair, vivacious, educated in a fashionable college, just entering society, and already somewhat cynical and indifferent. A very hard young lady to please, her father said sometimes playfully, sometimes sternly.

Felicia was nineteen, with a tropical beauty somewhat like her cousin Rachel Winslow, with warm, generous impulses just waking into Christian feeling, capable of all sorts of expression, a puzzle to her father, a source of irritation to her mother, and with a great unsurveyed territory of thought and action in herself of which she was becoming more and more conscious.

"Here's a letter for you, Felicia," said Mr. Sterling, taking it out of his pocket.

Felicia sat down and instantly opened the letter, saying as she did so, "It's from Rachel."

"Well, what's the latest news from Raymond?" asked Mr. Sterling, taking his cigar out of his mouth and looking at Felicia as he often did with half-shut eyes, as if he were studying her.

"Rachel says Dr. Bruce has been in Raymond for two Sundays and has seemed very much interested in Mr. Maxwell's pledge in the First Church."

"What does Rachel say about herself?" asked Rose, who was lying on a couch almost buried under half a dozen elegant cushions.

"She is still singing at the Rectangle. Since the tent meetings closed, she sings in an old hall, until the new buildings her friend Virginia Page is putting up are completed."

Mr. Sterling lighted a new cigar. "I must write Rachel to come to Chicago and visit us. She ought not to throw away her voice in that railroad town upon all those people who don't appreciate her."

Rose exclaimed, "Rachel might set Chicago wild with her voice if she sang in the Auditorium. And there she goes on, throwing her voice away on people who don't know what they are hearing."

"Rachel won't come here to sing unless she can do it and keep her pledge at the same time," said Felicia, after a pause.

"What pledge?" Mr. Sterling asked the question, and then added hastily, "Oh, I know _;_ yes. A very peculiar thing, that. Powers used to be a friend of mine. We learned telegraphy in the same office. Made a great sensation when he resigned and handed over that evidence to the Interstate Commerce Commission. And he's back at his telegraph again. There have been strange doings in Raymond during the past year. I wonder what Dr. Bruce thinks of it. I must have a talk with him about it."

"He preaches tomorrow," said Felicia. "Perhaps he will tell us something about it."

There was silence for a minute. Then Felicia said abruptly, as if she had gone on with a spoken thought to some invisible hearer, "And what if he should propose the same pledge to the Nazareth Avenue Church?"

"Who? What are you talking about?" asked her father a little sharply.

"About Dr. Bruce. I say, what if he should propose to our church what Mr. Maxwell proposed to his, and ask for volunteers who would pledge themselves to do everything after asking the question, 'What would Jesus do?'"

"There's no danger of it," said Rose, rising suddenly from the couch as the tea-bell rang.

"It's a very impracticable movement, to my mind," said Mr. Sterling.

"I understand from Rachel's letter," said Felicia, "that the church in Raymond is going to make an attempt to extend the idea of the pledge to the other churches. If they succeed, they will certainly make great changes in the churches and in people's lives."

"Oh, well, let's have some tea first," said Rose, walking into the dining room.

Her father and Felicia followed, and the meal proceeded in silence. Mrs. Sterling had her meals served in her room. Mr. Sterling was preoccupied. He ate very little and excused himself early, and although it was Saturday night he remarked as he went out that he would be downtown late on some special business.

"Don't you think father looks very much disturbed lately?" asked Felicia, a little while after he had gone out.

"Oh, I don't know. I hadn't noticed anything unusual," replied Rose. After a silence she said, "Are you going to the play tonight, Felicia? Mrs. Delano will be here at half-past seven. I think you ought to go. She will feel hurt if you refuse."

"I'll go. I don't care about it. I can see shadows enough without going to the play."

"That's a doleful remark for a girl nineteen years old to make," replied Rose. "But then you're strange in your ideas anyhow, Felicia. If you're going up to see mother, tell her I'll run in after the play, if she's still awake."

Felicia went up to see her mother, and remained with her until the Delano carriage came. Mrs. Sterling was worried about her husband. She talked incessantly, and was irritated by every remark Felicia made. She would not listen to Felicia's attempt to read even a part of Rachel's letter, and when Felicia offered to stay with her for the evening she refused the offer with a good deal of positive sharpness.

#  Chapter Forty-Three

FELICIA started off to the play not very happy, but she was familiar with that feeling, only sometimes she was more unhappy than at other times. Her feeling expressed itself tonight by a withdrawal into herself. When the company was seated in the box and the curtain was up, Felicia was back of the others, and remained for the evening by herself. Mrs. Delano, as chaperone for a half-dozen young ladies, understood Felicia well enough to know that she was "strange," as Rose so often said, and she made no attempt to draw her out of the corner.

The play was an English melodrama, full of startling situations, realistic scenery, and unexpected climaxes. There was one scene in the third act that impressed even Rose Sterling. It was midnight on Blackfriars Bridge. The Thames flowed dark and forbidding below. St. Paul's rose through the dim light, imposing, its dome seeming to float above the buildings surrounding it.

The figure of a child came upon the bridge and stood there for a moment peering about as if looking for someone. Several persons were crossing the bridge, but in one of the recesses a woman stood, leaning out over the parapet with a strained agony of face and figure that told plainly of her intentions. Just as she was stealthily mounting the parapet to throw herself into the river, the child caught sight of her, ran forward with a shrill cry more animal than human, and seizing the woman's dress, dragged back upon it with all her little strength.

Then there came suddenly upon the scene two other characters who had already figured in the play, a tall, handsome, athletic gentleman, dressed in the fashion, attended by a slim-figured lady who was as refined in dress and appearance as the little girl clinging to her mother was mournfully hideous in her rags and repulsive poverty.

These two, the gentleman and the lady, prevented the attempted suicide, and after a tableau on the bridge, where the audience learned that the man and woman were brother and sister, the scene was transferred to the interior of one of the slum tenements in the East End of London.

Here the scene painter and carpenter had done their utmost to produce an exact copy of a famous court and alley well known to the poor creatures who made up a part of the outcast London humanity.

The rags, the crowding, the broken furniture, the horrible animal existence forced upon creatures made in God's image, were so skillfully shown in this scene that more than one elegant woman in the theatre, seated like Rose Sterling in a sumptuous box surrounded with silk hangings and velvet-covered railing, caught herself shrinking back a little, as if contamination were possible from the nearness of this piece of painted canvas.

It was almost too realistic, and yet it had a horrible fascination for Felicia, as she sat there alone, buried back in a cushioned seat and absorbed in thoughts that went far beyond the dialogue on the stage.

From the tenement scene, the play shifted to the interior of a nobleman's palace, and almost a sigh of relief went up all over the house at the sight of the accustomed luxury of the upper classes. The contrast was startling. It was brought about by a clever piece of staging that allowed only a few minutes to elapse between the slum and the palace scenes. The dialogue continued, the actors came and went in their various roles, but upon Felicia the play made but one distinct impression.

In reality, the scenes on the bridge and in the slum were only incidents in the story of the play, but Felicia found herself living those scenes over and over. This was not the first time she had felt the contrast thrust into her feeling between the upper and the lower conditions of human life. It had been growing upon her until it had made her what Rose called "strange," and the other people in her circle of wealthy acquaintances called "very unusual."

"Come, Felicia, aren't you going home?" said Rose.

The play was over, the curtain down, and people were going noisily out, laughing and gossiping, as if _The Shadows of London_ was simply good diversion put on the stage so effectively.

Felicia rose and went out with the rest quietly, and with the absorbed feeling that had actually left her in her seat oblivious of the play's ending. She was never absent-minded, but often thought herself into a condition that left her alone in the midst of a crowd.

"Well, what did you think of it?" asked Rose, when the sisters had reached home and were in the drawing-room. Rose really had considerable respect for Felicia's judgment of a play.

"I thought it was a pretty fair picture of real life."

"I mean the acting," said Rose, annoyed.

"The bridge scene was well acted, especially the woman's part. I thought the man overdid the sentiment a little."

"Did you? I enjoyed that. And wasn't the scene between the two cousins funny when they first learned that they were related? But the slum scene was horrible. I think they ought not to show such things in a play. They are too painful."

"They must be painful in real life too," replied Felicia.

"Yes, but we don't have to look at the real thing. It's bad enough at the theatre, where we pay for it."

Rose went into the dining room and began to eat from a plate of fruit and cakes on the sideboard.

"Are you going up to see mother?" asked Felicia, after a while. She had remained in front of the drawing-room fire.

"No," replied Rose from the other room. "I won't trouble her tonight. If you go in, tell her I am too tired to be agreeable."

So Felicia turned into her mother's room. As she went up the great staircase and down the upper hall, the light was burning there, and the servant who always waited on Mrs. Sterling was beckoning Felicia to come in.

"Tell Clara to go out," exclaimed Mrs. Sterling, as Felicia came up to the bed and kneeled by it.

Felicia was surprised, but she did as her mother bade her, and then inquired how she was feeling.

"Felicia," said her mother, "can you pray?"

The question was so unlike any her mother had ever asked before, that Felicia was startled. But she answered, "Why, yes, mother. What makes you ask such a question?"

"Felicia, I am frightened. Your father -- I have had such strange fears about him all day. Something is wrong with him. I want you to pray."

"Now? Here, mother?"

"Yes, pray, Felicia."

Felicia reached out her hand and took her mother's. It was trembling. Mrs. Sterling had never shown much tenderness for her younger daughter, and her demand now was the first real sign of any confidence in Felicia's character.

The girl still kneeled, holding her mother's hand, and prayed. It was doubtful if she had ever prayed aloud before. She must have said in her prayer the words that her mother needed, for when it was silent in the room the invalid was weeping softly, and her nervous tension was over.

Felicia stayed some time. When she was assured that her mother would not need her any longer, she rose to go.

"Goodnight, mother. You must let Clara call me if you feel bad in the night."

"I feel better now." Then, as Felicia was moving away, Mrs. Sterling said, "Won't you kiss me, Felicia?"

Felicia went back and bent over her mother. The kiss was almost as strange to her as the prayer had been. When Felicia went out of the room, her cheeks were wet with tears. She had not cried since she was a little girl.

* * *

Sunday morning at the Sterling mansion was generally very quiet. The girls usually went to church at eleven o'clock service. Mr. Sterling was not a member but a heavy contributor, and he generally went to church in the morning. This time he did not come down to breakfast, and finally sent word by a servant that he did not feel well enough to go out. So Rose and Felicia drove up to the door of the Nazareth Avenue Church and entered the family pew alone.

When Dr. Bruce walked out of the room at the rear of the platform, and went up to the pulpit to open the Bible as his custom was, those who knew him best did not detect anything unusual in his manner or his expression. He proceeded with the service as usual. He was calm, and his voice was steady and firm.

His prayer was the first intimation the people had of anything new or strange in the service. It is safe to say that the Nazareth Avenue Church had not heard Dr. Bruce offer such a prayer during the twelve years he had been pastor there.

No one had any idea that the Rev. Calvin Bruce, D.D., the dignified, cultured, refined Doctor of Divinity, had within the past few days been crying like a small child, on his knees, asking for strength and courage to speak his Sunday message.

In the hush that succeeded the prayer, a distinct wave of spiritual power moved over the congregation. The most careless persons in the church felt it. Felicia, whose sensitive nature responded swiftly to every touch of emotion, quivered under the passing of that supernatural power.

And she was not alone. There was something in the prayer and the result of it that stirred many and many a disciple in Nazareth Avenue Church. All over the house, men and women leaned forward; and when Dr. Bruce began to speak of his visit to Raymond, there was an answering response in the church that came back to him as he spoke, and thrilled him with the hope of a spiritual baptism such as he had never during all his ministry experienced.

#  Chapter Forty-Four

"I AM just back from a visit to Raymond," Dr. Bruce began, "and I want to tell you my impressions of the movement there."

After a brief pause he told the story of his stay in Raymond. The people already knew something of that experiment in the First Church. The whole country had watched the progress of the pledge as it had become history in so many lives.

Felicia listened to every word with strained attention. She sat there by the side of Rose, like fire beside snow, although even Rose was as alert as she could be.

"Dear friends," Dr. Bruce said, and for the first time since his prayer the emotion of the occasion was revealed in his voice and gesture, "I am going to ask that Nazareth Avenue Church takes the same pledge that Raymond Church has taken. I know what this will mean to you and me. It will mean the complete change of very many habits. It will mean, possibly, social loss. It will mean very probably loss of money. It will mean what following Jesus meant in the first century -- suffering, loss, hardship, separation from everything un-Christian. But what does following Jesus mean? The test of discipleship is the same now as then. I want those of you who volunteer to do as Jesus would do, simply to promise to walk in His steps, as He gave us commandment."

The pastor of Nazareth Avenue Church paused, and now the result of his announcement was plainly visible in the stir that went over the congregation. He added in a quiet voice that all who volunteered to make the pledge to do as Jesus would do, were asked to remain after the morning service.

Instantly he proceeded with his sermon. His text was from Matthew 7:19, "Master, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest."

It was a revelation to the people of the definition their pastor had been learning; it took them back to the first century of Christianity; above all, it stirred them below the conventional thought of years as to the meaning and purpose of church membership. It was such a sermon as a man can preach once in a lifetime, and with enough in it for people to live on through a lifetime.

The service closed in a hush that was slowly broken. People rose here and there a few at a time. There was a reluctance in the movements of the people that was very striking.

Rose, however, walked straight out of the pew, and as she reached the aisle she turned her head and beckoned to Felicia. By that time the congregation was rising all over the church.

Felicia instantly answered her sister's look. "I'm going to stay," she said.

Rose had heard her speak in the same manner on other occasions, and knew that Felicia's resolve could not he changed. Nevertheless, she went back into the pew two or three steps, and faced her. "Felicia," she whispered, and there was a flush of anger on her cheeks, "this is folly. What can you do? You will bring disgrace upon the family. What will father say? Come."

Felicia looked at her, but did not answer at once. Her lips were moving with a petition that came from a depth of feeling that measured a new life for her. She shook her head. "No, I am going to stay. I shall take the pledge. I am ready to obey it. You do not know why I am doing this."

Rose gave her one look, and then turned and went out of the pew and down the aisle. She did not even stop to talk with her acquaintances. Mrs. Delano was going out of the church just as Rose stepped into the vestibule.

"So you are not going to join the Doctor's volunteer company?" Mrs. Delano asked, in a tone that made Rose redden.

"No, are you? It is simply absurd. I have always regarded the Raymond movement as fanatical. You know Cousin Rachel keeps us posted about it."

"Yes, I understand it is resulting in a great deal of hardship in many cases. For my part, I believe Dr. Bruce has simply provoked a disturbance here. It will result in splitting Nazareth Avenue Church. You see if that isn't so. There are scores of people in the church who are so situated that they can't take such a pledge and keep it. I am one of them," added Mrs. Delano, as she went out with Rose.

When Rose reached home her father was standing in his usual attitude before the open fireplace, smoking a cigar.

"Where is Felicia?" he asked, as Rose came in alone.

"She stayed to an after-meeting," replied Rose shortly. She threw off her wraps and was going upstairs when Mr. Sterling called after her.

"An after-meeting? What do you mean?"

"Dr. Bruce asked the church to take the Raymond pledge."

Mr. Sterling took his cigar out of his mouth and twirled it nervously between his fingers. "I didn't expect that of Dr. Bruce. Did many of the members stay?"

"I don't know; I didn't," replied Rose, and she went upstairs, leaving her father standing in the drawing-room.

After a few minutes he went to the window and stood there looking out at the people driving on the boulevard. His cigar had gone out, but he still fingered it nervously. Then he turned from the window and walked up and down the room. A servant stepped across the hall and announced dinner, and he told her to wait for Felicia.

Rose came downstairs, and went into the library. And still Mr. Sterling paced the drawing-room restlessly.

He had finally wearied of the walking, apparently, and throwing himself into a chair, was brooding over something deeply when Felicia came in.

He stood and faced her. Felicia was evidently much moved by the meeting from which she had just come. At the same time, she did not wish to talk too much about it. Just as she entered the drawing-room, Rose came in from the library.

"How many stayed?" asked Rose. She was curious. At the same time, she was skeptical of the whole movement in Raymond.

"About a hundred," replied Felicia.

Mr. Sterling looked surprised. Felicia was going out of the room, and he called to her. "Do you really mean to keep the pledge?" he asked.

Felicia colored. Over her face and neck the warm blood flowed as she answered, "You would not ask such a question, father, if you had been present at the meeting." She lingered a moment in the room, then asked to be excused from dinner for a while, and went up to see her mother.

No one ever knew what that interview between Felicia and her mother was. It is certain that she must have told her mother something of the spiritual power that had awed every person present in the company of disciples from Nazareth Avenue Church who faced Dr. Bruce in that meeting after the morning service. It is also certain that Felicia had never known such an experience, and never would have thought of sharing it with her mother if it had not been for the prayer the evening before.

When she finally joined her father and Rose at the table, she seemed unable to tell them much about the meeting.

When that Sunday in the Sterling mansion was drawing to a close and the soft, warm lights throughout the dwelling were glowing through the great windows, in a corner of her room, where the light was obscure, Felicia kneeled, and when she raised her face and turned it towards the light, it was the face of a woman who had already defined for herself the greatest issues of earthly life.

#  Chapter Forty-Five

THAT SAME EVENING, after the Sunday evening service, the Rev. Calvin Bruce, D.D., of Nazareth Avenue Church, was talking over the events of the day with his wife. They were of one heart and mind in the matter, and faced their new future with all the faith and courage of new disciples. Neither was deceived as to the probable results of the pledge to themselves or to the church.

They had been talking a little while when the doorbell rang, and Dr. Bruce going to the door, exclaimed as he opened it, "It is you, Edward! Come in!"

There came into the hall a commanding figure. The impression the bishop made on strangers was, first, that of great health, and then of great affection. He came into the parlor and greeted Mrs. Bruce, who after a few moments was called out of the room, leaving the two men together.

The bishop sat in a deep easy-chair before the open fire. There was just enough dampness in the early spring of the year to make an open fire pleasant.

"Calvin, you have taken a very serious step today," he finally said, lifting his large dark eyes to his old college classmate's face. "I heard of it this afternoon. I could not resist the desire to see you about it tonight."

"I'm glad you came." Dr. Bruce sat near the bishop and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You understand what this means, Edward?"

"I think I do. Yes, I am sure." The bishop spoke very slowly and thoughtfully. He sat with his hands clasped together. Over his face, marked with lines of consecration and service, a shadow crept, a shadow not caused by the firelight. Again he lifted his eyes towards his old friend.

"Calvin, we have always understood each other. Ever since our paths led us in different ways in church life, we have walked together in Christian fellowship."

"It is true," replied Dr. Bruce, with an emotion he made no attempt to conceal or subdue. "Thank God for it. I prize your fellowship more than any man's. I have always known what it meant, though it has always been more than I deserve."

The bishop looked affectionately at his friend. But the shadow still rested on his face. After a pause he spoke again.

"The new discipleship means a crisis for you in your work, Calvin. If you keep this pledge to do all things as Jesus would do -- as I know you will -- it requires no prophet to predict some remarkable changes in your parish." The bishop looked wistfully at Bruce, and then continued. "In fact, I do not see how a perfect upheaval of Christianity, as we now know it, can be prevented if the ministry and churches generally take the Raymond pledge and live it out."

He paused as if he were waiting for his friend to say something, to ask some question. But Calvin Bruce did not know of the fire that was burning in the bishop's heart over the very question that Maxwell and himself had fought out.

"Now, in my church, for instance," continued the bishop, "it would be rather a difficult matter, I fear, to find very many people who would take a pledge like that and live up to it. Martyrdom is a lost art with us. Our Christianity loves its ease and comfort too well to take up anything so rough and heavy as a cross. And yet what does following Jesus mean? What is it to walk in His steps?"

The bishop was soliloquizing now. For the first time there flashed into Dr. Bruce's mind a suspicion of the truth. What if the bishop should throw the weight of his great influence on the side of the Raymond movement? He had the following of the most aristocratic, wealthy, fashionable people, not only in Chicago but in several large cities. What if the bishop should join this new discipleship?

Dr. Bruce reached out his hand, and with the familiarity of lifelong friendship placed it on the bishop's shoulder and was about to ask him a very important question when they were both startled by the violent ringing of the doorbell.

Mrs. Bruce had gone to the door and was talking with someone in the hall. There was a loud exclamation, and then, as the bishop rose and Dr. Bruce was stepping toward the curtain that hung before the entrance to the parlor, Mrs. Bruce pushed it aside. Her face was white.

"O Calvin! Such terrible news! Mr. Sterling \-- oh, I cannot tell it! What a fearful blow to those two girls!"

"What is it?" Dr. Bruce advanced with the bishop into the hall and confronted the messenger, a servant from the Sterlings. The man was without his hat, and had evidently run over with the news, as the Doctor lived nearest of any friends of the family.

"Mr. Sterling shot himself, sir, a few minutes ago! He killed himself in his bedroom! Mrs. Sterling..."

"I will go right over. Edward," Dr. Bruce turned to the bishop, "will you go with me? The Sterlings are old friends of yours."

The bishop was pale, but calm. He looked his friend in the face and answered, "Aye, Calvin, I will go with you, not only to this house of death, but also the whole way of human sin and sorrow, please God."

And even in that moment of horror at the unexpected news, Calvin Bruce understood what the bishop had promised to do.

#  Chapter Forty-Six

WHEN DR. BRUCE and the bishop entered the Sterling mansion, everything in the usually well-appointed household was in the greatest confusion and terror. The great rooms downstairs were empty, but overhead were hurried footsteps and confused noises. One of the servants ran down the grand staircase with a look of horror on her face just as the bishop and Dr. Bruce were starting to go up.

"Miss Felicia ... is ... with Mrs. Sterling," the servant stammered in answer to a question, and then burst into a hysterical cry and ran through the drawing-room and out of doors.

At the top of the staircase the two men were met by Felicia. She walked up to Dr. Bruce and put both hands in his. The bishop laid his hand on her head, and the three stood there a moment in perfect silence.

The bishop had known Felicia since she was a child. He was the first to break silence. "The God of all mercy be with you, Felicia, in this dark hour. Your mother..."

For answer to the bishop's unfinished query, Felicia turned and went back into her mother's room. She had not said a word yet.

Rose lay with her arms outstretched on the bed. Clara, the nurse, sat with her head covered, sobbing in spasms of terror. And Mrs. Sterling lay there so still.

The next moment the house below was in a tumult. Almost at the same time the doctor, who had been sent for at once, but lived some distance away, came in, together with police officers who had been summoned by the frightened servants. With them were four or five newspaper correspondents and several neighbors.

Dr. Bruce and the bishop met this miscellaneous crowd at the head of the stairs, and succeeded in excluding all except those whose presence was necessary. With these, the two friends learned all the facts ever known about _The Sterling Tragedy_ , as the papers in their sensational accounts next day called it.

Mr. Sterling had gone into his room that evening about nine o'clock, and that was the last seen of him until, after half an hour, a shot was heard, and a servant who was in the hall ran into the room and found the owner of the house dead on the floor, killed by his own hand.

Felicia at the time was sitting by her mother. Rose was reading in the library. She ran upstairs, saw her father as he was being lifted upon the couch by the servants, and then ran screaming into her mother's room where she flung herself down on the foot of the bed in a swoon. Mrs. Sterling had at first fainted at the shock, then rallied and sent a messenger to call Dr. Bruce. She had then insisted on seeing her husband.

She had compelled Clara and the housemaid, terrified and trembling, to support her while she crossed the hall and entered the room where her husband lay. She had looked upon him with a tearless face, had gone back into her own room, was laid on the bed, and as Dr. Bruce and the bishop entered the house she, with a prayer of forgiveness of herself and her husband on her lips, had died, with Felicia bending over her, and Rose still lying senseless at her feet.

So great and swift had been the entrance of grim Death into that palace of luxury that Sunday night. But the full cause of his coming was not known until the facts in regard to Mr. Sterling's business affairs were finally disclosed.

Then it was learned that for some time he had been facing financial ruin owing to certain speculations that had in a month's time swept his supposed wealth into complete destruction. With the desperation of a man who battles for his very life, when he saw his money, which was all the life he ever valued, slipping from him, he had put off the evil day to the last moment. Sunday afternoon, however, he had received news that proved to him beyond a doubt the fact of his utter ruin.

The very house that he called his, the chairs in which he sat, his carriage, his dishes from which he ate, had all been bought by money for which he himself had never done an honest stroke of pure labor. It had all rested on a tissue of deceit and speculation that had no foundation in real values. He knew the fact better than anyone else, but he had hoped that the same methods that brought him the money would also prevent its loss. As soon as the truth that he was practically a beggar had dawned upon him, he saw no escape from suicide.

He had made money his god. As soon as that god had gone out of his little world there was nothing more to worship. Thus died the great millionaire, Charles R. Sterling.

#  Chapter Forty-Seven

MRS. STERLING'S death was the result of shock. She had not been taken into her husband's confidence for years, but she knew that the source of his wealth was precarious. Her life for several years had been a death in life.

The effect of this triple blow, the death of father and mother and the loss of property, was instantly apparent in the sisters. The horror of events stupefied Rose for weeks. She lay, unmoved by sympathy or any effort to rally. She did not seem yet to realize that the money which had been so large a part of her very existence was gone. Even when she was told that she and Felicia must leave the house and be dependent upon relatives and friends, she did not seem to understand what it meant.

Felicia, however, was fully conscious of the facts. She knew just what had happened and why. She was talking over her future plans with her cousin Rachel a few days after the funerals. Mrs. Winslow and Rachel had left Raymond and come to Chicago at once as soon as the terrible news reached them, and with other friends of the family they were planning for the future of Rose and Felicia.

"Felicia, you and Rose must come back to Raymond with us. That is settled. Mother will not hear of any other plan at present," Rachel said, while her face glowed with love for her cousin -- a love that had deepened day by day, and was intensified by the knowledge that they both belonged to the new discipleship.

"Unless I could find something to do here," answered Felicia.

She looked wistfully at Rachel, and Rachel said gently, "What could you do?"

"Nothing. I was never taught to do anything except a little music, and I do not know enough about it to teach it or earn my living at it. I have learned to cook a little," Felicia answered, with a slight smile.

"Then you can cook for us! Mother is always having trouble with her kitchen," laughed Rachel, understanding well enough that Felicia was thinking of the fact that she was now dependent for her very food and shelter upon the kindness of family friends.

The girls received a little something out of the wreck of their father's fortune, but with a speculator's mad folly he had managed to involve both his wife's and his children's portions in the common ruin.

"Can I? Can I?" Felicia replied to Rachel's proposition, as if it were to be considered seriously. "I am ready to do anything honorable to make my living and that of Rose. Poor Rose! She will never be able to get over the shock of our trouble."

"We will arrange the details when we get to Raymond," Rachel said, smiling through her tears at Felicia's eager willingness to care for herself.

So in a few weeks Rose and Felicia found themselves a part of the Winslow family in Raymond. It was a bitter experience for Rose, but there was nothing else for her to do, and she accepted the inevitable, brooding over the great change in her life, and in many ways adding to the burden of Felicia and her cousin Rachel.

Mrs. Winslow was not in sympathy with the course that Rachel was taking, but the remarkable events since the pledge had been taken were too powerful in their results not to impress even such a woman as Mrs. Winslow.

With Rachel, Felicia found a perfect fellowship. She at once found a part to take in the new work at the Rectangle. In the spirit of her new life she insisted upon helping in the housework at her aunt's, and in a short time demonstrated her ability as a cook so clearly that Virginia suggested that she take charge of the cooking class at the Rectangle.

Felicia entered upon this work with the keenest pleasure. For the first time in her life she had the delight of doing something of value for the happiness of others. Her resolve to do everything after asking, "What would Jesus do?" touched her deepest nature. Even Mrs. Winslow was obliged to acknowledge the great usefulness and beauty of Felicia's character.

The aunt looked with astonishment upon her niece, this city-bred girl, reared in the greatest luxury, the daughter of a millionaire, now walking around in her kitchen, her arms covered with flour and occasionally a streak of it on her nose (for Felicia at first had a habit of rubbing her nose forgetfully when she was trying to remember some recipe), mixing various dishes with the greatest interest in their results, washing up pans and kettles, and doing the ordinary work of a servant in the Winslow kitchen, and at the rooms of the Rectangle settlement.

At first Mrs. Winslow remonstrated. "Felicia, it is not your place to be out here doing this work. I cannot allow it."

"Why, aunt? Don't you like the muffins I made this morning?" Felicia would ask with a hidden smile, knowing her aunt's weakness for that kind of muffin.

"They were beautiful, Felicia. But it does not seem right for you to be doing such work for us."

"Why not? What else can I do?"

Her aunt looked at her thoughtfully, noting her remarkable beauty of face and expression. "You do not always intend to do this kind of work, Felicia?"

"Maybe I shall. I have had a dream of opening an ideal cook shop in Chicago or some large city, and going around to the families in some slum district like the Rectangle, teaching the mothers how to prepare food properly. I remember hearing Dr. Bruce say that he believed one of the great miseries of comparative poverty consisted in poor food. I'm sure I would be able to make a living for Rose and myself, and at the same time help others."

#  Chapter Forty-Eight

THREE MONTHS had gone by since the Sunday morning when Dr. Calvin Bruce came into his pulpit with the message of the new discipleship. Never before had the minister of the Nazareth Avenue Church realized how deep the feelings of his members flowed. He humbly confessed that the appeal he had made met with an unexpected response from men and women who, like Felicia, were hungry for something in their lives that the conventional type of church membership and fellowship had failed to give them.

But Dr. Bruce was not yet satisfied for himself. We cannot tell what his feeling was or what led to the movement he finally made, to the great astonishment of all who knew him, better than by relating a conversation between him and the bishop. The two friends were, as before, in Dr. Bruce's house, seated in his study.

"You know what I have come in this evening for?" the bishop was saying, after they had been talking some time about the results of the pledge with Nazareth Avenue Church people.

Dr. Bruce looked over at the bishop and shook his head.

"I have come to confess," went on the bishop, "that I have not yet kept my promise to walk in His steps in the way that I believe I shall be obliged to, if I satisfy my thought of what it really means."

Dr. Bruce had risen and was pacing his study. The bishop remained in the deep easy-chair, with his hands clasped, but his eye burned with the glow that always belonged to him before he made some great resolve.

"Edward," Dr. Bruce spoke abruptly, "I have not yet been able to satisfy myself, either, in obeying my promise. But I have at last decided on my course. In order to follow it, I shall be obliged to resign from Nazareth Avenue Church."

"I knew you would," replied the bishop quietly. "And I came in this evening to say that I shall be obliged to do the same with my charge."

Dr. Bruce turned and walked up to his friend. They were both laboring under repressed excitement.

"Is it necessary in your case?" asked Calvin Bruce.

"Yes. Let me state my reasons." The bishop paused a moment, then went on with increasing feeling. "I have led what the poor and desperate of this sinful city would call a very comfortable, yes, a very luxurious life. I have a beautiful house to live in, expensive food, clothing, and physical pleasures. I have been able to go abroad at least a dozen times. I have never known what it means to be without money. And I have been unable to silence the question of late, 'What have I suffered for the sake of Christ?'"

The bishop had risen now, and walked over to the window. "Calvin, I have heard the words of Jesus many times lately, 'Inasmuch as ye did it not unto one of these least of these, ye did it not to Me.' When have I personally visited the prisoner or the desperate or the sinful, in any way that has actually caused me suffering? Rather, I have lived in the society of the rich, refined, aristocratic members of my congregations. Where has the suffering come in? What have I suffered for Jesus' sake?"

The bishop sat down and bowed his head. Dr. Bruce spoke at last. "I have been in a similar position for years. My life has been one of comparative luxury. I feel I must resign my place as pastor of Nazareth Avenue Church, in order to satisfy myself that I am walking as I ought to walk in His steps. In this action I judge no other ministers, and pass no criticism on others' discipleship. But I feel as you do. I must come personally into a closer contact with the sin and shame and degradation of this great city."

Sudden silence fell over those two men. They were too thoughtful, too well accustomed to the measuring of conduct, to underestimate the seriousness of their position.

The bishop at last spoke gently. "What is your plan?"

"My plan," replied Dr. Bruce slowly, "is, in brief, the putting of myself into the centre of the greatest human need I can find in this city, and living there. My wife is fully in accord with me. We have already decided to find a residence in that part of the city where we can make our personal lives count for the most."

"Let me suggest a place." The bishop was on fire now. He went on and unfolded a plan of far-reaching power and possibility.

They sat up late, and their plan, as it finally grew into a workable fact, was in reality nothing more than the renting of a large building formerly used as a warehouse for a brewery, reconstructing it and living in it themselves in the very heart of a territory where the saloon ruled with power, where the tenement was at its filthiest, where vice and ignorance and shame and poverty were congested into hideous forms.

It was not a new idea. It was an idea started by Jesus Christ when He left His Father's house and forsook the riches that were His, in order to get nearer humanity and, by becoming a part of its sin, helping to draw humanity away from its sin. It was the nearest approach to anything that would satisfy the hunger of these two men to suffer for Christ.

So they reasoned for themselves, not judging others. They were simply keeping their own pledge, to do as Jesus would do, as they honestly judged He would do. That was what they had promised.

The bishop had money of his own. Everyone in Chicago knew that the bishop had a handsome fortune. Dr. Bruce had acquired and saved, by literary work carried on in connection with his parish duties. This money, a large part of it, the two friends agreed to put at once into the work, most of it into the furnishing of a Settlement House.

#  Chapter Forty-Nine

NAZARETH AVENUE CHURCH was experiencing something never known before in all its history. The simple appeal, on the part of its pastor to his members, to do as Jesus would do, had created a sensation that still continued.

The result of that appeal was very much the same as in Henry Maxwell's church in Raymond, but Nazareth Avenue Church was far more aristocratic, wealthy, and conventional. Nevertheless, when one Sunday morning in early summer Dr. Bruce came into his pulpit and announced his resignation, the sensation deepened all over the city.

But when it became publicly known that the bishop also had announced his retirement from the position he had held so long, in order to go and live in the centre of the worst part of Chicago, the public astonishment reached its height.

"But," the bishop replied to one valued friend, who had almost with tears tried to dissuade him from his purpose, "why should what Dr. Bruce and I propose to do seem so remarkable a thing, as if it were unheard-of that a doctor of divinity and a bishop should want to save souls in this particular manner? If we were going to Bombay, or Hong Kong, or any place in Africa, the churches and the people would exclaim at the heroism of missions. Why should it seem so great a thing, if we have been led to give our lives to help rescue the lost of our own city?"

Nazareth Avenue Church parted from its pastor with regret for the most part, although the regret was modified by some relief on the part of those who had refused to take the pledge.

* * *

It was fall again, and Chicago faced another hard winter. The bishop one afternoon came out of the Settlement where he now lived, intending to go on a visit to one of his new friends in the district. He had walked about four blocks, when he was attracted by a shop that looked different from the others. The neighborhood was still quite new to the bishop, and every day he discovered some strange spot or stumbled upon some unexpected humanity.

The place that attracted his notice was a small house close by a Chinese laundry. There were two windows in the front, very clean, and that was remarkable to begin with. Then inside the window was a tempting display of cookery, with prices attached to the various articles.

As he stood looking at the windows, the door between them opened, and Felicia Sterling came out.

"Felicia!" said the bishop. "When did you move into my parish without my knowledge?"

"How did you find me so soon?" asked Felicia.

"Ah, these are the only clean windows in the block! But why have you dared to come to Chicago without telling me, and how have you entered my diocese without my knowledge?" the bishop asked in mock displeasure.

"Well, dear Bishop," said Felicia, who had always called him so whenever they had met, "I knew how overwhelmed you were with your work. I did not want to burden you with my plans. And, besides, I am going to offer you my services. Indeed, I was just on my way to see you and ask your advice. I am settled here for the present with Mrs. Bascom, a saleswoman who rents our three rooms, and with Martha, one of Rachel's music pupils who is being helped to a course in violin by Virginia Page. I am keeping house for her, and at the same time beginning an experiment in pure food for the people around here. I have a plan I want you to develop. Will you, dear Bishop?"

"Indeed, I will," replied the bishop. The sight of Felicia and her remarkable vitality, enthusiasm, and evident purpose almost bewildered him.

"Martha can help at the Settlement with her violin, and I will help with my food. You see, I thought I would get settled first and work out something, and then come with some real thing to offer. I'm able to earn my own living now."

"You are?" The bishop said it a little incredulously. "How? Making _those_ things?"

"' _Those_ things'!" said Felicia, with a show of indignation. "I would have you know, sir, that 'those things' are the best-cooked, purest food products in this whole city."

"I don't doubt it," said the bishop hastily, while his eyes twinkled. "Still, the proof of the pudding... You know the rest."

"Come in and try some," exclaimed Felicia. "You poor bishop, you look as if you hadn't had a good meal for a month!"

She insisted on the bishop entering the little front room, where Martha, a wide-awake girl with short curly hair and an unmistakable air of music about her, was busy with practice.

"Go right on, Martha. This is the bishop. You have heard me speak of him often. Sit down there and let me give you a taste of good food, for I believe you have been fasting."

So Felicia and the bishop had an improvised lunch, and the bishop, who had not taken time for weeks to enjoy his meals, feasted on the delight of his unexpected discovery, and was able to express his astonishment and gratification at the quality of the cookery.

"The Auditorium banquets were simply husks compared to this one, Felicia. But you must come to the Settlement. I want you to see what we are doing. And I am simply astonished to find you here, earning your living this way. I begin to see what your plan is. You can be of infinite help to us. You don't really mean that you will live here and help these people to know the value of good food?"

"Indeed, I do," Felicia answered. "That is my gospel. Shall I not follow it?"

Felicia went back with the bishop, amazed at the results of what considerable money and a good deal of consecrated brains had done. As they walked through the Settlement building they talked incessantly. Felicia was the incarnation of vital enthusiasm. Even the bishop wondered at the exhibition of it, as it bubbled up and sparkled over.

They went down into the basement, and the bishop pushed open the door, from behind which came the sound of a carpenter's plane. It was a small but well-equipped carpenter's shop. A young man with a paper cap on his head and clad in overalls was whistling, and driving the plane as he whistled. He looked up as the bishop and Felicia entered, and took off his cap. As he did so, his little finger carried a small curling shaving up to his hair, and it caught there.

"Miss Sterling, Mr. Stephen Clyde," said the bishop. "Stephen is one of our helpers here two afternoons in the week."

Just then the bishop was called upstairs, and he excused himself for a moment, leaving Felicia and the young carpenter together.

"We have met before," said Felicia, looking at Stephen Clyde frankly.

"Yes, 'back in the world,' as the bishop says," replied the young man.

Felicia hesitated. "I am very glad to see you."

"Are you?" The flush of pleasure mounted to the young carpenter's forehead. "You have had a great deal of trouble since -- then?" he said, and then he was afraid he had wounded her, or called up painful memories.

But Felicia had lived over all that. "Yes, and you also. How is it you are working here?"

"It is a long story, Miss Sterling. My father lost his money, and I was obliged to go to work. A very good thing for me. The bishop says I ought to be grateful. I am. I am very happy now. I learned the trade hoping some time to be of use. I am night clerk at one of the hotels. That Sunday morning when you took the pledge at Nazareth Avenue Church, I took it with the others."

"Did you?" said Felicia slowly. "I am glad."

Just then the bishop came back, and very soon he and Felicia went away, leaving the young carpenter at his work. Someone noticed that he whistled louder than ever as he planed.

"Felicia," said the bishop, "did you know Stephen Clyde before?"

"Yes, he was one of my acquaintances in Nazareth Avenue Church."

"Ah!" said the bishop.

"We were very good friends," added Felicia.

"But nothing more?" the bishop ventured to ask.

Felicia's face glowed for an instant. Then she looked the bishop in the eyes frankly and answered, "Truly and truly, nothing more."

The week following, the bishop was coming back to the Settlement very late when two men jumped out from behind an old fence that shut off an abandoned factory from the street, and faced him. One of the men thrust a pistol into the bishop's face, and the other threatened him with a sharp stake that had evidently been torn from the fence.

"Hold up your hands, and be quick about it!" said the man with the pistol.

The place was solitary, and the bishop had no thought of resistance. He did as he was commanded, and the man with the stake began to go through his pockets. The bishop was calm. As he stood there with his arms uplifted, a spectator might have thought that he was praying for the souls of these two men. And he was.

#  Chapter Fifty

THE BISHOP was not in the habit of carrying much money with him, and the man who was searching him uttered an oath at the small amount of change he found. As he uttered it, the man with the pistol savagely said, "Jerk out his watch! We might as well get all we can out of the job!"

The man with the stake was on the point of laying hold of the chain when there was the sound of footsteps coming towards them.

"Get behind the fence! We haven't half searched him yet. Mind you keep shut now, if you don't want--------"

The man with the pistol made a significant gesture with it, and his companion pulled and pushed the bishop down the alley and through a broken opening in the fence. The three stood there in the shadow until the footsteps passed.

"Now, then, have you got the watch?" asked the man with the pistol.

"No, the chain is caught somewhere!" And the other man swore again.

"Break it, then!"

"No, don't break it," the bishop said, and it was the first time he had spoken. "The chain is the gift of a very dear friend. I should be sorry to have it broken."

At the sound of the bishop's voice, the man with the pistol started as if he had been shot by his own weapon. With a quick movement of his other hand he turned the bishop's head towards what little light was shining from the alleyway, at the same time taking a step nearer. Then, to the evident amazement of his companion, he said, "Leave the watch alone! We've got the money. That's enough!"

"Enough! Fifty cents! You don't reckon--------"

Before the man with the stake could say another word, he was confronted with the muzzle of the pistol, turned from the bishop's head towards his own.

"Leave that watch be! And put back the money, too. This is the bishop we've held up! The bishop, do you hear?"

"And what of it? The President of the United States wouldn't be too good to hold up, if--------"

"Put the money back, or I'll blow a hole through your head that'll let in more sense than you have to spare now," said the other.

For a second the man with the stake seemed to hesitate at this turn in events, as if measuring his companion's intention. Then he hastily dropped the money back into the bishop's pocket.

"You can take your hands down, sir." The man with the pistol lowered it slowly, still keeping an eye on the other man.

The bishop slowly brought his arms to his side and looked at the two men. In the dim light it was difficult to distinguish features. He was evidently free to go his way now, but he stood there, making no movement.

"You can go on. You needn't stay any longer on our account." The man who had acted as spokesman turned and sat down on a stone. The other man stood viciously digging his stake into the ground.

"That's just what I'm staying for," replied the bishop. He sat down on a board that projected from the broken fence.

"You must like our company. It is hard sometimes for people to tear themselves away from us," the man standing up said, laughing.

"Shut up!" exclaimed the other. "We're on the road to hell, though, that's sure enough. We need better company than ourselves and the devil."

"If you would only allow me to be of any help--------"

The bishop spoke gently, even lovingly. The man on the stone stared at the bishop through the darkness. After a moment of silence, he spoke slowly, like one who had finally decided upon a course he had at first rejected.

"Do you remember ever seeing me before?"

"No," said the bishop. "The light is not very good and I have really not had a good look at you."

"Do you know me now?" The man took off his hat and getting up from the stone walked over to the bishop, until they were near enough to touch each other.

The man's hair was coal black, except for a white spot on the top of his head about as large as the palm of the hand.

The minute the bishop saw that, the memory of fifteen years ago began to stir in him.

"Do you remember one day back in '81 or '82, a man came to your house and told a story about his wife and child having been burned to death in a tenement fire in New York?"

"Yes, I begin to recall now," murmured the bishop.

The other man seemed to be interested. He ceased digging his stake in the ground and stood still, listening.

"Do you remember how you took me into your own house that night and spent all next day trying to find me a job? And how, when you succeeded in getting me a place in a warehouse as foreman, I promised to quit drinking, because you asked me to?"

"I remember it now," the bishop replied. "I hope you have kept your promise?"

The man laughed. Then he struck his hand against the fence with such passion that he drew blood.

" _Kept it?_ I was drunk inside of a week. I've been drinking ever since. But I've never forgotten you or your prayer. Do you remember, the morning after I came to your house, and after breakfast you had prayers and asked me to come in and sit with the rest? You didn't seem to take 'count of the fact that I was more than half drunk when I rang your doorbell. My God, what a life I've lived. My promise not to drink was broken into a thousand pieces inside of two Sundays, and I lost the job you found for me. But I never forgot you or your prayer. I don't know what good it's done me, but I never forgot it. And I won't do any harm to you, nor let anyone else. So you're free to go. That's why."

The bishop did not stir. Somewhere a church clock struck one. The man had put on his hat and gone back to his seat on the stone. The bishop was thinking hard.

"How long is it since you had work?" he asked, and the man standing up answered for the other.

"More'n six months since either of us did anything to tell of. Unless you count holding-up work. I call it pretty wearing kind of a job myself, especially when we put in a night like this one and don't make nothin'."

"Suppose I found good jobs for both of you. Would you quit this and begin all over?"

"What's the use?" the man on the stone spoke sullenly. "I've reformed a hundred times. Every time I go down deeper. It's too late!"

"No!" said the bishop. All the time he sat there he prayed, "O Lord Jesus, give me the souls of these two for Thee!"

"No!" the bishop repeated. "You two men are of infinite value to God." And then he remembered the man's name.

"Burns," he said, "if you and your friend here will go home with me tonight, I will find you both places of employment. You are both comparatively young men. Why should God lose you? In the name of Him who was crucified for our sins, no one but God and you and myself need ever know anything of this tonight. He has forgiven it. The minute you ask Him to, you will find that true. Come, we'll fight it out together. Everlasting life is worth fighting for. It was the sinner that Christ came to help. I'll do what I can for you. O God, give me the souls of these two men!"

The bishop broke into a prayer to God that was a continuation of his appeal to the men. His pent-up feeling had no other outlet. Burns was sitting with his face buried in his hands, sobbing. And the other man, harder, less moved, without a previous knowledge of the bishop, leaned back against the fence, stolid at first. But as the prayer went on, he was moved by it.

That same Presence that smote Paul on the road to Damascus and poured through Henry Maxwell's church the morning he asked disciples to follow in Jesus' steps, and had again broken irresistibly over the Nazareth Avenue congregation, now manifested Himself in this corner of the mighty city.

The bishop's prayer seemed to break open the crust that had for years surrounded these two men and shut them off from divine communication. And they themselves were thoroughly startled by the event.

The bishop ceased, and at first he did not realize what had happened. Neither did the two men. Burns sat with his head bowed between his hands. The man leaning against the fence looked at the bishop with a face in which new emotions of awe, repentance, astonishment, and a broken gleam of joy struggled for expression.

The bishop rose. "Come, my brothers! God is good. You shall stay at the Settlement tonight. And I will make good my promise as to the work."

The two men followed the bishop in silence. When they reached the Settlement it was after two o'clock. The bishop let them, in, and led them to a room. At the door, he paused a moment.

"God bless you, my brothers," he said, and leaving them his benediction, he went away.

In the morning, he almost dreaded to face the men. But the impression of the night had not worn away. True to his promise, the bishop secured work for them. The janitor at the Settlement needed an assistant, owing to the growth of the work there. So Burns was given the place. The bishop succeeded in getting his companion a position as driver for a firm of warehouse dray manufacturers not far from the Settlement. And the Holy Spirit, struggling in these two men, began His marvelous work of regeneration.

#  Chapter Fifty-One

IT WAS the afternoon following that morning. Burns was installed in his new position as assistant janitor and was cleaning off the front steps of the Settlement when he paused a moment, and stood up to look about him.

The first thing he noticed was a beer sign just across the alley. He could almost touch it with his broom from where he stood. Over the street, immediately opposite, were two large saloons, and a little further down were three more.

Suddenly the door of the nearest saloon opened and a man came out. At the same time, two more went in. A strong smell of beer floated up to Burns as he stood on the steps of the Settlement.

He clutched his broom handle tight and began to sweep again. He had one foot on the porch and another on the step just below. He took another step down, still sweeping. The sweat stood out on his forehead, although the day was frosty and the air chill. The saloon door opened again and three or four men came out. A child went in with a pail and came out a moment later with a quart of beer. The child went by on the sidewalk just below him and the smell of the beer came up to him. He took another step down, still sweeping desperately. His fingers were purple as he clutched the handle of the broom.

Then suddenly he pulled himself up one step and swept over the spot he had just cleaned. He then dragged himself by a tremendous effort back to the floor of the porch and went over into the corner of it farthest from the saloon, and began to sweep there. "O God!" he cried, "if the bishop would only come back!"

The bishop had gone out with Dr. Bruce somewhere, and there was no one about the Settlement that he knew. He swept in the corner for two or three minutes. His face was drawn with the agony of the conflict.

Gradually he edged out again towards the steps and began to go down them. He looked towards the sidewalk and saw that he had left one step unswept. The sight seemed to give him a reasonable excuse for going down there to finish his sweeping.

He was on the sidewalk now, sweeping the last step, with his face towards the Settlement and his back turned partly on the saloon across the alley. He swept the step a dozen times. The sweat rolled over his face and dropped down at his feet. By degrees he felt that he was drawn over towards that end of the step nearest the saloon. He could smell the beer and rum, as the fumes rose around him.

He was down in the middle of the sidewalk now, still sweeping. He cleared the space in front of the Settlement, and even went out into the gutter and swept that. He took off his hat and rubbed his sleeve over his face. His lips were pallid and his teeth chattered. He trembled all over, and staggered back and forth, as if he was already drunk. His soul shook within him.

He had crossed over the little piece of stone flagging that measured the width of the alley, and now he stood in front of the saloon, looking at the sign and staring into the window at the pile of whiskey and beer bottles arranged in a great pyramid inside. He moistened his lips with his tongue and took a step forward, looking around him stealthily.

The door suddenly opened again and someone came out. Again the hot, penetrating smell of the liquor swept out into the cold air, and he took another step towards the saloon door, which had shut behind the customer. As he laid his fingers on the door handle, a tall figure came around the corner. It was the bishop.

He seized Burns by the arm and dragged him back upon the sidewalk. The frenzied man, now mad for drink, shrieked out a curse and struck at the bishop savagely. It is doubtful if he really knew at first who was snatching him away from his ruin. The blow fell upon the bishop's face and cut a gash in his cheek.

The bishop never uttered a word. He picked Burns up as if he had been a child, and carried him up the steps and into the Settlement. He placed him down in the hall, and then shut the door and put his back against it.

Burns fell on his knees, sobbing and praying. The bishop stood there, panting with his exertion, although Burns was a slight-built man and had not been a great weight for one of the bishop's strength to carry.

"Pray, Burns! Pray as you never prayed before! Nothing else will save you! "

"O God! Pray with me! Save me! Oh, save me from my hell!" cried Burns.

And the bishop kneeled by him in the hall and prayed as only he could.

After that they arose, and Burns went into his room. He came out of it that evening like a humble child. And the bishop went his way, older from that experience, bearing in his body the marks of the Lord Jesus. Truly he was learning something of what it meant to walk in His steps.

But the saloon! It stood there, and all the others lined the street like so many traps set for Burns. How long would the man be able to resist? The bishop went out on the porch. The air of the whole city seemed to be impregnated with the odor of beer. "How long, O God, how long?" the bishop prayed.

Dr. Bruce came out, and the two friends talked over Burns and his temptation.

"Did you ever make any inquiries about the ownership of this property adjoining us?" the bishop asked.

"No, I haven't taken time for it. I will now, if you think it would be worthwhile. But what can we do, Edward, against the saloon in this great city? It is as firmly established as the churches or politics. What power can ever remove it?"

"God will do it in time, as He removed slavery," replied the bishop gravely. "Meanwhile, I think we have a right to know who controls this saloon so near the Settlement."

"I'll find out," said Dr. Bruce.

#  Chapter Fifty-Two

TWO DAYS later, Dr. Calvin Bruce walked into the business office of one of the members of Nazareth Avenue Church and asked to see him a few moments. He was cordially received by his old parishioner, who welcomed him into his room and urged him to take all the time he wanted.

"I called to see you about that property next to the Settlement, where the bishop and myself now are. I am going to speak plainly, because life is too short and too serious for us both to have any foolish hesitation about this matter. Clayton, do you think it is right to rent that property for a saloon?"

Dr. Bruce's question was as direct and uncompromising as he had meant it to be. The effect of it on his old parishioner was instantaneous.

The hot blood mounted to the face of the man who sat there, a picture of business activity in a great city. Then he grew pale, dropped his head on his hands, and when he raised it again Dr. Bruce was amazed to see a tear roll over his parishioner's face.

"Doctor, did you know that I took the pledge that morning with the others?"

"Yes, I remember."

"But you never knew how I have been tormented over my failure to keep it in this instance. That saloon property has been the temptation of the devil to me. It is the best paying investment that I have. And yet it was only a minute before you came in here that I was in an agony of remorse to think how I was letting a little earthly gain tempt me into denial of Christ whom I had promised to follow. I know well enough that He would never rent property for such a purpose. There is no need, dear Doctor, for you to say a word more."

Clayton held out his hand, and Dr. Bruce grasped it and shook it hard.

* * *

Within a month the saloon next the Settlement was closed. The saloon keeper's lease had expired, and Clayton not only closed the property to the whiskey men but offered the use of the building to the bishop and Dr. Bruce for the Settlement work, which had now grown so large that the building was not sufficient for the different industries that were planned.

One of the most important of these was the pure food department suggested by Felicia. It was not a month after Clayton turned the saloon property over to the Settlement that Felicia found herself installed as head of a department, not only of cooking but of a course of housekeeping for girls who wished to go out to service. She was now a resident of the Settlement, and found a home with Mrs. Bruce and the other young women from the city who were residents. Martha, the violinist, remained at the place where the bishop had first discovered the two girls, and came over to the Settlement certain evenings to give lessons in music.

"Felicia, tell us your plan in full now," said the bishop one evening when, in a rare interval of rest from the pressure of work, he, with Dr. Bruce and Felicia had come in from the other building.

"Well, I have long thought of the hired girl problem," said Felicia, with an air of wisdom that made Mrs. Bruce smile, as she looked at the enthusiastic, vital beauty of this young girl, transformed into a new creature by the promise she had made to live the Christ-like life. "And I have reached certain conclusions in regard to it that you men are not yet able to fathom, but Mrs. Bruce here will understand me."

"We acknowledge our infancy, Felicia. Go on," said the bishop humbly.

"Then this is what I propose to do. The old saloon building is large enough to arrange into a suite of rooms that will represent an ordinary house. My plan is to have it so arranged, and then teach housekeeping and cooking to girls who will afterwards go out to service. The course will be six months long. In that time I will teach plain cooking, neatness, quickness, and a love of good work."

"Hold on, Felicia!" the bishop interrupted. "This is not an age of miracles! "

"Then I will make it one," replied Felicia. "I know this seems like an impossibility, but I want to try it. I know a score of girls already who will take the course, and if we can once establish something like an _esprit de corps_ among the girls themselves I am sure it will be of great value to them. I know already that the pure food is working a revolution in many families."

"Felicia, if you can accomplish half of what you propose to do, it will bless this whole community," said Mrs. Bruce. "I don't see how you can do it, but I say, 'God bless you,' as you try."

"So say we all!" cried Dr. Bruce and the bishop; and Felicia plunged into the working out of her plan with the enthusiasm of her discipleship which every day grew more and more practical and serviceable.

#  Chapter Fifty-Three

THE DEPTH of winter found Chicago presenting the marked contrast between riches and poverty, between culture, refinement, luxury and ease, and ignorance, depravity, destitution and the bitter struggle for bread.

It was a hard winter, but a cheerful winter for some. Never had there been such a succession of parties, receptions, balls, dinners, banquets, fetes, gaieties. Never had the opera and the theatre been so crowded with fashionable audiences. Never had there been such a lavish display of jewels and fine dresses and equipages.

And, on the other hand, never had the deep want and suffering been so cruel, so sharp, so murderous. Never had the winds blown so chilling over the lake and through the thin shells of tenements in the neighborhood of the Settlement. Never had the pressure for food and fuel and clothes been so urgently thrust up against the people of the city.

Night after night, the bishop and Dr. Bruce with their helpers went out and helped rescue men and women and children from physical privation. Vast quantities of food and clothing and large sums of money were donated by the churches, the charitable societies, the civic authorities, and the benevolent associations. But the personal touch of the Christian disciple was very hard to secure for personal work.

Where was the discipleship that was obeying the Master's command to go to the suffering? The bishop found his heart sink within him as he faced this fact more than any other. Men would give money who would not think of giving themselves. And the money they gave did not represent any real sacrifice, because they did not miss it. They gave what was the easiest to give, what hurt them the least. Where did the sacrifice come in? Was this following Jesus? Was this going with Him all the way?

He had been to many members of his own wealthy and aristocratic congregation, and was appalled to find how few men and women of that luxurious class in the churches would really suffer any genuine inconvenience for the sake of suffering humanity.

The bishop asked himself, is charity the giving of worn-out garments? Is it a ten dollar bill given to a paid visitor or secretary of some benevolent organization? Shall the man never go and give his gift himself? Shall the woman never deny herself her reception, or her party, or her musicale, and go and actually touch the foul, sinful sore of diseased humanity as it festers in the great metropolis?

Shall charity be conveniently and easily done through some organization? Is it possible to organize the affections so that love works disagreeable things by proxy?

#  Chapter Fifty-Four

THE BREAKFAST-HOUR at the Settlement was the one hour in the day when the whole resident family found a little breathing-space to fellowship together. It was an hour of relaxation. There was a great deal of good-natured repartee and much real wit and enjoyable fun at this hour.

This company of disciples was healthily humorous, in spite of the atmosphere of sorrow that constantly surrounded them. In fact, the bishop often said that the faculty of humor was as God-given as any other; and in his own case it was the only safety valve he had for the tremendous pressure put upon him.

This particular morning the bishop was reading extracts from a morning paper, for the benefit of the others. Suddenly he paused, and his face grew stern and sad. The rest looked up, and a hush fell over the table.

"Shot and killed while taking a lump of coal from a coal car. His family was freezing, and he had had no work for six months. His six children and a wife all packed into a cabin with three rooms on the West Side. One child wrapped in rags in a closet."

These were headlines that the bishop read slowly. He then went on and read the detailed account of the shooting and the visit of the reporter to the tenement where the family lived.

There were various comments on the part of the residents. One of the newcomers at the table, a young man preparing for the ministry, said, "Why didn't the man apply to one of the charity organizations for help? Or to the city? It certainly is not true that, even at its worst, this city full of Christian people would knowingly allow anyone to go without food or fuel."

"No, I don't believe that it would," replied Dr. Bruce. "But we don't know the history of that man's case. He may have asked for help so often before, that finally in a moment of desperation he determined to help himself. I have known such cases this winter."

"That is not the terrible fact in this case," said the bishop. "The awful thing about it is the fact that the man had not had any work for six months."

"Why don't such people go out into the country?" asked the divinity student.

Someone who had made a study of the opportunities for work in the country, answered the question. The places that were possible for work in the country were exceedingly few for steady employment, and in almost every case they were offered only to men without families. Suppose a man's wife and children were ill. How could he move or get into the country? How could he pay even the meager sum necessary to move his few goods? There were probably a thousand reasons why this particular man did not go elsewhere.

"Meanwhile, there are the wife and children," said Mrs. Bruce. "How awful. Where is the place, did you say?"

The bishop took up the paper. "Why, it's only three blocks from here, in the Penrose district. I believe Penrose himself owns half of the houses in that block. They are among the worst houses in this part of the city. And Penrose is a church member."

"He belongs to the Nazareth Avenue Church," replied Dr. Bruce.

The bishop rose from the table, the very figure of divine wrath. He had opened his lips to say what seldom came from him in the way of denunciation, when the doorbell rang, and one of the residents went to the door.

"Tell Dr. Bruce and the bishop I want to see them. Penrose is the name -- Clarence Penrose. Dr. Bruce knows me."

The family at the breakfast table heard every word. The bishop exchanged a significant look with Dr. Bruce, and the two men instantly left the table and went out into the hall.

"Come in here, Penrose," said Dr. Bruce, and he and the bishop ushered the visitor into the reception room. They closed the door and were alone.

Clarence Penrose was one of the most elegant-looking men in Chicago. He came from an aristocratic family of great wealth and social distinction. He was exceedingly wealthy, and had large property holdings in different parts of the city. He had been a member of Dr. Bruce's church all his life.

This man faced the bishop and his former pastor with a look of agitation. He was pale, and he trembled as he spoke. When had Clarence Penrose ever before yielded to such a strange emotion of feeling?

"This affair of the shooting. You understand? You have read it. The family lived in one of my houses. It is a terrible event. But that is not the primary cause of my visit." He looked anxiously into the faces of the two men.

The bishop still looked stern. He could not help feeling that this elegant man of leisure could have done a great deal to alleviate the horrors in his tenements, possibly prevented this tragedy, if he had sacrificed some of his personal ease and luxury to better the condition of the people in his district.

Penrose turned to Dr. Bruce. "Doctor!" he exclaimed, and there was almost a child's terror in his voice, "I came to say that I have had an experience so unusual that nothing but the supernatural can explain it. You remember I was one of those who took the pledge to do as Jesus would do. I thought at the time, poor fool that I was, that I had all along been doing the Christian thing. I gave liberally out of my abundance to the church and charity. But I never gave myself, to cost me any suffering. I have been living in a perfect hell of contradictions ever since I took the pledge.

"My little girl Diana, you remember, also took the pledge with me. She has been asking me a great many questions lately about the poor people and where they lived. I was obliged to answer her. One of her questions last night touched me sore. Did I own any houses where those people lived? Were they nice and warm like ours? You know how child will ask questions like these.

"I went to bed tormented with what I now know to be the divine arrows of conscience. I could not sleep. I seemed to see the Judgment Day. I was placed before the Judge. I was asked to give account of my deeds done in the body: How many sinful souls had I visited in prison? What had I done with my stewardship? How about those tenements where people froze in winter and stifled in summer? Did I give any thought to them, except to receive the rentals? Where did my suffering come in? Would Jesus have done as I had done and was doing? Had I broken my pledge? How had I used the money and the culture and the social influence I possessed? I had received much. How much had I given?

"All this came to me in a waking vision as distinctly as I see you two men and myself now. I was unable to see the end of the vision. I had a confused picture in my mind of the suffering Christ pointing a condemning finger at me, and the rest was shut out by mist and darkness. The first thing I saw this morning was the account of the shooting at the coal yards. I read the account with a feeling of horror I have not been able to shake off. I am a guilty creature before God."

Penrose paused. The two men looked at him solemnly. What power of the Holy Spirit moved the soul of this hitherto self-satisfied, elegant, cultured man, who belonged to the social life that was accustomed to go its way, placidly unmindful of the great sorrows of a great city, and practically ignorant of what it means to suffer for Jesus' sake?

Into that room came a breath such as before swept over Henry Maxwell's church and through Nazareth Avenue. The bishop laid his hand on the shoulder of Penrose and said, "My brother, God has been very near to you. Let us thank Him."

"Yes, yes!" sobbed Penrose. He sat down on a chair and covered his face.

The bishop prayed. Then Penrose quietly said, "Will you go with me to that house?"

For answer, both Dr. Bruce and the bishop put on their overcoats and went out with him to the home of the dead man's family. This was the beginning of a new and strange life for Clarence Penrose. From the moment he stepped into that wretched hovel of a home, and faced for the first time in his life a despair and suffering such as he had read of, but did not know by personal contact, he started a new life.

#  Chapter Fifty-Five

ONE AFTERNOON, just as Felicia came out of the Settlement with a basket of food which she was going to leave as a sample with a baker in the Penrose district, Stephen Clyde opened the door of the carpenter shop in the basement and came out of the lower door, in time to meet Felicia as she reached the sidewalk.

"Let me carry your basket, please," he said.

"Why do you say 'please'?" asked Felicia, handing over the basket.

"I would like to say something else," replied Stephen, glancing at her shyly, and yet with a boldness that frightened him, for he had been loving Felicia more every day since he first saw her, and especially since she stepped into the shop that day with the bishop, and for weeks now they had been in many ways thrown into each other's company.

"What else?" asked Felicia innocently, falling into the trap.

"Why..." said Stephen, turning his face full towards her, and eyeing her with the look of one who would have the best of all things in the universe, "... I would like to say, 'Let me carry your basket, dear Felicia.'"

Felicia walked on a little way without even turning her face towards him.

It was no secret with her own heart that she had given it to Stephen some time ago. Finally she turned and said shyly, while her face grew rosy and her eyes tender, "Why don't you say it, then?"

"May I?" cried Stephen, and he was so careless for a minute of the way he held the basket, that Felicia exclaimed, "Yes, but oh, don't drop my goodies!"

"Why, I wouldn't drop anything so precious for all the world, dear Felicia," said Stephen, who now walked on air for several blocks.

The basket never reached its destination, and over in the other direction, late in the afternoon, the bishop, walking along quietly in a rather secluded spot near the outlying part of the Settlement district, heard a familiar voice say, "But tell me, Felicia, when did you begin to love me?"

"I fell in love with a little pine shaving just above your ear, that day I saw you in the carpenter's shop!" said the other voice, with a laugh so clear that it did one good to hear it.

The next moment, the bishop turned the corner and came upon them. "Where are you going with that basket?" he tried to say sternly.

"We're taking it to... Where are we taking it, Felicia?"

"Dear Bishop, we are taking it home to begin..."

"To begin housekeeping with," finished Stephen, coming to the rescue.

"Are you?" said the bishop. "I hope you will invite me in to share. I know what Felicia's cooking is."

"Bishop, dear Bishop," said Felicia, and she did not pretend to hide her happiness; "you shall always be the most honored guest. Are you glad?"

"Yes, I am," replied the bishop, interpreting Felicia's words as she wished. Then he paused a moment and said gently, "God bless you both," and went his way with a prayer in his heart, and left them to their joy.

#  Chapter Fifty-Six (last chapter)

A LITTLE after the love story of the Settlement became a part of its glory, Henry Maxwell of Raymond came to Chicago. He brought with him Virginia Page, her brother Rollin with his fiancée Rachel Winslow, Alexander Powers, and Donald Marsh from Lincoln College. The occasion was a remarkable gathering at the hall of the Settlement, arranged by the bishop and Dr. Bruce who had finally persuaded Mr. Maxwell and his fellow disciples of Raymond to be present at this meeting.

The bishop invited the representatives of all the city's worst, most hopeless, most dangerous, depraved elements into the Settlement Hall meeting for that night. And still the Holy Spirit moved over the great selfish, pleasure-loving, sin-stained city, and it lay in God's hand, not knowing all that awaited it. Every man and woman at the meeting that night had seen the Settlement motto over the door, blazing through the transparency set up by the divinity student: "What would Jesus do?"

And Henry Maxwell, as for the first time he stepped under the doorway, was touched with a deeper emotion than he had felt in a long time. He thought of the first time that question had come to him in the appeal of the shabby young man who had appeared in the First Church of Raymond at the morning service.

Was his great desire for Christian fellowship going to be granted? Would the movement begun in Raymond actually spread over the country? He had come to Chicago with his friends, partly to see if the answer to that question would be found in the heart of the great city life.

Henry Maxwell left the meeting very late. He went to his room at the Settlement where he was stopping, and after an hour with the bishop and Dr. Bruce, sat down to think over again, by himself, all the experience he was having as a Christian disciple.

He kneeled to pray, as he always did now before going to sleep, and it was while he was on his knees this night that he had a waking vision of what might be in the world, when once the new discipleship had made its way into the conscience and consciousness of Christendom.

He saw himself, going back to the First Church in Raymond, living there in a simpler, more self-denying fashion than he had yet been willing to observe, because he saw ways in which he could help others who were really dependent on him for help.

He also saw, more dimly, that the time would come when his position as pastor of the church would cause him to suffer more, on account of growing opposition to his interpretation of Jesus and His conduct. But this was vaguely outlined. Through it all he heard the words, "My grace is sufficient for thee."

He saw Rachel Winslow and Virginia Page going on with their work of service at the Rectangle, and reaching out loving hands of helpfulness far beyond the limits of Raymond. Rachel, he saw married to Rollin Page, both fully consecrated to the Master's use, both following in His steps with an eagerness intensified and purified by their love for each other. And Rachel's voice sang on in the slums and dark places of despair and sin, and drew lost souls back to God and heaven once more.

He saw Donald Marsh of the college, using his great learning and his great influence to purify the city, to inspire the young men and women who loved as well as admired him to live lives of Christian service, always teaching them that education means great responsibility for the weak and the ignorant.

He saw Alexander Powers of the railroad, meeting with trials in his family life, with a constant sorrow in the estrangement of wife and friends, but still going his way in all honor, seeing and living in all the strength of God, the Master whom he had obeyed even to loss of social distinction and wealth.

He saw Milton Wright, the city merchant, meeting with great reverses; thrown upon the future by a combination of circumstances, with vast business interests involved in ruin through no fault of his own, but coming out of all his reverses with clean Christian honor, to begin and work up to a position where he could again be an example to hundreds of young men of what Jesus would be in business.

He saw Edward Norman, editor of the _News,_ by means of the money given by Virginia, creating a force in journalism that in time came to be recognized as one of the real factors of the nation, to mold its principles and actually shape its policy, a daily illustration of the might of a Christian press, and the first of a series of such papers begun and carried on by other disciples who had also taken the pledge.

He saw the novelist Jasper Chase, who had denied his Master, growing into a cold, cynical, formal life, writing novels that were social successes, but each one with a sting in it, the reminder of his denial, the bitter remorse that, do what he would, no social success could remove.

He saw Rose Sterling, dependent for some years upon her aunt and Felicia, finally married to a man far older than herself, accepting the burden of a relationship that had no love in it on her part, because of her desire to be the wife of a rich man and enjoy the physical luxuries that were all of life to her. Over this life also the vision cast dark shadows, but they were not shown to him in detail.

He saw Felicia and Stephen Clyde happily married, enthusiastic, joyful in suffering, pouring out their great, strong, fragrant service into the dark, terrible places of the great city, and redeeming souls through the personal touch of their home dedicated to the human sickness all about them.

He saw Dr. Bruce and the bishop going on with the Settlement work. He seemed to see the great blazing motto over the door enlarged, "What would Jesus do?" And the daily answer to that question was redeeming the city in its greatest need.

He saw Burns and his companion and a great company of men like them, redeemed and going in turn to others, conquering their passions by the divine grace, and proving by their daily lives the reality of the new birth, even in the lowest and most abandoned.

And now the vision was troubled. It seemed to him that as he kneeled he began to pray, and the vision was more of a longing for a future than a reality in the future. The Church of Jesus in the city and throughout the country. Would it follow Jesus? Was the movement begun in Raymond to die away as a local movement, a stirring on the surface, but not to extend deep and far?

He felt with agony after the vision again. He thought he saw the Church of Jesus in America open its heart to the moving of the Holy Spirit and rise to the sacrifice of its ease and self-satisfaction, in the name of Jesus. He thought he saw the motto, "What would Jesus do?" inscribed over every church door, and written on every church member's heart.

And he thought, in the faces of the young men and women, he saw future joy of suffering, loss, self-denial, martyrdom. And when this part of the vision slowly faded, he saw the figure of the Son of God beckoning to him and to all the others in his life history.

There was a sound as of many voices and a shout as of a great victory. And the figure of Jesus grew more and more splendid. He stood at the end of a long flight of steps. "Yes! Yes! Oh, my Master, break upon the Christendom of this age with the light and the truth! Help us to follow Thee all the way!"

He rose at last, with the awe of one who has looked at heavenly things. He felt the human forces and the human sins of the world as never before. And with a hope that walks hand in hand with faith and love, Henry Maxwell, disciple of Jesus, laid him down to sleep, and dreamed of the regeneration of Christendom, and saw in his dream a Church of Jesus "not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing," following Him all the way, walking obediently in His Steps.

THE END

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## Christian Non-fiction

Four short books of help in the Christian life:

So, What Is a Christian? An introduction to a personal faith. Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-2-6

Starting Out \-- help for new Christians of all ages. Paperback ISBN 978-1-4839-622-0-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-0-2

Help! \-- Explores some problems we can encounter with our faith. Paperback ISBN 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-1-9

Running Through the Bible \-- a simple understanding of what's in the Bible \-- Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-6-5, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-3-3

### Be Still

Bible Words of Peace and Comfort

There may come a time in our lives when we want to concentrate on God's many promises of peace and comfort. The Bible readings in this book are for people who need to know what it means to be held securely in the Lord's loving arms.

Rather than selecting single verses here and there, each reading in this book is a run of several verses. This gives a much better picture of the whole passage in which a favourite verse may be found.

As well as being for personal use, these readings are intended for sharing with anyone in special need, to help them draw comfort from the reading and prayer for that date. Bible reading and prayer are the two most important ways of getting to know and trust Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour.

The reference to the verses for the day are given, for you to look up and read in your preferred Bible translation.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-4-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

116 pages 5x7.8 inches

A Previously Unpublished Book

### The Simplicity of the Incarnation

J Stafford Wright

Foreword by J I Packer

"I believe in ... Jesus Christ ... born of the Virgin Mary." A beautiful stained glass image, or a medical reality? This is the choice facing Christians today. Can we truly believe that two thousand years ago a young woman, a virgin named Mary, gave birth to the Son of God? The answer is simple: we can.

The author says, "In these days many Christians want some sensible assurance that their faith makes sense, and in this book I want to show that it does."

In this uplifting book from a previously unpublished and recently discovered manuscript, J Stafford Wright investigates the reality of the incarnation, looks at the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and helps the reader understand more of the Trinity and the certainty of eternal life in heaven.

This book was written shortly before the author's death in 1985. The Simplicity of the Incarnation is published for the first time, unedited, from his final draft.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-5-7

Paperback ISBN: 9-780-9525-9563-2

160 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Bible People Real People

An Unforgettable A-Z of Who is Who in the Bible

In a fascinating look at real people, J Stafford Wright shows his love and scholarly knowledge of the Bible as he brings the characters from its pages to life in a memorable way.

Read this book through from A to Z, like any other title

Dip in and discover who was who in personal Bible study

Check the names when preparing a talk or sermon

The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly – no one is spared. This is a book for everyone who wants to get to grips with the reality that is in the pages of the Bible, the Word of God.

With the names arranged in alphabetical order, the Old and New Testament characters are clearly identified so that the reader is able to explore either the Old or New Testament people on the first reading, and the other Testament on the second.

Those wanting to become more familiar with the Bible will find this is a great introduction to the people inhabiting the best selling book in the world, and those who can quote chapter and verse will find everyone suddenly becomes much more real – because these people are real. This is a book to keep handy and refer to frequently while reading the Bible.

"For students of my generation the name Stafford Wright was associated with the spiritual giants of his generation. Scholarship and integrity were the hallmarks of his biblical teaching. He taught us the faith and inspired our discipleship of Christ. To God be the Glory." The Rt. Rev. James Jones, Bishop of Liverpool

This is a lively, well-informed study of some great Bible characters. Professor Gordon Wenham MA PhD. Tutor in Old Testament at Trinity College Bristol and Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the University of Gloucestershire.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-5-6

314 pages 6x9 inches

Note: This book is not available in all eBook formats

### Christians and the Supernatural

J Stafford Wright

There is an increasing interest and fascination in the paranormal today. To counteract this, it is important for Christians to have a good understanding of how God sometimes acts in mysterious ways, and be able to recognize how he can use our untapped gifts and abilities in his service. We also need to understand how the enemy can tempt us to misuse these gifts and abilities, just as Jesus was tempted in the wilderness.

In this single volume of his two previously published books on the occult and the supernatural (Understanding the Supernatural and Our Mysterious God) J Stafford Wright examines some of the mysterious events we find in the Bible and in our own lives. Far from dismissing the recorded biblical miracles as folk tales, he is convinced that they happened in the way described, and explains why we can accept them as credible.

The writer says: When God the Holy Spirit dwells within the human spirit, he uses the mental and physical abilities which make up a total human being . . . The whole purpose of this book is to show that the Bible does make sense.

And this warning: The Bible, claiming to speak as the revelation of God, and knowing man's weakness for substitute religious experiences, bans those avenues into the occult that at the very least are blind alleys that obscure the way to God, and at worst are roads to destruction.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-4-0

Paperback ISBN 13: 9-780-9525-9564-9

222 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Howell Harris

### His Own Story

Foreword by J. Stafford Wright

Howell Harris was brought up to regard the Nonconformists as "a perverted and dangerously erroneous set of people." Hardly a promising start for a man who was to play a major role in the Welsh Revival. Yet in these extracts from his writings and diaries we can read the thoughts of Howell Harris before, during and after his own conversion.

We can see God breaking through the barriers separating "church and chapel", and discover Christians of different denominations preparing the country for revival. Wesley, Whitefield, Harris. These great 18th century preachers worked both independently and together to preach the Living Gospel. This book is a vivid first-hand account of the joys, hardships and struggles of one of these men -- Howell Harris (1714-1773).

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-9-5

From the Streets of London

to the Streets of Gold

The Life Story of

Brother Clifford Edwards

A True Story of Love

by

Brother Clifford Edwards

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

A printed copy is available directly from Brother Clifford -- thejesusbus@hotmail.co.uk

This is the personal story of Clifford Edwards, affectionately known as Brother Clifford by his many friends. Going from fame to poverty, he was sleeping on the streets of London with the homeless for twenty years, until Jesus rescued him and gave him an amazing mission in life. Brother Clifford tells his true story here in the third person, giving the glory to Jesus.

### Seven Steps to

### Walking in Victory

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-3-5

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

How is your Christian life going? Finding it hard and not sure why? Wherever you might be, Seven Steps to Walking in Victory is a very short book to help you see where you are in the Christian life, and help you keep on the right path to the victory that comes through walking closely with Jesus -- to live the Christian life you always wanted to live!

### Seven Keys to

### Unlock Your Calling

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-2-3

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

God has a special plan for each and every one of us -- that includes YOU! He has given all of us unique gifts. Not sure what that might mean for you? Seven Keys to Unlock Your Calling is a very short book that will help you discover how to explore those gifts and encourage you to go deeper into all that God has for you.

English Hexapla

The Gospel of John

(Paperback only)

Published to coincide with the 400th anniversary of the Authorized King James Version of the Bible, this book contains the full text of Bagster's assembled work for the Gospel of John. On each page in parallel columns are the words of the six most important translations of the New Testament into English, made between 1380 and 1611. Below the English is the original Greek text after Scholz.

To enhance the reading experience, there is an introduction telling how we got our English Bibles, with significant pages from early Bibles shown at the end of the book.

Here is an opportunity to read English that once split the Church by giving ordinary people the power to discover God's word for themselves. Now you can step back in time and discover those words and spellings for yourself, as they first appeared hundreds of years ago.

Wyclif 1380, Tyndale 1534, Cranmer 1539, Geneva 1557,

Douay Rheims 1582, Authorized (KJV) 1611.

English Hexapla -- The Gospel of John

Published by White Tree Publishing

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-1-8

Size 7.5 x 9.7 inches paperback

Not available as an eBook

### Roddy Goes to Church

Church Life and Church People

Derek Osborne

No, not a children's book! An affectionate, optimistic look at church life involving, as it happens, Roddy and his friends who live in a small town. Problems and opportunities related to change and outreach are not, of course, unique to their church!

Maybe you know Miss Prickly-Cat who pointedly sits in the same pew occupied by generations of her forebears, and perhaps know many of the characters in this look at church life today. A wordy Archdeacon comes on the scene, and Roddy is taken aback by the events following his first visit to church. Roddy's best friend Bushy-Beard says wise things, and he hears an enlightened Bishop . . .

Bishop David Pytches writes: A unique spoof on church life. Will you recognise yourself and your church here? ... Derek Osborne's mind here is insightful, his characters graphic and typical and the style acutely comical, but there is a serious message in his madness. Buy this, read it and enjoy!

David Pytches, Chorleywood

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-0-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-09927642-0-3

46 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches paperback UK £3.95

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Heaven Our Home

William Branks

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

"I go to prepare a place for you." This well-known promise from Jesus must cause us to think about the reality of heaven. Heaven is to be our home for ever. Where is heaven? What is it like? Will I recognize people there? All who are Christians must surely want to hear about the place where they are to spend eternity. In this abridged edition of William Branks classic work of 1861, we discover what the Bible has to say about heaven. There may be a few surprises, and there are certainly some challenges as we explore a subject on which there seems to be little teaching and awareness today.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

### I See Men as Trees, Walking

Roger and Janet Niblett

Roger and Janet Niblett were just an ordinary English couple, but then they met the Lord and their lives were totally transformed. Like the Bethlehem shepherds of old, they had a compulsion to share the same good news that Jesus Christ had come into the world to save sinners. Empowered by the Holy Spirit they proclaimed the gospel in the market place, streets, prisons, hospitals and churches with a vibrancy that only comes from being in direct touch with the Almighty and being readily available to serve Him as a channel of His grace and love. God was with them and blessed their ministry abundantly. Praise God! (Pastor Mervyn Douglas, Clevedon Family Church)

The story of Roger Niblett is an inspiration to all who serve the Lord. He was a prolific street evangelist, whose impact on the gospel scene was a wonder to behold. It was my privilege to witness his conversion, when he went forward to receive Christ at the Elim Church, Keynsham. The preacher was fiery Scottish evangelist Rev'd Alex Tee. It was not long before Roger too caught that same soul winner's fire which propelled him far and wide, winning multitudes for Christ. Together with his wife Janet, they proceeded to "Tell the World of Jesus". (Des Morton, Founder Minister of Keynsham Elim Church)

I know of no couple who have been more committed to sharing their faith from the earliest days of their journey with the Lord Jesus Christ. Along the way, at home and abroad, and with a tender heart for the marginalised, Rog and Jan have introduced multitudes to the Saviour and have inspired successive generations of believers to do the same. It was our joy and privilege to have them as part of the family at Trinity where Janet continues to serve in worship and witness. Loved by young and old alike, they will always have a special place in our hearts. (Andy Paget, Trinity Tabernacle, Bristol. Vice President, International Gospel Outreach)

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-1-0

Also available as a paperback

(published by Gozo Publishing Bristol)

paperback ISBN: 978-1508674979

### Leaves from

### My Notebook

New Abridged Edition

William Haslam

(1818-1905)

You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon! Well, this is man -- William Haslam. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851. He later wrote his autobiography in two books: From Death into Life and Yet not I. Here, in Leaves from my NoteBook, William Haslam writes about events and people not present in his autobiography. They make fascinating and challenging reading as we watch him sharing his faith one to one or in small groups, with dramatic results. Haslam was a man who mixed easily with titled gentry and the poorest of the poor, bringing the message of salvation in a way that people were ready to accept. This book has been lightly edited and abridged to make reading easier today by using modern punctuation and avoiding over-long sentences. William Haslam's amazing message is unchanged.

Original book first published 1889

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-2-7

### Blunt's Scriptural Coincidences

Gospels and Acts

J. J. Blunt

New Edition

This book will confirm (or restore) your faith in the Gospel records. Clearly the Gospels were not invented. There is too much unintentional agreement between them for this to be so. Undesigned coincidences are where writers tell the same account, but from a different viewpoint. Without conspiring together to get their accounts in agreement, they include unexpected (and often unnoticed) details that corroborate their records. Not only are these unexpected coincidences found within the Gospels, but sometimes a historical writer unknowingly and unintentionally confirms the Bible record.

Within these pages you will see just how accurate were the memories of the Gospel writers -- even of the smallest details which on casual reading can seem of little importance, yet clearly point to eyewitness accounts. J.J. Blunt spent many years investigating these coincidences. And here they are, as found in the four Gospels and Acts.

First published in instalments between 1833 and 1847

The edition used here published in 1876

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-5-8

### Fullness of Power

### in Christian Life and Service

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

R. A. Torrey

Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing Home and Group Questions for Today Edition. At the end of each chapter are questions for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because: "From many earnest hearts there is rising a cry for more power: more power in our personal conflict with the world, the flesh, and the devil; more power in our work for others. The Bible makes the way to obtain this longed-for power very plain. There is no presumption in undertaking to tell how to obtain Fullness of Power in Christian life and service; for the Bible itself tells, and the Bible was intended to be understood. R. A. Torrey (1856-1928) was an American evangelist, pastor, educator, and writer whose name is attached to several organisations, and whose work is still well known today.

"The Bible statement of the way is not mystical or mysterious. It is very plain and straightforward. If we will only make personal trial of The Power of the Word of God; The Power of the Blood of Christ; The Power of the Holy Spirit; The Power of Prayer; The Power of a Surrendered Life; we will then know the Fullness of Power in Christian life and service. We will try to make this plain in the following chapters. There are many who do not even know that there is a life of abiding rest, joy, satisfaction, and power; and many others who, while they think there must be something beyond the life they know, are in ignorance as to how to obtain it. This book is also written to help them." (Torrey's Introduction.)

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-8-9

Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends

Musings on Life, Scripture

and the Hymns

by

Marty Magee

Samuel, Mephibosheth, and a woman on death row -- people telling of our Savior's love. A chicken, a dinosaur, and a tarantula -- just a few props to show how we can serve God and our neighbors. Peanut butter, pinto beans and grandmother's chow-chow -- merely tools to help share the Bread of Life. These are just a few of the characters in Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends.

It is Marty's desire to bring the hymns out of their sometimes formal, Sunday best stuffy setting and into our Monday through Friday lives. At the same time, she presents a light object lesson and appropriate Scripture passage. This is done with the format of a devotion book, yet it has a light tone and style. From Ebenezer to Willie, Marty's characters can scarcely be contained within the pages of this whimsical yet insightful volume.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-1-1

Also in paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

ALSO BY MARTY MAGEE

### Twenty-five Days Around the Manger

# A Light Family Advent Devotional

Marty Magee

Will a purple bedroom help Marty's misgivings about Christmas?

As a kid, Martha Evans didn't like Christmas. Sixty years later, she still gets a little uneasy when this holiday on steroids rolls around. But she knows, when all the tinsel is pulled away, Whose Day it is. Now Marty Magee, she is blessed with five grandchildren who help her not take herself too seriously.

Do you know the angel named Herald? Will young Marty survive the embarrassment of her Charley Brown Christmas tree? And by the way, where's the line to see Jesus?

Twenty-Five Days Around the Manger goes from Marty's mother as a little girl awaiting her brother's arrival, to O Holy Night when our souls finally were able to feel their full worth.

This and much more. Join Marty around the manger this Advent season.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Also in full colour paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-4923248-0-5

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

The Gospels and Acts

In Simple Paraphrase

with Helpful Explanations

together with

Running Through the Bible

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing presents a paraphrase in today's English of passages from the four Gospels -- Matthew, Mark, Luke and John -- relating Jesus' birth, life, death and resurrection in one continuous narrative with helpful explanations, plus a paraphrase of events from the book of Acts. Also in this book is a brief summary of the Epistles and Revelation. For readers unfamiliar with the New Testament, this book makes a valuable introduction, and it will surely help those familiar with the New Testament to gain some extra knowledge and understanding as they read it. Please note that this is not a translation of the Bible. It is a careful and sensitive paraphrase of parts of the New Testament, and is not intended to be quoted as Scripture. Part 2 is a short introduction to the whole Bible -- Running Through the Bible \-- which is available from White Tree Publishing as a separate eBook and paperback.

Translators and others involved in foreign mission work, please note: If you believe that this copyright book, or part of this book, would be useful if translated into another language, please contact White Tree Publishing (wtpbristol@gmail.com). Permission will be free, and assistance in formatting and publishing your new translation as an eBook and/or a paperback may be available, also without charge.

Superb! I have never read anything like it. It is colloquially worded in a succinct, clear style with a brilliant (and very helpful) running commentary interspersed. I have found it a compelling read -- and indeed spiritually engaging and moving. Canon Derek Osborne, Norfolk, England.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-9-6

### Faith that Prevails

The Early Pentecostal Movement

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

Smith Wigglesworth

Study Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing Home and Group Questions for Today Edition. At the end of each of the seven chapters are questions by Chuck Antone, Jr. for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because _Smith Wigglesworth, often referred to as the Apostle of Faith, putting the emphasis on the work of the Holy Spirit, writes, "_ God is making people hungry and thirsty after His best. And everywhere He is filling the hungry and giving them that which the disciples received at the very beginning. Are you hungry? If you are, God promises that you shall be filled."

_Smith Wigglesworth was one of the pioneers of the early Pentecostal revival. Born in 1859 he gave himself to Jesus at the age of eight and immediately led his mother to the Lord._ His ministry took him to Europe, the US, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, the Pacific Islands, India and what was then Ceylon. _Smith Wigglesworth's faith was unquestioning._

_In this book, he says, "_ There is nothing impossible with God. All the impossibility is with us, when we measure God by the limitations of our unbelief."

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-4-1

### The Authority and

### Interpretation

### of the Bible

J Stafford Wright

When we start to think about God, we soon come to a point where we say, "I can discover nothing more about God by myself. I must see whether He has revealed anything about Himself, about His character, and about the way to find Him and to please Him." From the beginning, the Christian church has believed that certain writings were the Word of God in a unique sense. Before the New Testament was compiled, Christians accepted the Old Testament as their sacred Book. Here they were following the example of Christ Himself. During His ministry Jesus Christ made great use of the Old Testament, and after His resurrection He spent some time in teaching His disciples that every section of the Old Testament had teachings in it concerning Himself. Any discussion of the inspiration of the Bible gives place sooner or later to a discussion of its interpretation. To say that the Bible is true, or infallible, is not sufficient: for it is one thing to have an infallible Book, and quite another to use it. J Stafford Wright was a greatly respected evangelical theologian and author, and former Principal of Tyndale Hall Theological College, Bristol.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-9-6

### Psalms,

### A Guide Psalm By Psalm

J Stafford Wright

The Bible Psalms. Do you see them as a source of comfort? A help in daily living? A challenge? Or perhaps something to study in depth? Psalms, a Guide Psalm by Psalm will meet all these requirements, and more. It is an individual study guide that can be used for daily reading in conjunction with your own Bible. It is also a resource for group study, with brief questions for study and discussion. And it's a Bible commentary, dealing with the text of each Psalm section by section.

eBook only

eBook ISBN 978-0-9957594-2-8

### The Christian's Secret

### of a Happy Life

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Christian and happy? Do these two words fit comfortably together? Is our Christian life a burden or a pleasure? Is our quiet time with the Lord a duty or a delight? The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life was first written by Hannah Whitall Smith as monthly instalments for an American magazine. Hannah was brought up as a Quaker, and became the feisty wife of a preacher. By the time she wrote The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life she had already lost three children. Her life was not easy, with her husband being involved in a sexual scandal and eventually losing his faith. So, Christian and happy? An alternative title for this book could have been The Christian's Secret of a Trusting Life.

How often, Hannah asks, do we bring our burdens to the Lord, as He told us to, only to take them home with us again? There are some wonderful and challenging chapters in this book, which Hannah revised throughout her life, as she came to see that the truth is in the Bible, not in our feelings. Fact, faith and feelings come in that order. As Hannah points out several times, feelings come last. The teaching in this book is firmly Scripture based, as Hannah insists that there is more to the Christian life than simply passing through the gate of salvation. There is a journey ahead for us, where every step we take should be consecrated to bring us closer and closer to God, day by day, and year by year.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-6-6

### Every-Day Religion

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

How are we to live out our Christian lives every day? This book isn't about everyday (ordinary) religion, but about a living faith that changes our lives day by day. Hannah Whitall Smith had to live her life based on her trust in Scripture and the promises of God. In 1875, after the loss of three children, and her husband suffering a mental breakdown after being accused of infidelity, she was able to write The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life, in which she showed that it is possible to find peace with the Lord, no matter what life throws at us, through trusting in His promises.

In 1894, after the death of yet another child, with her three surviving children professing atheism, and her husband losing his faith, Hannah's trust in the Lord Jesus is still so strong that she is able to write in her introduction to her Scripture-based Every-Day Religion, that the purpose of the book is, "To bring out, as far as possible, the common-sense teaching of the Bible in regard to every-day religion. ... How to have inward peace in the midst of outward turmoil."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-0-9

### Haslam's Journey

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

Previously published 2005 by Highland Books

If you only intend to read just one Christian book, this should be the one! You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon. Well, William Haslam is that man. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851, and revival immediately broke out. Later, another of William Haslam's "famous" sermons will cause a mass walkout of assembled clergy in St Paul's Cathedral! Once he starts to preach the Gospel with zeal, you can rejoice over powerful conversions in nearly every chapter.

Haslam's Journey consists of selected passages from William Haslam's two autobiographies: From Death Into Life (published 1880, his Cornish ministry) and Yet Not I (published 1882, set mostly in Bath, Norfolk and London), abridged and lightly modernised. Just under half of the originals is included. With copious notes and appendices by Chris Wright, editor of Haslam's Leaves also from White Tree Publishing. William Haslam writes with humour and great insight.

William Haslam writes about his early life: "I did not see then, as I have since, that turning over a new leaf to cover the past is not by any means the same thing as turning back the old leaves and getting them washed in the blood of the Lamb. I thought my acceptance with God depended upon my works. This made me very diligent in prayer, fasting and alms deeds. I often sat and dreamed about the works of mercy and devotion I would do."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-8-5

### My Life and Work

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

Now followed a difficult time, because he knew that in order to preach to others, he had to be able to read the Bible, both for himself and aloud to others. He writes, "I began to practise preaching. One Sunday I entered a turnip field and preached most eloquently to the turnips. I had a very large and most attentive congregation. Not one of them made an attempt to move away." When he started preaching to people, and came across a long word in the Bible he was unable to read, he says he stopped at the long word and spoke on what had gone before, and started reading again at the word after the long one!

Gipsy Smith quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he soon became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He joined the Salvation Army for a time, until being told to resign. Instead of this being a setback, he now took up a much wider sphere of work in England, before travelling to America and Australia where he became a much-loved preacher. In spite of meeting two American presidents at the White House, and other important figures in society, Gipsy Smith never forgot his roots. He never pretended to be anything other than a Gipsy boy, and was always pleased to come across other Gipsy families in his travels. Like Billy Bray and others uneducated writers, Gipsy Smith tells the story of his life in a simple and compelling way. This is the account written by a man who gave himself fully to the Lord, and was used to help lead thousands to Jesus Christ as their Saviour.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

eBook Coming January 2018

### Living in the Sunshine:

The God of All Comfort

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Hannah Smith, who suffered so much in her personal life, has an amazing Bible-based grasp of God's love for each of us. She writes in this book: "Why, I ask myself, should the children of God lead such utterly uncomfortable Christian lives when He has led us to believe that His yoke would be easy and His burden light? Why are we tormented with so many spiritual doubts, and such heavy spiritual anxieties? Why do we find it so hard to be sure that God really loves us?

"But here, perhaps, you will meet me with the words, 'Oh, no, I do not blame the Lord, but I am so weak and so foolish, and so ignorant that I am not worthy of His care.' But do you not know that sheep are always weak, and helpless, and silly; and that the very reason they are compelled to have a shepherd to care for them is just because they are so unable to take care of themselves? Their welfare and their safety, therefore, do not in the least depend upon their own strength, nor upon their own wisdom, nor upon anything in themselves, but wholly and entirely upon the care of their shepherd. And if you are a sheep, your welfare also must depend altogether upon your Shepherd, and not at all upon yourself!"

Note: This is Hannah Smith's final book. It was first published as Living in the Sunshine, and later republished as The God of All Comfort, the title of the third chapter. The edition used here is the British edition of Living in the Sunshine, dated 1906.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-3-0

eBook Coming early 2018

### Evangelistic Talks

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

This book is a selection of 19 talks given by Gipsy Smith which will provide inspirational reading, and also be a source of help for those who speak. There are also 20 "two-minute sermonnettes" as the last chapter! Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

He quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He preached throughout England, before travelling to America and Australia. Wherever he went he was a much-loved and powerful preacher, bringing thousands to the Lord.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-7-8

eBook Coming early 2018

### I Can't Help Praising the Lord

The Life of Billy Bray

FW Bourne and

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

This challenging and often amusing book on the life of Billy Bray (1794-1868) has a very strong message for Christians today. Billy, a Cornish tin miner, believed and accepted the promises in the Bible, and lived a life that was Spirit filled.

FW Bourne, the writer of the original book, The King's Son, knew Billy Bray as a friend. In it he has used Billy's own writing, the accounts of others who had met Billy, and his own memories.

Chris Wright has revised and edited FW Bourne's book to produce this new edition, adding sections directly from Billy Bray's own Journal, keeping Billy's rough and ready grammar and wording, which surely helps us picture the man.

eBook

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 80 pages

Available from major internet stores

Also on sale in Billy Bray's Chapel

Kerley Downs, Cornwall

## Christian Fiction

### The Lost Clue

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

With modern line drawings

Living the life of a wealthy man, Kenneth Fortescue receives devastating news from his father. But he is only able to learn incomplete facts about his past, because a name has been obliterated from a very important letter. Two women are vying for Kenneth's attention -- Lady Violet, the young daughter of Lady Earlswood, and Marjorie Douglas, the daughter of a widowed parson's wife.

Written in 1905 by the much-loved author Mrs. O. F. Walton, this edition has been lightly abridged and edited to make it easier to read and understand today. This romantic mystery story gives an intriguing glimpse into the class extremes that existed in Edwardian England, with wealthy titled families on one side, and some families living in terrible poverty on the other.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-2-6

### Doctor Forester

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

with modern line drawings

Doctor Forester, a medical man only twenty-five years old, has come to a lonely part of Wales to escape from an event in his recent past that has caused him much hurt. So he has more on his mind than worrying about strange noises behind his bedroom wall in the old castle where he is staying.

A young woman who shares part of the journey with him is staying in the same village. He is deeply attracted to her, and believes that she is equally attracted to him. But he soon has every reason to think that his old school friend Jack is also courting her.

Written and taking place in the early 1900s, this romantic mystery is a mix of excitement and heartbreak. What is the secret of Hildick Castle? And can Doctor Forester rid himself of the past that now haunts his life?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

* * *

Ghosts of the past kept flitting through his brain. Dark shadows which he tried to chase away seemed to pursue him. Here these ghosts were to be laid; here those shadows were to be dispelled; here that closed chapter was to be buried for ever. So he fought long and hard with the phantoms of the past until the assertive clock near his bedroom door announced that it was two o'clock.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-0-2

### Was I Right?

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Victorian Romance

With modern line drawings

May Lindsay and her young stepsister Maggie are left penniless and homeless when their father the local doctor dies. Maggie can go to live with her three maiden aunts, but May at the age of nineteen is faced with a choice. Should she take the position of companion to a girl she doesn't know, who lives some distance away, or accept a proposal of marriage from the man who has been her friend since they were small children?

May Lindsay makes her decision, but it is not long before she wonders if she has done the right thing. This is a story of life in Victorian England as May, who has led a sheltered life, is pushed out into a much bigger world than she has previously known. She soon encounters titled families, and is taken on a tour of the Holy Land which occupies much of the story.

Two men seem to be a big disappointment to May Lindsay. Will her Christian faith hold strong in these troubles? Was she right in the decision she made before leaving home?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-1-9

A Previously Unpublished Book

### Locked Door Shuttered Windows

A Novel by J Stafford Wright

What is inside the fascinating house with the locked door and the shuttered windows? Satan wants an experiment. God allows it. John is caught up in the plan as Satan's human representative. The experiment? To demonstrate that there can be peace in the world if God allows Satan to run things in his own way. A group of people gather together in an idyllic village run by Satan, with no reference to God, and no belief in him.

J Stafford Wright has written this startling and gripping account of what happens when God stands back and Satan steps forward. All seems to go well for the people who volunteer to take part. And no Christians allowed!

John Longstone lost his faith when teaching at a theological college. Lost it for good -- or so he thinks. And then he meets Kathleen who never had a faith. As the holes start to appear in Satan's scheme for peace, they wonder if they should help or hinder the plans which seem to have so many benefits for humanity.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-3-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-4-1

206 pages 5.25 x 8.0 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### When it Was Dark

Guy Thorne

Abridged Edition

What would happen to the Christian faith if it could be proved beyond all doubt that Jesus did not rise from the dead? This is the situation when, at the end of the nineteenth century, eminent archaeologists working outside Jerusalem discover a tomb belonging to Joseph of Arimathea, with an inscription claiming that he took the body of Jesus from the first tomb and hid it. And there are even remains of a body. So no resurrection!

As churches quickly empty, some Christians cling to hope, saying that Jesus lives within them, so He must be the Son of God who rose from the dead. Others are relieved that they no longer have to believe and go to church. Society starts to break down.

With the backing of a wealthy industrialist, a young curate puts together a small team to investigate the involvement of a powerful atheist in the discovery. This is an abridged edition of a novel first published in 1903.

Guy Thorne was the English author of many thrillers in the early twentieth century, and this book was not intended specifically for the Christian market. It contains adult references in places, but no swearing or offensive language. Although it was written from a high church Anglican viewpoint, the author is positive about the various branches of the Christian faith, finding strengths and weaknesses in individual church and chapel members as their beliefs are threatened by the discovery in Jerusalem. White Tree Publishing believes this book will be a great and positive challenge to Christians today as we examine the reality of our faith.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

Published jointly with North View Publishing

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-0-3

### Silverbeach Manor

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

Pansy is an orphan who is cared for by her aunt, Temperance Piper, who keeps the village post office and store. One day Pansy meets wealthy Mrs. Adair who offers to take her under her wing and give her a life of wealth in high society that she could never dream of, on condition Pansy never revisits her past life. When they first meet, Mrs. Adair says about Pansy's clothes, "The style is a little out of date, but it is good enough for the country. I should like to see you in a really well-made dress. It would be quite a new sensation for you, if you really belong to these wilds. I have a crimson and gold tea gown that would suit you delightfully, and make you quite a treasure for an artist." This is a story of rags to riches to ... well, to a life where nothing is straightforward. First published in 1891.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-4-1

### Gildas Haven

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

For several years in the peaceful English village of Meadthorpe, the church and chapel have existed in an uneasy peace while the rector and the chapel minister are distracted by poor health. Now a young curate arrives at St Simeon's, bringing high church ritual and ways of worship. Gildas Haven, the daughter of the chapel minister is furious to discover the curate is enticing her Sunday school children away. The curate insists that his Church ways are right, and Gildas who has only known chapel worship says the opposite.

Battle lines are quickly drawn by leaders and congregations. Mary Haycraft writes with light humour and surprising insight in what could be a controversial story line. With at least one major surprise, the author seems to be digging an impossible hole for herself as the story progresses. The ending of this sensitively told romance is likely to come as a surprise.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-7-2

### Amaranth's Garden

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

"It seems, Miss, your father drew out that money yesterday, and took it all out in gold. The Rector happened to be in the Bank at the time, but was on his way to town, and could not stop to talk to your father just then, though he wondered to hear him say he had come to draw out everything, as treasurer of the fund." Amaranth Glyn's comfortable life comes to an end when the church funds disappear. Her father, the church treasurer who drew out the money, is also missing, to be followed shortly by her mother. The disgrace this brings on the family means Amaranth's marriage plans are cancelled. Amaranth is a competent artist and moves away with her young brother to try to earn a living. There are rumours that her parents are in France and even in Peru. Caring for her sick brother, Amaranth wants life to be as it was before the financial scandal forced her to leave her family home and the garden she loved.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-6-5

### Rose Capel's Sacrifice

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rose and Maurice Capel find themselves living in poverty through no fault of their own, and their daughter Gwen is dangerously ill and in need of a doctor and medicine, which they cannot possibly afford. There seems to be only one option -- to offer their daughter to Maurice Capel's unmarried sister, Dorothy, living in the beautiful Welsh countryside, and be left with nothing more than memories of Gwen. Dorothy has inherited her father's fortune and cut herself off from the family. Although Gwen would be well cared for, if she got better and Rose and Maurice's finances improved, would they be able to ask for Gwen to be returned? Another story from popular Victorian writer Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-3-4

### Miss Elizabeth's Niece

### Margaret Haycraft

"You have scandalised your name and ours, and the only thing to do is to make the best of it, and teach Maisie at least the first principles of ladylike conduct." Trevor Stratheyre, from a wealthy and aristocratic English family, impulsively marries Maisie, a servant girl he meets while touring the Continent. Maisie's mother had died at an Italian inn, leaving three-year-old Maisie to be brought up by the landlord and his wife, where she helps as a maid at the inn and cares for the animals. Maisie is charming and affectionate, but when Trevor brings her back to Stratheyre in England as his bride, to the large estate he is expecting to inherit, it is clear that Maisie's ways are not those of the upper classes. When she tells titled guests at dinner that she was once herding some cows home and one was struck by lightning, trouble is bound to follow.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-7-3

eBook Coming November 2017

### Keena Karmody

Eliza Kerr

Keena Karmody finishes school in London and invites her young French teacher, Marie Delorme, to stay with her on her grandfather's estate at Céim-an-eich in Ireland as her tutor, to complete her education. One day Keena will inherit the large house and the family money. As time goes on, Marie Delorme's stay becomes permanent as she makes secret plans to take possession of the estate. When Keena's grandfather dies, Keena finds that he has made a very different will than the one everyone expected, and Marie is now mistress of the house. What is the shameful family secret that no one has ever discussed with Keena? Her only hope of getting her life back together lies in discovering this secret, and the answer could be with her father's grave in Tuscany. Homeless and penniless Keena Karmody sets out for Italy.

"When she had sought out and found that grave in the distant Tuscan village, and learned the story of her father's life and death, perhaps then death would come, and she might be laid there at his side in peace, and Marie would dwell in Céim-an-eich."

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

eBook coming December 2017

### The Clever Miss Jancy

### Margaret S. Haycraft

Miss Orabel Jancy is indeed clever, and she knows it. The oldest of widowed Squire Jancy's six children, all living at home, Orabel is the author of several scientific books, and has many letters after her name. To Orabel, education and intellectual pursuits are everything that matter in life. She is secretary of a women's intellectual club that teaches that women are superior to men, and the members have all agreed to remain single because men would hold them back in their academic goals. However, when Orabel was born, a deathbed promise was made with a friend that Orabel and the friend's son, Harold Kingdon, should be given the opportunity to marry. Nobody thinks to mention this to Orabel, and she only learns of the arrangement when she is grown up and Harold Kingdon is already on his way from India -- to propose to her! Even before Harold arrives, Orabel decides she cannot possibly marry a lowly military doctor, when she is so intelligent. As soon as they meet, the feeling of dislike is mutual. But Orabel's younger sister, Annis, who never did well in academic subjects, is also of marriageable age, and would dearly love to settle down with the right man. Their younger brother and small sisters view the developing situation with interest.

The Squire had never found courage to broach the fact of the offer to Orabel, who looks as though her blue eyes would wither the sheet of foreign notepaper in front of her.

"You know, Orabel," puts in Annis, "we did hear something long ago about papa and mamma promising somebody or other out in India should have a chance to court you."

"Oh, do say 'yes,' Orabel," pleads a chorus of little sisters. "It will be so lovely to have a wedding, and Phil can be a page and wear a fancy dress."

"Can he?" growls Philip. "I'd like to catch myself in lace and velvet like those kids at the Hemmings' last week. Orabel, I think you ought to send him your portrait. Let him know, at least, what he's wooing."

With these words Philip beats a prudent retreat, and Orabel gives utterance to such tones that Annis, trembling at her side, is almost in tears.

"Has it come to this," Orabel asks, "that I, the secretary of the Mount Athene Club, should be affronted, insulted by a letter like this? Am I not Orabel Jancy? Am I not the pioneer of a new and emancipating system? And who is this Harold Kingdon that he dares to cross my path with his jests concerning infantile betrothal?"

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-9-7

eBook coming January 2018

### A Daughter of the King

Mrs Philip Barnes

There are the usual misunderstandings in the small village of Royden, but one year they combine to cause serious friction. An elderly lady, the embodiment of kindness, is turned out of her favourite pew by the new vicar. Young and old residents start to view each other with suspicion when a banished husband returns, allegedly to harm his wife and children as he did once before. Both Mary Grey and Elsa Knott want to marry young Gordon Pyne, who lives in the White House, but Gordon is suddenly accused of his father's murder. This is a very readable romance from 1909, with many twists and turns. It has been lightly abridged and edited. A story in the style of those by White Tree Publishing's most popular author, Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-8-0

eBook coming January 2018

### Hazel Haldene

Eliza Kerr

Two grownup sisters live under their older brother's thumb. He is obsessed with perfect Christian doctrine and farming, and cannot see why his sisters should want any company but his own. Marie is fond of a local artist, but her brother will not allow such a marriage. Marie's only hope of freedom is to run away and marry in secret. When she returns to the family home eight years later with a child, surely she will be welcome by a brother who professes religion. This story by Eliza Kerr again takes the theme of rejection, but her stories are all very different as well as involving.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN:

eBook Coming February 2018

### Rollica Reed

Eliza Kerr

When Rollica Reed is left an orphan at the age of sixteen, a friend of her father's takes her in, much to the dismay of his wife and two older daughters who consider themselves to be the cream of Victorian society. The wife and daughters resent Rollica as an intruder, and try to make her life wretched, humiliating her in front of friends and telling her she is too common to be a lady. The two unmarried daughters are concerned by Rollica's naturally good looks, and want to cut her off from meeting any of their friends. Rollica soon learns she must not show any sign of weakness if she is to survive. But can she ever forgive?

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-6-1

## Books for Younger Readers

### (and older readers too!)

### The Merlin Adventure

Chris Wright

The day Daniel Talbot brought home a stuffed duck in a glass case, everyone thought he'd gone out of his mind. Even he had his doubts at times. "Fancy spending your money on that," his mother scolded him. "You needn't think it's coming into this house, because it isn't!"

When Daniel, Emma, Charlie and Julia, the Four Merlins, set out to sail their model paddle steamer on the old canal, strange and dangerous things start to happen. Then Daniel and Julia make a discovery they want to share with the others.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-2-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 182 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Hijack Adventure

Chris Wright

Anna's mother has opened a transport café, but why do the truck drivers avoid stopping there? An accident in the road outside brings Anna a new friend, Matthew. When they get trapped in a broken down truck with Matthew's dog, Chip, their adventure begins.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-6-5

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-0-5

5x8 inches 140 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Seventeen Steps Adventure

Chris Wright

When Ryan's American cousin, Natalie, comes to stay with him in England, a film from their Gran's old camera holds some surprise photographs, and they discover there's more to photography than taking selfies! But where are the Seventeen Steps, and has a robbery been planned to take place there?

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-7-2

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-6-7

5x8 inches 132 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Two Jays Adventure

The First Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the West Country in England where they set out to make some exciting discoveries. Have they found the true site of an ancient holy well? Is the water in it dangerous? Why does an angry man with a bicycle tell them to keep away from the deserted stone quarry?

A serious accident on the hillside has unexpected consequences, and an old Latin document may contain a secret that's connected to the two strange stone heads in the village church -- if James and Jessica can solve the puzzle. An adventure awaits! This is the first Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-8-9

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-8-1

5x8 inches 196 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Dark Tunnel Adventure

The Second Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the Derbyshire Peak District in England, staying near Dakedale Manor, which has been completely destroyed in a fire. Did young Sam Stirling burn his family home down? Miss Parkin, the housekeeper, says he did, and she can prove it. Sam says he didn't, and he can't prove it. But Sam has gone missing. James and Jessica believe the truth lies behind one of the old iron doors inside the disused railway tunnel. This is the second Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-0-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5206386-3-8

188 pages 5x8 inches

Available from major internet stores

$5.99 £4.95

### The Cliff Edge Adventure

The Third Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica's Aunt Judy lives in a lonely guest house perched on top of a crumbling cliff on the west coast of Wales. She is moving out with her dog for her own safety, because she has been warned that the waves from the next big storm could bring down a large part of the cliff -- and her house with it. Cousins James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are helping her sort through her possessions, and they find an old papyrus page they think could be from an ancient copy of one of the Gospels. Two people are extremely interested in having it, but can either of them be trusted? James and Jessica are alone in the house. It's dark, the electricity is off, and the worst storm in living memory is already battering the coast. Is there someone downstairs? This is the third Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-4-2

Paperback ISBN: 9781-5-211370-3-1

188 pages 5x8 inches

$5.99 £4.95

Coming December 2017

### The Midnight Farm Adventure

The Fourth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

What is hidden in the old spoil tip by the disused Midnight Mine? Two men have permission to dig there, but they don't want anyone watching -- especially not Jessica and James, the Two Jays. And where is Granfer Joe's old tin box, full of what he called his treasure? The Easter holiday at Midnight Farm in Cornwall isn't as peaceful as James's parents planned. An early morning bike ride nearly ends in disaster, and with the so-called Hound of the Baskerville running loose, things turn out to be decidedly dangerous. This is the fourth Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-1-6

Also available in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5497148-3-2

200 pages 5x8 inches

$5.99 £4.95

### Mary Jones and Her Bible

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

The true story of Mary Jones's and her Bible

with a clear Christian message and optional puzzles

(Some are easy, some tricky, and some amusing)

Mary Jones saved for six years to buy a Bible of her own. In 1800, when she was 15, she thought she had saved enough, so she walked barefoot for 26 miles (more than 40km) over a mountain pass and through deep valleys in Wales to get one. That's when she discovered there were none for sale!

You can travel with Mary Jones today in this book by following clues, or just reading the story. Either way, you will get to Bala where Mary went, and if you're really quick you may be able to discover a Bible just like Mary's in the market!

The true story of Mary Jones has captured the imagination for more than 200 years. For this book, Chris Wright has looked into the old records and discovered even more of the story, which is now in this unforgettable account of Mary Jones and her Bible. Solving puzzles is part of the fun, but the whole story is in here to read and enjoy whether you try the puzzles or not. Just turn the page, and the adventure continues. It's time to get on the trail of Mary Jones!

eBook ISBN: ISBN: 978-0-9933941-5-7

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9525956-2-5

5.5 x 8.5 inches

156 pages of story, photographs, line drawings and puzzles

### Pilgrim's Progress

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

Travel with young Christian as he sets out on a difficult and perilous journey to find the King. Solve the puzzles and riddles along the way, and help Christian reach the Celestial City. Then travel with his friend Christiana. She has four young brothers who can sometimes be a bit of a problem.

Be warned, you will meet giants and lions -- and even dragons! There are people who don't want Christian and Christiana to reach the city of the King and his Son. But not everyone is an enemy. There are plenty of friendly people. It's just a matter of finding them.

Are you prepared to help? Are you sure? The journey can be very dangerous! As with our book Mary Jones and Her Bible, you can enjoy the story even if you don't want to try the puzzles.

This is a simplified and abridged version of Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition, containing illustrations and a mix of puzzles. The suggested reading age is up to perhaps ten. Older readers will find the same story told in much greater detail in Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition on the next page.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9933941-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-6-3

5.5 x 8.5 inches 174 pages £6.95

Available from major internet stores

### Pilgrim's Progress

### Special Edition

Chris Wright

This book for all ages is a great choice for young readers, as well as for families, Sunday school teachers, and anyone who wants to read John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress in a clear form.

All the old favourites are here: Christian, Christiana, the Wicket Gate, Interpreter, Hill Difficulty with the lions, the four sisters at the House Beautiful, Vanity Fair, Giant Despair, Faithful and Talkative -- and, of course, Greatheart. The list is almost endless.

The first part of the story is told by Christian himself, as he leaves the City of Destruction to reach the Celestial City, and becomes trapped in the Slough of Despond near the Wicket Gate. On his journey he will encounter lions, giants, and a creature called the Destroyer.

Christiana follows along later, and tells her own story in the second part. Not only does Christiana have to cope with her four young brothers, she worries about whether her clothes are good enough for meeting the King. Will she find the dangers in Vanity Fair that Christian found? Will she be caught by Giant Despair and imprisoned in Doubting Castle? What about the dragon with seven heads?

It's a dangerous journey, but Christian and Christiana both know that the King's Son is with them, helping them through the most difficult parts until they reach the Land of Beulah, and see the Celestial City on the other side of the Dark River. This is a story you will remember for ever, and it's about a journey you can make for yourself.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-8-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-7-0

5.5 x 8.5 inches 278 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Zephan and the Vision

Chris Wright

An exciting story about the adventures of two angels who seem to know almost nothing -- until they have a vision!

Two ordinary angels are caring for the distant Planet Eltor, and they are about to get a big shock -- they are due to take a trip to Planet Earth! This is Zephan's story of the vision he is given before being allowed to travel with Talora, his companion angel, to help two young people fight against the enemy.

Arriving on Earth, they discover that everyone lives in a small castle. Some castles are strong and built in good positions, while others appear weak and open to attack. But it seems that the best-looking castles are not always the most secure.

Meet Castle Nadia and Castle Max, the two castles that Zephan and Talora have to defend. And meet the nasty creatures who have built shelters for themselves around the back of these castles. And worst of all, meet the shadow angels who live in a cave on Shadow Hill. This is a story about the forces of good and the forces of evil. Who will win the battle for Castle Nadia?

The events in this story are based very loosely on John Bunyan's allegory The Holy War.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-9-4

5.5 x 8.5 inches 216 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Agathos, The Rocky Island,

### And Other Stories

Chris Wright

Once upon a time there were two favourite books for Sunday reading: Parables from Nature and Agathos and The Rocky Island.

These books contained short stories, usually with a hidden meaning. In this illustrated book is a selection of the very best of these stories, carefully retold to preserve the feel of the originals, coupled with ease of reading and understanding for today's readers.

Discover the king who sent his servants to trade in a foreign city. The butterfly who thought her eggs would hatch into baby butterflies, and the two boys who decided to explore the forbidden land beyond the castle boundary. The spider that kept being blown in the wind, the soldier who had to fight a dragon, the four children who had to find their way through a dark and dangerous forest. These are just six of the nine stories in this collection. Oh, and there's also one about a rocky island!

This is a book for a young person to read alone, a family or parent to read aloud, Sunday school teachers to read to the class, and even for grownups who want to dip into the fascinating stories of the past all by themselves. Can you discover the hidden meanings? You don't have to wait until Sunday before starting!

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-7-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-8-7

5.5 x 8.5 inches 148 pages £5.95

Available from major internet stores

Don't forget to check our website www.whitetreepublishing.com for the latest books, and updates on availability

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