CHAPTER XIII.
INNOVATIONS.
I DISLIKE that way of doing things. People are being educated tosuppose that they are engaged in a benevolent enterprise when theyattend a benefit concert or entertainment. Those who can not afford togo ease their consciences by saying, 'Oh, well, it is for benevolence;'when it really isn't, you know; it is for self-gratification orself-improvement, and people who ought to give twenty-five dollars fora thing learn to tell themselves that they went to the twenty-fivecent supper, or concert, and that is their share, they suppose. Letus invite them to come to our concert because we believe that we canentertain them, and that it will pay them to be present.
"The fact is, girls, the church of Christ doesn't _need_ any benefit.We degrade it by talking as though it did. No, we will divide theproceeds of the concert in shares among ourselves; that is we, theworkers, will for the time being go into business and earn money thatshall be ours. We will not plead poverty, or ask people to listen tous because of benevolence; we will simply give them a chance to hear agood thing if they want to, and the money shall be ours to do exactlywhat we please with. Of course, if we please to give every cent of itto the church, that is our individual affair."
New ground this, for those girls; they had never before heard the like;but there was an instant outgrowth of self-respect because of it.
"Then we can't _coax_ people to buy tickets?" said Nettie. "I'm soglad."
"Of course not. The very utmost that propriety will allow us to do willbe to exhibit our goods for sale, so much for such an equivalent, andallow people the privilege of choosing what they will do, and wherethey will go."
The girls, each and all, agreed that from that standpoint they wouldas soon offer tickets for sale as not; and instantly they steppedupon that new platform and argued from it in the future, to the greatamazement and somewhat to the bewilderment of some of their elders.
Thereafter, rehearsals for the concert became the daily order ofthings; not much time to spend each day, for nothing could be doneuntil lessons were over and all regular duties honorably discharged.The more need then for promptness and diligence on the part of eachhelper, and the more glaringly improper it became to delay mattersby having to stay behind for a half-prepared lesson. Never had theAcademy, or the village, for that matter, been so full of eager,throbbing, healthy life, as those girls made it.
Their numbers grew, also. At first, the music-class was disposed,like the others, to be exclusive, and to shake its head with a loftynegative when one and another of the outsiders proposed this or thatthing which they would do to help. But Miss Benedict succeeded intiding them over that shoal.
"It is their church, girls, as well as ours. We must not hinder themfrom showing their love."
"Great love they have had," sneered one; "they never thought of doing athing until we commenced."
But they were all honest, these girls, and this very one who hadoffered her sneer, added in sober second thought:
"Though, to be sure, for the matter of that, neither did we, until youbegun it. Well, let them come in; I don't care."
"And we want to do so much," said Miss Benedict, with enthusiasm; "if Iwere you I would take all the help I could get."
Meantime, the other schemes connected with this gigantic enterpriseflourished. There seemed no end to the devices for money-making, all ofthem in somewhat new channels, too.
"Not a tidy in the enterprise," said Ruth Jennings, gravely, as shetried to explain some of the work to her mother. "Who ever heardof a church getting itself repaired without the aid of tidies andpin-cushions! I wonder when they began with such things, mother? Do yousuppose St. Paul had to patronize fairs, and buy slippers and things,for the benefit of churches in Ephesus or Corinth?"
The bewildered mother, with a vague idea that Ruth was being almostirreverent, could not, for all that, decide how to answer her.
"For there isn't any religion in those things, of course," she said tothe equally-puzzled father, "and it did sound ridiculous to hear St.Paul's name brought into it! That Miss Benedict has all sorts of newideas."
In the course of time, the boys (who are quite likely to becomeinterested in anything that has deeply interested the girls) weredrawn into service. Here, too, the ways of working were unusual andsuggestive. Miss Benedict heard of one who had promised to give all thecigars he would probably have smoked in two months' time, whereupon shemade this eager comment:
"Oh, what a pity that it is not going to take us fifty years to repairthe church! then we would get him to promise to give us the savings ofcigars until it was done!"
This was duly reported to him, and gave him food for thought.
Another promised the savings from sleigh-rides that he had intendedto take, and another gravely wrote down in Ruth Jennings' note-book:"Harry Matthews, $1.10; the price of two new neckties and a bottle ofhair oil!" There was more than fun to some of these entries. Some ofthe boys could not have kept their pledges if there had not been thesequeer little sacrifices.
One evening there was a new development. Ruth Jennings brought thenews. The much-abused, long-suffering, neglectful sexton of thehalf-alive church notified the startled trustees that he had receiveda louder call to the church on the other corner, and must leave them.It really was startling news; for bad as he had been, not one in thelittle village could be thought of who would be likely to supply hisplace.
Ruth reported her father as filled with consternation.
"I wish I were a man!" savagely announced Anna Graves, "then I wouldoffer myself for the position at once. It is as easy to make threedollars a month in that way as it is in any other that I know of."
That was the first development of the new idea. Miss Benedict bestoweda sudden glance, half of amusement, half of pleasure, on her aspiringpupil, and was silent.
"If it were not for the fires," was Nettie Burdick's slow-spokensentence, rather as if she were thinking aloud than talking. That isthe way the idea began to grow.
Then Ruth Jennings, with a sudden dash, as she was very apt to enterinto a subject:
"It is no harder to make fires in church stoves than it is insitting-room ones. I've done that often. I say, girls, let's do it!"
Every one of them knew that she meant the church stoves instead of thesitting-room ones, and that was the way that the idea took on flesh,and stood up before them.
There followed much eager discussion and of course some demurs. Nothingever was done yet, or ever will be, without somebody objecting to it.At least, this was what Ruth said; and she added that she could not,to save her life, help being a little more settled in a determinationafter she had heard somebody oppose it a trifle.
However, the trustees opposed it more than a trifle. They were amazed.Such an innovation on the time-honored ways of South Plains had neverbeen heard of before. Argument ran high. The half-doubtful girls camesquarely over to the aggressive side, and waxed eloquent over the plan.It was carried at last, as Miss Benedict, looking on and laughing, toldthe girls she knew it would be.
"When you get fairly roused, my girls, I observe that you are quite aptto carry the day." She did not tell them that they were girls after herown heart, but I think perhaps she looked it.
One request the trustees growled vigorously over, which was that thenew sextons should be paid in advance for a half-year's work. What ifthey failed?
"We won't fail," said Ruth indignantly, "and if we do, can't youconceive of the possibility of our being honest? We will not keep acent of the precious money that has not been earned."
Whereupon, Mr. Jennings, in a private conference with the trustees,went over to the enemy's side, and promised to stand security forthem, remarking apologetically that the girls had all gone crazy oversomething, his Ruth among the number. Therefore eighteen dollars weregleefully added to the treasury. The sum was certainly growing.
The Sabbath following the installation of the new sextons markeda change in the appearance of the old church. The floors had beencarefully swept
and cleansed, the young ladies drawing on theirprecious funds for the purpose of paying a woman who had scrubbedvigorously.
"It would be more fascinating," Ruth Jennings frankly admitted, "to letall the improvements come in together in one grand blaze of glory; butthen it would be more decent to have those floors scrubbed, and I movethat we go in for decency, to the sacrifice of glory, if need be."
So they did. Not a particle of dust was to be seen on that Sabbathmorning anywhere about the sanctuary. From force of habit, the mencarefully brushed their hats with their coat-sleeves as they tookpossession of them again, the service over; but the look of surprise onthe faces of some over the discovery that there was nothing to brushaway, was a source of amusement to a few of the watchful girls.
Also the few stragglers who returned for the evening service werecaught looking about them in a dazed sort of way, as though they deemedit just possible that there might be an incipient fire in progressthat threatened the building. Not that a new lamp had been added; thechimneys had simply been washed in soapsuds, and polished until theyshone, and new wicks had been furnished, the workers declaring thattheir consciences really would not allow them to do less. The effect ofthese very commonplace efforts was somewhat astonishing, even to them.
"It is well we did it," affirmed Anna Graves with serious face. "Ibelieve we ought to get the people used to these things by degrees orthey will be frightened."
One question Claire puzzled over in silence: Did the ministerreally preach a better sermon that evening? Was it possible thatthe cleanliness about him might have put a little energy into hisdiscouraged heart, or had she been so tired with her week of toil, thatto see every one of her dozen girls out to church, and sit back andlook at them through the brightness of clean lamps, was restful andsatisfying? She found that she could not decide on the minister as yet.Perhaps the carrying of such a load as that church, for years, was whathad taken the spring out of his voice and the life out of his words.
About these things nothing must be said, yet could not something bedone? How could she and her girls help that pastor?
Meantime, some of the girls came to her one evening, bursting withlaughter:
"Oh, Miss Benedict, we have a new recruit! You couldn't guess who. Weshall certainly succeed now, with such a valuable reinforcement. Oh,girls, we know now why Miss Benedict sprained her ankle, and kept usall waiting for a week! This is a direct result from that week's work."
"What are you talking about?" said Miss Benedict, with smiling eyesand sympathetic voice. It was a great addition to her power over thosegirls that she held herself in readiness always to join their fun atlegitimate moments. Sad-hearted she often was, but what good that thoseyoung things should see it? "Who is your recruit?"
"Why, Bud!" they said, and then there were shouts of laughter again,and Ruth could hardly command her voice to explain: "He came to melast night--tramped all the way up to our house in the snow, aftermeeting--because he said he wasn't so ''fraid' of me as he was of 'allthem others.' Was that a compliment, girls, or an insult? Yes, MissBenedict, he wants to help; offers to 'tend the fires,' and I shouldn'twonder if he could do it much better than it has been done at least. Itwas real funny, and real pitiful, too. He said it was the only 'livin'thing he knew how to do,' and _that_ he was sure and certain he coulddo, and if it would help any, he would be awful glad to join."
"But doesn't he want to be paid?" screamed one of the girls.
"Paid? not he! I tell you he wants to join us. He said he wanted to doit to please _her_. That means you, Miss Benedict. You have won hisheart in some way. Oh, it is the fruit of the sprained ankle. You know,girls, she said it was surely for some good purpose." Then they allwent off into ecstatic laughter again. They were just at the age whenit takes so little to convulse girls.
"But I am not yet enlightened," explained Claire, as soon as there washope of her being heard. "Who is Bud?"
"Oh, is it possible you don't remember him? That is too cruel, when heis just devoted to you! Why, he is the furnace-boy at the Ansteds. Idon't know where he saw you. He muttered something about the furnaceand the register that I did not understand; but he plainly intimatedthat he was ready to be your devoted servant, and die for you, if needbe, or at least, make the church fires as many days and nights as youshould want them. Now the question is, what shall we do to the poorfellow?"
The furnace-boy at the Ansteds! Oh, yes, Claire remembered him, agreat, blundering, apparently half-witted, friendless, hopeless boy.Claire's heart had gone out in pity for him the first time she eversaw him. He had been sent to her room to make some adjustment of theregister-screw, and she had asked him if he understood furnaces, and ifhe liked to work, and if the snow was deep, and a few other aimlessquestions, just for the sake of speaking to him with a pleasant voice,and seeming to take an interest in his existence. Her father's hearthad always overflowed with tenderness and helpfulness for all suchboys. Claire had pleased herself--or perhaps I might say saddenedherself--with thinking what her father, if he were alive, and shouldcome in contact with Bud, would probably try to do for him. She couldthink of ways in which her father would work to help him, but shesadly told herself that all that was passed; her father was gone wherehe could not help Bud, and there were few men like him; and the boywould probably have to stumble along through a cold and lonely world.She had not thought of one thing that _she_ could do for him; indeed,it had not so much as occurred to her as possible that there could beanything. After that first day she had not seen him again, until hecame to the music-room with a message for Ella, and she had turned herhead and smiled, and said "Good-morning!" and that was really all thatshe knew about Bud. She had forgotten his existence; and she had beensorrowing because her week at the Ansteds seemed to have accomplishednothing at all.
Her face was averted for a moment from the girls, and some of them,noticing, actually thought that their gay banter was offensive, and waswhat caused the heightened color on her cheeks as she turned back tothem.
They could not have understood, even had she tried to explain, thatit was a blush of shame over the thought that the one whom possiblyshe might have won from that home for the Master's service she hadforgotten, and reached out after those whom, possibly, she was not sentto reach. Her eyes were open now; she would do what she could to repairblunders.
"Do with him?" she said, going back to Ruth's last question. "We'llaccept him, of course, and set him to work; I should not be greatlysurprised if he should prove one of the most useful helpers on our listbefore the winter is over. Look at the snow coming down, and we have arehearsal to-night; don't you believe he can shovel paths, as well asmake fires?"
"Sure enough!" said those girls, and they went away pleased with theaddition to the circle of workers, and prepared every one to greet himas a helper.