"you cannot help that; but it does not excuse you."
"Why, how can I be a Christian, when I _dont want to?_"
"How can you do anything else that you do not want to do? Duty remains duty, does it not?"
"But religion is not outside work."
"No."
"Mother says, it is the love of God. How can I make myself love him?"
"Poor child!" said her visiter. "When you are in earnest about that question it will not be difficult to find the answer." He rose up. "Then I may send the shirts I spoke of?"
"Yes," said Rotha; "but I don't know about the price. Mother does not want anything but the proper pay; and she does all her work particularly."
"Are you afraid I shall give her too much?"
"She does not want too much."
"I will arrange that with her. Stay,--we have not been introduced to each other. You may call me Mr. Digby; what may I call you?"
"Rotha Carpenter."
"Good morning, Rotha," said the gentleman, offering his hand. Rotha shyly took it, and he went away.
Half an hour afterwards, Mrs. Carpenter came home. She came slowly up the short flight of stairs, and sat down by her fireside as if she was tired. She was pale, and she coughed now and then.
"Mother," began Rotha, full of the new event, "somebody has been here since you have been away."
"A messenger from Mr. Farquharson? I shall have the things done to-morrow, I hope."
"No messenger at all, and no tailor, nor any such horrid person. Mother, what is a 'gentleman'?"
"What makes you ask?"
"Because Mrs. Marble said this man was a gentleman. He's a missionary. Do you know what a 'city missionary' means, mother?"
"Yes, in general."
"The same as a foreign missionary, only he does not go out of the country?"
"He does his work in the city."
"But there are no heathen in New York."
"There are worse."
"Worse? what can be worse?"
"It is worse to see the light and refuse it, than never to have had the choice."
"Then I should think it would be better not to send missionaries to the heathen."
"Rotha, take my bonnet and cloak, dear, and put them away; and make me some tea, will you?"
"Why mother, it is not tea-time yet."
"No matter; I am tired, and cold."
"But you didn't tell me what a gentleman is?" pursued Rotha, beginning now to bustle about and do as she was told.
"Wait till I have had some tea. How much tea is left, Rotha?"
"Well, I guess, enough to last almost a week," said the girl, peering into the box which did duty for a tea-caddy.
"I must manage to get some more," said the mother. "I could hardly get along without my cup of tea."
"Mother, here has been somebody who wants you to make shirts for him at two dollars a piece."
"Two dollars a piece!" Mrs. Carpenter echoed. "I could afford to get tea then. Who was that, Rotha? and what sort of shirts does he want made for such a price?"
"I don't know! he said he wanted them very particularly made, and I told him that was the way you did everything. Now mother dear, the kettle will boil in two minutes."
"Who is this person?"
"I told you, he is a city missionary. His name is Mr. Digby."
"Digby,"--said Mrs. Carpenter. "I do not know him."
"Of course you don't. But you will be glad of the shirts, won't you?"
"Very glad, and thankful."
"But is two dollars a proper price?" inquired Rotha a little jealously.
"It is an uncommon price."
"What could make him offer an uncommon price?"
"I don't know. It is not the way of the world, so perhaps he is not one of the world."
"He's a Christian, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Do Christians always do the right thing?"
"Real Christians do, when they know what the right thing is. I am too tired to talk, Rotha."
Rotha bestirred herself and set the little table. Not very much went on it, besides the cups and plates; but there was a loaf of bread, and Rotha made a slice of toast; and Mrs. Carpenter sipped her tea as if she found it refreshing.
"I wish I had a good tumbler of milk," sighed Rotha; "real milk, not like this. And I wish you had some Medwayville cream, mother. I think, if I ever get back into the country again, I shall go wild."
"I sometimes think you are a little of that here," said Mrs. Carpenter.
"Not wild with joy, mother."
Mrs. Carpenter sipped her tea, and stretched out her feet towards the small stove, and seemed to be taking some comfort. But her face was thin and worn, the hands were very thin; a person with more experience than her young daughter would have been ill content with her appearance.
"Mother, now can you tell me my question? What do you mean by a 'gentleman.'"
"Perhaps not just what Mrs. Marble means by it."
"Well, I'll tell you. This person was very well dressed, but clothes do not make it, do they, mother?"
"Certainly not."
"He has got a nice face, and he seemed to know always just what to do and to say; I can't tell you what I mean exactly; but I should think, to look at him and hear him, that he knew everything and had seen all the world. Of course he hasn't and doesn't; but that is the sort of feeling I have when I look at him."
Mrs. Carpenter smiled.
"Did you never see anybody before of whom you thought so?"
"Never. I never did," said Rotha. "The people who come here on business, don't know the least bit how to behave; and the people at dear old Medwayville did not. O they were kind and good as they could be, some of them; but mother, they could not make a bow to save their lives, and they would stand and sit all sorts of ways; and they wouldn't know when they had done talking, nor how to do anything nicely."
"Perhaps this man was stiff," said Mrs. Carpenter amused.
"He was not stiff in the least; but mother, what is a gentleman?"
"I do not know how to tell you, Rotha. Your description sounds very much like one."
A day or two after, Mr. Digby came again, and had an interview with Mrs. Carpenter. This time he paid no attention to Rotha, and I think the little girl was somewhat disappointed. The next day he came again and brought with him the bundle of shirts. He inquired now very kindly into Mrs. Carpenter's state of health, and offered to send his own physician to see her. But she refused; and the manner of her refusal persuaded Mr. Digby that she was aware of her own condition and believed no medicine would be of avail. He was much of the same opinion himself; and indeed was inclined to suspect that there was more need of good food than of drugs in this case. More difficult at the same time to administer.
A few days passed, and Mr. Digby again came.
He found Mrs. Carpenter steady at her work, but looking very worn and pale. Rotha was just putting on the small tea kettle. Mr. Digby sat down and made kind inquiries. The answers were with the sweet patient composure which he saw was habitual with Mrs. Carpenter.
"How is your appetite?" he asked.
"I suppose I am not enough in the open air and stirring about, to have it very good."
"Have you much strength for 'stirring about'?"
"Not much."
"People cannot have strength without eating. Rotha, what time do you give your mother her dinner?"
"Now," said Rotha. "I put the kettle on just as you came in."
"I saw you did. But what is the connection, may I ask, between dinner and the tea kettle?"
"Rotha makes me a cup of tea," said Mrs. Carpenter smiling. "I can hardly get along without that."
"Ah!--Mrs. Carpenter, I have had a busy morning and am--which I am sorry you are not--_hungry_. May I take a cup of tea with you?"
"Certainly!--I should be very glad. Rotha, set a cup for Mr. Digby, dear. But tea is not much to a hungry man," sh
e went on; "and I am afraid there is little in the house but bread and butter."
"That will do capitally. If you'll furnish the bread and butter, I will see what I can get for my part. If you'll excuse the liberty, Mrs. Carpenter?"
Mrs. Carpenter would excuse, I think, whatever he might take a fancy to do. She had seen him now several times, and he had quite won her heart.
"Mother," said Rotha, as soon as their visiter had gone out,