NEXT day Christie braved the lion in his den, otherwise the flintyFlint, in her second-class boarding-house, and found that alarm andremorse had produced a softening effect upon her. She wasunfeignedly glad to see her lost lodger safe, and finding that thenew friends were likely to put her in the way of paying her debts,this much harassed matron permitted her to pack up her possessions,leaving one trunk as a sort of hostage. Then, with promises toredeem it as soon as possible, Christie said good-bye to the littleroom where she had hoped and suffered, lived and labored so long,and went joyfully back to the humble home she had found with thegood laundress.

 

　　All the following week Christie "chored round," as Mrs. Wilkinscalled the miscellaneous light work she let her do. Much washing,combing, and clean pinaforing of children fell to her share, and sheenjoyed it amazingly; then, when the elder ones were packed off toschool she lent a hand to any of the numberless tasks housewivesfind to do from morning till night. In the afternoon, when otherwork was done, and little Vic asleep or happy with her playthings,Christie clapped laces, sprinkled muslins, and picked out edgings atthe great table where Mrs. Wilkins stood ironing, fluting, andcrimping till the kitchen bristled all over with immaculate frillsand flounces.

 

　　It was pretty delicate work, and Christie liked it, for Mrs. Wilkinswas an adept at her trade and took as much pride and pleasure in itas any French blanchis-seuse tripping through the streets of Pariswith a tree full of coquettish caps, capes, and petticoats bornebefore her by a half invisible boy.

 

　　Being women, of course they talked as industriously as they worked;fingers flew and tongues clacked with equal profit and pleasure,and, by Saturday, Christie had made up her mind that Mrs. Wilkinswas the most sensible woman she ever knew. Her grammar was anoutrage upon the memory of Lindley Murray, but the goodness of herheart would have done honor to any saint in the calendar. She wasvery plain, and her manners were by no means elegant, but goodtemper made that homely face most lovable, and natural refinement ofsoul made mere external polish of small account. Her shrewd ideasand odd sayings amused Christie very much, while her good sense andbright way of looking at things did the younger woman a world ofgood.

 

　　Mr. Wilkins devoted himself to the making of shoes and theconsumption of food, with the silent regularity of a placid animal.

 

　　His one dissipation was tobacco, and in a fragrant cloud of smoke helived and moved and had his being so entirely that he might havebeen described as a pipe with a man somewhere behind it. Christieonce laughingly spoke of this habit and declared she would try itherself if she thought it would make her as quiet andundemonstrative as Mr. Wilkins, who, to tell the truth, made no moreimpression on her than a fly.

 

　　"I don't approve on't, but he might do wuss. We all have to have ourcomfort somehow, so I let Lisha smoke as much as he likes, and helets me gab, so it's about fair, I reckon," answered Mrs. Wilkins,from the suds.

 

　　She laughed as she spoke, but something in her face made Christiesuspect that at some period of his life Lisha had done "wuss;" andsubsequent observations confirmed this suspicion and another onealso,--that his good wife had saved him, and was gently easing himback to self-control and self-respect. But, as old Fuller quaintlysays, "She so gently folded up his faults in silence that fewguessed them," and loyally paid him that respect which she desiredothers to bestow. It was always "Lisha and me," "I'll ask myhusband" or "Lisha 'll know; he don't say much, but he's a dreadfulsmart man," and she kept up the fiction so dear to her wifely soulby endowing him with her own virtues, and giving him the credit ofher own intelligence.

 

　　Christie loved her all the better for this devotion, and for hersake treated Mr. Wilkins as if he possessed the strength of Samsonand the wisdom of Solomon. He received her respect as if it was hisdue, and now and then graciously accorded her a few words beyond theusual scanty allowance of morning and evening greetings. At his shopall day, she only saw him at meals and sometimes of an evening, forMrs. Wilkins tried to keep him at home safe from temptation, andChristie helped her by reading, talking, and frolicking with thechildren, so that he might find home attractive. He loved his babiesand would even relinquish his precious pipe for a time to ride thelittle chaps on his foot, or amuse Vic with shadow rabbit's on thewall.

 

　　At such times the entire content in Mrs. Wilkins's face made tobaccofumes endurable, and the burden of a dull man's presence lessoppressive to Christie, who loved to pay her debts in somethingbesides money.

 

　　As they sat together finishing off some delicate laces that Saturdayafternoon, Mrs. Wilkins said, "Ef it's fair to-morrow I want you togo to my meetin' and hear my minister. It'll do you good.""Who is he?""Mr. Power."Christie looked rather startled, for she had heard of Thomas Poweras a rampant radical and infidel of the deepest dye, and been warnednever to visit that den of iniquity called his free church.

 

　　"Why, Mrs. Wilkins, you don't mean it!" she said, leaving her laceto dry at the most critical stage.

 

　　"Yee, I do!" answered Mrs. Wilkins, setting down her flat-iron withemphasis, and evidently preparing to fight valiantly for herminister, as most women will.

 

　　"I beg your pardon; I was a little surprised, for I'd heard allsorts of things about him," Christie hastened to say.

 

　　"Did you ever hear him, or read any of his writins?" demanded Mrs.

 

　　Wilkins, with a calmer air.

 

　　"Never.""Then don't judge. You go hear and see that blessed man, and ef youdon't say he's the shadder of a great rock in a desert land, I'llgive up," cried the good woman, waxing poetical in her warmth.

 

　　"I will to please you, if nothing else. I did go once just because Iwas told not to; but he did not preach that day and every thing wasso peculiar, I didn't know whether to like it or be shocked.""It is kind of sing'lar at fust, I'm free to confess, and not aschurchy as some folks like. But there ain't no place but that bigenough to hold the crowds that want to go, for the more he's abusedthe more folks flock to see him. They git their money's wuth I dobelieve, for though there ain't no pulpits and pews, there's a sightof brotherly love round in them seats, and pious practice, as wellas powerful preaching, in that shabby desk. He don't need nocommandments painted up behind him to read on Sunday, for he keeps'em in his heart and life all the week as honest as man can."There Mrs. Wilkins paused, flushed and breathless with her defence,and Christie said, candidly: "I did like the freedom and good-willthere, for people sat where they liked, and no one frowned over shutpew-doors, at me a stranger. An old black woman sat next me, andsaid 'Amen' when she liked what she heard, and a very shabby youngman was on the other, listening as if his soul was as hungry as hisbody. People read books, laughed and cried, clapped when pleased,and hissed when angry; that I did not like.""No more does Mr. Power; he don't mind the cryin' and the smilin' asit's nat'ral, but noise and disrespect of no kind ain't pleasin' tohim. His own folks behave becomin', but strangers go and act as theylike, thinkin' that there ain't no bounds to the word free. Then weare picked at for their doin's, and Mr. Power has to carry otherfolkses' sins on his shoulders. But, dear suz, it ain't much matterafter all, ef the souls is well-meanin'. Children always make anoise a strivin' after what they want most, and I shouldn't wonderef the Lord forgive all our short-comin's of that sort, sense we arehankerin' and reachin' for the truth.""I wish I had heard Mr. Power that day, for I was striving afterpeace with all my heart, and he might have given it to me," saidChristie, interested and impressed with what she heard.

 

　　"Wal, no, dear, I guess not. Peace ain't give to no one all of asuddin, it gen'lly comes through much tribulation, and the sort thatcomes hardest is best wuth havin'. Mr. Power would a' ploughed andharrered you, so to speak, and sowed good seed liberal; then ef youwarn't barren ground things would have throve, and the Lord give youa harvest accordin' to your labor. Who did you hear?" asked Mrs.

 

　　Wilkins, pausing to starch and clap vigorously.

 

　　"A very young man who seemed to be airing his ideas and beliefs inthe frankest manner. He belabored everybody and every thing, upsetchurch and state, called names, arranged heaven and earth to suithimself, and evidently meant every word he said. Much of it wouldhave been ridiculous if the boy had not been so thoroughly inearnest; sincerity always commands respect, and though peoplesmiled, they liked his courage, and seemed to think he would make aman when his spiritual wild oats were sown.""I ain't a doubt on't. We often have such, and they ain't all emptytalk, nuther; some of 'em are surprisingly bright, and all mean sowell I don't never reluct to hear 'em. They must blow off theirsteam somewheres, else they'd bust with the big idees a swellin' in'em; Mr. Power knows it and gives 'em the chance they can't findnowheres else. 'Pears to me," added Mrs. Wilkins, ironing rapidly asshe spoke, "that folks is very like clothes, and a sight has to bedone to keep 'em clean and whole. All on us has to lend a hand inthis dreadful mixed-up wash, and each do our part, same as you andme is now. There's scrubbin' and bilin', wrenchin' and bluein',dryin' and foldin', ironin' and polishin', before any of us is fitfor wear a Sunday mornin'.""What part does Mr. Power do?" asked Christie, much amused at thispeculiarly appropriate simile.

 

　　"The scrubbin' and the bilin'; that's always the hardest and thehottest part. He starts the dirt and gits the stains out, and leaves'em ready for other folks to finish off. It ain't such pleasant workas hangin' out, or such pretty work as doin' up, but some one's gotto do it, and them that's strongest does it best, though they don'tgit half so much credit as them as polishes and crimps. That's showywork, but it wouldn't be no use ef the things warn't well washedfust," and Mrs. Wilkins thoughtfully surveyed the snowy muslin cap,with its border fluted like the petals of a prim white daisy, thathung on her hand.

 

　　"I'd like to be a washerwoman of that sort; but as I'm not one ofthe strong, I'll be a laundress, and try to make purity asattractive as you do," said Christie, soberly.

 

　　"Ah, my dear, it's warm and wearin' work I do assure you, and hardto give satisfaction, try as you may. Crowns of glory ain't wore inthis world, but it's my 'pinion that them that does the hard jobshere will stand a good chance of havin' extra bright ones when theygit through.""I know you will," said Christie, warmly.

 

　　"Land alive, child! I warn't thinking of Cynthy Wilkins, but Mr.

 

　　Power. I'll be satisfied ef I can set low down somewheres and seehim git the meddle. He won't in this world, but I know there'srewards savin' up for him byme-by.""I'll go to-morrow if it pours!" said Christie, with decision.

 

　　"Do, and I'll lend you my bunnit," cried Mrs. Wilkins, passing, withcomical rapidity, from crowns of glory to her own cherishedhead-gear.

 

　　"Thank you, but I can't wear blue, I look as yellow as a dandelionin it. Mrs. Flint let me have my best things though I offered toleave them, so I shall be respectable and by-and-by blossom out."On the morrow Christie went early, got a good seat, and for half anhour watched the gathering of the motley congregation that filledthe great hall. Some came in timidly, as if doubtful of theirwelcome; some noisily, as if, as Mrs. Wilkins said, they had notlearned the wide difference between liberty and license; many as ifeager and curious; and a large number with the look of childrengathering round a family table ready to be fed, and sure thatwholesome food would be bountifully provided for them.

 

　　Christie was struck by the large proportion of young people in theplace, of all classes, both sexes, and strongly contrasting faces.

 

　　Delicate girls looking with the sweet wistfulness of maidenly heartsfor something strong to lean upon and love; sad-eyed women turningto heaven for the consolations or the satisfactions earth could notgive them; anxious mothers perplexed with many cares, trying to findlight and strength; young men with ardent faces, restless, aspiring,and impetuous, longing to do and dare; tired-looking students, withperplexed wrinkles on their foreheads, evidently come to see if thisman had discovered the great secrets they were delving after; andsoul-sick people trying this new, and perhaps dangerous medicine,when others failed to cure. Many earnest, thoughtful men and womenwere there, some on the anxious seat, and some already at peace,having found the clew that leads safely through the labyrinth oflife. Here and there a white head, a placid old face, or one ofthose fine countenances that tell, unconsciously, the beautifulstory of a victorious soul.

 

　　Some read, some talked, some had flowers in their hands, and all satat ease, rich and poor, black and white, young and old, waiting forthe coming of the man who had power to attract and hold so many ofhis kind. Christie was so intent on watching those about her thatshe did not see him enter, and only knew it by the silence whichbegan just in front of her, and seemed to flow backward like a wave,leaving a sea of expectant faces turning to one point. That pointwas a gray head, just visible above the little desk which stood inthe middle of a great platform. A vase of lovely flowers was on thelittle shelf at one side, a great Bible reposed on the other, and amanuscript lay on the red slope between.

 

　　In a moment Christie forgot every thing else, and waited with acurious anxiety to see what manner of man this was. Presently he gotup with an open book in his hand, saying, in a strong, cheerfulvoice: "Let us sing," and having read a hymn as if he had composedit, he sat down again.

 

　　Then everybody did sing; not harmoniously, but heartily, led by anorgan, which the voices followed at their own sweet will. At first,Christie wanted to smile, for some shouted and some hummed, some satsilent, and others sung sweetly; but before the hymn ended she likedit, and thought that the natural praise of each individual soul wasperhaps more grateful to the ear of God than masses by greatmasters, or psalms warbled tunefully by hired opera singers.

 

　　Then Mr. Power rose again, and laying his hands together, with apeculiarly soft and reverent gesture, lifted up his face and prayed.

 

　　Christie had never heard a prayer like that before; so devout, socomprehensive, and so brief. A quiet talk with God, asking nothingbut more love and duty toward Him and our fellow-men; thanking Himfor many mercies, and confiding all things trustfully to the "dearfather and mother of souls."The sermon which followed was as peculiar as the prayer, and aseffective. "One of Power's judgment-day sermons," as she heard oneman say to another, when it was over. Christie certainly felt atfirst as if kingdoms and thrones were going down, and each man beingsent to his own place. A powerful and popular wrong was arrested,tried, and sentenced then and there, with a courage and fidelitythat made plain words eloquent, and stern justice beautiful. He didnot take David of old for his text, but the strong, sinful, splendidDavids of our day, who had not fulfilled the promise of their youth,and whose seeming success was a delusion and a snare to themselvesand others, sure to be followed by sorrowful abandonment, defeat,and shame. The ashes of the ancient hypocrites and Pharisees wasleft in peace, but those now living were heartily denounced; modernmoney-changers scourged out of the temple, and the everlasting truthset up therein.

 

　　As he spoke, not loudly nor vehemently, but with the indescribableeffect of inward force and true ins............