Chapter VIII

Aunt Hannah had lighted her lamp a few minutes after the light of the day went out, to get a little comfort from her Bible before going downstairs to face her trials, for it must be confessed that aunt Hannah had not had a cross so heavy to bear in many a year, as it was for her to go downstairs that night and face Hiram and Nettie calmly after the words she had heard her niece speak. She had tried to think of all the comfort in the Bible as she sat in the twilight. She had a great store of the precious words to draw from, for her Bible had ever been her chief delight. She knew just where to turn in her memory for the right help and it came trooping forth.

“Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. . . . When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned. . . . God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it. . . . Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him. . . . For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. . . . All things work together for good to them that love God. . . . To be conformed to the image of his Son. . . . If God be for us, who can be against us? . . . Nay in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.”

Then she lighted the lamp to search out another promise, for it seemed to her as if just to look upon the words would somehow help her. It was at that moment Johnnie brought up Celia’s letter. She opened it quickly, the anticipation of another trouble arising in her mind, for what might not have happened to Celia so far away in that great city alone, since the last letter she wrote?

It was a thick letter and she read it slowly through, taking no thought of time because the matter it contained absorbed her mind completely, and when Johnnie came up the second time, she had something new to think about which demanded immediate attention and had claims prior to any downstairs. The letter read thus:

“DEAR AUNT HANNAH:

“Do you remember the words on the little bookmark you sent me
for my birthday? I know you do, for you have a way of hiding all
such words away in that wonderful memory of yours. You know the
heading was about an allowance, from the king, a continual
allowance. When I read it I knew just what you meant by sending
it to me. You wanted to remind me that my King had plenty of
extra strength to give me, and that he had promised to furnish
me with enough for every day of my life to bear that day’s
trials. It did help me, for I knew I was trying to bear some of
them all by myself, and that I often and often forget that I do
not have to take up next year’s crosses and worry about them.
But I remember, when I first read the words, I couldn’t help
longing deep down in my heart, that I could have a real earthly
allowance of money, just solid hard dirty money, coming in every
week, and every month, and every year, and enough to supply all
the actual needs so that I might live with you and work for you
and have you all to myself. Then I felt indeed that my head
would be lifted up out of prison forever—for I read the chapter
about Jehoiachin as you meant I should, you dear good
auntie—and it helped me too. You see I had been taking up a big
heavy cross for the year to come for you. I didn’t feel happy
about you there at Hiram’s, for in spite of me I cannot like
Hiram’s ways and I don’t believe you do. I know for one thing,
and a very small thing, that you hate tobacco smoke and have
never been used to it, and yet Hiram smokes all over the house
whenever he pleases, without even so much as caring whether it
is repulsive to you or not. In fact, I am wicked enough to
suspect that he might do it the more, just because you don’t
like it, to show you he is master of his own house. I am so
sorry I have to feel that way about my cousin-in-law, but I
can’t help it. There is this comfort about it, I don’t believe
Nettie minds, and as she is the one that has to be his wife and
go through life with him, it is a relief to think she doesn’t.
But there! That is all out of the way, and unchristian, and I
have been too much blessed to allow myself to say anything
unchristian about any one. Only I did want you to understand
that I appreciated how hard it was for you to cheerfully accept
Nettie’s proposal and go to live with her for a few years. I did
not say so then because I thought any words would only make it
harder to bear, and I know my own dear auntie’s old way of
always finding a thing easier to bear if she succeeds in making
other people think she is perfectly happy. That is just one way,
and the only way in which you ever are the least little bit
dishonest.

“But I must hurry on with my main theme which has not even been
hinted at yet. And I have a great deal to write, and must get it
in to-night, for I cannot bear to have you wait a minute longer
than is necessary to hear the good news.

“In the first place, you are not to stay at Nettie’s another
day—that is not unless you prefer to, of course—but you are to
pack up every scrap that belongs to you and take the first train
to Philadelphia, sending me a telegram (at my expense) to say
what train you start on. You must come to the Broad Street
station—have your trunks checked there too, and don’t leave any
of your things behind, for there is plenty of room to put all
your things here, and you are not to go back to Nettie’s unless
you go on a visit of pleasure.”

Aunt Hannah glanced up to see if the little room with its old ingrain carpet and cheap furniture was still about her. She was almost breathless with the proposal of the letter. Things seemed to whirl around her. She wanted to get something to steady her before she read on. She saw the black side of the sheet-iron drum and remembered the afternoon, and a glance toward her open Bible showed her the lines “God is faithful . . . will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” She drew a long breath and closed her eyes for a minute’s lifting of her heart to God. He was going to make the way to escape. She did not yet understand how it was to be done, but her faith caught at the fact that it was to be done. Then she went back to the letter.

“You are to give your checks to the porter on the car—and you
are to take a sleeper if you come at night, or a parlor car if
you choose to come in the daytime. I enclose your ticket.”

Aunt Hannah noticed then that a small pink and white paper had fallen from the letter when she opened it, and slipped to the floor. She stooped and picked it up in a dazed way. Good for one trip to Philadelphia it certainly was. This was something tangible and brought her back to everyday life. She really was to go, for here was the ticket. She went on with the letter eagerly now.

“You are to have the porter carry your satchel into the station
for you, and I will meet you at the gate and take you home. Yes,
HOME, aunt Hannah, yours and mine, do you hear that? It isn’t
very pretty, nor inviting yet, but it is ours for a while, for
as long as we want it, and we shall fix it into a charming home.
And now you want to know how it all happened and what it means.

“Well, this morning I was sent for again to come to Rawley and
Brown’s office on very important business, and as they told me
it might keep me some time I asked for the day off at the store.
I couldn’t have had that, if I had not done double duty for the
last week in place of a girl who was sick. Mr. Dobson was very
nice and said certainly in such a case he would give me
permission. Of course, I suppose I’ll lose my pay for that day,
but it had to be done, and it doesn’t matter now anyway. Well,
Mr. Rawley hemmed and hawed a good deal, and finally told me
that everything was satisfactorily settled at last and that I
had been duly declared by the court to be uncle Abner’s heir,
without any question or doubt anywhere, and that he wished to go
over the papers with me and place the property in my hands.
There was some red tape to be gone through with which I needn’t
stop now to tell you about. It was all very interesting to me,
the number of times I had to sign my name, and all the
witnesses, and I felt just like a girl in a book, but I haven’t
time for that. There is better to come. It seems uncle Abner had
a farm where he lived after he got old, and his wife died and
his son went to India, and there was a young farmer and his
family who lived there and took care of him, and they have
rented the house ever since. They still live there. The farm is
pretty good, way up in New York somewhere I think, I didn’t pay
much attention to it. Then he owned an interest in a coal mine
near Scranton and a few government bonds, not many of those, but
the whole is well invested and brings in a nice little income
every year, sure, and I couldn’t help thinking of Jehoiachin
when Mr. Rawley was telling me about it. He said it was so well
invested that it was, as near as anything earthly could be,
sure, a continual ‘income as long as I lived’ if I kept things
in their present shape, for uncle Abner had been a very careful
man and always invested in pretty safe things with what little
he had. I didn’t tell him I considered it much instead of
little, though. It seems a fortune to me. I suppose I shall
learn better hereafter, but I am going to try to be very wise
with it anyway, with God’s help.

“Now you want to know how much it is, I know. Well, it amounts
to about nine hundred dollars a year at the lowest calculation,
besides several years of accumulated interest not invested yet.
Isn’t that riches? Why, you’ve often told me that not many
ministers and few missionaries get more than that. Now then, why
shouldn’t you and I be missionaries? I know it has been your
dear desire all your life, and I don’t know of anything that
would be grander work. And as we can’t go as foreign
missionaries just now, what if we should be home missionaries?
Of course, two lone women couldn’t take mortar and bricks and
build a church and preach, at least I shouldn’t like to try it,
though I’m not at all sure but I could do it. You know we always
thought, if we had the time and the material and the pattern,
you and I could do almost anything anybody else could if we
tried. Well, I began to think about a mission for us, and before
I had gotten half-way home to write to you it came to me just
what I would like to do. Why shouldn’t you and I make a real
home mission for ourselves right here in the city of
Philadelphia, by making a good home for a few people who have
none of their own? It seems to me there is as much gospel
sometimes in a good sweet loaf of bread such as you can make, as
there is in—well—_some_ sermons. Don’t you think so? Then we
could get a hold on the people who ate it, and get them to go to
the churches, and try to help them in their everyday lives. Why,
some of the young men here would stay at home evenings
occasionally, perhaps regularly, if they had a pleasant, warm,
light place to stay in. Instead of that they go out to the
saloons, perhaps. Anyway, auntie dear, they don’t look rested in
the morning when they come down to breakfast. And oh, what a
breakfast we did have this morning! It seems as though I never
can like hash again, though I always used to enjoy ours so much
at home when you made it. But hash in Mrs. Morris’
boarding-house is a very different dish indeed. When I got home
I went straight up to Mrs. Morris’ room. She has not gotten
entirely well from her severe sickness of a few weeks ago yet,
though she goes around and directs things, but she seems to be
so worried all the time. You know I told you how many bills she
has unpaid and how hard times have been for her. You wouldn’t
wonder a bit if you could be here and watch the way things go a
little while. She was lying on her bed when I went in and
looking as if she would like to cry, if she only were young
enough and had the energy. She told me right away that she was
in trouble again. She was a month behind in her rent, and the
agent had been around and said it must be paid in advance after
this and he couldn’t wait longer than till five o’clock. She
only pays twenty-five dollars a month, and with all her boarders
you might think she could pay it, but she doesn’t, that’s all.
While she was talking I began to revolve my plans very rapidly.
I didn’t want to act too rashly, for you know you always tell me
that is one of my great faults, but I knew if I did anything it
ought to be done very soon. Probably it would have been wiser to
have asked Mr. Rawley’s advice, and perhaps some of my
relatives, but I had an innate suspicion that I would not be
allowed to do it at all, if I asked. And why shouldn’t I? The
money is mine, and I am of age if I am not very experienced. I
knew you would like it, at least I felt very sure you would, and
if you and God like a thing I don’t care what all the rest of
the world think. So I asked Mrs. Morris a lot of questions, some
I had not asked her before. You see I had a whole two hundred
dollars in my pocketbook, Mr. Rawley had given me. He said it
was mine, and I might as well take it to begin on. So I took it.
I knew I would want to do a lot of things right away, and that
the first one would be to get you here at once, and to buy your
ticket. I was just aching to spend some money, for it was the
first time in my life I ever had much to spend. I asked Mrs.
Morris about her butcher’s bill, and her grocery bill, and
things and I found they were not so very big as she had made me
think at first. Then I asked her point blank how she would like
to let a woman come in here in her place for three months or so,
and take the boarding-house off her hands, paying the bills for
the present, and letting her pay them by and by, if she chose,
or if not, holding the furniture as collateral. She didn’t know
what I meant by collateral, but she soon understood, and said
she would be only too glad, only she never could find any woman
who would be so foolish. She said, too, that she was afraid if
she once got away she would never be willing to come back, but
just stay and leave the old furniture to make it right with her
debts, and she sighed and returned to her trouble and began to
cry. Then I couldn’t stand it any longer. I told her I thought I
knew the right one for her, and I would write to her at once and
attend to it all if she was sure she agreed to it. It did not
take her long to decide what she would do after she was fully
convinced that I meant what I said. She began to pack up her
clothes right away and to talk about what she would take with
her. She hasn’t much worth while, I guess. She will want those
horrid crayon portraits of her family and herself, I hope, and a
few other ornaments. But when we had gotten to this point, we
found it was five o’clock, and the door bell made Mrs. Morris
remember the rent agent. Sure enough, he had come, and Maggie
came up to call Mrs. Morris. She looked at me blankly as much as
to say: ‘What shall I do?’ She had forgotten all about him. I
thought just a minute and then I told her I had some money,
enough I thought to pay the agent and satisfy him, and I would
go down and see if I could make him behave till we got things
settled. Then I went downstairs and put on my most dignified
air. He bristled at me and demanded Mrs. Morris.

“‘Mrs. Morris is not well and is lying down,’ said I, ‘and I
have come down in her place. Is there anything I can do for
you?’

“‘Well, I’ve got to see her if she _is_ lying down,’ he said in
a loud voice, and he took a couple of steps toward the stairs as
if he would go up to her at once. ‘She’s got to pay her rent.
She’ll be put out if she don’t do it at once. This thing has
gone——’

“‘Oh,’ I said, ‘it isn’t in the least necessary for you to get
excited, if that is all. I can attend to the rent as well as any
thing else. Are you the agent?’

“‘Yes, I _am_,’ he said, ‘and I won’t have any more talk either.
I want my money.’

“I had my pocketbook in my hand, and I tried to freeze him with
a look as I opened it. When he saw me bring out a big roll of
bills he almost looked faint, he was so astonished.

“‘How much is it that is back?’ I asked.

“‘Two months and a half,’ he snarled.

“I began to count out the money, and then I remembered my own
experience with Rawley and Brown and thought I would give him a
little taste of it. I drew back and said ‘You are sure you are
the agent and fully entitled to receive this money? Can you give
me any credentials?’

“He was very much taken aback, and got red and embarrassed and
at last remembered that Mrs. Morris knew him. Then he grew angry
again and demanded to see her. I sent a message up to Mrs.
Morris that if she was able we would like to have her come down,
and she came. When it was finally all settled and the receipt
signed, I told the young man that he might tell the owner that
the rent hereafter would be paid in advance and on time, and
that there were a few repairs which needed immediate attention
and we would like to have him call at his earliest convenience.
He went away quite crestfallen, and I began to feel quite like a
householder. The only thing that troubles me is Mrs. Morris’
extreme gratitude, because, dear auntie, I’m afraid I haven’t
loved her as much as I ought to for Christ’s sake, and I
therefore can’t take to myself the credit she would give me. It
is all very selfish in me.

“Now the matter stands this way. If you possibly can come this
week, do so. Mrs. Morris will be ready to leave on your arrival.
She will go to her sister out West, and I doubt if she ever
returns. I have given her some money to go with. It isn’t always
you can buy a full fledged boarding-house, boarders and all so
cheap. I suppose some one would call it dear, but I am very
happy in my purchase. I shall keep my place in the store till
you come anyway, for I don’t care to have the boarders find out
my connection with the business, till they see some of the
changes I want to have made for the better. The only servant
here is worse than none. She is so dirty and saucy you never
could stand her. If you possibly can induce Molly to come with
you, bring her. I enclose a New York draft which I think will be
all the money you will want to bring her, and pay any little
bills till you get here. And now, dear auntie, I do hope and
pray you will say yes, and come at once, and not find any
‘oughts and ought nots’ in the way, as you sometimes do. You see
I have gone ahead and burned my bridges behind me, because I
felt that you ‘ought’ whether you think so or not, for I mean to
take care of you now myself and you are working too hard there.
Here we will keep you in pink cotton and only let you direct. I
shall keep good servants, and if I don’t always make the two
ends meet why I shall have ‘a continual allowance’ given me of
my King to draw upon.

“Your loving, eager
“CELIA.”