Chapter XV: One Sunday Morning

"I'M going to cut church this morning, Ted," said Janet one day toward the middle of May. "I simply cannot stay indoors with a proper spirit of devotion. If I were at home, it would be another thing, for I could ride to our dear little church over the smooth shell road, with the bay sparkling bluely—"

"Bluely?"

"Why not bluely as well as blackly or redly? There, you have snipped the thread of my rhapsody. I have been saving my extra cuts for just such a time as this, and I am going to use them clean up. I shall take a book, Emerson will be in order, and go up the road to that tree where we sat the day we went sketching with Miss Thurston."

"We went sketching?"

"How critical you are this morning. I didn't say we sketched, I said we went. What's the matter, Ted? I believe you are envious of my reserved cuts, and would fain be with me instead of sitting in church waving a fan and feeling limp as to collar and stiff as to clothes. It is warm for the season, and one hates to be cooped up. Come, go along anyhow. What will it matter a hundred years hence if you do happen to over-cut once?"

"Charity Shepherd would say it might matter a great deal; she believes so implicitly in fire and brimstone."

"Poor dear Charity, she suffers long and is kind, though she certainly does seek her own. She runs with the most obviously pious crowd on Sundays, I don't mean religious, I mean the kind that were not only born pious, but achieved it and had it thrust upon them, so they exhale an atmosphere which suggests the Shorter Catechism, Fox's Book of Martyrs, and Old Hundred. Now, I consider myself religious—"

"You do?" Teddy smiled incredulously.

"You needn't smile that way," said Janet, "I really am. I am not pious; I don't enjoy prayer-meetings, and fast-days. I don't like to mortify the flesh as Charity does, and as it is evident that her colleagues do. The unspeakable dreadfulness of their clothes declares that. Why must women almost invariably look like guys when they have a hobby?"

"They don't always," said Teddy.

"No, not all, but the majority do, those I sometimes see in a fine frenzy of zeal rushing along with Charity. There she goes now across the street. She has all sorts of things in her hands, and she is late so she is struggling with her gloves and trying not to drop her belongings. You won't go with me this morning, Ted?"

"If you will wait till this afternoon, I will go."

"Sorry I can't. The mood is upon me now. I feel in an out-of-door worshipful humor and I might slump before noon if I stayed here, especially if I were to wait till after a hearty dinner. No, I'll go now and come back so spiritualized you will envy me." She picked up her book and an umbrella and started forth.

A quarter of an hour later she was passing a little mission church from which came trooping a number of children, the little girls pleasantly conscious of Sunday attire and little boys unpleasantly so. As Janet reached a point just opposite the door, she came face to face with Charity Shepherd.

"Oh, it's you, isn't it?" exclaimed Janet taken by surprise.

Charity looked at her disapprovingly. "Yes," she said, "it is I." Then severely, "You are surely not going to cut church, Janet?"

"Why, yes," replied Janet, balancing her Emerson on her hand. "I thought of doing it. The groves were God's first temples, you know, and so I thought of doing my devotions by myself."

"But the example."

"To whom? To you?"

Charity frowned. "I hope I have decision of character enough not to be influenced, and in the performance of duty I could not be turned aside by—"

"A poor worm of the dust like me."

"We are all poor worms of the dust," said Charity solemnly. "I should think you would realize that, Janet, and that you would remember how transitory this life is. Sunday is given us as a privilege, and should not be spent in idle trifling any more than in work. We should use it for our own good."

"That's just what I thought," returned Janet with satisfaction. "We find our good in different ways, Charity. It would be very, very wrong for you to spend the morning as I shall do, because your conscience would smite you all the time, while I haven't a smite. What are you doing up here, by the way? I thought your place of worship was further down."

"So it is. I have a class in this mission school and go to church after."

"Oh, that's it, is it? I thought you were unusually teachery this morning. I won't detain you if you are going to church. I hope you will enjoy your morning as much as I expect to enjoy mine."

"I am not going for enjoyment but for profit," said Charity as a parting shot.

Janet pursued her way and presently turned aside and took a winding path that led to a large tree in an open field. At a little distance was a small stream bordered by pollard willows and beyond was a little truck-farm which still withstood the inroads of the town streets. Janet sat down under the tree with a sigh of relief, and gazed dreamily off across the open country. Presently a smile played around her lips, and diving down into the little chatelaine bag which hung by her side, she drew forth a pencil and began to scribble on the fly-leaf of her book.

As a moving shadow fell across her page, she looked up and saw Mark Evans.

"Why, what in the world are you doing here?" she asked. "Don't you know that you are a worm of the dust, and that a profitless trifling away of the Sabbath hours is very wicked?"

He smiled and threw himself down on the grass near her.

"Then why are you doing anything so wicked?" he asked.

"I am not. I am spending my time profitably. I am reading Emerson's 'Spiritual Laws,' to keep me in countenance."

"You were not reading when I came up. You were writing, a theme, was it?"

"Oh, never on Sunday. I draw the line at doing any of my week-day tasks then. I may not be as upright a person as Charity Shepherd, but I am a Sabbath keeper in my own way."

"What is the way?"

"I make it a day of rest, and I don't do themes and college work. I try to get hold of something uplifting to read. Church doesn't always appear to elevate my thoughts, so I didn't go this morning."

"Then you follow the Orientals in their rules of negative goodness. 'Do not unto others as you would not have them do unto you,' I believe, is the way the followers of Confucius put it. We Christians have a more active idea of carrying out the Golden Rule. We do unto others."

"I hadn't thought of that. Do you mean that in order to fulfil the real meaning of Sunday one should try to elevate others as well as himself?"

"I meant something like that. It seems as if that might be a step higher, doesn't it?"

"Yes." Janet nodded thoughtfully. Then with a smile, "Why aren't you doing it? There is no excuse for you because you have thought out the question, whereas it has been presented to me for the first time in this light."

"I didn't feel that I would specially do good to my neighbor by going to church this morning. I was tired and there was something I wanted to do this afternoon which would require my best energies. I am saving my good works till then."

"And what will you do?"

"Go to a little reading room at the other end of town where a lot of us are trying to make Sunday afternoon pleasant for the youngsters of the neighborhood. We don't teach them much, but we try to entertain them and keep them out of the streets. Don't fancy that I am a saint," seeing Janet's look. "I happened to go in there with a friend one Sunday and became interested, that is all."

He picked up Janet's book which she had laid on the grass. "What a dear old optimist Emerson was," he said. Then, as he opened the book, his eyes fell on the leaf upon which Janet had scribbled:

"It is the holy Sabbath day;
I must not work, I must not play;
I'm but a little wriggling worm,
Whose only duty 'tis to squirm."

Janet flushed up. "That wasn't meant for the public to see," she said.

"I beg your pardon," said the young man between confusion and amusement. "I should have asked your consent. What inspired the effusion?" He laughed and Janet saw that he appreciated her mood.

"It wasn't a what; it was a who," she answered. "Do you happen to know Charity Shepherd? She is the most painfully conscientious person I ever saw. I believe she will die of doing her 'dooty.' I met her on my way here, and she gave me a lecture upon the woefulness of wasting one's Sabbath privileges, and upon the uncertainty of human existence, so I wrote that charming bit of verse you have just read. I think of dedicating it to Charity."

"I cannot say that I remember Miss Charity, but I know her type."

"Do you find it interesting?" Janet smiled mischievously.

"I cannot say that I do."

"It is a pity that the very good should sometimes be so very uninteresting, isn't it? Charity is so painfully correct. We all respect and admire her, but every one of us loves Lee better, and Lee is such a sinner, bless her heart. Are you sorry the year is almost over, Mr. Evans? Shall you come back in the fall?"

"I hope to. I rather like the work, and find it a good developer. Yes, I think you will see me here next year."

"I think you have altered since I first met you," said Janet reflectively. "I wonder if I ought to have said that," she added. "Am I presumptuous for a student?"

"No, indeed. Please consider this neutral ground. Not once since that memorable ride have we met outside college influences. We have always been obliged to consider our relations as teacher and student, and it is refreshing to feel that we are upon a more familiar basis. I had hoped that we might become friends."

"Haven't we?"

"In the real sense of the word, no; we are merely acquaintances."

"I am flattered that you want to be my friend, Mr. Evans," said Janet. "I am a very trifling creature, as you may not need to be told. I am afraid any one as erudite as you are would be disappointed in me if you knew me better."

"Why? There it is again. Because I happen to be your instructor, you believe that I live upon an entirely different plain from other young men. Can't you separate the man from his office?"

"I don't believe I ever tried to very much, in this case," said Janet frankly. "We don't have such a deal of time and opportunity for making acquaintances, you know. We are pretty busy, and are rather thoroughly hedged in by rules and regulations at Hopper Hall. Next year, I shall board outside, I think. When I am here at college, I don't dissipate my interests by analyzing character, though during the summer, I must confess that I give a great many moments to the proper study of mankind; with some good result. It will soon be time to begin again, and then I promise to consider your case. Where do you go for the summer, Mr. Evans?"

"Generally to my own North Carolina mountains, but I am beginning to believe that it will be better for me to broaden my outlook, so I shall go to New England this year."

"Where you can study Charity's type? It is well worth studying I assure you. Frankly, I think it really is. I have been brought up short in my triflings more than once by Charity's uncompromising rectitude. In spite of my worm's eye view of things, I really want to imitate some of her qualities. I should like to be as direct and as truthful to myself. It is hard to be perfectly honest to one's self, don't you think? Isn't one always inclined to be self-flattering? To martyrize one's self in matters which are strictly one's own fault, and all that? Hence I have been dragging forth Charity's motes and displaying them to you, and haven't hinted that I have a beam. Let us return to that question of active duty. I suppose if I did what was right, I'd hunt up some forlornities to give my time to this very day."

"You wouldn't have to hunt for them. They are ready and waiting. I'd be delighted to have you go with me to the reading room. We want all the workers we can get," he said eagerly. Then more quietly, "But perhaps you were only joking."

"I don't know whether I was or not," returned Janet. "I don't believe I could teach, for I shouldn't know how to answer the questions they would be sure to put to me, but maybe I could amuse the little children. I don't know whether or not I could do even that."

"Won't you try for once? If you fail, you need not repeat the experiment."

"But fancy the humiliation of failing."

"I'll promise you that you will not fail. Think about it, won't you?"

"Oh, I'll think, if that will do any good."

"Decide then and I will call for you this afternoon."

"I am going to Becky Burdett's for dinner. I almost always dine there on Sundays."

"I will call for you there, if you will allow me. We don't have to go till three."

"Well," said Janet doubtfully, "I will try this once."

"Thank you. It is a bargain." Mr. Evans held out his hand.

"There are lots of violets over there, I see them," said Janet irrelevantly as she drew her hand from the young man's firm clasp. "Let us go get some."

"Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May morn,
Blue ran the flash across;
Violets were born!"

Quoted Mr. Evans.

Janet looked at him with a little surprise. "Isn't a man who gets enthusiastic over chemistry and who likes poetry something of an anomaly?" she said. "How came you to like Browning?"

"How came you?"

"Naturally, I think."

"By the same token I came by my liking for his writings."

"I have just become the proud possessor of an entire set," Janet told him. "I bought it from a friend, the most interesting girl in college, I think, and the most beautiful. You must have seen Mary Perkins, Polly Perkins, as we call her."

"I have seen her. She is very lovely, but from what I hear, she will not finish her college course."

"Why? Don't you believe she is strong enough?" asked Janet in alarm. "She is really much stronger than she looks, though she works very hard, the dear thing has to, for she is dependent entirely upon her own efforts."

"Yes, I heard that, too, and I have a fellow feeling for her. I did not mean that she would have to leave on account of ill health but because she would enter a different sphere; that she would marry."

"Oh." Janet was provoked that her cheeks should grow hot. "Yes," she said after a pause, "I hope she will marry. I know Mr. Austin quite well, but not well enough to be sure that he is worthy of her."

"He is said to be a good fellow, but I am told his family do not share your enthusiasm for Miss Perkins."

Janet's eyes flashed. "I'd like to know why. They may be thankful if he wins so dear and noble a girl as Polly. Imagine their objecting."

Mr. Evans looked at her with some amusement not unmixed with admiration. "You are a loyal friend, Miss Ferguson."

"Of course. I wouldn't profess to be a friend if I could not be a loyal one. Who told you all this, Mr. Evans?"

"I have heard it from several sources, but I think Miss Drake was my last informant; I see her once in a while, you remember."

"Then she should know, for she visits the Austins. I must go now, Mr. Evans, for I am in no trim for a Sunday dinner in a conventional household. What a nice lot of violets. Thank you. I will wear them. No, I won't; I'll put them in water so that I can keep them awhile to remind me of—"

"Of what?" Mr. Evans spoke eagerly.

"Of several things. Of ethics, and Browning and Sabbath duties," said Janet demurely.

"You will be ready when I call for you at—what is the number?"

"No. 216 Highland Avenue. Yes, I will be ready. Auf wiedersehen. I am going to turn off here."

She did not wait for a reply, but leaving the young man at the end of the path, she turned down the street toward Hopper Hall.

She entered the room as Teddy was putting away her hat.

"Well," said this young person, "I hope you had a profitable morning."

"I did," returned Janet, "one of the most profitable I ever remember to have spent. I heard two sermons; one upon my duty to my neighbor and the other upon the keeping of the holy Sabbath day."

Teddy laughed. "Who delivered the sermons?"

"Charity Shepherd, one; Mark, the perfect man, the other. The latter was so effective a speaker, that I have promised to visit a mission school or something of that kind, with him this afternoon."

"Janet Ferguson, I don't believe it."

"Fact. It is way at the other end of town, and I am going to try the experiment of reading things or telling them to dirty little hoodlums. What shall I wear, Ted? They must be impressed, you know, by my appearance. Looks count for a good deal in matters of this kind."

"You are the biggest fraud, Janet. What is the use of pretending? You know your wanting to look your best is not upon the ragamuffins' account."

"On what then?"

"Mr. Evans's."

"Teddy Waite, it isn't so. Now you'll make me put on that horrid lilac hat that I bought from Louise Baker and that always makes me look as black as an Indian. I was going to wear the blue one."

"I wasn't aware that my opinion had such weight," said Teddy. "By all means wear the blue if you want to impress—the children."

And Janet meekly remarked that she believed she would.

Teddy looked at her quizzically when she came back. "Well," she said, "was the blue hat sufficiently effective?"

Janet flushed ever so slightly. "Oh yes," she returned lightly, "I think the hoodlums were quite overpowered by my magnificence."

"And are you going to keep up the visitation for the rest of time?"

"There will be only two or three Sundays more before I go home," said Janet apologetically. "I might as well go till then. After that, I shall be beyond your jibes, Miss Waite. Home will seem like heaven for there the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."