The Angel of His Presence (2 page)

Not that he said all this, or thought it in so many words; it passed through his mind like ph
antoms chasing one another.
Out
wardly
he
was the polished, courteous gen
tleman, listening attentively to what this father was saying about his daughter, though really he cared little about her. Did Mr. Stanley know that she had taken his former Sabbath school class and that there were many new members, among them some young men from the foundries? No, he did not. He searched in his memory and found a floating sentence from one of his mother's letters about a young woman who had consente
d to take his class
till
his re
turn and who was doing good work. It had been written perhaps a year ago, and it had not concerned him much at the
time
as he was so engr
ossed in his study of the archi
tecture of the south of France. He recalled it now just in time to tell the father how his mother had written him about the class, and so save his reputation as a Sunday
school teacher. It transpired that the daughter who had taken the class and the little gir
l the stranger so constantly re
ferred to as writing him letters about thing
s were
one and the
same. He won
dered vaguely what kind of a little girl was able to teach a class of young men, but his mind was more concerned with something else now.

It appeared that the former mission where he had been superintendent had grown into a live Sunday school, and that they were looking for his homecoming with great joy and expectation. How could such a thing be other than disconcerting to the man he had become? He had no time to be bothered with his former life. He had his life work to attend to, which was not—and now he began to feel irritated—mission Sunday schools. That was all well enough for his boyhood, but now—and besides there was the "
ladye
of high degree."

Perhaps the man of experience saw the stiffening of the shoulders and the upper lip and divined the thoughts of the other.
His heart sank for his daughter and her boys, and the mission, and their plans for his homecoming, and he made up his mind that
secret or no secret, this man must be told a little of the joy of sacrifice that had been going on for him, for surely he could not have been the man that he had been, and not have enough of goodness left in his heart to respond to that story, no matter what he had become.
And so
he told him as much of the story his daughter had written him as he thought necessary, and John Wentworth Stanley thanked him and tried to show that he was properly appreciative of the honor that was to be shown him. He tried not to show his annoyance about it all
to
the stranger, and got away as soon as possible, after a few polite exchanges of farewells for the evening, and went to his stateroom. A
rrived there, he seated him
self on the side of his berth, his elbows on his knees,
his
chin in his hands, and sat scowling out of the porthole with anything but a cultured manner.

"Confo
und it all!" he muttered to him
self. "I suppose it's got to be gone through with some way for mother's sake and after they've made so much fuss about it all. I can see
it's
all that girl's getting up; some silly girl that thinks she's going to become prominent by this sort of thing.
Going to
give me a present!
And
I've got to go up there and be bored to death by a speech probably, and then get up and be made a fool of while they present me with a pickle dish or a pair of slippers or something of the sort.
It's
awfully trying.
And
they needn't think I'm going back to that kind of thing, for I'm not.
I'll
move to New York first. I wish I had stayed in France! I wish I had never worked in Forest Hill Mission!"
Oh, John Stanley!
Sorry you ever labored and prayed for those immortal souls, and wrought into your crown imperishable jewels that shall shine for you through all eternity!

THEY stood in the gallery of one of New York's mos
t famous art stores; seven stal
wart boys—young men, perhaps, you would call them—all with an attempt at "dress
up," and with them Margaret Man
ning, slender and grave and sweet. They were chaperoned by Mrs. Ketchum, a charming little woman who knew a great deal about
social laws and customs, and al
ways spoke of things by their latest names, if possible, and who took the lead in most of the talk by virtue of her position in society and her supposed knowledge of art. There were also Mrs. Brown, a plain woman who felt deeply the responsibility of the occa
s
ion, and Mr. Talcut, a little man who was shrewd in business and who came along to see that they
did not get
cheated. These constituted the committee to select a present
for the home-returning superin
tendent of the Forest Hill Mission Sunday school. It was a large committee and rather too hete
rogeneous to come to a quick de
cision, but its size had seemed necessary. Margaret Manning was on it, of course. That had b
een a settled thing from the be
ginning. There would not have been any such gift, probably, if Margaret had not suggested it and helped to raise the money
till
their fund went away up above their highest hopes.

The seven boys were in her Sunday school class, and no one of them could get the cons
ent of himself to make so
momen
tous a
decision
for the rest of the class with
out the other six to help.
Not that these seven were her entire class by any means, but the class had elected to send seven from their own number, so seven had come.
Strictly sp
eaking, only one was on the com
mittee, but he depended upon the advice of the other six to aid him.

"Now, Mr. Thorpe," said Mrs. Ketchum
in her easy, familiar manner, "we want something fine, you know.
It's
to hang in his 'den.' His mother has just been refitting his den, and we thought it would be quite appropriate for us to get him a fine picture for the wall."

They had
already dispensed with the for
malities. Mr. Thorpe knew the Stanley family s
lightly, and was therefore some
what fitted to
help in the selection of a pic
ture that would suit the taste of one of its members. He had led them to the end of the large, well-lighted room, placed before them an easel, and motioned them to sit down.

The s
even boys, however, were not ac
custo
med to such things, and they re
mained standing, listening and looking with all their ears and eyes. Somehow, as Mrs. Ketchum stated matters, they did not feel quite as much to belong to this committee as before. What, for instance, could Mrs. Ketchum mean by Mr. Stanley's "den"? They had dim visions of Daniel and the lions, and the man who fell among thieves, but they had not time to reflect over this, for Mr. Thorpe was bringing fo
rward pic
tures.

"As it's a Sunday school superintendent, perhaps something religious would be appropriate. You might look at these first, anyway," and he put before them a large etching whose wonder and beauty held them silent as
they gazed. It was a new pic
ture of the Lord's Supper by a great artist, and the influence of the
picture was so great that for a few moments they looked and forgot their own affairs. The faces were so marvelously portrayed that they could but know each disciple, and felt that the
hand which had drawn the Master's face
must have been inspired.

"It is more expensive than you wanted to buy, but still it is a fine thing and worth the money. Perhaps, as it is for a church, I might make a reduction, that is, somewhat, if you like it better than anything else."

Mrs. Ketchum lowered her lorgnette with a
dissatisfied
expression, though her face and voice were duly appreciative. She really knew a fine thing when she saw it.

"It is wonderful, and you are very kind, Mr. Thorpe
; but do you not think that per
haps it is a little, just a little, well—gloomy —that is, solemn—well—for a den, you know?" and she laughed uneasily.

Mr. Thorpe was accustomed to being all things to all men. With an easy
manner
he laughed understandingly.

"Yes? Well, I thought so myself, but then I
didn't
know how you would feel about it. It would seem hardly appropriate, now you think of it, for a room where men go to smoke and talk. Well, just all of you step around to this side of the room, please, and I'll show you another style of picture."

They followed obediently, Mrs. Ketchum murmur
ing something more about the in
appropriateness of the picture for a den, and the sev
en boys making the best of their
way among the easels and over Mrs. Ketchu
m's train.
All but Margaret Man
ning.
She lingered as if transfixed before the picture. Perhaps she had not even heard what Mrs. Ketchum had said. Two of the boys hoped so in whispers to one another.

"Say, Joe," he whispered in a low gru
m
ble, "I forgot all about Mr. Stanley's smoking. She——" with a nod toward the silent, preoccupied woman still standing in front of the picture, "she won't like that. Maybe he
do
n't
do it anymore. I
don't
reck
on '
twould
be hard fo
r him to quit."

Every one of those seven boys had given up the use o
f tobacco to please their teach
er, Miss Manning.

Other pictures were forthcoming. There were landscapes and seascapes, flowers and animals, children and wood nymphs, dancing in extraordinary attitudes. The boys wondered that so many pictures
could be made
. They wondered and looked and grew weary with the unusual sight, and wished to go home and
get
rested, and did not in the least know which they liked. They were bewildered. Where was Miss Manning? She would tell them which to choose, for their part of the choice was a very important part to them, and in their own
minds
they were the principal part of the committee.

Miss Manning left the great picture by and by and came over to where the others sat, looking
with them at picture after pic
ture, hearing prices and painters discussed, and the merits of this and that work of art by Mrs. Ketchum and Mr. Talcut, whose sole idea of art was expressed in the price thereof, and who knew no more about the true worth of pictures than he knew about the moon.
Then she left the others and
wandered back to the quiet end of the room where stood that wonderful picture. There the boys one by one drifted back to her and sat or stood about her quietly, feeling the spell o
f the picture themselves, under
standing in part, at least, her mood and why she did not feel like talking. They waited respect
fully with uncovered heads, half
bowed, looking, feeling instinctively the sacredness of the theme of the
picture. Four of them
were professed
Christians, and the other three were just beginning to understand
what a privilege it was to fol
low Christ.

Untaught and uncouth as they were, they took the faces for likenesses, and Christ's life and work on earth became at once to them a living thing that they could see and understand. They looked at John and longed to be like him, so near to the Master and to receive that look of love. They kn
ew Peter and thought they recog
nized several other discipl
es, for the Sun
day school lessons had become as vivid for them as mere words can paint the life of Christ. They seemed themselves to stand within the heavy arch of stone over that table, so long ago, and to be sitting at the
table
—his disciples, some of them un
worthy, but still there. They had been helped to this by what Miss Manning had said the first Sunday she took the class, when the lesson had been of Jesus and of some
talks
he had had with his disciples.
She had told them that as there were just twelve of them in the class she could not help sometimes thinking of them as if they were the twelve disciples, especially as one of them was named John and another Andrew, and she wanted them to try to feel that these lessons were for them; that Jesus was sitting there in their class each Sabbath speaking these words to them and calling them to him.

The rest of the committee were coming toward them, calling to M
iss Manning in merry,
appealing
voices. She looked up to answer, and the boys who stood near her saw that her eyes were full of tears. More than one of them turned to hide and brush away an answering tear that seemed to come from somewhere in his throat and choke him.

"Com
e, Margaret," called Mrs. Ketch
um
, "come and tell us which you choose. We've narrowed it down to three, and are
pretty well decided which one of the three we like best."

Margaret Manning arose reluctantly and followed them, the boys looking on and wondering. She looked at each of the three. One was the aforementioned nymph's dance, another was a beautiful woman's head, and the third was a flock of children romping with a cart and a dog and some roses.
Margaret turned from them disap
pointed, and looked back toward the other picture.

"I don't like any of them, Mrs. Ketchum, but the first one. Oh, I do think that is the one. Please come and look at it again."

"Why,
my dear," fluttered Mrs. Ketch
um, disturbed, "I thought we settled it that that pictu
re was too, too—not quite appro
priate for a den, you know."

But
her words were lost, for the others had gone forward under the skylight to where the grand picture stood, and were once more under the spell of those wonderful eyes of the pictured Master.

"It is a real nice picture," spoke up Mrs. Brow
n. She was fond of Margaret Man
ning, though she did not know much about art. She
had been elected
from the women's
Bible
class, and had been rather over
powered by Mrs. Ketchum, but she felt that now she ought to stand up for her friend M
argaret. If she wanted that
pic
ture, that
picture it should be.

"How much did you say you would give us that for, Mr. Thorpe?" said the sharp little voice of Mr. Talcut.

Mr. Thorpe courteously mentioned the figures.

"That's only ten dollars
more'n
we've got," spoke up the hoarse voice of one of the seven unexpectedly. It was Joe, who felt that he owed his salvation to the young superintendent's earnest efforts in his behalf.

"I say we'd better get it. Ten dol
lars
ain't
much. We boys can go
that much. I'll go it myself somehow if the others don't."

"Well, really, ladies, I suppose it's a very good bargain," said Mr. Talcut, rubbing his hands and smiling.

"Then we'll take it," said Joe, nodding decidedly to Mr. Thorpe. "I'll go the other ten dollars, and the boys can help, if they like."

"But really Margaret, my dear," said Mrs. Ketchum quite distressed, "a den,
don't you know, is not a place for——"

But
the others were all say
ing it was just the picture, and she was not heard. Mr. Talcut was giving the address and orders about the sending. None of them seemed to realize that Mrs. Ketchum had not given her consent, and she, poor
lady
, had to gracefully accept the situation.

"Well, it's really a very fine thing, I suppose,"
she said at last, somewhat hesi
tatingly, and putting up her lorgnette to take a critical look. "I don't admire that style of architecture, and that tablecloth isn't put on very gracefully; it would have been more artistic draped a little.
But
it's really very fine, and quite new, you say, and of course the artist is irreproachable. I think Mr. Stanley will appreciate it."

But
she sighed a little disappointedly, and wished she had been able to coax them to take the nymphs. She would take pains to let Mr. Stanley know that this had not been her choice.
The idea of having to give in to those great boors of boys!
But then
it had all been Margaret Manning's fault. She was such a little fanatic. She might have known that it would not do to let her see a religious picture first.