understand. He swept on without heeding my question.

'Why, their houses are the worst in the city; their tenements the poorest for the rent charged; their manufactories the greatest sweatshops; their corporate enterprizes all at the cost of the working-class, and to crown it all, they sustain and support the worst villains in this city, who live on the bodies and souls of the ignorant and the wretched."

"Whom do you mean? I don't understand."

"Why, do you suppose the Coll McSheens and Gillises and their kind could subsist unless the Argands and Capons of the Time supported them? They have grown so bold now that they threaten even their social superiors-they must rule alone! They destroy all who do not surrender at discretion."

"Who? How?" I asked, as he paused evidently following a train of reflection, while his eyes glowed.

'Why, ah! even a man like-Mr. Leigh, who though the product of an erroneous system is, at least, a broad man and a just one."

"Is he? I do not know him. Tell me about him." For I was suddenly interested. Then he told me of Mr. Leigh and his work in trying to secure better service for the public, better tenements-better conditions generally.

"But they have defeated him," he said bitterly. "They turned him out of his directorship, or, at least, he got out-and are fighting him at every turn. They will destroy him, if possible. Well, it is nothing to me," he added with a shrug of his shoulders and a sort of denial of the selfmade suggestion. "He is but an individual victim of a rotten system that must go." My mind had drifted to the conference which I had witnessed in McSheen's office not long before, when suddenly Wolffert said,

"Your old friend, Peck, appears to have gotten up."

"Yes, it would seem so," I said dryly, with a sudden fleeting across my mind of a scene from the past, in which not Peck figured, but one who now bore his name; and a slightly acrid taste came in my mouth at the recollection. "Well, up or down, he is the same," I added.

"He is a serpent," said Wolffert. "You remember how he tried to make us kill each other?"

"Yes, and what a fool I made of myself." "No, no. He was at the bottom of it. He used to come and tell me all the things you said and didn't say. He made a sore spot in my heart and kept it raw. He's still the same."

"Have you seen him?" I asked. He leaned back and rested his eyes on me. "Yes, he took the trouble to hunt me up a day or two ago, and for some reason went over the whole thing again. "I shall break his neck some day, yet," I observed, quietly.

'You know I write," he said explanatorily. "He wanted me to write something about you."

About me?"

"Yes"

"What a deep-dyed scoundrel he is!"

"Yes, he wanted to enlist me on the McSheen side, but-" his eyes twinkled. "Where do you go to church?" he suddenly asked me.

I told him, and I thought he smiled possibly at what I feared was a little flush in my face.

"To 'St. Mammon's'! Why don't you go to hear John Marvel? He is the real thing."

"John Marvel? Where is he?" "Not far from you. He preaches out there."

"In a chapel?" I inquired.

'Everywhere where he is," said Wolffert, quietly.

"What sort of a preacher is he?" "The best on earth. His life is his best sermon."

I told him frankly why I had not gone, though I was ashamed, for we had grown confidential in our talk. But Wolffert assured me that John Marvel would never think of anything but the happiness of meeting me again.

"He is a friend whom God gives to a man once in his lifetime," he said, as he took his leave. "Cherish such an one. His love surpasseth the love of women."

He has

"Has he improved?" I asked. A little spark flashed in Wolffert's eyes. "He did not need to improve. only ripened. God endowed him with a heart big enough to embrace all humanity

his eye, "the Jew."

"I do not believe that.”

But Wolffert was gone, with a smile on his face which belied his last exception.

XX

THE PREACHER

So, "the preacher" whom my client, McNeil, and my poor neighbors talked of was no other than John Marvel! I felt that he must have changed a good deal since I knew him. But decency, as well as curiosity, required that I go to see him. Accordingly, although I had of late gone to church only to see a certain worshipper, I one evening sauntered over toward the little rusty-looking chapel, where I understood he preached. To my surprise, the chapel was quite full, and to my far greater surprise, old John proved to be an inspiring preacher. I felt for a moment as though I were dreaming. He was a little older, a little stouter, a little more shy, if possible; but he was earnest, forcible and impressive. When he came to preach, though the sermon was mainly hortatory and what I should have expected of him, his earnestness and directness held his congregation, and I must say he was far more impressive than I should have imagined he could be; while his sermon was as far from the cut-and-dried discourse I was used to hear, as life is from death.

He spoke without notes and directly from his heart. His text, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden." He made it out to be a positive promise of rest for the weary in body, mind and soul, given by One not only able to help, but longing to do so: a pitying Father, who saw His tired children struggling under their burdens and yearned toward them. The great Physician was reaching out His hands to them, longing to heal them, if they but received Him; if they but followed Him. That meant to turn from what they knew to be evil and try to live as they felt He lived. He had been poor-as poor as they. He knew their sorrows and privations and weakness; and their sins, however black they were. All He asked was that they trust Him, and try to follow Him, forgetting self and helping others. Do not be afraid to trust Him, or despair if He does not make Himself

the end-and often as much when you do not feel it as when you do.

God appeared very real to him, and also his hearers. I felt a seriousness which I had long been a stranger to. He appeared to be talking to me, and I set it down to tenderness for old John Marvel himself, rather than to his subject.

When the service was over, he came down the aisle speaking to the congregation, many of whom he appeared to know by name, and whose concerns he also knew intimately. And as the children crowded around him with smiles of friendliness, I thought of the village preacher with the children following, "with endearing wile."

His words were always words of cheer. "Ah! Mrs. Tams! Your boy got his place, didn't he?

"Mrs. Williams, your little girl is all right again?

"Well, Mrs. McNeil" (to a woman who sat with her back to me), “so your husband won his case, after all? His lawyer was an old friend of mine."

I had sat far back, as the church was full when I entered, and was waiting for him to get through with his congregation before making myself known to him; so, though he was now quite close to me, he was so near-sighted that he did not recognize me until I spoke to him. As I mentioned his name, he turned.

"Why, Henry Glave!" Then he took me in his arms, bodily, and lifting me from the ground hugged me there before the entire remnant of his congregation who yet remained in the church. I never had a warmer greeting. I felt as if I were the prodigal son, and although it was embar rassing, I was conscious that instant that he had lifted me out of my old life and taken me to his heart. It was as if he had set me down on a higher level in a better and purer atmosphere.

I went home with him that night to his little room in a house even smaller and poorer than that in which I had my room, where he lived, as I found, because he knew the pittance he paid was a boon to the poor family who sublet the room. But as small and inconvenient as the room was, I felt that it was a haven for a tired and storm-tossed spirit, and the few books it contained gave it an air of being a home.

Before I left it I was conscious that I was in a new phase of life. Something made me feel that John Marvel's room was not only a home but a sanctuary.

We sat late that night and talked of many things, and though old John had not improved in quickness, I was surprised, when I came to think over our evening, how much he knew of people-poor people. It seemed to me that he lived nearer to them than possibly any one I had known. He had organized a sort of settlement among them, and his chief helpers were Wolffert and a Catholic priest, a dear devoted old fellow, Father Tapp, whom I afterward met, who always spoke of John Marvel as his "Heritick brother," and never without a smile in his eye. Here he helped the poor, the sick and the outcast; got places for those out of work, and encouraged those who were despairing. I discovered that he was really trying to put into practical execution the lessons he taught out of the Bible, and though I told him he would soon come to grief doing that, he said he thought the command was too plain to be disobeyed. Did I suppose that the Master would have commanded, "Love your enemies," and, "Turn the other cheek," if He had not meant it? "Well," I said, "the church goes for teaching that theoretically, I admit; but it does not do it in practice-I know of no body of men more ready to assert their rights, and which strikes back with more vehemence when assailed."

"Ah! but that is the weakness of poor, fallible, weak man," he sighed. "We know the good, but oft the ill pursue;' if we could but live up to our ideals, then, indeed, we might have Christ's kingdom to come. Suppose we could get all to obey the injunction, 'Sell all thou hast and give to the poor,' what a world we should have!"

"It would be filled with paupers and dead beats," I declared, scouting the idea. "Enterprise would cease, a dead stagnation would result, and the industrious and thrifty would be the prey of the worthless and the idle."

"Not if all men could attain the ideal." "No, but there is just the rub; they cannot-you leave out human nature. Selfishness is ingrained in man-it has been the mainspring which has driven the race to advance."

He shook his head. "The grace of God

is sufficient for all," he said. "The motherlove has some part in the advance made, and that is not selfish. Thank God! There are many noble men and women who are not selfish and who do God's service on earth out of sheer loving kindness, spend their money and themselves in His work." "No doubt, but here in this city?

"Yes, in this city-thousands of them. Why, where do we get the money from to run our place with?"

"From the Argand Estate?" I hazarded. "Yes, even from the Argand Estate we get some. But men like Mr. Leigh are those who support us and women like—ah—. But beyond all those who give money are those who give themselves. They bring the spiritual blessing of their presence, and teach the true lesson of divine sympathy." "Who, for instance?"

"Why-ah-Miss Leigh-for example." I could scarcely believe my senses. Miss Leigh! "Do you know Miss Leigh? What Miss Leigh are you speaking of ?" I hurriedly asked to cover my own confusion, for John had grown red and I knew instinctively that it was she-there could be but one.

"Miss Eleanor Leigh-yes, I know hershe-ah-teaches in my Sunday-school." Teaching in his Sunday-school! And I not know her! That instant John secured a new teacher. But he went on quickly, not knowing the joy in my heart, or the shrewd resolve I was forming. "She is one of the good people who holds her wealth as a trust for the Master's poor-she comes over every Sunday afternoon all the way from her home and teaches a class."

Next Sunday at three P.M. a hypocrite of my name sat on a bench in John's little church, pretending to teach nine little ruffians whose only concern was their shoes which they continually measured with each other, while out of the corner of my eye I watched a slender figure bending, with what I thought wonderful grace, over a pew full of little girls on the other side of the church.

The lesson brought in that bald-headed and somewhat unfeeling prophet, who called forth from the wood the savage and voracious she-bears, to devour the crowd of children who ran after him and made rude observations on his personal appearance, and before I was through, my sympathies had largely shifted from the unfortunate young

sters to the victims of their annoyance. Still I made up my mind to stick if John would let me, and the slim and flower-like teacher of the befrocked class across the aisle continued to attend.

I dismissed my class rather abruptly, I fear, on observing that the little girls had suddenly risen and were following their teacher toward the door with almost as much eagerness as I felt to escort her. When I discovered that she was only going to unite them with another class, it was too late to recall my pupils, who at the first opportunity had made for the door, almost as swiftly as though the she-bears were after them.

When the Sunday-school broke up, the young lady waited around and I took pains to go up and speak to her, and received a very gracious smile and word of appreciation at my efforts with the "Botany Bay Class," as my boys were termed, which quite rewarded me for my work. Her eyes, with their pleasant light, lit up the whole place for me. Just then John Marvel came out -and it was the first time I ever regretted his appearance. The smile she gave him and the cordiality of her manner filled me with sudden and unreasoning jealousy. It was evident that she had waited to see him, and old John's face bore a look of such happiness that he almost looked handsome. As for her as I came out I felt quite dazed. On the street whom should I meet but Wolffert-"simply passing by," but when I asked him to take a walk, he muttered something about having "to see John." He was well dressed and looked unusually handsome. Yet when John appeared, still talking earnestly with Miss Leigh, I instantly saw by his face and the direction of his eye that the John he wanted to see wore an adorable hat and a dainty tailor-made suit and had a face as lovely

as a rose.

"When?" I knew perfectly what he meant.

"Immediately after we let out."

"My dear fellow, I was through, and besides I thought you had pleasanter company." I said this with my eyes on his face to see him suddenly redden. But he answered with a naturalness which put me to shame.

"Yes, Miss Leigh was talking to me about a little entertainment for the children and their parents, too. She is always trying to do something for them. And she was sorry not to get a chance to speak to you. She said you had helped her about her fire and she had never thanked you."

It is surprising how quickly the sun can burst from the thickest clouds for a man in love. I suddenly wondered that Miss Leigh among her good works did not continually ask about me and send me messages. It made me so happy.

"What became of Wolffert?" I asked. "I think he walked home with her. He had something to talk with her about. They are great friends, you know.”

"Bang!" went the clouds together again like a clap of thunder. The idea of Wolffert being in love with her! I could tolerate the thought of John Marvel being so, but Wolffert was such a handsome fellow, so clever and attractive, and so full of enthusiasm. It would never do. Why, she might easily enough imagine herself in love with him.

"Wolffert is very fond of her-I found him hanging around the door as we came out," I hazarded.

"Oh! yes, they are great friends. He is an inspiration to her, she says-and Wolffert thinks she is an angel-as she is. Why, if you knew the things she does and makes others do!"

If John Marvel had known with what a red-hot iron he was searing my heart, he would have desisted; but good, blind soul, he was on his hobby and he went on at full speed, telling me what good deeds she had performed-how she had fetched him to the city; and how she had built up his church for him-had started and run his school for the waifs-coming over from her beautiful home in all weathers to make up the fire herself and have the place warm

ties for them and spent her money in their behalf. "They call her the angel of the lost children,' ," he said, "and well they may."

"Who does?" I asked suspiciously, recalling the title.

"Why, all my people—I think Wolffert first christened her so and they have taken it up."

"Confound Wolffert!" I thought. "Wolffert's in love with her," I said.

"Wolffert-in love with her! Why!" I saw that I had suggested the idea for the first time-but it had found a lodgment in his mind. "Oh! no, he is not," he declared, but rather arguing than asserting it. "They are only great friends-they work together and have many things in common-Wolffert will never marry-he is wedded to his ideal."

“And her name is Eleanor Leigh-only he is not wedded to her yet." And I added in my heart, "He will never be if I can beat him."

"Yes-certainly, in a way-as she is mine," said John, still thinking.

"And you are too!" I said.

"I? In love with-?" He did not mention her name. It may have been that he felt it too sacred. But he gave a sort of gasp. "The glow-worm may worship the star, but it is at a long distance, and it knows that it can never reach it."

I hope it may be forgiven to lovers not to have been frank with their rivals. His humility touched me. I wanted to tell John that I thought he might stand a chance, but I was not unselfish enough, as he would have been in my place. All I was brave enough to do was to say, "John, you are far above the glow-worm; you give far more light than you know and the star knows and appreciates it."

XXI

MRS. ARGAND

I NOW began to plan how I was to meet my young lady on neutral and equal ground, for meet her I must. When I first met her I could have boldly introduced myself, for all my smutted face; now Love made me modest. When I met her, I scarcely dared to look into her eyes; I began to think of the letters of introduction

I had, which I had thrown into my trunk. One of them was to Mrs. Argand, a lady whom I assumed to be the same lofty person I had seen mentioned in the papers as one of the leaders among the fashionable set, and also as one of the leaders in all public charitable work. It had, indeed, occurred to me to associate her vaguely, first with the private-car episode, and then with my poor client's landlord, the Argand Estate; but the "Argand Estate" appeared a wholly impersonal machine of steel; her reputation in the newspapers for charity disposed of this idea, and there were many Argands in the directory.

I presented my letter and was invited to call on a certain day, some two weeks later. She lived in great style, in a ponderous mansion of unhewn stone piled up with prison-like repulsiveness, surrounded by extensive grounds, filled with carefully tended formal flower-beds. A ponderous servant asked my name and, with eyes on vacancy, announced me loudly as "Mr. Glaze." The hostess was well surrounded by callers. I recognized her the instant I entered as the large lady of the private-car. Both she and her jewels were the same. Also I knew instantly that she was the "Argand Estate," and I was grateful to the servant for miscalling my name. sumptuous drawing-rooms were sprinkled with a handsomely dressed company who sailed in, smiled around, sat on the edge of chairs, chattered for some moments, grew pensive, uttered a few sentences, spread their wings and sailed out with monotonous regularity and the solemn air of a duty performed. There was no conversation-only, as I observed from my coign of vantage, an exchange of compliments and much flattery.

Her

Most of the callers appeared either to be very intimate or not to know each other at all, and when they could not gain the ear of the hostess, they simply sat stiffly in their chairs and looked straight before them, or walked around and inspected the splendid bric-à-brac.

I became so interested that, being unobserved myself, I stayed some time observing them. I also had a vague hope that possibly Miss Leigh might appear. It was owing to my long visit that I was finally honored with my hostess's attention. As she had taken no notice of me on my first entrance beyond a formal bow and an in