Not My Will / The Light in My Window Set of 2

Contents

Not My Will

The Light in My Window

Not My Will

How Much Will Surrender Cost?

Francena H. ARNOLD

MOODY PUBLISHERS

CHICAGO

lex and Jean Stewart stood by the playpen and, with

arms about each other, watched the determined effor ts

of the tiny girl inside to reach the ball that had rolled

away from her. She could not crawl, but she reached and

wriggled and hunched herself toward it with a great ef-

fort. Inch by inch she struggled, panting with exertion

until at last, when she had achieved her desire and held

the treasure in her dimpled hand, she was too tired to

play, but fell asleep instead with a smug little smile on

her face.

The two watchers laughed at her efforts and cheered

when she won. Then, as they looked at the little sleeper,

Jean said, “Isn’t she a persistent mite? She is that way

about anything she wants. She worked all during her

ride this morning to catch the Tinkertoy that I had

hung on the hood of her carriage. But she finally got it.”

Alex smiled proudly at his tiny daughter, then sobered

at a sudden thought that came to him. “I hope she won’t

be like her aunt Ruth,” he said with a note of pain in his

voice.

His older sister Ruth had been a laughing, lovely

girl, dear to the hearts of her parents and younger broth-

er. She had a sunny disposition, and the old home

echoed to the laughter of the brother and sister. During

those years Alex Stewart was sure that whatever Ruth

did was right. Now, looking back from the vantage

point of later years, he realized how much she had im-

posed on his boyish affection and the strong love of her

parents. When she had set her mind to a course of ac-

tion she would willfully pursue it, “against wind, tide, or

flood,” her mother used to say. And the remonstrances

of her parents, and the frequent punishments that came

her way, were equally unavailing. At eighteen, against

the pleadings of her whole family, she had married a

man unworthy of her.

For fifteen years now Ruth had borne with a bitter,

unbroken spirit the results of her willfulness. Her hus-

band had been dead several years, but his influence on

her life remained. She was still attractive and could have

married again had she wished. She had money enough

to have permitted her to live a life of varied interests and

pleasures. But the bitterness of her spirit poisoned her

entire outlook. The sins of one man had aroused her

contempt for all men. The energies that should have

been used for good were consumed in hatred and scorn,

and the laugh that had once been so gay was now cyni-

cally sharp.

And so a tone of regret crept into Alex Stewar t’s

voice as he admitted that baby Eleanor, even in such

small matters as lost bottles and straying balls, seemed

to partake of the determination of Ruth Stewart Ed-

wards. He brushed back a soft golden ringlet from the

baby brow and spoke again.

“A strong will is an asset if rightly used. Ruth could

have become a beautiful woman—probably a happy

wife and mother all these years—if she had used that

will in a better way. I don’t want to break Eleanor’s will,

but it’s going to be a job to control it!”

Jean, the wife and mother, straightened the blanket

over the little one and, as they turned away, said in a

tone of quiet faith, “ We must pray much for our lovely

baby, that the heavenly Father will guide her and give us

wisdom to train her.”

Before the little playpen was exchanged for a walker,

however, a short trip away from home ended in a tragic

railroad accident, and baby Eleanor was robbed of both

parents.

Aunt Ruth was the only relative left in the world to

care for the mite. At first she was appalled at the task

that confronted her of rearing the little orphan. But the

heart that had thought itself closed forever to affection

opened slowly but surely to the touch of baby hands,

and soon Aunt Ruth was lavishing upon this delectable

little morsel of humanity all the pent-up love of her in-

tense nature. She began to plan and dream again—she

who had thought her dreams were all past. She was glad

now for the wealth that had only burdened her before,

for with it she could give Eleanor every opportunity that

she had once desired for herself. This baby was hers—all

hers—and she would mold and shape the young life in

the way she desired it to be, and no one would tell her no!

Then began the struggle that was to last more than

twenty years. And yet, despite the clash of wills, there

was strong mutual love between the little girl and her

aunt. The sore and bitter heart of Ruth Edwards at-

tached itself fervently to the orphaned child, and she

poured out the accumulated affection of her childless

life on Eleanor, who returned in full measure all her de-

votion. Ruth learned to play games with Eleanor; they

worked together over difficult arithmetic problems;

they laughed over amusing incidents at school or at play.

And they fought. Not with angry words or loud dis-

putation but with strong determination on both sides.

Of course, when Eleanor was tiny, Aunt Ruth usually

had her way, and the clashes were rare, for so great was

her love for this little girl that she crossed her only when

necessary. And when Eleanor did set her heart on the

nice, bright red penny candy in the store windo w, Auntie

took away the sting of refusal by buying a whole box of

delicious and expensive chocolates. However, there were

several memorable clashes that left both par ticipants re-

ally ill.

One never-to-be-forgotten struggle came when

Eleanor was in the first grade and sat in front of a red-

headed, toothless, and altogether fascinating little boy

named Jackie Dennis. Jackie was entranced by Eleanor’s

bobbing brown curls and showed his devotion by small

gifts of gum balls and pencils, and one day he presented

her with a ring he got for a penny at the school store.

The little gilt ring precipitated a crisis, for when

Eleanor arrived home from school that afternoon she

proudly displayed it to Aunt Ruth and made the

startling announcement that when she grew up she was

going to marr y Jackie Dennis. She was totally unpre-

pared for the storm that descended upon her head.

“You must never think of that boy again. You must

not walk to school with him anymore; you mustn’t even

speak to him,” Aunt Ruth commanded.

“I will if I want to,” replied the stubborn little girl.

“You must not.”

“But I will.”

This str uggle lasted for weeks and was still going

when school closed. But it was pushed into the back-

ground by the fun of leaving the big city for the cabin in

the woods to which they retired each summer.

In September Aunt Ruth had a surprise for Eleanor.

They were not going back to the big house on the

boulevard. Aunt Ruth had bought a beautiful new brick

bungalow in the suburbs. One of the very nicest things

about it, Aunt Ruth told Eleanor, was that Mike and

Mary, the couple who served as handyman and cook,

would live by themselves in an apartment over the

garage, thus leaving the two of them living alone together.

“And that’s what we’ve always wanted, isn’t it, dear?”

To Eleanor the new home was almost as good as

fairyland. The lawn was lovely and green and the garden

full of flowers. There were big trees with many kinds of

birds, and inside the house Eleanor had the prettiest lit-

tle room all to herself.

Of course, Eleanor had to go to a new school. She

had been living in the new home a whole month before

she realized that Aunt Ruth had won and she wasn’t see-

ing Jackie Dennis anymore. Then she was furious.

“I’ll r un away,” she resolved. “I’ll find my way back

to the boulevard and find Jackie and go live with him

forever and ever.”

But before she had time to carry out her plan, Aunt

Ruth gave her a bicycle, which she very much wanted,

and in the fun of learning to ride, her anger faded. She

met new playmates at school, too, and with so many

new and engrossing interests to engage her attention,

Jackie’s red hair and gum balls were at last forgotten.

But a bit of resentment lay in her heart.

Then, when Eleanor started high school, she met

Dale Truman. The freshman class was planning a Hal-

loween party in the gym, and Dale asked Eleanor to at-

tend with him. In delight she came to Aunt Ruth.

“Aunt Ruth, our class is going to have a Halloween

party in the gym, and the nicest boy, Dale Truman,

asked if he could take me to it. May I go with him?”

Her heart sank as she read her aunt’s face even before

she spoke.

“No, Eleanor, I do not think it would be wise. If you

would like to have some of your girlfriends in for a Hal-

loween party at home, you may.”

“But, Auntie—”

“Now, Eleanor, you mustn’t try to argue. Auntie

knows what is best for you,” she said with a disarming

smile.

“I don’t care. I want to go. All the girls are going,

and lots of them are going with boys. I think it’s mean!”

“We won’t discuss it any further,” said Ruth Ed-

wards, setting her lips in determination.

That night Eleanor sobbed out her disappointment

into her pillow. Suddenly she remembered something

she had not thought of in a long time: a little boy with

his front teeth out, looking in vain for her at school.

The long-buried resentment flamed up. She was natu-

rally a straightforward child, and although very deter-

mined in her efforts to achieve her desires, she had

always struggled openly and fought fairly. Lying in bed,

with her cheeks wet with tears, she looked back over

many incidents of her childhood and realized that most

of the lovely toys and delightful trips had been bribes.

“Mike would say she drew red herrings across the

trail,” she whispered. “She’s been cheating all these

years, and the only way I’ll ever get anything like other

girls is to do some cheating myself! It won’t do any good

to coax. She won’t change her mind. If she’d sell the

house in town and move out here just to get rid of Jack-

ie, she’d take me to Europe to keep me away from Dale!

I’ll just have to cheat too.”

This sudden determination made her cheeks flush

in the dark. But, although she knew it was wrong, she

did not consider giving up. Lying in bed she made her

plan and finally fell asleep with tears on her cheeks.

Several days passed, and the party was not men-

tioned. Then one morning at the breakfast table,

Eleanor asked casually, “Auntie, may I stay all night

tonight at Rose Martello’s? She needs help with her En-

glish. Her folks don’t speak English, and it’s hard for

her.”

“Who is Rose Martello, dear?” the careful Aunt

Ruth questioned.

“Don’t you remember? She’s the tiny girl with black

curls who played the piano so beautifully when the girls

were here yesterday.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. But is she the kind of girl I

would want you to associate with intimately? And does

her mother want you? Rose seems all right, but I don’t

like your going there when I’ve never met her mother.”

“She is a lovely girl, Auntie,” Eleanor hurried on.

“Mrs. Martello is nice too. We’ve been there twice after

school. But they are Italians, you know, and her mother

doesn’t talk much English. She is bashful because of that,

so even if you did call on her she would probably not

want to see you. When Americans come there she stays

in the kitchen and makes Rose talk to them. But she has

been so nice to us girls, and I’d really like to help Rose.”

And so Aunt Ruth consented, not knowing that

Eleanor had selected Rose of all her friends as the most

likely partner in deceit and had offered her a dollar for

each night she might spend at the Martellos’. Good

Mrs. Martello, who made friends of ever y casual ac-

quaintance, would hardly have recognized herself in the

descriptions Aunt Ruth received—descriptions of her-

self that kept that lady from calling on her—and would

have been shocked to know of the money that Rose was

spending on ice cream and candy.

And since Aunt Ruth, always proper, insisted on

Eleanor’s returning Rose’s hospitality, this bargain was

very profitable for Rose in all respects. Her marks at

school, too, rose steadily, for Eleanor—to mollify her

conscience—insisted that Rose really study on nights

when she was paying dollars of self-denial out of her al-

lowance for the privilege of attending this or that party

with a boy from school.

At another time Aunt Ruth might not have been de-

ceived by this clumsy subterfuge, but she was relieved to

have the subject of Dale dropped so readily and was glad

to have Eleanor transfer her interest to a girlfriend—

even a foreign girl. She would hardly have believed it if

she had been told that Eleanor’s head was not bent over

a book in the Martellos’ parlor but was tossing gaily at

Dale’s quips at a party or basketball game.

Eleanor tired of Dale, of course, but then there were

Gordon and John and Allan and others in succession.

She was pretty, and she was popular—even despite a

very strict code of behavior which she had imposed on

herself to help salve her conscience. “When I’m out with

the boys I’ll act as if Aunt Ruth were along,” she told

herself, and with characteristic determination, she did

it. And so the boys respected her and thought of her not

only as a lot of fun but as the right kind of girl too.

All through high school Eleanor deceived and dis-

obeyed, even though she loved Aunt Ruth and they had

wonderful times together.

“Aunt Ruth is grand,” Eleanor commented to one of

her girlfriends, “but on this one subject she is just plain

crazy. The easiest way to get along with her is not to tell

her. Then her feelings aren’t hurt, and we don’t have any

trouble.”

Years later Eleanor was to look back to these high

school episodes with heartsick regret, realizing that it

was the foundation for the heartache and tragedy of later

years. It might have led to disastrous results at the time,

had it not been that in her senior year she found a new

interest and discovered a new world—the world that

lives and moves outside and beyond the sight of ordi-

nary human life, the marvelous world seen through the

lens of a microscope.

The new science teacher at the high school had a

captivating personality. He loved his work and with fas-

cinating skill opened to Eleanor’s view marvelous works

of nature. He recognized in her a real student and was

delighted to give extra time and effort to her. Professor

Thorne showed her how the wonders seen through the

microscope could be caught and held by the camera,

and from that time on, Rose and the boyfriends were

forgotten. Aunt Ruth was delighted with this hobby and

offered to Eleanor added inducements of money and

equipment. One whole room in the attic was equipped

for photography, and between this and the wonderful

laboratory at school, Eleanor’s days and evenings were

divided. She and Aunt Ruth went on trips to secure

specimens, and it was not long before Aunt Ruth was as

enthusiastic over her new world of science as was

Eleanor herself.

One day Eleanor confided her hopes for the future.

“I am going to be a scientist, Auntie—a really good one,

of course. I get sick of folks talking as if the boys would

all have careers and the girls would only get married. I’ll

show them! I’m better now at this than any of the boys,

and I’m going to be the best there is. No husband or ba-

bies for me!”

Ruth Edwards’s bitter heart was gladdened by that

remark. She determined to send Eleanor to the best col-

leges and universities in America. Then they would go

abroad. There would be no limit to the oppor tunities

Eleanor would be given to encourage her in the work

she had chosen to do. At long last Ruth had real use for

her accumulated wealth and was glad it had not been

dissipated by extravagance. Eleanor—educated, talented,

brilliant—would show the world the superiority of the

intellect of woman over that of mere man. “No husband

or babies for me!” Ruth still heard the words. If Eleanor

had chosen science as her first and only love, then she

should have every opportunity to worship at its shrine!

So she proposed. But God, as always, disposed. That

fall, when Eleanor was ready for college, Ruth was not

well. A visit to her doctor sent her home with troubled

brow. Eleanor, not being able to extract much informa-

tion from her, went to see the doctor herself and left

with the knowledge that Ruth had an incurable disease.

At least the doctor said it was incurable. But they would

not believe that it was so. They consulted other doctors.

So began a str uggle of four long years against death.

They visited hospital after hospital, clinic after clinic. As

a last hope they took a trip of three thousand miles and

returned w ith heavy hearts and saddened faces, not to

the brick bungalow but to the cottage in the woods.

There, with faithful Mar y and Mike, they awaited the

inevitable.

As the days passed, Eleanor’s spirit rebelled. “ Why

do I have to give up all I have in the world?” she asked

herself. “Other girls have whole housefuls of families.

Why should kind, good Aunt Ruth have to suffer? Why

must anyone suffer?” Sometimes she lay awake at night

pondering these weighty questions, and she thought

about them many times during the day. Ruth glimpsed

the struggle, and one night as Eleanor sat by her bed she

said slowly, “Dear, I hope you are not going to feel too

badly about all this.”

“I can’t feel too badly. It just isn’t right!” Eleanor re-

sponded heatedly.

“Well, there was a time when I felt that way too. I’m

not an old woman and I still want to live, especially

since you are with me. I want to help with your work.

But lying here in the long nights, I’ve done lots of think-

ing and wondering. I’ve been pretty headstrong. All my

life I’ve wanted my own way and fought to get it. Hav-

ing made one big mistake, I let it turn me from the right

way.”

Eleanor patted her arm. “It has been a good way,

Auntie dear, and I can’t feel it’s right for you to have to

go.”

Ruth shook her head. “I tried to make it a good way,

but I wanted it always to be my way, and the selfish way

is never a good way. I have lived entirely for myself, and

the world is no better for my being—yes, I know I’ve

cared for you, but that has been pure joy for me. It has

cost me nothing, and I have received everything.”

She was silent for a minute, then continued wistfully,

“I wish I could go back and try again. I would try Mother ’s

way instead of my own. She lived first of all for her

Lord, then for others—and last, for herself. She was

happier than I have ever been.”

Eleanor did not speak, and Aunt Ruth went on, “As

I have lain here thinking of my life I have realized how

futile it has been compared to Mother’s. I had a better

education than she had; I’ve had more money to spend

in one year than she had in her lifetime. Yet she faced

death as if she were confident of God’s leading in both

the past and the future and could leave everything to

Him. I haven’t let Him lead me in the past, and I have

no assurance He will want to take over the case now.”

Mary, standing by, murmured with a tender voice as

she straightened the tumbled pillows, “Oh yes, He will!

I know Him, and it’s glad He’d be to lead any lamb that

called Him.”

But Eleanor did not dare speak, lest the bitterness in

her heart overflow. She did not want to grieve this dear

aunt so obviously near death. And if Aunt Ruth could

get any comfort by returning to her childhood religion,

let her do it. Eleanor had nothing against religion. It was

a rather good thing for the weak and those in trouble.

She was sure there was a God somewhere whose duty it

was to help people who weren’t able to manage their

lives alone. But if He did govern the affairs of mankind,

as Mary often said, Eleanor felt He was being very cruel

to her just now. Hurriedly she kissed her aunt good

night and went to her own room to cry herself to sleep.

Waking in the middle of the night she saw a light in

the invalid’s room and, donning robe and slippers, hurried

in to find her aunt propped up on her pillow, writing.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Ruth smiled. “So I am writing a

letter. Mary has been with me, and she is a rare comfort.

Don’t worry about me, dear. I am not afraid now, and I

feel much better. Don’t let me forget to have you call

Mr. Hastings in the morning. I want him to come out

and discuss some important business. There’s no time to

waste. Run along back to bed, dear. I am feeling sleepy

now. I will put this aside and turn out the light.”

Eleanor turned away with a heavy hear t, and after

the house was dark again she lay through the rest of the

night, sleepless and rebellious. When she looked into the

room the next morning, Aunt Ruth was sleeping quietly.

Out in the kitchen Mary sang softly as she prepared

breakfast.

There is a fountain filled with blood,

Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,

Lose all their guilty stains!

When she saw Eleanor she said, “ The poor tired

dear was sleepin’ so sweet I had no thought to wake her.

We’ll let her get what rest she can from the naggin’ pain.

She’ll rouse soon enough.”

But she did not rouse. The doctor came, but there

was nothing to be done. Before the day ended, the tired

body of this so lately reconciled child of God was freed

forever from the pain that had tortured it, and her spirit

was safe at home in the Father’s house.

On the table lay the unfinished letter. Its first words,

“My dear, dear child,” told Eleanor that it was meant for

her, but it was only after the funeral that she could force

herself to read it.

My dear, dear child:

I may not have another chance to talk to you,

and there is something that must be said. If I could

turn back and live the past over again, I would try to

teach you many things I failed to give you in these

years when I had the oppor tunity. My sense of val-

ues is strangely altered in the light that has just come

upon me.

Of one thing I am not sorry. That is the plan for

your future. As I have lain here I have begun to see a

purpose in all this pain. This world is full of suffer-

ing, and this disease that has shattered me has con-

tributed a share of it. No one has yet mastered it.

The one who does will do more for mankind than I

could do if I lived a thousand years. I am not pre-

dicting that you can do all this. But you can help.

With your slides and glass you can join the ranks of

those who battle disease and help to conquer it. If

my going inspires you to do this, I am glad to have

suffered.

But I want to say more than this. Mar y has

talked and prayed with me. I have found the right

way at last, I am sure, for I have found Christ. If

only I had known Him long ago! I cannot urge you

too strongly to commit your path to Christ. He will

be the friend and guide you need, for He will never

fail you, my child.

The letter was never finished, but Eleanor did not

care. She had what she thought was the expression of

her aunt’s last wish, and her soul leaped to the challenge

that it offered her. Then and there she dedicated her life

to a battle with pain. What Aunt Ruth might have said

had she been able to finish her letter did not matter.

And the important business that she had wanted to dis-

cuss with her lawyer was not remembered again until

years later when Eleanor wondered how her life might

have been changed had her aunt been able to have that

talk.

In a fe w days the lawyer called and, in the presence

of Mike and Mar y, read the will. There was a generous

bequest to these faithful servants—enough to enable

them to return to the place of their youth and spend the

rest of their lives in comfort on the little farm they had

dreamed about but never dared hope to acquire.

Everything else was given to Eleanor. Now she was

free to continue her studies, to pursue the course to

which she had pledged her life.

Long months ago Eleanor and Aunt Ruth had planned

the course Eleanor was to follow—years of school and

then laboratory, and Eleanor had always thought she

knew all Aunt Ruth’s wishes as to her future. But the last

paragraph of the will surprised her.

“This sum of money is to be kept in trust by the said

administrator of the estate, and the income given to

Eleanor Stewart only until her twenty-fifth birthday, at

which time the entire principal shall be turned over to

her with no restrictions. If, however, at any time prior to

her twenty-fifth birthday, Eleanor contracts a marriage,

she shall for feit all claim to the estate, and the entire

sum shall be paid to the Xenia Laboratories to be used

in medical research.”

The old lawyer glanced with troubled expression at

pretty Eleanor, but she hastened to reassure him. “Don’t

let that worry you, Mr. Hastings. Auntie and I under-

stood each other. I have a great work to do and shall

never think of marriage, I assure you.”

Francerta

Arnold

~ool1l

f'R'£SS

C\\lCP.GO

Another

day . . . and another chance . . . and if I don't find

work today

start home tonight. "Oh, dear God, please help

find

a job and a place

stay. I

just.

. . can't

home!"

With a deeply drawn breath that wavered in spite

her ef-

fort

hold it steady, the girl buried her face in the pillow and

drew her coat closer about her shoulders. In the other corner

the rest room

this large railway station the young mother who

had come in during the night was preparing to catch an early

train. In the washroom other women and children were hurrying

about.

course they were hurrying! They were all going some

place, and their trains would soon be leaving. In a minute she

must get up and join them and give the impression that she, too,

had

catch a train. Oh,

she only did! Wouldn't

wonder-

ful

know where you were going and to have someone waiting

for

you

at the end

the trip?

really belong some place where

folks loved

you

and wanted you?

was more awful than she had dreamed it could be, to live

she had been doing for the past three

days.

she had heard

any other girl doing such a thing she would have been disgusted

and shocked.

Yet

the events

the past week had happened so

unexpectedly and so swiftly that she had had to do something,

and this was all that occurred

her. Sleeping in railway stations

was certainly not a thing to be done by the kind

girl she had

always thought herself to be, and she had a horrible fear all the

time that the ever-present attendants would discover her secret

-that

she never caught a train at all but just pretended

stopping over, so that she could sleep on the comfortable

couches

the rest room. She had not dared to stay at the same

station twice, and even in this great city there were only a

few

such rooms

this, where she could check her suitcases in the

locker and get a real rest.

she did not find a room today she

would have to go home.

Maybe that was what she was ordained to do. Surely the cir-

cumstance

losing her job and her room both in one week was

such an unusual one that it must have been decreed by fate.

None

it was

her planning or even her fault. She never had liked

Mr.

Skeen, that assistant department manager, but she had not

had any trouble with him. She had hardly spoken to him and cer-

tainly did not know he was the kind

man who would act

had done last Monday when he had come in and found her alone

working overtime. Ugh! She became sick even yet when she re-

membered how startled she had been when she turned from her

desk and found his smirking face close to hers and his clammy

hand on her arm. She could still hear his grunt

astonishment as

she gave him a shove that landed him in the wastebasket. Before

he could get up she had snatched her purse and fled

f~om

the

room.

the elevator door had clanged behind her, she had

heard the office door bang but had reached the street without pur-

suit and caught a bus at once. What a mess! She had thought that

such things did not happen to good girls. But she had not been to

blame; she knew she had not. And

happened once

could

happen again. There might be danger

finding such a man in

any office. What should be done?

Who could have thought up a more improbable coincidence

than to have had to leave her room at Mrs. Moon's the same

night.

course she could have stayed, but who would want

after finding the landlady's daughter rummaging through her

suitcases and dresser drawers? Who would have dreamed that a

room in a hotel or the YWCA could not

be found for even one

night? There had been nothing to do but go to the station, and

she could not stay there indefinitely-work must

found first,

and then a room, that the threatening prospect

a return home

might be dispelled.

Hope Thompson, don't be a baby!

You

know you don't want

home today .

ever! So up and at it.

You

have to

find

a place today.

She came from the washroom twenty minutes later, looking

ready for travel, and joined the stream

humanity that was

pouring from the train sheds toward the long ramp that led to the

street above. Waiting

the sidewalk for the streetcar that would

carry her to the heart

the city, she breathed again her waking

prayer, "Please, God, help me to find a place to

stay.

I just can't

bear to go home."

At the employment office Hope sat waiting her turn. For

three days she had gone wearily from one such office to another.

Several times the placement women had wanted to send her out

a prospective job. Each time Hope had been reluctant, and an-

other had been sent instead. How could she ever dare to go into

an office again to work? Some strange man might try to kiss her.

She could not tell the efficient women

the placement desks

about this fear, and she realized that they would not keep trying

to help her

she were not willing to go out and apply for work.

The woman at this desk had been more kindly than any

the others, and Hope determined that when her turn came today

she would ask if there were any places where the work would be

among women only. Just now she felt very definitely and decid-

edly that she had no use for

men!

When her turn came Hope managed, with flushing face and

rapidly beating pulse, to state her unusual request. For a moment

the woman looked at her

amazement, then her gaze softened.

Perhaps she herself had once been a frightened small-town girl in

a large city. Perhaps she had enough sympathetic understanding

human nature to recognize that the girl before her was near a

complete breakdown. She spoke meditatively, shuffling the pa-

pers in the file drawer before her.

don't

know-I

can't think

such an office at all. Would

you like a place

a dress shop? Have you had any experience in

selling?"

"No-but

I could try."

The woman shook her head. "That wouldn't do. The man-

ager specifically asked for an experienced saleswoman.

I'm

afraid, my dear, that we haven't any such place. Won't you try a

large office?

have one place open . . . " She was interrupted

by a girl from a desk in another corner

the room.

"It's that Henderson girl again. She says they must have

someone today, and for

you

to send out the first person coming

in who can boil an egg!"

The woman turned and look

Hope. "Can

you

boil an

egg?"

In spite

her nervousness, Hope laughed. "Yes, I could

even boil two at a time without disaster. "

"Would

you

take a place

a mother's helper and part-time

cook?"

Hope thought quickly.

A place as cook would probably

mean a place to room also. She was really a good cook, al-

though not fond

cooking. She did like to care for children, and

had enough experience

that kind to satisfy anyone. It would be

a place

stay while hunting for a better job.

"Yes, I would."

The woman looked through the file drawer again and drew

out a card.

"Clean-refined-good

cook

...

they don't care so

much about that now, I guess.

H'm

...

a Christian. Are

you

Christian?"

The woman looked embarrassed at having

ask that ques-

tion, but Hope answered quickly, "Oh, yes, I am. I've been a

church member since I was thirteen. I've always been regular in

attendance at both church and Sunday school. "

"Well, I don't see what difference that makes to your em-

ployer, but that's not my business. I'll fill out this card, and

you

can go out at once."

Fifteen minutes later Hope found herself

the streetcar.

her purse was a card addressed to Mrs. Philip King, 1239 West

Sherman Street.

she rode along with her purse clasped tightly

in her hand, and with her eyes on the streets through which she

was passing, she felt a growing sense

panic

the step taken.

What had she got herself into? Should she stop now before

was

too late and go back and tell that woman at the agency that she

must look for another cook for

Mrs.

King or Mrs. Henderson, or

whoever

was that wanted a person to boil eggs?

No,

she could

not do that. The agency people would not try further to help her.

They would be too disgusted with her for being so fussy. Her

only alternative

was

to go home, and she did not want

do that.

long

she lived she did not want to go

home-not

even for a

visit.

The district through which she was passing was a shabby

one. The high buildings and busy streets of the downtown sec-

tion

had been left far behind. This was a region of small fac-

tories, run-down frame apartment buildings, small shops with

unattractive merchandise in not-too-clean windows, and more

taverns than she could count. The houses had

yards, and the

front

doors opened onto small porches leading directly to the

sidewalks. Some

the yards were three or four feet below the

level

the walk, and by the dingy curtains at the windows Hope

deduced that people lived in these basement

hovels.

How terrible

all

was!

She had heard

slums and thought that they probably

were somewhat like Mrs. Moon's rooming house, which had

been one of a long row

brick flat buildings

a side street

where the smoke

passing trains got

the curtains

and

where

the children often played

the streets because the backyards

were full

drying clothes. But this was so much worse that

Mrs.

Moon's neighborhood seemed

her,

she looked back

it, like a pleasant, homey suburb. How could anyone

live

here? And why should anyone

this community be wanting a

cook? For she

was

now nearing her destination. Sherman Street

was only a block south

this car line, and the next street was

where she would get off.

Even after she had alighted, Hope felt that she could not go

through with this crazy scheme.

there had been a car coming

from

the opposite direction that she could have boarded, she

would have taken

back to the depot.

While waiting

indecision, she thought

her recent office

experience and a fresh wave

repulsion swept over her. Then

she thought

what

would mean to have to go home.

No-she

could not. So, turning her back

the car line and facing toward

Sherman Street, she determined to at least see what

lay

in that

direction.

The houses got

better. Some of them looked ready to

fall, and if one

fell

the whole crazy block would tumble, just like

the long row

dominoes she used to patiently line

and push

down when she was a youngster. Insecure looking stairways

climbed drunkenly up the outsides

some

the buildings, and

on these stairs hung blankets and clothing, while overflowing

garbage cans stood

the landings, on every one

which small

children were playing.

Hope shuddered. How

could she live in such a neighbor-

hood? Then she remembered that Mrs. King had specified that

she wanted a Christian cook. There came a vision

a little old

lady who might have once been wealthy and

was

now perhaps

ill

and helpless, surely poor, and who had to live

this sad place.

might

fun

help such a person. Anyway, here she was,

and she would do her best.

Then she turned the corner and stopped in amazement.

There was only one house

the block, so

would have

1239. Feeling

she were in some fairyland, Hope crossed the

street and passed through the great gate before her.

either side

the broad walk a tangle

shrubs and

bushes, which had not been trimmed in many years, rose like a

green jungle. Great trees spread their leafy branches

densely

that the August sun, which blazed fiercely down

the streets

and sidewalks outside the high iron fence, seemed dim and fee-

ble

here. In the center

the large grounds, which had once been

beautifully landscaped, stood the house, and

Hope advanced

toward

she gazed in wonder at finding such a house in such a

place.

It was

time-mellowed gray stone, full three stories tall,

with a great round tower at one corner and numerous gables and

turrets breaking the line of the tile roof. A wide porch with huge

pillars stretched across the front, and at

one

side a covered drive

gave

entrance onto the porch. All this Hope noted as she slowly

came up the walk and mounted the broad steps which, she

thought whimsically, reminded her

the pictures she had seen

of the approach

the Capitol in Washington. Surely no little

sick, poverty-stricken old lady lived in

this house!

Over

the door

she saw the tarnished bronze numerals 1239--so it must be the

right place. Summoning all her courage, she rang the queer old

bell, then jumped in nervousness at the clangor

made.

The noise died

away,

and for many minutes there

was

only

silence. Hope rang again and waited, and was

the verge of

leaving when there was a patter

running feet inside, a fum-

bling at the door, and

opened to disclose a small

boy.

"Oh, hello!"

said with a smile.

didn't hear

you

fIrst. Will

you

'scuse it, please?"

"Surely," said Hope, answering both his words and his

smile. "Is this where

Mrs.

King

lives?"

"Yes, she's

mother,

I'm

Chad. I had

come to the

door because she's

sick-just

miserably sick."

"Oh,

I'm

sorry. I

the girl that was sent out from the em-

ployment agency. I wonder if she could see me."

don't know. Will

you

wait while I ask her? I am not sup-

posed to ask folks in unless I know them. And I don't know you.

So I'll go talk to Mother and

you

can wait

the porch."

Hope agreed to this frankly stated arrangement and waited

while the little boy trotted back into the dimness

the big hall.

In a moment he came back, saying apologetically, "Mother

says,

'I'm

sorry to keep

you

waiting.' Will

you

come in and see

her? She hopes

you

won't mind."

Hope followed him across the outer vestibule which,

it-

self,

was

larger than the bedroom she had had at

Mrs.

Moon's,

then down the length of a huge hall to a door through which

Chad ushered her, saying, "Here's the lady, Mother."

"How do

you

do?"

said a weak voice

from

the bed. "Get

her a chair, Chad. Then

you

run over and get Aunt Billy."

The little fellow sped

away,

and Hope sat tensely in

the

chair. This room had apparently been a grand parlor at some

time. Across one end

was

an old-fashioned grate and mantel, and

above them a large plate glass mirror. Just now the room was

serving

a bedroom. The woman

the bed

was

speaking.

"I'm

dreadfully ashamed to greet

you

this

way.

When I get

one of these headaches I can't do

anything.

friend will be

here in a

few

minutes, and she will explain the work. It hurts

head even to talk."

She

lay

exhausted after this short effort, and Hope sat in

sympathetic silence. The bed was

tumbled disarray, and the

bronze curls

the pillow were damp with perspiration.

Mrs.

King looked hardly older than Hope herself, and certainly much

smaller and more helpless in her illness. The heat of the

day

had

penetrated the recesses of even this great house, and the room

seemed stifling. Hope saw a fresh spasm

pain cross

Mrs.

King's face and arose

quick decision.

"Mrs. King, while we wait won't you let me help you? I

know

I'm

a stranger, but

I'm

sure I can make you more comfort-

able. "

Mrs. King opened her eyes and smiled wanly.

"I'd

wel-

come anyone who could do that.

I'm

too miserable to have pride

left at all.

I weren't afraid

frightening Chad, I think

I'd

cry!"

Some time later when Chad and a brisk young lady came in,

the bed was smoothed, the pillow had been shaken and turned,

and Hope was bathing the hot head. Mrs. King lay relaxed, and

when she heard the two enter she said in a drowsy voice, "This

is Hope Thompson, Billy. Will you take charge

her for me?

She is my new helper, and I hope she likes

well enough to

stay.

"Eleanor King, you should be spanked! I told you yester-

day not to chase out in that sun.

you weren't so sick

I'd-oh,

what will Phil say?"

"Probably the same things you do, only in more dignified

terms.

Don't

scold, Billy.

I'm

paying for my foolishness. And

there's a silver lining to this cloud. Miss Thompson has proved

herself such a jewel that I

can't

be sorry. Will you take her to her

room and show her where the kitchen is? She gave me an aspirin,

and I think I can sleep now. "

As Billy and Hope turned to go away, Mrs. King caught

sight

the troubled face

little Chad and called him to her

side.

"Don't

worry, son. Mother will be all right tomorrow."

"But

I telled Daddy

I'd

take care

you, and it makes my

stomach feel funny when you get sick."

"You did take care

me, dear,

and

Daddy will understand.

Now run along with Aunt Billy and Miss Hope, and Mother will

try to sleep. "

The lively young lady called "Billy" led Hope to a room

across the hall and said as she threw open the door, "This will be

your room,

Miss-Thompson,

did Eleanor say? It hasn't much

furniture yet, but

you will be patient that will be remedied.

You

see, they have just moved

here-came

only last

week-and

Eleanor has been having a siege

headaches. She's a country

gal and

can't

take this city heat. Things are in a mess."

"Don't

worry," said Hope,

can sleep on this cot. Mrs.

King was too sick to

talk, and I

don't

know whether

I'm

really

hired

not. "

"Sure, you are! That is,

you'll stay! I talked to the wom-

an at the agency just after you started out here, and she said you

can cook. That's all

we're

asking at

present-except,

course

-you

are a Christian, aren't you?"

"Yes, but what difference does

that make?" Hope some-

how felt very free with this girl with a boy's name, and dared to

ask the question that had been puzzling her for hours.

"Much

indeed," said Billy promptly. "You see, this·

isn't

just a private home. It's part

Henderson Institute, and all the

workers must be Christians. "

Hope wanted to ask what Henderson Institute was, and

whether Billy was one

the workers also, but she had no time,

for as soon as the suitcases had been stowed in the corner and

Hope's hat placed on a shelf in the huge closet, Billy spoke

again.

"I'll

show you the kitchen now, and

I'm

afraid you'll have

to shift for yourself this evening.

Phil-that's

Dr.

King-is

away, and when Eleanor gets a headache she's worse than use-

less. I

can't

stay for I left thirty-seven young 'uns in charge

Anna Solinski, and

they're all undamaged when I get back

I'll

be surprised. Oh, here's Chad. Listen, Chad,

can't

you show

Miss Hope the kitchen and help her find things? Sure, I knew

you could. That will help Mother so she will get well fast.

I'll

back after five

o'clock

to see

you need any further help, Miss

-oh,

I'm

going to call you Hope.

You

don't

mind, do you?

I'm

Billy to you, too. So long, Chad. Keep your chin up, old fellow.

Mother will soon

OK, and Daddy

wi.ll

be home tomorrow."

She ran her hand affectionately through the tangled mop

yel-

low curls on his head and disappeared through a side door.

For the next few hours Hope and Chad were left alone. She

had small understanding

her status here, but further enlighten-

ment would have to wait until tomorrow when Mrs. King would

be able to talk.

Hope and Chad worked together, and she

found him an intelligent and industrious little helper. Back

the

great hall were pantries so large that Hope wondered how a sin-

gle family could ever use them.

"Oh,

don't 'spect to," Chad said

answer to her excla-

mation. "Daddy

going to get a smaller

stove-just

our size

one-and

put it in this pantry, and that will be our kitchen. Dad-

dy says it's a plenty big enough kitchen for such a little mother

ours. And

are going to have this other room for our dining

room. It was

a-a

serv

...

serv

...

I can't

say

the word. But

Aunt Billy says it's a place for flowers. My Grandma has

flowers, but she keeps them in the living room and the dining

room and some in the kitchen window. Isn't this a pretty dining

room, Miss Hope? I like such a many windows."

Hope, too, liked the many windows that overlooked the

backyard. She tried to picture to herself how this must have ap-

peared long ago when

was filJed with ferns and flowers. It

would make a pleasant family dining room, and she hoped

Mrs.

King would have some pretty furniture and curtains to relieve the

present bareness.

Chad showed her the electric table stove

which she

would be expected

cook until the

new

one came. The two

them had lunch together in front of the "many windows." Then

Chad, explaining that he must take a nap so that

could

play

outdoors when

became cooler, went into his bedroom, and

Hope was left alone.

She looked about her, wondering what to do.

she knew

where

Mrs.

King wanted her dishes and utensils placed she could

unpack them from the barrels and boxes that stood in the large

room that had obviously once been a dining room, but that wopld

have to wait. She could scour cupboards, however, and this she

did. She longed

a tour of exploration and see the other

floors of this old mansion. But that, too, must wait. She peeped

through the door at the other side of the pantry into the big kitch-

en and gasped in amazement at the great black stove, the long

worktables, and the old-fashioned sink. The windows were gray

with a long accumulation of grime, and the dust that covered

everything proclaimed that long years had passed since this room

was used. The shining cleanliness

the other rooms told her

that someone had worked hard to make them habitable.

With nothing to do until Billy should corne back and leave

some instructions for dinner, Hope wandered to the side door

and out into the yard. It was such a tangle of weeds and shrubs

that she did not go far but turned back and stood gazing about

her. Beyond the tall fence, at one side, stood another large build-

ing-a

gray stone church, and from this direction came the

sound

children's voices singing in some merry game. Could

that be Henderson Institute? And what was it anyway? That

would be one more place to explore when she had time. She felt

she were many miles and

days

removed from the desperate

girl who had been so fearful

life that morning. She did not

know just what this place was, but she did know she had fallen in

with kindly Christian people and had work to do and a place to

stay.

Best

all, she wouldn't have to go

home!