CHAPTER XV

Samuel walked the streets all that night. For he fully meant to do what he had promised the child, and he did not care to go back to Charlie Swift, and face the latter's protests and ridicule.

At eight the next morning, tired but happy, he rang the bell of Dr. Vince's house. Ethel herself opened the door; and at the sight of him her face lighted up with joy, and she turned, crying out, "Here he is!"

And she ran halfway down the hall, exclaiming: "He's come! I told you he'd come! Papa!"

A man appeared at the dining room door, and stood staring at Samuel. "There he is, papa!" cried Ethel beside herself with delight. "There's my burglar!"

Dr. Vince came down the hall. He was a stockily built gentleman with a rather florid complexion and bushy beard. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, sir," said Samuel.

"And are you really the young man who was here last night?"

"Yes, sir," said Samuel.

The worthy doctor was obviously disconcerted. "This is quite extraordinary!" he exclaimed. "Won't you come in?"

They sat down in the library. "I don't want you to think, sir," said Samuel quickly, "that I come to beg. Your little girl asked me—-"

"Don't mention that," said the other. "If the story you told Ethel is really true, I should be only too glad to do anything that I could."

"Thank you, sir," said Samuel.

"And so you really broke into my house last night!" exclaimed the other. "Well! well! And it is the first time you have ever done anything of the sort in your life?"

"The very first," said the boy.

"But what could have put it into your head?"

"There was another person with me," said Samuel—"you will understand that I would rather not talk about him."

"I see," said the other. "He led you to it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you have never done anything dishonest before?"

"No, sir."

"You have never even been a thief?"

"No!" exclaimed Samuel indignantly.

The other noticed the tone of his voice. "But why did you begin now?" he asked.

"I was persuaded that it was right," said Samuel.

"But how could that be? Had you never been taught about stealing?"

"Yes, sir," replied the boy—"but it's not as simple as it seems. I had met Professor Stewart—"

"Professor Stewart!" echoed the other.

"Yes, sir—the professor at the college."

"But what did he have to do with it?"

"Why, sir, he told me about the survival of the fittest, and how I had to starve to death because I was one of the failures. And then you see, sir, I met Master Albert—"

"Master Albert?"

"Albert Lockman, sir. And the professor had said that he was one of the fit; and I saw that he got drunk, sir, and did other things that were very wicked, and so it did not seem just right that I should starve. I can see now that it was very foolish of me; but I thought that I ought to fight, and try to survive if I possibly could. And then I met Char—that is, a bad man who offered to show me how to be a burglar."

The other had been listening in amazement. "Boy," he said, "are you joking with me?"

"Joking!" echoed Samuel, his eyes opening wide. And then the doctor caught his breath and proceeded to question him. He went back to the beginning, and made Samuel lay bare the story of his whole life. But when he got to the interview with Professor Stewart, the other could contain himself no longer. "Samuel!" he exclaimed, "this is the most terrible thing I have ever heard in my life."

"How do you mean, sir?"

"You have been saved—providentially saved, as I firmly believe. But you were hanging on the very verge of a life of evil; and all because men in our colleges are permitted to teach these blasphemous and godless doctrines. This is what they call science! This is our modern enlightenment!"

The doctor had risen and begun to pace the floor in his agitation. "I have always insisted that the consequence of such teaching would be the end of all morality. And here we have the thing before our very eyes! A young man of decent life is actually led to the commission of a crime, as a consequence of the teachings of Herbert Spencer!"

Samuel was listening in consternation. "Then it isn't true what Herbert Spencer says!" he exclaimed.

"True!" cried the other. "Why, Samuel, don't you KNOW that it isn't true? Weren't you brought up to read the Bible? And do you read anything in the Bible about the struggle for existence? Were you taught there that your sole duty was to fight with other men for your own selfish ends? Was it not rather made clear to you that you were not to concern yourself with your own welfare at all, but to struggle for the good of others, and to suffer rather than do evil? Why Samuel, what would your father have said, if he could have seen you last night—his own dear son, that he had brought up in the way of the Gospel?"

"Oh, sir!" cried Samuel, struck to the heart.

"My boy!" exclaimed the other. "Our business in this world is not that we should survive, but that the good should survive. We are to live for it and to die for it, if need be. We are to love and serve others- -we are to be humble and patient—to sacrifice ourselves freely. The survival of the fittest! Why, Samuel, the very idea is a denial of spirituality—what are we that we should call ourselves fit? To think that is to be exposed to all the base passions of the human heart—to greed and jealousy and hate! Such doctrines are the cause of all the wickedness, of all the materialism of our time—of crime and murder and war! My boy, do you read that Jesus went about, worrying about His own survival, and robbing others because they were less fit than He? Only think how it would have been with you had you been called to face Him last night?"

The shame of this was more than Samuel could bear. "Oh, stop, stop, sir!" he cried, and covered his face with his hands. "I see it all! I have been very wicked!"

"Yes!" exclaimed the other. "You have been wicked."

The tears were welling into Samuel's eyes. "I can't see how I did it, sir," he whispered. "I have been blind—I have been lost. I am a strayed sheep!" And then suddenly his emotion overcame him, and he burst into a paroxysm of weeping. "I can't believe it of myself!" he exclaimed again and again. "I have been out of my senses!"

The doctor watched him for a few moments. "Perhaps it was not altogether your fault," he said more gently. "You have been led astray—"

"No, no!" cried the boy. "I am bad. I see it—it must be! I could never have been persuaded, if I had not been bad! It began at the very beginning. I yielded to the first temptation when I stole a ride upon the train. And everything else came from that—it has been one long chain!"

"Let us be glad that it is no longer," said Dr. Vince—"and that you have come to the end of it."

"Ah, but have I?" cried the boy wildly.

"Why not? Surely you will no longer be led by such false teaching!"

"No, sir. But see what I have done! Why I am liable to be sent to jail—for I don't know how long."

"You mean for last night?" asked the doctor. "But no one will ever know about that. You may start again and live a true life."

"Ah," cried Samuel, "but the memory of it will haunt me—I can never forgive myself!"

"We are very fortunate," said the other gravely, "if we have only a few things in our lives that we cannot forget, and that we cannot forgive ourselves."

The worthy doctor had been anticipating a long struggle to bring the young criminal to see the error of his ways; but instead, he found that he had to use his skill in casuistry to convince the boy that he was not hopelessly sullied. And when at last Samuel had been persuaded that he might take up his life again, there was nothing that would satisfy him save to go back where he had been before, and take up that struggle with starvation.

"I must prove that I can conquer," he said—"I yielded to the temptation once, and now I must face it."

"But, Samuel," protested the doctor, "it is no man's duty to starve. You must let me help you, and find some useful work for you, and some people who will be your friends."

"Don't think I am ungrateful," cried the boy—"but why should I be favored? There are so many others starving, right here in this town. And if I am going to love them and serve them, why should I have more than they have? Wouldn't that be selfish of me? Why, sir, I'd be making profit out of my repentance!"

"I don't quite see that," said the other—

"Why, sir! Isn't it just because I've been so sorry that you are willing to help me? There are so many others who have not been helped- -some I know, sir, that need it far more than I do, and have deserved it more, too!"

"It seems to me, my boy, that is being too hard upon yourself—and on me. I cannot relieve all the distress in the world. I relieve what I find out about. And so I must help you. And don't you see that I wish to keep you near me, so that I can watch after your welfare? And perhaps—who knows—you can help me. The harvest is plenty, you have heard, and the laborers are few. There are many ways in which you could be of service in my church."

"Ah, sir!" cried Samuel, overwhelmed with gratitude—"if you put it that way—"

"I put it that way most certainly," said Dr. Vince. "You have seen a new light—you wish to live a new life. Stay here and live it in Lockmanville—there is no place in the world where it could be more needed."

All this while the little girl had been sitting in silence drinking in the conversation. Now suddenly she rose and came to Samuel, putting her hand in his. "Please stay," she said.

And Samuel answered, "Very well—I'll stay."

So then they fell to discussing his future, and what Dr. Vince was going to do for him. The good doctor was inwardly more perplexed about it than he cared to let Samuel know.

"I'll ask Mr. Wygant," he said—"perhaps he can find you a place in one of his factories."

"Mr. Wygant?" echoed Samuel. "You mean Miss Gladys's father?"

"Yes," said the doctor. "Do you know Miss Gladys?"

"I have met her two or three times," said the boy.

"They are parishioners of mine," remarked the other.

And Samuel gave a start. "Why!" he exclaimed. "Then you—you must be the rector of St. Matthew's."

"Yes," was the reply. "Didn't you know that?"

The boy was a little awed. He had seen the great brownstone temple upon the hill—a structure far more splendid than anything he had ever dreamed of.

"Have you never attended?" asked the doctor.

"I went to the mission once," said Samuel—referring to the little chapel in the poor quarters of the town. "A friend of mine goes there- -Sophie Stedman. She works in Mr. Wygant's cotton mill."

"I should be glad to have you come to the church," said the other.

"I'd like to very much," replied the boy. "I didn't know exactly if I ought to, you know."

"I am sorry you got that impression," said Dr. Vince. "The church holds out its arms to everyone."

"Well," began Samuel apologetically, "I knew that all the rich people went to St. Matthew's—-"

"The church does not belong to the rich people," put in the doctor very gravely; "the church belongs to the Lord."

And so Samuel, overflowing with gratitude and happiness, joined St. Matthew's forthwith; and all the while in the deeps of his soul a voice was whispering to him that it was Miss Gladys' church also! And he would see his divinity again!



CHAPTER XVI

Samuel went back in great excitement to the Stedmans', to tell them of his good fortune. And the family sat about in a circle and listened to the recital in open-eyed amazement. It was a wonderful thing to have an adventurer like Samuel in one's house!

But the boy noticed that Sophie did not seem as much excited as he had anticipated. She sat with her head resting in her hands. And when the others had left the room—"Oh, Samuel," she said. "I feel so badly to- day! I don't see how I'm going to go on."

"Listen, Sophie," he said quickly. "That's one of the first things I thought about—I can give you a chance now."

"How do you mean?"

"I can get Dr. Vince to help you find some better work."

"Did he say he would?" asked the child.

"No," was the reply—"but he is so good to everyone. And all the rich people go to his church, you know. He said he wanted me to help him; so I shall find out things like that for him to do."

And Samuel went on, pouring out his praises of the kind and gentle clergyman, and striving to interest Sophie by his pictures of the new world that was to open before her. "I'm going to see him again to- morrow," he said. "Then you'll see."

"Samuel," announced the doctor when he called the next morning, "I have found a chance for you." And Samuel's heart gave a great leap of joy.

It appeared that the sexton of St. Matthew's was growing old. They did not wish to change, but there must be some one to help him. The pay would not be high; but he would have a chance to work in the church, and to be near his benefactor. The tears of gratitude started into his eyes as he heard this wonderful piece of news.

"I'll see more of Miss Gladys!" the voice within him was whispering eagerly.

"Doctor," he said after a pause, "I've some good news for you also."

"What is it?" asked the other.

"It's a chance for you to help some one."

"Oh!" said the doctor.

"It's little Sophie Stedman," said Samuel; and he went on to tell how he had met the widow, and about her long struggle with starvation, and then of Sophie's experiences in the cotton mill.

"But what do you want me to do?" asked the other, with a troubled look.

"Why," said Samuel, "we must save her. We must find her some work that will not kill her."

"But, Samuel!" protested the other. "There are so many in her position—and how can I help it?"

"But, doctor! She can't stand it!"

"I know, my boy. It is a terrible thing to think of. Still, I can't undertake to find work for everyone."

"But she will die!" cried the boy. "Truly, it is killing her! And, doctor, she has never had a chance in all her life! Only think—how would you feel if Ethel had to work in a cotton mill?"

There was a pause. "I honestly can't see—" began the bewildered clergyman.

"It will be quite easy for you to help her," put in the boy; "because, you see, Mr. Wygant belongs to your church!"

"But what has that to do with it?"

"Why—it's Mr. Wygant's mill that she works in."

"Yes," said the doctor. "But—I—-"

"Surely," exclaimed Samuel, "you don't mean that he wouldn't want to know about it!"

"Ahem!" said the other; and again there was a pause.

It was broken by Ethel, who had come in and was listening to the conversation. "Papa!" she exclaimed, "wouldn't Miss Gladys be the one to ask?"

Samuel gave a start. "The very thing!" he said.

And Dr. Vince, after pondering for a moment, admitted that it might be a good idea.

"You will come to church with me to-morrow," said Ethel. "And if she is there we'll ask her."

And so Samuel was on hand, trembling with excitement, and painfully conscious of his green and purple necktie. He sat in the Vince's pew, at Ethel's invitation; and directly across the aisle was Miss Wygant, miraculously resplendent in a springtime costume, yet with a touch of primness, becoming to the Sabbath. She did not see her adorer until after the service, when they met face to face.

"Why, Samuel!" she exclaimed. "You are here?"

"Yes, Miss Gladys," he said. "I'm to work in the church now."

"You don't tell me!" she responded.

"I'm to help the sexton," he added.

"And he belongs to the church, too," put in little Ethel. "And oh, Miss Gladys, won't you please let him tell you about Sophie!"

"About Sophie?" said the other.

"She's a little girl who works in your papa's mill, Miss Gladys. And her family's very poor, and she is sick, and Samuel says she may die."

"Why, that's too bad!" exclaimed Miss Gladys. "Tell me about her, Samuel."

And Samuel told the story. At the end a sudden inspiration came to him, and he mentioned how Sophie had received her Christmas present from Miss Gladys, and how she had kept her pictures in her room.

And, of course, Miss Wygant was touched. "I will see what I can do for her," she said. "What would you suggest?"

"I thought," said he boldly, "that maybe there might be some place for her at your home. That would make her so happy, you know."

"I will see," said the other. "Will you bring her to see me to-morrow, Samuel?"

"I will," said he; and then he chanced to look into her face, and he caught again that piercing gaze which made the blood leap into his cheeks, and the strange and terrible emotions to stir in him. He turned his eyes away again, and his knees were trembling as he passed on down the aisle.

He stood and watched Miss Gladys enter her motor. Then he bade good-by to Ethel and her mother, and hurried back into the vestry room to tell Dr. Vince of his good fortune.

The good doctor had just slipped out of his vestments, and was putting on his cuffs. "I am so glad to hear it!" he said. "It was the very thing to do!"

"Yes," said Samuel. "And, doctor, I've thought of something else."

"What is that, Samuel?"

"I'll have to have a minute or two to tell you about it."

"I'm just going to dinner now"—began the doctor.

"I'll walk with you, if I may," said Samuel. "It's really very important."

"All right," responded the doctor in some trepidation.

"I thought of this in the middle of the night," explained the boy, when they had started down the street. "It kept me awake for hours. Dr. Vince, I think we ought to convert Master Albert Lockman!"

"Convert him?" echoed the other perplexed.

"Yes, sir," said the boy. "He is leading a wild life, and he's in a very bad way."

"Yes, Samuel," said the clergyman. "It is terrible, I know—"

"We must labor with him!" exclaimed Samuel. "He must not be allowed to go on like that!"

"Unfortunately," said Dr. Vince hastily, "it wouldn't do for me to try it. You see, the Lockmans have always been Presbyterians, and so Bertie is under Dr. Handy's care."

"But is Dr. Handy doing anything about it?" persisted the other.

"I really don't know, Samuel."

"Because if he isn't, we ought to, Dr. Vince! Something must be done."

"My boy," said the doctor, "perhaps it wouldn't be easy for you to understand it. But there is a feeling—would it be quite good taste for me to try to take away a very rich parishioner from another church?"

"But what have his riches to do with it?" asked the boy.

"Unfortunately, Samuel, it costs money to build churches; and most clergymen are dependent upon their salaries, you know."

The good doctor was trying to make a jest of it; but Samuel was in deadly earnest. "I hope," he said, "that you are not dependent upon the money of anyone like Master Albert."

"Um—no," said the doctor quickly.

"Understand me, please," went on the other. "It's not simply that Master Albert is wrecking his own life. I suppose that's his right, if he wants to. But it's what he can do to other people! It's his money, Dr. Vince! Just think of it, he has seven hundred thousand dollars a year! And he never earned a cent of it; and he doesn't know what to do with it! Doctor, you KNOW that isn't right!"

"No," said the clergyman, "it's very wrong indeed. But what can you do about it?"

"I don't know, doctor. I haven't had time to think about it—I've only just begun to realize it. But I thought if somebody like yourself— some one he respects—could point it out to him, he might use his money to some good purpose. If he won't, why then he ought to give it up."

The other smiled. "I'm afraid, Samuel, he'd hardly do that!"

"But, doctor, things can't go on as they are! Right here in this town are people dying of starvation. And he has seven hundred thousand dollars a year! Can that continue?"

"No, I trust not, my boy. It will be better some day. But it must be left to evolution—"

"Evolution!" echoed Samuel perplexed. "Do you believe in evolution?"

"Why," said the other embarrassed—"what I mean is, that there are vast social forces at work—great changes taking place. But they move very slowly—"

"But why do they move so slowly?" objected the boy. "Isn't it just because so many people, don't care?"

"Why, Samuel—"

"If everyone would take an interest in them—then they would happen quickly!"

The two walked on for a minute in silence. Finally, the clergyman remarked, "Samuel, you take a great interest in social questions."

"Yes, sir," said the boy. "You see, I have been down at the bottom, and I know how it feels. Nobody else can possibly understand—not even you, sir, with all your kind heart. You don't know what it means, sir- -you don't know what it means!"

"Perhaps not, my boy," said the other. "But my conscience is far from easy, I assure you. The only thing is, we must not be too impatient— we must learn to wait—"

"But, doctor!" exclaimed Samuel. "Will the people wait to starve?"

That question was a poser; and perhaps it was just as well that Dr. Vince was nearing the steps of his home. "I must go in now, Samuel," he said. "But we will talk about these questions another time."

"Yes, sir," said Samuel, "we will."

And the other glanced at him quickly. But the boy's face wore its old look of guileless eagerness.



CHAPTER XVII

Samuel walked away, still pondering at the problem. Something must be done about Master Albert, that was certain. Before he went in to his dinner he had thought of yet another plan. He would appeal to Miss Gladys about it! He would get her to labor with the prodigal!

At eight o'clock the next morning, he and Sophie called at Miss Wygant's home. They went to the servants' entrance, and the maid who opened the door sent them away, saying that Miss Gladys never rose until ten o'clock and would not see anyone until eleven.

So they went home again and came at eleven; and they were taken to a sitting room upon the second floor and there Miss Gladys met them, clad in a morning gown of crimson silk.

"And so this is Sophie!" she exclaimed. "Why you poor, poor child!" And she gazed at the little mill girl with her stunted figure and pinched cheeks, and her patched and threadbare dress; and Sophie, in her turn, gazed at the wonderful princess, tall and stately, glowing with health and voluptuous beauty.

"And you work in our cotton mill!" she cried.

"How perfectly terrible! And do you mean to tell me that this child is thirteen years old, Samuel?"

"Yes, Miss Gladys," said he.

She turned quickly and pressed a button on the wall. "Send Mrs. Harris here," she said to the man who answered.

"Mrs. Harris is our housekeeper," she added to Samuel. "I will consult her about it."

The "consulting" was very brief. "Mrs. Harris, this is Sophie Stedman, a little girl I want to help. I don't know what she can do, but you will find out. I want her to have some sort of a place in the house— and it mustn't be hard work."

"But, Miss Gladys," said the other in perplexity, "I don't know of anything at all!"

"You can find something," was the young lady's reply. "I want her to have a chance to learn. Take her downstairs and have a talk with her about it."

"Yes, Miss Gladys," said Mrs. Harris; and so Samuel was left alone with his goddess.

He sat with his eyes upon the floor. He was just about to open the great subject he had in his mind, when suddenly Miss Gladys herself brought it up. "Samuel," she asked, "why did you leave my cousin's?"

Samuel hesitated. "I—I don't like to say, Miss Gladys."

"Please tell me," she insisted.

"I left it," he replied in a low voice, "because I found that he got drunk."

"Oh!" said the girl, "when was this?"

"It was last Wednesday night, Miss Gladys."

"Tell me all about it, Samuel."

"I—I don't like to," he stammered. "It's not a story to tell to a lady."

"I already know something about it from my maid," said she. "Jack Holliday was there, wasn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And some women?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How many, Samuel?"

"Four, Miss Gladys."

"Tell me about them, Samuel. What sort of women were they?"

It was very hard for Samuel to answer these questions. He blushed as he talked; but Miss Gladys appeared not at all disconcerted—in fact she was greedy for the details.

"You say her name was Belle. I wonder if it was that girl from 'The Maids of Mandelay.' Was she a dancer, Samuel?"

"I don't know, Miss Gladys."

"And what became of her?"

"I took her to a hotel, Miss Gladys."

"And what then?"

Samuel stopped short. "I really couldn't tell you," he said.

"But why not?"

"Because I promised."

"Whom did you promise?"

"I promised the sergeant, Miss Gladys."

"The sergeant! A policeman, you mean?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"But what—what did the police have to do with it?"

"They took me to jail, Miss Gladys. They thought that I did it."

"Did what?"

And again the boy shut his lips.

"Listen, Samuel," pleaded the other. "You know that I am Bertie's cousin. And he's all alone. And I'm responsible for him—"

"Oh, Miss Gladys!" cried the boy. "If you only would try to help him! I meant to ask you—"

"But how can I help him if you keep me in ignorance?"

And so Samuel blurted out the whole story. And Miss Gladys sat dumb with horror. "She killed herself! She killed herself!" she gasped again and again.

"Yes, Miss Gladys," said Samuel. "And it was awful! You can't imagine it!"

"I read of the suicide in the paper. But I never dreamed of Bertie!"

There was a moment's pause. "It must be a dreadful thing for him to have on his conscience"—began the boy.

"He must have been frightened to death!" said she. And then she added quickly, "Samuel, you haven't told anyone about this!"

"Not a soul, Miss Gladys."

"You are sure?"

"I'm sure, ma'am."

"You didn't tell Dr. Vince?"

"I just told him that I had left because Master Albert got drunk, Miss Gladys. That was the truth."

"Yes," said she; and then, "You always tell the truth, don't you, Samuel?"

"I try to," he replied.

"You are very good, aren't you?" she added.

Samuel blushed. "No," he said gravely. "I'm not good at all."

The other looked at him for a moment, and then a smile crossed her face. "I've heard a saying," she remarked—"'Be good and you'll be happy, but you'll miss a lot of fun.'"

Samuel pondered. "I think that is a very terrible saying," he declared earnestly.

Miss Gladys laughed. And she went on to cross-question him as to the suicide—satisfying her curiosity as to the last hideous detail.

Then she looked at Samuel and asked suddenly, "Why do you wear that hideous thing?"

Samuel started. "What thing?" he asked.

"That tie!"

"Why!" he said—"I got that specially—"

He stopped, embarrassed; and the other's peal of laughter rang through the room. "Take it off!" she said.

She got up and came to him, saying, "I couldn't stand it."

With trembling fingers he removed the tie. And she took off the beautiful red ribbon that was tied about her waist, and cut it to the right length. "Put that on," she said, "and I'll show you how to tie it."

And Samuel stood there, rapt in a sudden nightmare ecstasy. She was close to him, her quick fingers were playing about his throat. Her breath was upon his face, and the intoxicating perfume of her filled his nostrils. The blood mounted into his face, and the veins stood out upon his forehead, and strange and monstrous things stirred in the depths of him.

"There," she said, "that's better"—and stepped back to admire the result. She smiled upon him radiantly. "You have no taste, Samuel," she said. "I shall have to educate you."

"Yes, Miss Gladys," he responded in a low voice.

"And listen," she went on, "you will come to see Sophie now and then, won't you?"

"Yes, yes," he said quickly.

"And come some time when I am here."

He caught his breath and gripped his hands and answered yet again, "Yes!"

"Don't be afraid of me," added the girl gently. "You don't appreciate yourself half enough, Samuel."

Then there came voices in the hall, and Miss Gladys turned, and the housekeeper and Sophie came in. "Well?" she asked.

"She doesn't know anything at all," said Mrs. Harris. "But if you want her taught—I suppose she could run errands and do sewing—"

"Very good," said the other. "And pay her well. Will you like that, Sophie?"

"Yes, Miss," whispered the child in a faint voice. She was gazing in awe and rapture at this peerless being, and she could hardly find utterance for two words.

"All right, then," said Miss Gladys, "that will do very well. You come to-morrow, Sophie. And good-by, Samuel. I must go for my ride now."

"Good-by, Miss Gladys," said Samuel. "And please don't forget what you were going to say to Master Albert!"



CHAPTER XVIII

Samuel went home walking upon air. He had found a place for himself and a place for Sophie. And he had got the reforming of Bertie Lockman under way! Truly, the church was a great institution—the solution of all the puzzles and problems of life. And fortunate was Samuel to be so close to the inner life of things!

Then suddenly, on a street corner, he stopped short. A sign had caught his eye-"John Callahan, Wines and Liquors—Bernheimer Beer." "Do you know what that place is?" he said to Sophie. "That's where my friend Finnegan works."

"Who's Finnegan?" asked the child.

"He's the barkeeper who gave me something to eat when I first came to town. He's a good man, even if he is a barkeeper."

Samuel had often found himself thinking of Finnegan; for it had been altogether against his idea of things that a man so obviously well meaning should be selling liquor. And now suddenly a brilliant idea flashed across his mind. Why should he continue selling liquor? And instantly Samuel saw a new duty before him. He must help Finnegan.

And forgetting that it was time for his dinner, he bade good-by to Sophie and went into the saloon.

"Well, young feller!" exclaimed the Irishman, his face lighting up with pleasure; and then, seeing the boy's new collar and tie, "Gee, you're moving up in the world!"

"I've got a job," said Samuel proudly. "I'm the assistant sexton at St. Matthew's Church."

"You don't say! Gone up with the sky pilots, hey!"

Samuel did not notice this irreverent remark. He looked around the place and saw that they were alone. Then he said, very earnestly, "Mr. Finnegan, may I have a few minutes' talk with you?"

"Sure," said Finnegan perplexed. "What is it?"

"It's something I've been thinking about very often," said Samuel. "You were so kind to me, and I saw that you were a good-hearted man. And so it has always seemed to me too bad that you should be selling drink."

The other stared at him. "Gee!" he said, "are you going to take me up in your airship?"

"Mr. Finnegan," said the boy, "I wish you wouldn't make fun of me. For I'm talking to you out of the bottom of my heart."

And Samuel gazed with so much yearning in his eyes that the man was touched, in spite of the absurdity of it. "Go on," he said. "I'll listen."

"It's just this," said Samuel. "It's wrong to sell liquor! Think what drink does to men? I saw a man drunk the other night and it led to what was almost murder. Drink makes men cruel and selfish. It takes away their self-control. It makes them unfit for their work. It leads to vice and wickedness. It enslaves them and degrades them. Don't you know that is true, Mr. Finnegan?"

"Yes," admitted Finnegan, "I reckon it is. I never touch the stuff myself."

"And still you sell it to others?"

"Well, my boy, I don't do it because I hate them."

"But then, why DO you do it?"

"I do it," said Finnegan, "because I have to live. It's my trade—it's all I know."

"It seems such a terrible trade!" exclaimed the boy.

"Maybe," said the other. "But take notice, it ain't a princely one. I'm on the job all day and a good part of the night, and standing up all the time. And I don't get no holidays either—and I only get twelve a week. And I've a wife and a new baby. So what's a man to do?"

Now, strange as it may seem, this unfolded a new view to Samuel. He had always supposed that bartenders and saloonkeepers were such from innate depravity. Could it really be that they were driven to the trade?

The bare idea was enough to set his zeal in a blaze. "Listen," he said. "Suppose I were to find you some kind of honest work, so that you could earn a living. Would you promise to reform?"

"Do you mean would I quit Callahan's? Why, sure I would."

"Ah!" exclaimed the boy in delight.

"But it'd have to be a steady job," put in the other. "I can take no chances with the baby."

"That's all right," said Samuel. "I'll get you what you want."

"Gee, young feller!" exclaimed Finnegan. "Do you carry 'em round in your pockets?"

"No," said Samuel, "but Dr. Vince asked me to help him; and I'm going to tell him about you."

And so, forthwith, he made his way to the doctor's house, and was ushered into the presence of the unhappy clergyman. He stated his case; and the other threw up his hands in despair.

"Really," he exclaimed, "this is too much, Samuel! I can't find employment for everyone in Lockmanville."

"But, doctor!" protested Samuel, "I don't think you understand. This man wants to lead a decent life, and he can't because there's no way for him to earn a living."

"I understand all that Samuel."

"But, doctor, what's the use of trying to reform men if they're chained in that way?"

There was a pause.

"I'm afraid it's hopeless to explain to you," said the clergyman. "But you'll have to make up your mind to it, Samuel—there are a great many men in the world who want jobs, and it seems to be unfortunately true that there are fewer jobs than men."

"Yes," said the other, "but that's what Professor Stewart taught men. And you said it was wicked of him."

"Um—" said the doctor, taken aback.

"Don't you see?" went on Samuel eagerly. "It puts you right back with Herbert Spencer! If there are more men than there are jobs, then the men have to fight for them. And so you have the struggle for existence, and the survival of the greedy and the selfish. If Finnegan wouldn't be a barkeeper, then he and his family would starve, and somebody else would survive who was willing to be that bad."

The boy waited. "Don't you see that, Dr. Vince? "he persisted.

"Yes, I see that," said the doctor.

"And you told me that the only way to escape from that was to live for others—to serve them and help them. And isn't that what I'm trying to do?"

"Yes, my boy, that is so. But what can we do?"

"Why, doctor, aren't you the head of the church? And the people come to you to be taught. You must point out these things to them, so that there can be a change."

"But WHAT change, Samuel?"

"I don't know, sir. I'm groping around and trying to find out. But I'm sure of one thing—that some people have got too much money. Why, Dr. Vince, there are people right in your church who have more than they could spend in hundreds of years."

"Perhaps so," said the other. "But what harm does that do?"

"Why—that's the reason that so many others have nothing! Only realize it—right at this very moment there are people starving to death—and here in Lockmanville! They want to work, and there is no work for them! I could take you to see them, sir—girls who want a job in Mr. Wygant's cotton mill, and he won't give it to them!"

"But, my boy—that isn't Mr. Wygant's fault! It's because there is too much cloth already."

"I've been thinking about that," said Samuel earnestly. "And it doesn't sound right to me. There are too many people who need good clothes. Look at poor Sophie, for instance!"

"Yes," said the other, "of course. But they haven't money to buy the cloth—-"

And Samuel sat forward in his excitement. "Yes, yes!" he cried. "And isn't that just what I said before? They have no money, because the rich people have it all!"

There was no reply; and after a moment Samuel rushed on: "Surely it is selfish of Mr. Wygant to shut poor people out of his mill, just because they have no money. Why couldn't he let them make cloth for themselves?"

"Samuel!" protested the other. "That is absurd!"

"But why, sir?"

"Because, my boy—in a day they could make more than they could wear in a year."

"So much the better, doctor! Then they could give the balance to other people who needed it—and the other people could make things for them. Take Sophie. She not only needs clothing, she needs shoes, and above all, she needs enough to eat. And if it's a question of there not being enough food, look at what's wasted in a place like Master Albert's! And there's land enough at 'Fairview' to raise food for the whole town—I know what I'm talking about there, because I'm a farmer. And it's used to keep a lot of race horses that nobody ever rides."

"Samuel," said the clergyman gravely, "that is true—and that is very wrong. But what can I do?"

And Samuel stared at him. "Doctor!" he exclaimed. "I can't tell you how it hurts me to have you talk to me like that!"

"How do you mean, Samuel?" asked the other in bewilderment.

And the boy clasped his hands together in his agitation. "You told me that we must sacrifice ourselves, and help others! You said that was our sole duty! And I believed you—I was ready to go with you. And here I am—I want to follow you, and you won't lead!"

Those words were like a stab. The doctor winced visibly.

And Samuel winced also—his heart was wrung. "It hurts me more than I can tell you!" he cried. "But think of the people who are suffering— nobody spares them! And how can you be silent, doctor—how can the shepherd of Christ be silent while some of his flock are living in luxury and others are starving to death?"

There was a long pause. Dr. Vince sat rigid, clutching the arms of his chair.

"Samuel," he said, "you are right. I will preach on this unemployed question next Sunday."

"Ah, thank you, sir—thank you!" exclaimed Samuel, with tears of gratitude in his eyes. And he took his friend's hand and wrung it.

Then, suddenly, a new thought came to him. "And meantime, doctor," said he, "what am I to tell Finnegan?"



CHAPTER XIX

One who has all the cares of humanity upon his shoulders, as Samuel had, is apt to find that it claims a good deal of time. Samuel did his best to keep his mind upon the weighty problems which he had to solve; but he found that he was continually distracted by the thought of Miss Gladys. Again and again her image would sweep over him, driving everything else from his mind. The vision of her beauty haunted him, sending his imagination upon all sorts of strange excursions and adventures.

She had told him to come again; and he wondered how long he should wait. He was supposed to come to see Sophie—but that, of course, was absurd, for he saw Sophie every night at home.

He waited three days; and then he could wait no longer. The hunger to see her was like a fire smoldering in him.

In the morning, at eleven o'clock, he went to the house and Sophie came to the door. "I'll tell her you're here," said she, understanding at once. She ran upstairs, and came back telling him to come. "And she's glad, Samuel!" exclaimed the child.

"Won't you come, too?" he asked blunderingly.

"No, she told me not to," was Sophie's reply.

So he went upstairs to Miss Wygant's own sitting room, and found her in a morning gown, even more beautiful than the one she had worn before.

"You don't know how glad I am to see you," she said.

Samuel admitted that he didn't know; and he added, "And I don't know why you should be, Miss Gladys."

Miss Gladys stood looking at him. "You find things interesting, don't you?" she asked.

"Why, yes, Miss Gladys," he replied.

"And I find things so tiresome."

"Tiresome!" gasped the boy. "Here—in this house!"

"It seems strange to you, does it?" said she.

"Why you have everything in the world!" he cried.

"Yes, and I'm tired of everything."

The boy was looking at her in wonder. "It's true," she said. "Everybody I meet is uninteresting—they live such dull and stupid lives. I'm shut up here in this town—I've got to spend a whole month here this summer!"

Samuel gazed at her, and a wave of pity swept over him. He had felt for some time that she was not happy. So here was one more duty for him—he must help this beautiful young lady to a realization of her own good fortune.

The thought set him athrill. "Ah, but Miss Gladys!" he exclaimed. "Think how much good you do!"

"Good?" said she. "In what way?"

"Why—think of Sophie! How happy you've made her."

"Yes," she said dully. "I suppose so."

"And me!" he exclaimed.

"Have I made you happy?" she inquired.

And he answered, "I have never been so happy in my life."

All the wonder that was in his soul shone in his eyes, and arrested her gaze. They stood looking at each other; and then she came to him laughing. "Samuel," she said, "you haven't got that tie right."

And once more her fingers touched him, and her breath was upon him, and the glory of her set him on fire. A new wave of feeling swept over him, and this time it swamped him completely. His heart was pounding, his brain was reeling; and blindly, like a drunken man—almost without knowing what he was doing—he put out his arms and caught her to him.

And then, in an instant, horror seized him. What had he done? She would repel him—she would drive him from her! He had ruined everything!

But another instant sufficed to show him that this was not the case. And the tide of his feeling swept back redoubled. From the hidden regions of his soul there came new emotions, suddenly awakened—things tremendous and terrifying—never guessed by him before. His manhood came suddenly to consciousness—he lost all his shyness and fear of her. She was his—to do what he pleased with! And he pressed her to him, he half crushed her in his embrace. She closed her eyes, and he kissed her upon the cheeks and upon the lips; then he heard her voice, faint and trembling—"Samuel, I love you!" And within him it was like a great fanfare of trumpets, for wonder and triumph and delirious joy.

Suddenly there came a step in the hall outside. They sprang apart. The door of the room was open; and for an instant he saw wild terror in her eyes.

Then she sank down upon her knees. "Oh, Samuel!" she exclaimed. "My ring!"

"Your ring!" he echoed, dazed.

"My ring!" she said again; then he heard the voice of Mrs. Harris in the doorway. "Your ring, Miss Gladys?"

"I dropped it," she said; and Samuel sank down upon his knees also.

They sought under the table. "It fell here," she said. "It's my solitaire."

"It must have rolled," said Mrs. Harris, beginning to search.

"Put your head down and look about, Samuel," commanded Miss Gladys, and Samuel obeyed; but he did not find any ring.

They continued the search for a minute. Mrs. Harris had come back to the table; and suddenly she exclaimed, "Here it is!"

"What!" cried the other. "Why, I looked there!"

"It was under the leg of the table," explained the housekeeper.

"Ah!" said the other, and put the precious ring back upon her finger.

Samuel was overwhelmed with astonishment; but it was nothing to what he felt a moment later. His goddess turned to him. "No," she said. "I'm sorry, Samuel, but it's impossible for me to do what you ask me."

He stared at her perplexed.

"I have found a place for Sophie," she went on, "and that is positively all I can do."

"Miss Gladys!" he exclaimed.

"Really," she said, "I think you ought not to ask me to do any more. I understand that there is a good deal of suffering among the mill people, and I do what I can to relieve it. But as for taking all the employees into my father's household—that is simply absurd."

The boy could not find words. He could only stare at her. "That's all," said Miss Gladys. "And about those flower seeds—do what you can to find them. I want them in a few days, if I'm to use them at all. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Miss Gladys," he stammered. He had seen her dart a swift glance at the housekeeper, and he was beginning at last to comprehend.

"Bring them to me yourself," she added. "Good-by."

"Good-by, Miss Gladys," he said, and went out.

He went downstairs, marveling. But before he was halfway down the first flight of steps he had forgotten everything except those incredible words—"Samuel, I love you!" They rang in his head like a trumpet call.

He could not hold himself in. He could not carry away such a secret. Sophie went to the door with him; and he took her outside and whispered it to her.

The child stared at him, with awe in her eyes. "Samuel!" she whispered, "she must mean to marry you!"

The boy started in dismay. "Marry me!" he gasped. "Marry me!"

"Why, yes!" said Sophie. "What else can she mean?"

That was a poser. "But—but—" he cried. "It's absurd!"

"It's not, Samuel! She loves you!"

"But I'm nothing but a poor boy!"

"But, Samuel, she has plenty of money!"

It had not occurred to Samuel that way; but he had to admit that it was true. "But I'm not good enough," he protested.

"You are good enough for anyone!" cried Sophie. "You are noble and beautiful—and she has found it out. And she means to stoop and lift you up to her."

The boy was silent, stricken with awe. "Oh, Samuel, it is just like in the fairy stories!" whispered the child. "You are to be the prince!"

So she went on, pouring out the wonder of it to him, and thrilling his soul to yet new flights.

He left her at last and walked down the street half dazed. He was to marry Miss Gladys! Yes, it must be true, for she had told him that she loved him! And then, presumably, he would come to live in that great palace. How could he ever stand it? What would he do?

And he would be a rich man! A great surge of triumph came to him. What would the people at home say—what would his brothers think when he went to pay them a visit, and perhaps to buy the old place?

But he put these thoughts away from him. He must not think of such things—it was selfish and ignoble. He must think of the good that he would be able to do with all the money. He might help the poor at last. He and Miss Gladys would devote their lives to this. Perhaps some day he might even own the mill where the children worked, and he would be able to send them all to school! And he would be a member of the Lockman family, in a way—he might even have some influence over Master Albert! And Ethel and Dr. Vince—how happy they would be when they heard of his good fortune!

In the end his thoughts left all these things, and came back to Miss Gladys. After all, what counted but that? She loved him! She was his! And like a swiftly spreading fire there came over him the memory of what he had done to her; he walked on, trembling with wonder and fear. It was a kind of madness in his blood. It had taken possession of his whole being—he would never again be the same! He stretched out his arms as he walked down the street, because his emotions were greater than he could bear.

Then suddenly, in the midst of the turmoil, a sight met his eyes which brought him back to the world. Approaching him, about to pass him, was an old man with a gray beard, stooping as he walked and carrying a peddler's basket. The disguise was excellent, but it did not deceive Samuel for an instant. He stood stock-still and cried in amazement: "Charlie Swift!"

The peddler shot a quick glance at him. "Shut up!" he muttered; and then he passed on, and left Samuel staring.

So with a sudden rush, a new set of emotions overwhelmed the boy. He was only a week away from the burglary; and yet it was an age. And how terrible it seemed—how almost incredible! And here was he, about to marry the daughter of a millionaire—while his friend and confederate was still skulking in the shadows, hiding from the police.

Of all the distressed people whom Samuel had met in the course of his adventures, Charlie Swift was the only one whom he had not benefited. And simply to set eyes upon him was to hear in his soul a new call. How could he pursue his own gratifications while Charlie was left a prey to wickedness?

The figure almost passed from sight while Samuel stood wrestling with the problem. He shrunk from the task before him; he was afraid of Charlie Swift, afraid of his cynical smile, and of his merciless sneering. But his duty was clear before him—as clear as that of any soldier, who in the midst of love and pleasure hears the bugle call. He might not be able to do anything for Charlie. But he must try!

And so he turned and followed the old peddler to his home.



CHAPTER XX

"So you've let them turn you into a mission stiff!" said Charlie Swift, when the two were seated in his room.

"A what?" exclaimed Samuel perplexed.

"A mission stiff," repeated the other. "One of the guys that gets repentance!"

Samuel experienced a sudden chilling of the ardor with which he had come into the room. The old grin was upon the other's face; and the boy realized with a sudden sinking of the heart how hard and savage he was. Finnegan was a babe in arms compared with Charlie Swift.

To convert him would be a real task, a test of one's fervor and vision. Samuel resolved suddenly upon diplomacy.

"They've been very good to me," he said.

"I dare say," responded the other indifferently.

"And Dr. Vince is really a very good man," he went on.

"Humph!" commented the burglar; and then he added quickly, "You haven't been telling him anything about me?"

Oh, no!" exclaimed the boy.

"Not a word?"

"Have you forgotten that I promised you?"

"That's all right," said Charlie, "only I just wanted to warn you. You can tie up with the church guys if you feel like it—only don't mention your lost brothers down in the pit. Just you remember that I got some of the doctor's silver."

The boy gave a start. "Oh!" he exclaimed.

"Didn't you know that?" laughed the other.

"No, I didn't know it."

"What did you suppose I was doing all that time while you were watching?"

Samuel said nothing for a minute. "Why did you pick out Dr. Vince?" he asked suddenly.

"Him? Why not? I knew his house."

"But a clergyman! Does it seem quite fair?"

"Oh, that's all right," laughed the other. "He's got a-plenty. It don't have to come out of his salary, you know."

"Why not?"

"Because, he's got a rich wife. You didn't suppose he lived in that palace of a house on his own salary, did you?"

"I hadn't thought anything about it."

"Well, he's all right—he married one of the richest girls in town. And she'll keep his nest feathered."

There was a pause. "Don't you think that Dr. Vince is a good man?" asked Samuel.

"I don't know," said the other. "I've got no quarrel with him. But I don't like his trade."

"Doesn't he do a great deal of good to people?"

"Maybe," said the other, shrugging his shoulders.

"To poor people?" persisted Samuel.

"I dare say," admitted Charlie. "But you'll notice it takes all the sand out of them—makes them into beggars. And I ain't that sort."

"Why do you think he tries to help them?"

"Well, he gets paid for it, don't he?"

"But the other people in the church—the ones who pay the money. Why do you think they do it?"

The burglar thought for a moment. "I reckon they do it to make themselves feel good," he said.

"To make themselves feel good," repeated the other perplexed.

"Sure!" said the man. "You take one of those rich women—she's got a lot of money that she never earned, and she spends all her life amusing herself and ordering servants about. And all the time she knows that most of the people—the people that do the work—are suffering and dying. And she don't want to let that make her feel bad, so she hires some fellow like your friend, the doctor, to preach to 'em—and maybe give 'em a turkey at Christmas. And that takes the trouble off her mind. Don't you see?"

"Yes," said the other weakly. "I see."

"Or else," added Charlie, "take some of those smooth grafters they've got up there—the men, I mean. They spend six days in the week cutting other people's throats, and robbing the public. Don't you think it's handy for them to know they can come on Sunday and drop a five-dollar- bill in the plate, and square the whole account?"

Samuel sought for a reply to these cruel taunts. "I don't think you put it quite fairly," he protested.

"Why not?" demanded the other.

"In the first place, men like that wouldn't go to church—"

Charlie stared at him. "What!" he exclaimed.

"No," said the boy.

"Why not?"

"Well, why should they care to go? And they wouldn't be welcome—"

Charlie burst into laughter. "You poor kid!" he exclaimed. "What have you been doing up there at St. Matthew's, anyhow?"

"I'm the sexton's assistant," said Samuel gravely.

"Yes," said the other. "Evidently a sexton's assistant doesn't see much of the congregation."

"I wish you'd explain," remarked the boy after a pause.

"I hardly know where to begin," replied the other. "They've such a choice collection of crooks up there. Did you ever notice a little pot-bellied fellow with mutton-chop whiskers—looks as if he was eating persimmons all the time?"

"You mean Mr. Hickman?"

"Yes, that's the chap. He's one of the pillars of the church, isn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Samuel. "He's one of the vestrymen."

"And did you ever hear of Henry Hickman before?"

"I know he's a famous lawyer; and I was told that he managed the Lockman estate."

"Yes," said Charlie, "and I suppose you don't know what that means!"

"No," admitted Samuel, "I don't."

"It means," went on the other, "that he was old Lockman's right-hand man, and had his finger in every dirty job that the old fellow ever did for thirty years. And it means that he runs the business now, and does all the crooked work that has to be done for it."

There was a pause. "For instance, what?" asked Samuel in a low voice.

"For instance, politics," said the other. "Steering the grafters off the Lockman preserve. Getting the right men named by the machine, and putting up the dough to elect them. Last year the Democrats got in, in spite of all he could do; and he had to buy the city council outright."

"What!" gasped the boy in horror.

"Sure thing," laughed Charlie—"there was an independent water company trying to break in, and the Democrats were pledged to them. They say it cost Hickman forty-five thousand dollars."

"But do you KNOW that?" cried the other.

"Know it, Sammy? Why everybody in town knows it. It was a rotten steal, on the face of it."

Samuel was staring at him. "I can't believe it!" he exclaimed.

"Nonsense!" laughed the other. "Ask round a bit!" And then he added quickly, "Why, see here—didn't you tell me you knew Billy Finnegan— the barkeeper?"

"Yes, I know him."

"Well, then, you can go right to headquarters and find out. His boss, John Callahan, was one of the supervisors—he got the dough. Go and ask Finnegan."

"But will he tell?" exclaimed Samuel.

"I guess he'll tell," said Charlie, "if you go at him right. It's no great secret—the whole town's been laughing about it."

Samuel was almost too shocked for words. "Do you suppose Dr. Vince knows it?" he cried.

"He don't know much if he doesn't," was the other's reply.

"A member of his church!" gasped the boy.

"Oh, pshaw!" laughed the other. "You're too green, Sammy! What's the church got to do with business? Why, look—there's old Wygant—another of the vestrymen!"

"Miss Gladys' father, you mean?"

"Yes; old Lockman's brother-in-law. He's the other trustee of the estate. And do you suppose there's any rascality he doesn't know about?"

"But he's a reformer!" cried the boy wildly.

"Sure!" laughed Charlie. "He made a speech at the college commencement about representative government; I suppose you read it in the Express. But all the same, when the Democrats got in, his nibs came round and made his terms with Slattery, the new boss; and they get along so well it'll be his money that will put them in again next year."

"But WHY?" cried Samuel dazed.

"For one thing," said Charlie, "because he's got to have his man in the State legislature, to beat the child-labor bill."

"The child-labor bill!"

"Surely. You knew he was fighting it, didn't you? They wanted to prevent children under fourteen from working in the cotton mills. Wygant sent Jack Pemberton up to the Capital for nothing at all but to beat that law." Samuel sat with his hands clenched tightly. Before him there had come the vision of little Sophie Stedman with her wan and haggard face! "But why does he want the children in his mill?" he cried.

"Why?" echoed Charlie. "Good God! Because he can pay them less and work them harder. Did you suppose he wanted them there for their health?"

There was a long pause. The boy was wrestling with the most terrible specter that had yet laid hold upon him. "I don't believe he knows it!" he whispered half to himself. "I don't believe it!"

"Who?" asked the other.

"Dr. Vince!" said the boy. And he rose suddenly to his feet. "I will go and see him about it," he said.

"Go and see him!" echoed Charlie.

"Yes. He will tell me!"

Charlie was gazing at him with a broad grin. "I dare you!" he cried.

"I am going," said the boy simply; and the burglar slapped his thigh in delight.

"Go on!" he chuckled. "Sock it to him, Sammy! And come back and tell me about it!"



CHAPTER XXI

"Dr. Vince is at lunch," said the maid who answered the bell.

"Please tell him I must see him at once," said Samuel. "It's something very important."

He went in and sat down in the library, and the doctor came, looking anxious. "What is it now?" he asked.

And Samuel turned to him a face of anguish. "Doctor," he said, "I've just had a terrible experience."

"What is it, Samuel?"

"I hardly know how to tell you," said the boy. "I know a man—a very wicked man; and I went to him to try to convert him, and to bring him into the church. And he laughed at me, and at the church, too. He said there are wicked men in it—in St. Matthew's, Dr. Vince! He told me who they are, and what they are doing! And, doctor—I can't believe that you know about it—that you would let such things go on!"

The other was staring at him in alarm. "My dear boy," he said, "there are many wicked men in the world, and I cannot know everything."

"Ah, but this is terrible, doctor! You will have to find out about it- -you cannot let such men stay in the church."

The other rose and closed the door of his study. Then he drew his chair close to Samuel. "Now," he said, "what is it?"

"It's Mr. Wygant," said Samuel.

"Mr. Wygant!" cried the other in dismay.

"Yes, Dr. Vince."

"What has he done?"

"Did you know that it was he who beat the child-labor bill—that he named the State senator on purpose to do it?"

The doctor was staring at him. "The child-labor bill!" he gasped. "Is THAT what you mean?"

"Yes, Dr. Vince," said Samuel. "Surely you didn't know that!"

"Why, I know that Mr. Wygant is very much opposed to the bill. He has opposed it openly. He has a perfect right to do that, hasn't he?"'

"But to name the State senator to beat it, doctor!"

"Well, my boy, Mr. Wygant is very much interested in politics; and, of course, he would use his influence. Why not?"

"But, Dr. Vince—it was a wicked thing! Think of Sophie!"

"But, my boy—haven't we found Sophie a place in Mr. Wygant's own home?"

"Yes, doctor! But there are all the others! Think of the suffering and misery in that dreadful mill! And Mr. Wygant pays such low wages. And he is such a rich man—he might help the children if he would."

"Really, Samuel—" began the doctor.

But the boy, seeing the frown of displeasure on his face, rushed on swiftly. "That's only the beginning! Listen to me! There's Mr. Hickman!"

"Mr. Hickman!"

"Mr. Henry Hickman, the lawyer. He has done even worse things—"

And suddenly the clergyman clenched his hands. "Really, Samuel!" he cried. "This is too much! You are exceeding all patience!"

"Doctor!" exclaimed the boy in anguish.

"It seems to me," the doctor continued, "that you owe it to me to consider more carefully. You have been treated very kindly here—you have been favored in more ways than one."

"But what has that to do with it?" cried the other wildly.

"It is necessary that you should remember your place. It is certainly not becoming for you, a mere boy, and filling a subordinate position, to come to me with gossip concerning the vestry of my church."

"A subordinate position!" echoed Samuel dazed. "But what has my position to do with it?"

"It has a great deal to do with it, Samuel."

The boy was staring at him. "You don't understand me!" he cried. "I am not doing this for myself! I am not setting myself up! I am thinking of the saving of the church!"

"What do you mean—saving the church?"

"Why, doctor—just see! I went to reform a man; and he sneered at me. He would not have anything to do with the church, because such wicked men as Mr. Hickman were in it. He said it was their money that saved them from exposure—he said—"

"What has Mr. Hickman done?" demanded the other quickly.

"He bribed the city council, sir! He bribed it to beat the water bill."

Dr. Vince got up from his chair and began to pace the floor nervously. "Tell me, doctor!" cried Samuel. "Please tell me! Surely you didn't know that!"

The other turned to him suddenly. "I don't think you quite realize the circumstances," said he. "You come to me with this tale about Mr. Hickman. Do you know that he is my brother-in-law?"

Samuel clutched the arms of his chair and stared aghast. "Your brother-in-law!" he gasped.

"Yes," said the other. "He is my wife's only brother."

Samuel was dumb with dismay. And the doctor continued to pace the floor. "You see," he said, "the position you put me in."

"Yes," said the boy. "I see. It's very terrible." But then he rushed on in dreadful anxiety: "But, doctor, you didn't know it. Oh, I'm sure—please tell me that you didn't know it!"

"I didn't know it!" exclaimed the doctor. "And what is more, I don't know it now! I have heard these rumors, of course. Mr. Hickman is a man of vast responsibilities, and he has many enemies. Am I to believe every tale that I hear about him?"

"No," said Samuel, taken aback. "But this is something that everyone knows."

"Everyone!" cried the other. "Who is everyone? Who told it to you?"

"I—I can't tell," stammered the boy.

"How does he know it?" continued the doctor. "And what sort of a man is he? Is he a good man?" "No," admitted Samuel weakly. "I am afraid he is not."

"Is he a man who loves and serves others? A man who never speaks falsehood—whom you would believe in a matter that involved your dearest friends? Would believe him if he told you that I was a briber and a scoundrel?"

Samuel was obliged to admit that Charlie Swift was not a man like that. "Dr. Vince," he said quickly, "I admit that I am at fault. I have come to you too soon. I will find out about these things; and if they are true, I will prove them to you. If they are not, I will go away in shame, and never come to trouble you again as long as I live."

Samuel said this very humbly; and yet there was a note of grim resolution in his voice—which the doctor did not fail to note. "But, Samuel!" he protested. "Why—why should you meddle in these things?"

"Meddle in them!" exclaimed the other. "Surely, if they are true, I have to. You don't mean that if they were proven, you would let such men remain in your church?"

"I don't think," said the doctor gravely, "that I can say what I should do in case of anything so terrible."

"No," was Samuel's reply, "you are right. The first thing is to find out the truth."

And so Samuel took his departure.

He went straight to his friend Finnegan.

"Hello!" exclaimed Finnegan. Then, "What about that job of mine?" he asked with a broad grin.

"Dr. Vince says he will look out for you," was the boy's reply. "But I'm not ready to talk about that yet. There's something else come up."

He waited until his friend had attended to the wants of a customer, and until the customer had consumed a glass of beer and departed. Then he called the bartender into a corner.

"Mr. Finnegan," he said, "I want to know something very important."

"What is it?" asked the other.

"Do you know Mr. Hickman—Henry Hickman, the lawyer?"

"He's not on my calling list," said Finnegan. "I know him by sight."

"I've heard it said that he had something to do with beating a water bill in the city council. Did he?"

"You bet your life he did!" said the bartender with a grin.

"Is it true that he bought up the council?"

"You bet your life it's true!"

"And is it true that Mr. Callahan got some of the money?"

Finnegan glanced at the other suspiciously. "Say," he said, "what's all this about, anyhow?"

"Listen," said Samuel gravely. "You know that Mr. Hickman is a member of my church. And he's Dr. Vince's brother-in-law, which makes it more complicated yet. Dr. Vince has heard these terrible stories, and you can see how awkward it is for him. He cannot let such evil-doers go unrebuked."

"Gee!" said the other. "What's he going to do?"

"I don't know," said Samuel. "He hasn't told me that. First, you see, he has to be sure that the thing is true. And, of course, Mr. Hickman wouldn't tell."

"No," said Finnegan. "Hardly!"

"And it isn't easy for the doctor to find out. You see—he's a clergyman, and he only meets good people. But I told him I would find out for him."

"I see," said Finnegan.

"What I want," said the boy, "is to be able to tell him that I heard it from the lips of one of the men who got the money. I won't have to say who it is—he'll take my word for that. Do you suppose Mr. Callahan would talk about it?"

The bartender thought for a moment. "You wait here," he said. "The boss has only stepped round the corner; and perhaps I can get the doctor what he wants."

So Samuel sat down and waited; and in a few minutes John Callahan came in. He was a thick-set and red-faced Irishman, good-natured and pleasant looking-not at all like the desperado Samuel had imagined.

"Say, John," said Finnegan. "This boy here used to work for Bertie Lockman; and he's got a girl works for the Wygants."

"So!" said Callahan.

"And what do you think," went on the other, "He heard old Henry Hickman talking—he says you fellows held him up on that water bill."

"Go on!" said Callahan. "Did he say that?"

"He did," said Finnegan, without giving Samuel a chance to reply.

"Well," said the other, "he's a damned liar, and he knows it. It was a dead straight proposition, and we hadn't a thing to do with it. There was an independent water company that wanted a franchise—and it would have given the city its water for just half. Every time I pay my water bill I am sorry I didn't hold out. It would have been cheaper for me in the end."

"He says it cost him sixty thousand," remarked Finnegan.

"Maybe," said the other. "You can't tell what the organization got. All I know is that ten of us fellows in the council got two thousand apiece out of it."

There was a pause. Samuel was listening with his hands clenched tightly.

"Did he pay it to you himself?" asked Finnegan.

"Who, Hickman? No, he paid it to Slattery, and Slattery came here from his office. Why, is he trying to crawl out of that part of it?"

"No, not exactly. But he makes a great fuss about being held up."

"Yes!" said Callahan. "I dare say! He's got his new franchise, and he and the Lockman estate are clearing about ten thousand a month out of it. And my two thousand was gone the week I got it—it had cost me twice that to get elected—and without counting the free drinks. It's a great graft, being a supervisor, ain't it?"

"Why did you do it then?" asked Samuel in a faint voice.

"I'll never do it again, young fellow," said the saloon keeper. "I'm the Honorable John for the rest of my life, and I guess that'll do me. And the next time old Henry Hickman wants his dirty work done, he can hunt up somebody that needs the money more than me!"

Then the Honorable John went on to discuss the politics of Lockmanville, and to lay bare the shameless and grotesque corruption in a town where business interests were fighting. The trouble was, apparently, that the people were beginning to rebel—they were tired of being robbed in so many different ways, and they went to the polls to find redress. And time and again, after they had elected new men to carry out their will, the great concerns had stepped in and bought out the law-makers. The last time it had been the unions that made the trouble; and three of the last supervisors had been labor leaders—"the worst skates of all," as Callahan phrased it.

Samuel listened, while one by one the last of his illusions were torn to shreds. There had been a general scramble to get favors from the new government of the town; and the scramblers seemed to include every pious and respectable member of St. Matthew's whose name Samuel had ever heard. There was old Mr. Curtis, another of the vestrymen, who passed the plate every Sunday morning, and looked like a study of the Olympian Jove. He wanted to pile boxes on the sidewalks in front of his warehouse, and he had come to Slattery and paid him two hundred dollars.

"And Mr. Wygant!" exclaimed Samuel, as a sudden thought came to him. "Is it true that he is back of the organization?"

"Good God!" laughed Callahan. "Did you hear him say that?"

"Some one else told me," was the reply.

"Well," said the other, "the truth is that Wygant got cold feet before the election, and he came to Slattery and fixed it. I know that, for Slattery told me. We had him bluffed clean—I don't think we'd ever have got in at all if it hadn't been for his money."

"I see!" whispered the boy.

"Oh, he's a smooth guy!" laughed the saloon keeper. "Look at that new franchise got for his trolley road—ninety-nine years, and anything he wants in the meantime! And then to hear him making reform speeches! That's what makes me mad about them fellows up on the hill. They get a thousand dollars for every one we get; but they are tip-top swells, and they wouldn't speak to one of us low grafters on the street. And they're eminent citizens and pillars of the church—wouldn't it make you sick?"

"Yes," said Samuel in a low voice, "that's just what it does. It makes me sick!"



CHAPTER XXII

Samuel now had his evidence; and he went straight back to Dr. Vince. "Doctor," he said, "I am able to tell you that I know. I have heard it from one of the men who got the money."

"Who is he?" asked the doctor.

"I could not tell you that," said the boy—"it would not be fair. But you know that I am telling the truth. And this man told me with his own lips that Mr. Hickman paid twenty thousand dollars to Slattery, the Democratic boss, to be paid to ten of the supervisors to vote against the other company's water bill."

There was a long pause; the doctor sat staring in front of him. "What do you want me to do?" he asked faintly.

"I don't know," said Samuel. "Is it for me to tell you what is right?"

And again there was a pause.

"My boy," said the doctor, "this is a terrible thing for me. Mr. Hickman is my wife's brother, and she loves him very dearly. And he is a very good friend of mine—I depend on him in all the business matters of the church.

"Yes," said Samuel. "But he bribed the city council."

"This thing would make a frightful scandal if it were known," the other went on. "Think what a terrible thing it would be for St. Matthew's!"

"It is much worse as it is," said the boy. "For people hear the story, and they say that the church is sheltering evil doers."

"Think what a burden you place upon me!" cried the clergyman in distress. "A member of my own family!"

"It is just as hard for me," said Samuel quickly.

"In what way?"

"On account of Mr. Wygant, sir."

"What of that?"

Samuel had meant to say—"He is to be my father-in-law." But at the last moment some instinct told him that it might be best to let Miss Gladys make that announcement at her own time. So instead he said, "I am thinking of Sophie."

"It is not quite the same," said the doctor; and then he repeated his question, "What do you want me to do?"

"Truly, I don't know!" protested the boy. "I am groping about to find what is right."

"But you must have some idea in coming to me!" exclaimed the other anxiously. "Do you want me to expose my brother-in-law and drive him from the church?"

"I suppose," said Samuel gravely, "that he would be sent to prison. But I certainly don't think that he should be driven from the church at least not unless he is unrepentant. First of all we should labor with him, I think."

"And threaten him with exposure?"

"I'll tell you, doctor," said the boy quickly. "I've been thinking about this very hard; and I don't think it would do much good to expose and punish any one. That only leads to bitterness and hatred— and we oughtn't to hate any person, you know."

"Ah!" said the doctor with relief.

"The point is, the wicked thing that's been done. It's this robbing of the people that must be stopped! And it's the things that have been stolen!—Let me give you an example. To-day I met the man who came here with me to rob your house; and I learned for the first time that he had carried off some of your silver."

"Yes," said the other.

"And the man asked me to say nothing about what he had done, and I promised. I felt about him just as you do about your brother-in-law—I wouldn't denounce him and put him in jail. But I saw right away that I must do one thing—I must make him return the things he had stolen! That was right, was it not, doctor?"

"Yes," said Dr. Vince promptly, "that was right."

"Very well," said the boy; "and the same thing is true about Mr. Hickman. He has robbed the people. He has got a franchise that enables him and the Lockman estate to make about ten thousand dollars a month out of the public. And they must give up that franchise! They must give up every dollar that they have made out of it! That is the whole story as I see it—nothing else counts but that. You can make all the fuss you want about bribery and graft, but you haven't accomplished anything unless you get back the stolen money."

There was a pause. "Don't you see what I mean, doctor?" asked Samuel.

"Yes," was the reply, "I see."

"Well?" said Samuel.

"It would be no use to try it," said the doctor. "They would never do it."

"They wouldn't?"

"No. Nothing in the world could make them do it."

"Not even if we threatened to denounce them?"

"No; not even then."

"Not even if we put them in jail?"

Dr. Vince made no reply. The other sat waiting. And then suddenly he said in a low voice, "Doctor, I mean to MAKE them give it up. I see it quite clearly now—that is my duty. They must give it up!"

Again there was silence.

"Dr. Vince," cried the boy in a voice of pain, "you surely mean to help me!"

And suddenly the doctor shut his lips together tightly. "No, Samuel," he said. "I do not!"

The boy sat dumb. He felt a kind of faintness come over him. "You will leave me all alone?" he said in a weak voice.

The other made no reply.

"Am I not right?" cried the boy wildly. "Have I not spoken the truth?"

"I don't know," the doctor answered. "It is too hard a question for me to answer. I only know that I do not feel such things to be in my province; and I will not have anything to do with them."

"But, doctor, you are the representative of the church!"

"Yes. And I must attend to the affairs of the church."

"But is it no affair of the church that the people are being robbed?"

There was no reply.

"You give out charity!" protested Samuel.

"You pretend to try to help the poor! And I bring you cases, and you confess that you can't help them—because there are too many. And you couldn't tell how it came to be. But here I show you—I prove to you what makes the people poor! They are being robbed—they are being trampled upon! Their own government has been stolen from them, and is being used to cheat them! And you won't lift your voice to help!"

"There is nothing that I can do, Samuel!" cried the clergyman wildly.

"But there is! There is! You won't try! You might at least withdraw your help from these criminals!"

"My HELP!"

"Yes, sir! You help them! You permit them to stay in the church, and that gives them your sanction! You shelter them, and save them from attack! If I were to go out to-morrow and try to open the eyes of the people, no one would listen to me, because these men are so respectable—because they are members of the church, and friends and relatives of yours!"

"Samuel!" exclaimed the clergyman.

"And worse than that, sir! You take their money—you let the church become dependent upon them! You told me that yourself, sir! And you give their money to the poor people—the very people they have robbed! And that blinds the people—they are grateful, and they don't understand! And so you help to keep them in their chains! Don't you see that, Dr. Vince?—why, it's just the same as if you were hired for that purpose!"

Dr. Vince had risen in agitation. "Really, Samuel!" he cried. "You have exceeded the limit of endurance. This cannot go on! I will not hear another word of it!"

Samuel sat, heart broken. "Then you are going to desert me!" he exclaimed. "You are going to make me do it alone."

The other stared. "What are you going to do?" he demanded.

"First," said Samuel, "I am going to see these men. I am going to give them a chance to see the error of their ways."

"Boy!" cried the doctor. "You are mad!"

"Perhaps I am," was the reply. "But how can I help that?"

"At least," exclaimed the other, "if you take any such step, you will make it clear to them that I have not sent you, and that you have no sanction from me."

For a long time Samuel made no reply to this. Somehow it seemed the most unworthy thing that his friend had said yet. It meant that Dr. Vince was a coward!

"No, sir," he said at last, "you may rest easy about that. I will take the whole burden on my own shoulders. There's no reason why I should trouble you any more, I think."

And with that he rose, and went out from the house.



CHAPTER XXIII

After Samuel had left Dr. Vince, a great wave of desolation swept over him. He was alone again, and all the world was against him!

For a moment he had an impulse to turn back. After all, he was only a boy; and who was he, to set himself up against the wise and great? But then like a stab, came again the thought which drove him always—the thought of the people, suffering and starving! Truly it was better to die than to live in a world in which there was so much misery and oppression! That was the truth, he would rather die than let these things go on unopposed. And so there could be no turning back-there was nothing for him save to do what he could.

Where should he begin? He thought of Mr. Hickman—a most unpromising person to work with. Samuel had been afraid of him from the first time he had seen him.

Then he thought of Mr. Wygant; should he begin with him? This brought to his mind something which had been driven away by the rush of events. Miss Gladys! How would she take these things? And what would she think when she learned about her father's wickedness?

A new idea came to Samuel. Why should he not take Miss Gladys into his confidence? She would be the one to help him. She had helped him with Sophie; and she had promised to help with Master Albert. And surely it was her right to know about matters which concerned her family so nearly. She would know what was best, so far as concerned her own father; he would take her advice as to how to approach him.

He went to the house and asked for Sophie.

"Tell Miss Gladys that I want to see her," he said; "and that it's something very, very important."

So Sophie went away, and returning, took him upstairs.

"Samuel," said his divinity, "it isn't safe for you to come to see me in the afternoons."

"Yes, Miss Gladys," said he. "But this is something very serious. It's got nothing to do with myself."

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's your father, Miss Gladys."

"My father?"

"Yes, Miss Gladys. It's a long story. I shall have to begin at the beginning."

So he told the story of his coming to the church, and of the fervor which had seized upon him, and how he had set to work to bring converts into the fold; and how he had met a wicked man who had resisted his faith, and of all the dreadful things which this man had said. When he came to what Charlie Swift had told about her own father, Samuel was disposed to expurgate the story; but Miss Gladys would have it all, and seemed even to be disappointed that he had not more details to give her.

"And Hickman!" she exclaimed gleefully. "I always knew he was an old scamp! I'll wager you haven't found out the hundredth part about him, Samuel!"

Samuel went on to tell about the revelation at Callahan's.

"And you took that to Dr. Vince!" she cried amazed.

"Yes," said he.

"And what did he say?"

"He wouldn't have anything to do with it. And so it's all left to me."

"And what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know, Miss Gladys. For one thing, I think I shall have to see your father."

"See my father!" gasped the girl.

"Yes, Miss Gladys."

"But what for?"

"To try to get him to see how wicked these things are."

The other was staring at him with wide-open, startled eyes. "Do you mean," she cried, "that you want to go to my father and talk to him about what he's doing in politics?"

"Why, yes, Miss Gladys—what else can I do?"

And Miss Gladys took out her handkerchief, and leaned down upon the table, hiding her face. She was overcome with some emotion, the nature of which was not apparent.

The boy was naturally alarmed. "Miss Gladys!" he cried. "You aren't angry with me?"

She answered, in a muffled voice, "No, Samuel—no!"

Then she looked up, her face somewhat red. "Go and see him, Samuel!" she said.

"You don't mind?" he cried anxiously.

"No, not in the least," she said. "Go right ahead and see what you can do. He's a very bad, worldly man; and if you can soften his heart, it will be the best thing for all of us."

"And it won't make any difference in our relationship?" he asked.

"In our relationship?" she repeated; and then, "Not in the least. But mind, of course, don't say anything about that to him. Don't give him any idea that you know me!"

"Of course not, Miss Gladys."

"Tell him that you come from the church. And give it to him good and hard, Samuel—for I'm sure he's done everything you told me, and lots that is worse."

"Miss Gladys!" gasped the other.

"And mind, Samuel!" she added. "Come and tell me about it afterwards. Perhaps I can advise you what to do next."

There was a pause, while the two looked at each other. And then in a sudden burst of emotion Miss Gladys exclaimed, "Oh, Samuel, you are an angel!"

And she broke into a peal of laughter; and swiftly, like a bird upon the wing, she leaned toward him, and touched his cheek with her lips. And then, like a flash, she was gone; and Samuel was left alone with his bewilderment.

Samuel set out forthwith for Mr. Wygant's office. But just before he came to the bridge Mr. Wygant's automobile flashed past him; and so he turned and went back to the house.

This time he went to the front door. "I am Samuel Prescott, from St. Matthew's Church," he said to the butler. "And I want to see Mr. Wygant upon important business."

Mr. Wygant sat in a great armchair by one of the windows in his library. About him was the most elaborate collection of books that Samuel had yet seen; and in the luxurious room was an atmosphere of profound and age-long calm. Mr. Wygant himself was tall and stately, with an indescribable air of exclusiveness and reserve.

Samuel clenched his hands and rushed at once to the attack. "I am Samuel Prescott, the sexton's boy at the church," he said; "and I have to talk to you about something very, VERY serious."

"Well?" said Mr. Wygant.

Then Samuel told yet again how he had been led into evil ways, and how he had been converted by Dr. Vince. He told the story in detail, so that the other might comprehend his fervor. Then he told of the converts he had made, and how at last he had encountered Charlie Swift. "And this man would not come into the church," he wound up, "because of the wicked people who are in it."

The other had been listening with perplexed interest. "Who are these people?" he asked.

"Yourself for one," said Samuel.

Mr. Wygant started. "Myself!" he exclaimed. "What have I done?"

"For one thing," replied Samuel, "you work little children in your mill, and you named the State senator to beat the child-labor bill. And for another, you make speeches and pose as a political reformer, while you are paying money to Slattery, so that he will give you franchises."

There was a silence, while Mr. Wygant got back his breath. "Young man," he cried at last, "this is a most incredible piece of impertinence!"

And suddenly the boy started toward him, stretching out his arms. "Mr. Wygant!" he cried. "You are going to be angry with me! But I beg you not to harden your heart! I have come here for your own good! I came because I couldn't bear to know that such things are done by a member of St. Matthew's Church!"

For a moment or two Mr. Wygant sat staring. "Let me ask you one thing," he said. "Does Dr. Vince know about this?"