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AITH Hams in the sunny atmosphere
which pervaded the Merrill Mission,
began slowly but surely to slip away
from the shadows which had so long
enthralled her. The change was not
evolved in a moment, or a day. but the
subtle power of the things which are of
good report, began to have their effect
upon her. The weekly’ sermons of the
F
Padre, the talks at the Wednesday evening prayer
meeting, were all a kind of new revelation to her
darkened soul.
The people with whom she came in contact did
not hesitate to attest the sincerity of the faith that
was in them, by their lives. They laid them down
in beautiful service every day, with an apparent
unconsciousness which made it all the more at
tractive in her eyes. The tone of every department
in the Mission was keyed to cheerfulness; and the
divine quality of the Padre’s compassion was felt
everywhere. The most insignificant attache of the
laundry, or kitchen, felt themselves to be an
esteemed part of the great whole. ‘‘We be
brethren” was the unwritten creed of all classes
in the magnificent plant, and it worked like a moral
elixir of gold through the marble block of buildings,
which constituted the Merrill Mission.
Dr. Merrill’s secretary was a young woman of
unusual grace and charm of the higher variety. In
other words her personal expression of what she
thought and felt, was at once spirituclle and fasci
nating. She had a delicate face and slender figure,
but her gray eyes were like pools of light, and in
the sensitive curves of her mouth there lay always
the hint of a smile. It was evident that she was
a woman with a story, but however tragic it might
have been, she had certainly out-grown it. for she
lived every moment in her interest in others, and in
her work.
Faith Harris had realized the rare charm of her
personality at sight, and she had not been at the
Merrill Mission two weeks before she found her
self slipping down to Alicia Brown's office, at odd
hours, for a friendly chat.
One bright afternoon, early in March, she walked
across the stretch of picturesque ground between the
Nurses’ home and the main building, with loitering
steps. Beyond the hedge which hid this sequestered
spot from the street, was the blue-gray arch of the
spring sky. Inside the sunlight gleamed coyly
among the evergreen trees, and beyond the gold ot
a jonquil bed, a red bird preened its iridescent
wings, on the edge of an empty marble vase. Ihe
dry leaves rustled under her feet on the asphalt
walk, and a parrot picking its steps around the
broad rim of the fountain basin, called discordantly,
when the water splashed on his green top coat.
“Amen,” he would say, after the manner of Dr.
Merrill.
Miss Harris suppressed a laugh. She wore a
blue street suit with an inconspicuous sailor hat.
She paused on the stone steps outside the secre
tary’s office, and waved her hand toward the small
artistic garden between the buildings.
“Be with us yet.” she said, in a halt serious
voice, “lest we forget! Oh. but it takes sunlight and
care to make the humblest flower that blows . . .
live. ’ ’
She turned then, and knocked on the office door
of her friend, and receiving her permission to enter,
<he swept in. quiet, but wholesome as the March
breeze through which she had come.
“Delicious,” she said to the fair young woman
seated at the typewriter, “I stumbled on a problem
this afternoon that I did not know how to handle
bv myself, so I came down here to get you to
help me.”
Miss Harris appropriated a chair, while Alicia
THE MISSION GIRL
"By Odessa Strickland Payne,
Author of "Psyche, ” "Esther PerralVs Experiment, ” Etc,
The Golden Age for October 1, 1908.
slipped the well written sheet out of her intricate
machine.
“Well, I need a bit of enlightenment, don’t 1,
Faith.” she queried, turning to her visitor with
a look of interest, “before I can offer you intelligent
advice in the matter?”
“Certainly,” the girl replied crossing her hands
in her lap. and sitting more gracefully, “you see I
was obliged to have some more aprons for my
nurses’ outfit, and I went exploring this afternoon,
in order to discover if possible, a seamstress. ‘Plain
Sewing,’ on an advertisement card, tacked up on
a dilapidated tenement house, attracted my atten
tion, and I went in. without ceremony, and knocked
on the rst door. It was opened by a ghost of a
woman, whose tired blue eyes and emanciated face
gave me a kind of shock. She ushered me into a
bare, comfortless room, which corresponded acutely
with her personal appearance. There was nothing
in it to make living worth while, except a little
girl, with hair like spun gold and a face as white
as chalk. I stated my’ business, and she told me,
in answer to an inquiry, that her name was Mrs.
Lex Leonard.”
“Impossible!” Alicia Brown exclaimed.
“Why, Delicious?” her friend said in a humorous
tone, to the gray clad girl behind the typewriter.
“I did not know that you were sufficiently frivolous
to keep up with current literal uro. ”
“Lex Leonard died five years ago.” Alicia re
plied quietly.
“Yes, and In* was esteemed one of the most
brilliant magazine writers.” Miss Harris affirmed
gravely, “of his day. Now his world has forgotten
him. I gave Mrs. Leonard six aprons to make, and
paid her in advance for them. But, Delicious, I
never will have another minute's serenity, unless
1 can rescue those unfortunate ones from that dark
little make-believe home. It is so comfortless and
poverty stricken that it is absolutely maddening.”
“There is an emergency fund.” the secretary
suggested, “ why not see Eli Palmer, and get him to
pay' Mrs. Ix*onard’s rent, until her health improves,
and then help her to get better wages for her work,
so that she can properly maintain herself?”
“Good suggestion,” Miss Harris said as she got
to her feet, and began to walk up and down the
office floor. “But they need everything, Delicious.”
she went on in a voice that vibrated with feeling,
“in the way of food and clothes, and furniture also.
Six months ago 1 could have waved a magician’s
wand, and had them comfortably established in
twenty’-four hours. But now, I also belong to the
poor and unregarded. . . . masses! She went
over to one of the big windows with her last words,
and sat down on the broad seat, with a sigh.
“Don’t despair, Faith,” Alicia said hopefully,
smiling a little over the name, “there is always a
way out of the darkness, if we can find it.”
Miss Harris toyed mechanically’ with her purse,
then with a sudden gleam of inspiration she opened
it with fingers that trembled, and took a letter from
an inside pocket.
“This was given me by my best woman friend,”
she exclaimed in an excited voice, “to be opened
in a time of crisis. It is not my time, but it is for
another woman. So here goes. Guess what it is,
Alicia, guess.”
“Check.” said Alicia, with alarming brevity.
“No,” Faith answered as she held up a crisp
greenback, “but a fifty dollar bill. Now, 1 11 get
Mr. Palmer to rent a large room with a big closet
for the culinary department, in some decent neigh
borhood. for my protege, and I’ll treat myself to
the privilege of supplying her with other neces
sities. I have got to take Miss Moreland’s place
on the night watch for tonight, so that will leave
me free for tomorrow. Delicious,” she went on
with a gay gesture, “let’s devote tomorrow to the
rescue. Go down town with me, and help me select
the furniture. Let’s get Mrs. Leonard a Davenport
bedstead and a center-table large enough to dine
on, so that she can have a real sitting room once
more, and feel like a lady. Oh, isn’t it glorious,”
she added enthusiastically, “to help other people
to be their best selves, once more!”
Alicia’s gray eyes filled suddenly with tears. The
sincerity of the philanthrophy of Miss Harris
touched her.
“Ask the Padre.” she said after a moment’s
pause, “to let Mrs. Leonard and her child take their
meals for a month at the Dormitory table; that will
include him in your scheme, and give them a good
brace up for their changed position.”
“All right. I’ll be only too delighted.” Faith
replied, as she came over and laid her hand in a
light caress on her friend’s shoulder.
“But, Delicious, you haven’t accepted my prop
osition yet, to x up that room like a dream, with
white curtains and a green rug, an oak center-table,
a Davenport, which nobody’ will ever suspect is a
bed, and a couple of rocking chairs.”
“I’ll be charmed, of course,” Alicia replied,
“more than you can imagine. I knew Lex Ijeonard
long before he was famous. He was my friend.”
Phen that settles it,” Faith said, with a linger
ing, half curious glance at the typewriter. “Thank
you. Well, I’ll go on now to talk with Mr. Palmer,
and the Padre about my scheme, so be good*” She
waved her white hand airily from the doorway, and
disappeared with the words.
Alicia looked after the graceful figure with sig
nificant tenderness, as she quoted softly:
“Love took up the harp of Life ami smote on all
its chords with might—Smote the chord of Self, that,
trembling, passed in music out of sight.’ ”
“Oh. Dr. Redmond,” said Miss Mason, the
feminine head of the Infirmary, at the Merrill Mis
sion. as she stood in the doorway of Dr. Redmond’s
office, “I have the loveliest novitiate on my list
now. Miss Faith Harris', she has been with us
several months, and 1 can't imagine how you have
missed seeing her.”
“No. but the explanation is simple.” Dr. Red
mond replied courteously, “she has not happened
to serve in my ward. What about her ?”
Miss Mason liked biographical sketches, and she
felt the joy’ of the raconteur, as she began, in her
quick, melodious voice:
“The first month she came to the Mission, we
used to call her Shadow, she was so sad and
unobtrusive. Now everybody in the Infirmary calls
her . . . The Mission Girl.”
“And that means?” quizzed Dr. Redmond.
“Oh, the Padre conferred the soubriquet,” Miss
Mason explained, “because she has rescued so many
people from the outside world, and every time she
does it. she manages somehow to make us all share
in her gladness and enthusiasm over the fact. She
radiates all over the place for days afterwards.
“I see,” Dr. Redmond returned, in a calculating
tone, “but just what instances can you enumerate
on this line?”
Miss Mason lifted her chin and narrowed her
eyes. Dr. Redmond’s form of inquiry was not
especially gratifying.
“I am not the Infirmary reporter.” she said with
a distinct reproof in her voice. “But the first case
I recall of Miss Harris’ philanthropy, was that of a
blind boy, whom she found on the streets and
brought to the Infirmary, to have a cataract remov
ed from his eyes. Then she discovered a drunk
woman on the Dormitory steps, and she never rested
until Eli Palmer got that protege a j< b. and a decent
boarding place. Her latest case, however, eclipses
all her past efforts. Last week she rescued Lex
Leonard’s wife and child from the slums. She fitted
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