CHAPTER V.

PROSPECTING.

NEVER had Ethel been so unhappy in her life, as she was during the next two or three weeks; never had she been so irritable, and so utterly unreasonable and troublesome in her terrors and fancies. She seemed lent upon proving to herself and others that she could not help being afraid of her own shadow and that of every one else.

"Ethel," said her brother, one pleasant morning, "I have found out where our foundry-boy lives. I was driving with the doctor last evening, and saw him at work in his garden. Suppose you walk up with me to see the old lady, and carry her some of those flower-seeds which Emily says she has no room for in the garden. I dare say they will be very acceptable."

"I am sure she is welcome to them," said Emily. "Mr. B— gave the doctor three times more seeds than we can possibly use. I have supplied all the children's gardens on both sides of us, and there are quantities left. It is a pity somebody should not have them."

"I have another design in going, for which the seeds will furnish a good excuse," continued Mr. Dalton. "I want to 'prospect' for a Sunday-school and mission service in that neighbourhood; and I dare say this old lady can give me some idea of how the land lies."

"What! Among the foundry-men!" exclaimed Ethel.

"Exactly. Why not? They seem to be a fine set of fellows, and the place is swarming with children. If I succeed, I shall depend on your Bible-class girls for teachers. But come, will you go with me?"

"Do, Ethel; the walk will be good for you," said Emily. "I only wish I could go. I am so tired of being shut up in the house."

Emily had not been out since the night of the burglar alarm. The cold she had caught brought back all her throat trouble, and Dr. Ray was seriously concerned about her.

"I don't know what to make of Ethel," said Emily, when her sister had left the room. "I begin to think that I have never understood her at all, and that I did not know what I was about in undertaking the charge of her. Her fears have always been vexatious enough, but they are becoming perfectly intolerable. I don't so much mind myself, but she annoys the doctor so."

"Matthew is wonderfully good-natured and patient with her," observed Mr. Dalton.

"He is good-natured and patient with everybody," replied Emily; "and for that very reason I don't like to have him imposed upon; but I don't know what to do. If I say a word to Ethel, she begins to cry; and that is what I cannot bear very well just now."

"You had better not trouble yourself about her at present," said Mr. Dalton; "you are too unwell to be worried. I think, myself, that Ethel is passing through a kind of crisis."

"Yes; that is just what Matthew says when his patients are worse than usual," said Emily, laughing. "'You are passing through a "crisis,"' he says. 'You will be a great deal better after it.'"

"Exactly so," replied Mr. Dalton, laughing, in his turn. "I am inclined to believe that Ethel is passing through just such a crisis, and that she will be better after it. I think she is trying hard to justify herself in her own eyes, and I do not think she will succeed. I can see that there is a struggle in her mind, and that she is very unhappy under it. We must all try to have patience with her, and help her if possible."

The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of Ethel, prepared for her walk.

"I wish you would stop at Mrs. Fowler's, and ask her to send up some sponge-cake and a mould of ice-cream, Ethel," said Emily. "By the way, Henry, you should make acquaintance with Mrs. Fowler. She is the daughter of old Mr. Bond, of whom we used to buy sweeties when we went to Mrs. Clark's school, and a very good religious woman. I dare say she can tell you about your foundry-men and their families, for she has lived over there on the hill."

Ethel was evidently nervous in the expectation of a lecture; but her brother did not seem disposed to lecture, and chatted on about various matters till they reached the very neat and pleasant shop, where Mrs. Fowler reigned supreme over bonbons, cakes, fruits, and flowers.

"I must ask you to write your order yourself, Miss Ethel," said Mrs. Fowler.

And as she spoke, Ethel noticed that her hand was bandaged.

"How have you hurt your hand?" she asked.

"We had an accident last night," replied Mrs. Fowler. "My girl set her dress on fire, and mine running down-stairs with it all in a blaze. Luckily, I had a large shawl at hand, which threw round her, and by getting her down on the floor, I stifled the flame before she was seriously burned. I thought we were gone for a minute, for she was perfectly beside herself with fright, and I could hardly hold her; and, aside from the danger to herself, we have light muslin curtains to the windows and over an archway. As it was, I scorched my hands and sprained my wrists; but that is nothing to what it might have been."

"No doubt you saved her life," said Mr. Dalton. "How did her dress take fire?"

"She dropped a match on her dress. She said there was only a little blaze at first; and I dare say, if she had had her wits about her, she might have put it out in a minute; but she is always scared out of her wits if the least accident happens."

Ethel blushed, as if she thought the remark a personal one, and glanced at her brother.

"Well, it was a happy circumstance to her that all people are not scared out of their wits," stud Mr. Dalton.

"So I told her," replied Mrs. Fowler. "She was very sorry when she saw how I had hurt my hand.

"'Jane,' says I, 'I don't grudge the pain in my hand at all, if you will only learn something by this business. If I had been as crazy as you, you would have been burned up, and the house too."

"'Well, Mrs. Fowler,' says she, 'I do mean to try and learn, and not to be such a coward.'

"I believe she will do it too, for she is a good girl in the main."

"My sister tells me that you have lived up on the hill, and know people there," said Mr. Dalton. "What do you think would be the prospect of success, if any one were to establish an afternoon Sunday-school and a mission service in that neighbourhood?"

"It would be a grand thing, and no mistake," replied Mrs. Fowler, warmly. "There are quantities of children, and another class who need teaching still more,—I mean the half grown-up boys and girls, who now do nothing but hang about and gossip all Sunday afternoon."

"But are they not a very rough set?" said Ethel. "I should not think it would answer at all for young ladies to try teaching among them."

Mrs. Fowler laughed. "I don't believe there is one of them who would ever give a young lady a saucy word or look. They are almost all American-born; and all the middle-aged and elderly men are married, and have families of their own. Besides, I never knew a lady to be affronted when she was about any work of kindness."

"Nor I; either,—at least, not in this country," said Mr. Dalton. "Can you tell me of any good people to whom I can apply?"

"I don't think you will go amiss with any of them, unless it may be some of the families up by the Brewery. There are some Roman Catholics in that neighbourhood, and one family of professed infidels. The people are no great church goers; but I think that is more than anything because there is no place to go."

"There is the church on the avenue; that is not very far-off," remarked Ethel.

"Yes; but the seats are all rented and the rents are very high, especially since they fixed over the church, and put in all that paint and stained glass," said Mrs. Fowler. "Seats which used to rent for fifteen dollars have been raised to seventy and eighty dollars, and no poor man can afford to pay such prices."

"Ah, that opens the way to a very wide subject, which you and I will talk over some day," said Mr. Dalton. "But can you give me the names of some of the good people up there?"

Ethel fidgeted a great deal while her brother, with pocket-book in hand, stood talking over the counter with Mrs. Fowler. Presently, Mr. Dalton turned around to her.

"I think this Mrs. Trim must be the mother of our acquaintance, Ethel. Mrs. Fowler says she is a widow with one son, who works in the foundry."

"Our acquaintance!" repeated Ethel, to herself. "Henry talks as though we knew him intimately. I do wish he would not stand talking here so long. What if somebody should come in?"

At last somebody did come in, and Mr. Dalton, bidding Mrs. Fowler good-afternoon, left the shop and walked on toward the suburb, where most of the foundry hands lived.

"Mrs. Fowler seems to talk as though the prospect was encouraging," remarked Mr. Dalton. "She is a very intelligent woman. I should like to secure her help in our Sunday-school, if we succeed in starting it."

"I think she is very forward," said Ethel. "She stood and talked with you as though she had—as though she was—" Ethel's sentence seemed to grow rather entangled.

"Well, as though she had or was what?" asked her brother. "I thought she stood and talked as though she were a sensible, brave Christian woman. That is the impression which I received of her character."

Ethel did not answer; and they walked on a little way in silence, till they came to a house in front of which lay a fine large dog stretched out across the sidewalk. Ethel shrank back with her usual little scream.

"What now?" asked Mr. Dalton.

"Oh, brother, that great horrid dog: I can't go past him. I am sure he is not safe. Suppose he should be mad, and bite me?"

"And suppose you should be mad, and bite him?" said Mr. Dalton. "I know who I think looks the more sensible of the two at this moment. Come, Ethel, you really must not be so silly. The dog is perfectly gentle, as you may see by looking at him; and if he were not, you are going exactly the right way to work to make him attack you. There is nothing which provokes dogs, and animal's in general, so much as to see people afraid of them. There! See how politely he makes way for us."

The big dog, at this moment, sat up on his haunches, and beating his tail lazily against the ground, he seemed to invite their notice. Unluckily, at that moment, he caught sight of a cow in the street, and evidently conceiving that he was bound to preserve the street free from all trespassers, he rushed open mouthed at the intruder, who, of course, put down her head and ran straight-forward, after the manner of cows when attacked.

Ethel screamed at the top of her voice, and started to run also, but, catching her foot in her dress, she tripped and down she fell, sprawling in any thing but a desirable or graceful attitude, just at the feet of a group of foundry-men who were coming home from their work.

Before Mr. Dalton could reach her, one of the men had raised Ethel,—his black hands leaving a very visible impression on her delicate gray plush jacket.

"Well, you did get a tumble, sure enough," said the foundry-man, kindly. "What was the matter? What made you run so? The dog wouldn't hurt you."

Ethel burst into tears of shame and vexation, and seemed likely to go into hysterics on the spot.

"My sister is, unfortunately, very timid," said Mr. Dalton, coming up. "Have you hurt yourself, Ethel?"

But Ethel was, by this time, far beyond speaking.

"The young lady had better come right into our house," said a young man of the group, opening, as he spoke, the gate of the very house where the dog had been lying. "Mother will just about have supper ready; and a cup of tea will do her good. But, my goodness, miss, you needn't be afraid of my old Lion. He plays with all the young ones in the street."

"Thank you; we will come in, since you are so kind," said Mr. Dalton. "I believe you are the very man I was looking for."

"And you are the gentleman I saw down in the doctor's garden," returned Richard Trim. "I see you going by with the doctor last night. Come right in, miss."

"Come, Ethel," said her brother, so decidedly that Ethel made no difficulty about the matter.

As the other man passed along, Ethel heard the one who had picked her up say to his companion, "Well, if 'my' girl was to make such a fool of herself as that, I'd box her ears."

The big boy led the way around the corner of the house into a clean sunny kitchen. The table was set for supper, and a wonderfully neat, cheerful-looking little old woman was just taking some very tempting-looking biscuits out of the stove-oven.

"I've brought you some company, ma," said the big boy. "This is the young lady who sent you the flowers the other day. She got a fall just now, and I brought her in to rest and have some tea."

"Why, yes, to be sure," exclaimed Mrs. Trim, in a cheery, high-pitched voice, which seemed exactly in keeping with her appearance. "And so you had a fall, dear? Did you hurt you? There, there, don't cry," she continued, soothing Ethel as though she had been a baby. "Tell granny where you hurt you?"

"I didn't hurt myself much," sobbed Ethel; "but—but—I was so frightened."

"Lion ran after that cow of Green's, and scared her," explained the big boy. "You see, that cow is always trying to get into our yard," he added, turning to Mr. Dalton. "She is as cunning as an imp, and can open any gate; and she has got in two or three times and raised the mischief: so Lion drives her off whenever he sees her."

"He is a clever dog," observed Mr. Dalton. "But why do you not have the cow taken up?"

"Well, I hate to do that," replied Richard Trim. "You see, she belongs to a widow woman, who has not much else to depend on. The children pretend to watch her, but they get playing, and then she slips away. But I hope, now you have come, you will stop and take tea with us, Mr. —"

"My name is Dalton," said Mr. Dalton. "This is my sister, Miss Ethel Dalton."

The big boy nodded to Ethel in acknowledgment of the introduction.

"Yes, do stay and take tea with us," chimed in the old woman. "I am sure your little sister will feel better when she has had a cup of tea. Young girls are apt be 'narvous,' so I wouldn't mind, dear," she added, kindly, turning to Ethel. "We should be so pleased to have you stay. I kept the flowers you sent me ever so long. I never saw anything so sweet. Now do stay. You won't put me out the least bit."

Mr. Dalton saw that the invitation was sincere, and that Ethel would be the better for the rest. Indeed, with her red eyes, she was hardly presentable in the street.

"You are very kind, I am sure; and we shall be glad of a cup of tea," said he. "Indeed, we were coming to see you, at any rate. My sister, Mrs. Ray, has sent your son some flower-seeds. She had a present of a large quantity, more than she has any room for, and, knowing that you are fond of flowers, she hopes you will accept these."

"I'm sure she is very kind," said the big boy, colouring through all his black, as he looked at the parcel of seeds,—varieties of balsams, Drummond's phlox, Salpiglossis, and other desirable sorts, all of Vick's best. "I don't feel as though I ought to take such a present."

"Nonsense," said Mr. Dalton, smiling. "You would do as much for me in a minute; and I dare say I shall want your help about carrying out a plan I have in my head. I have brought you Vick's catalogue with the seeds. There is a deal of valuable information in it."

"Well, I am sure," said the big boy, and then he stopped and turned over the seeds again; "just see, ma, six kinds of balsams."

"You must take the lady some of our tomato and pepper plants," said his mother. "You know you always have such good luck with them. But now go and wash yourself, for tea is all ready. You couldn't have done anything for Dicky which would have pleased him so much," she added, as her son left the room. "He generally does buy a few flower-seeds every spring, besides what we save from our own garden; but it has been rather a hard winter for us, what with sickness and Dicky's being out of work a part of the time. Not that I ought to complain, either."

The entrance of Richard put a stop to the conversation for a moment, and they all sat down to the tea-table, which was neatly set out with gay china, and as Ethel observed, two real silver spoons for the company. She had partly got over her fright and discomposure, and she could not be insensible to the kindness with which she had been received.

"What beautiful china!" said she, looking at her cup, which was different from those used by the old woman and her son. "It is real Japan china, is it not?"

"I expect it is," replied Mrs. Trim, evidently much pleased. "My father was a sailor, and brought home these cups from China or Japan, I don't know which. He was in India, too, and brought home some of the idols the people worship, for ma was a great hand for curiosities. I'll show them to you after supper."

This led the conversation to India, and Mrs. Trim and her son were deeply interested when they heard that Mr. Dalton had been in that wonderful country. Dick had a great many questions to ask, and very intelligent questions they were; and Ethel had never seen her brother more animated in conversation.

"And so you were a missionary?" said Mrs. Trim. "Dear me! Didn't you feel it a privilege to go and preach the gospel to those poor critters? Just think of the poor mothers throwing their babes into the river to the crocodiles!"

"It seems worse, almost, to kill the little babies than grown folks, somehow. Babies are so innocent and helpless. Do you ever mean to go back there?"

"Sometime or other, I hope," replied Mr. Dalton; "or, if not there, to some other missionary field. As you say, I feel it a great privilege to carry the gospel to those poor people."

"I am sure I should. If I was your sister, I should want to go along with you. Young ladies do go, I know. There was Mrs. Whitney, that I used to know in P—. She taught a school, and afterward she went out to the Sandwich Islands. Shouldn't you like to go with your brother, dear?"

At this moment old Lion poked his head in at the door, and Ethel started as usual.

"The young lady would have to get over being afraid of dogs first," said the big boy, apparently resenting Ethel's terrors as an imputation on his friend Lion. "But I am not so sure, after all, about these foreign missions," he added, seeing Ethel blush and look disconcerted. "It seems as though there was enough work for missionaries and good people to do nearer home."

"Such as what?" asked Mr. Dalton.

"Well, for instance, here is this neighbourhood," said Richard. "There are plenty of folks here who never see the inside of a church from one year's end to another, or speak to a minister, unless some of them are married or there is a death in the family. And, yet, I suppose their souls are worth as much as the heathen in India?"

"I suppose they are," replied Mr. Dalton. "That is a sad state of things; but whose fault is it?"

"Well, it is partly their fault, and partly it is nobody's, I suppose."

"It must be somebody's, I should say."

"Well, sir, it is just like this. The nearest church is that on the avenue,—half a mile away. That church is full already—church and Sunday-school both; and if it wasn't, the pew rents are so high that poor folks can't afford to pay them. If a man has got a wife and three or four children to keep out of his earnings, he don't feel as though he could pay thirty or forty dollars a year for a seat. He can't do it unless he pinches himself, and he won't do it unless he is very pious, indeed. The children go to Sunday-school for a while, to be sure,—some of them—but they get to feel too old for that pretty soon, and so they slip away."

"But there are the free seats," said Ethel.

"Yes; but you see every one knows the free seats are for poor folks, and a man don't like to own himself poor, if he can help it. It is like taking charity. That mayn't be just the right way to look at it, but that is the way they feel."

"I don't wonder at it," said Ethel. "I think I should feel just so."

"You see it is not that they want to save their money, altogether," continued Richard Trim. "I don't think our men are at all stingy, in general. I believe if a little chapel were to be built up here, a great many people would not only go to it, but they would be willing to give something toward it, though it might be only a little."

"I understand, and I am very glad to hear you say so," said Mr. Dalton. "It was on partly a matter of that kind that I wanted to see you. You see I am having a vacation from missionary work just now, and I am as it were unattached; and I have been wondering whether it would be possible to start a service and a Sunday-school in this neighbourhood."

Both Mrs. Trim and Richard took up the idea with enthusiasm, and it was talked over in all its bearings.

"We should have to hire a room somewhere near, to begin with," said Mr. Dalton. "Can you think of any suitable place?"

"There is the large room over Mr. Sutton's grocery," said Richard. "It is a rough place, not much like a church to be sure; but it is clean and comfortable."

"I dare say it will answer very well," said Mr. Dalton. "I have not been used to very church-like places of late years, you know. And about teachers?"

"What a pity Mrs. Fowler has moved away," said Mrs. Trim. "She is such a nice lady, and so kind to everybody."

"Yes; she would be a great help. I shall depend upon you and Richard to help us, Mrs. Trim."

"Me!" said Richard, colouring. "I don't know enough to teach in a Sunday-school."

"Any man knows enough to teach in a Sunday-school, my friend, who will be faithful in studying the Scriptures, and ask God for the teaching of his Spirit. You will learn in the art of teaching."

"I shall learn that I don't know anything, I expect," said Richard, evidently not displeased.

"That was the most important thing I learned in my missionary education," said Mr. Dalton, smiling. "But suppose we get together a room full of little boys and girls; you can take a class of the one and your mother of the other, can you not?"

"Ma can, I am sure," said Richard. "She is always studying her Bible. As for me, I will think about it, and let you know. When shall I see you again?"

"Why, let me see. This is Monday: to-morrow I shall be engaged in getting up my lecture on India for the Bible-classes. By the way, don't you want to come, or don't you care about magic-lantern pictures?"

"I should like to come," said the big boy, colouring; "but then, you see—"

"It is a free lecture, you know," said Mr. Dalton. "Come, and bring your mother and any one else you like. We are obliged to have passes to prevent too great a crowd; but I will give you one. Well, Thursday evening, I will come up here again, and we will see what can be done."

"And, in the meantime, ma can see some of the neighbours and talk to them, and I can mention it to the men."

"Exactly so. Come, Ethel, Emily will think we are lost. Good-night."