Religion is the Mother of Duty, and we should all make a sad mess of life without duty. Is not that so, Ruth?""Truth itself, Edward; but religion is not going to church and listening to sermons.
Those who built the old cathedrals of Europe had no idea that sitting in comfortable pews and listening to some man talking was worshiping God. Those great naves were intended for men and women to stand or kneel in before God. And there were no high or low standing or kneeling places; all were on a level before Him. It is our modern Protestantism which has brought in lazy lolling in cushioned pews; and the gallery, which makes a church as like a playhouse as possible!""What are you aiming at, Ruth?"
"I only meant to say, I would like going to church much better if we went solely to praise God, and entreat His mercy. I do not care to hear sermons.""My dear Ruth, sermons are a large fact in our social economy. When a million or two are preached every year, they have a strong claim on our attention. To use a trade phrase, sermons are firm, and I believe a moderate tax on them would yield an astonishing income.""See how you talk of them, Edward; as if they were a commercial commodity. If you respected them----""I do. I grant them a steady pneumatic pressure in the region of morals, and even faith. Picture to yourself, Ruth, New York without sermons. The dear old city would be like a ship without ballast, heeling over with every wind, and letting in the waters of immorality and scepticism. Remove this pulpit balance just for one week from New York City, and where should we be?""Well then," said Ethel, "the clergy ought to give New York a first-rate article in sermons, either of home or foreign manufacture.
New York expects the very best of everything;and when she gets it, she opens her heart and her pocketbook enjoys it, and pays for it.""That is the truth, Ethel. I was thinking of your grandmother Rawdon. You have your hat on--are you going to see her?""I am going to see Dora Denning. I had an urgent note from her last night. She says she has `extraordinary news' and begs me to `come to her immediately.' I cannot imagine what her news is. I saw her Friday afternoon.""She has a new poodle, or a new lover, or a new way of crimping her hair," suggested Ruth Bayard scornfully." She imposes on you, Ethel; why do you submit to her selfishness?""I suppose because I have become used to it. Four years ago I began to take her part, when the girls teased and tormented her in the schoolroom, and I have big-sistered her ever since. I suppose we get to love those who make us kind and give us trouble. Dora is not perfect, but I like her better than any friend I have. And she must like me, for she asks my advice about everything in her life.""Does she take it?"
"Yes--generally. Sometimes I have to make her take it.""She has a mother. Why does she not go to her?""Mrs. Denning knows nothing about certain subjects. I am Dora's social godmother, and she must dress and behave as I tell her to do. Poor Mrs. Denning! I am so sorry for her--another cup of coffee, Ruth--it is not very strong.""Why should you be sorry for Mrs. Denning, Her husband is enormously rich--she lives in a palace, and has a crowd of men and women servants to wait upon her--carriages, horses, motor cars, what not, at her command.""Yet really, Ruth, she is a most unhappy woman. In that little Western town from which they came, she was everybody. She ran the churches, and was chairwoman in all the clubs, and President of the Temperance Union, and manager of every religious, social, and political festival; and her days were full to the brim of just the things she liked to do.
Her dress there was considered magnificent; people begged her for patterns, and regarded her as the very glass of fashion. Servants thought it a great privilege to be employed on the Denning place, and she ordered her house and managed her half-score of men and maids with pleasant autocracy. NOW! Well, I will tell you how it is, NOW. She sits all day in her splendid rooms, or rides out in her car or carriage, and no one knows her, and of course no one speaks to her. Mr. Denning has his Wall Street friends----""And enemies," interrupted Judge Rawdon.
"And enemies! You are right, father.
But he enjoys one as much as the other--that is, he would as willingly fight his enemies as feast his friends. He says a big day in Wall Street makes him alive from head to foot.
He really looks happy. Bryce Denning has got into two clubs, and his money passes him, for he plays, and is willing to love prudently.
But no one cares about Mrs. Denning. She is quite old--forty-five, I dare say; and she is stout, and does not wear the colors and style she ought to wear--none of her things have the right `look,' and of course I cannot advise a matron. Then, her fine English servants take her house out of her hands. She is afraid of them. The butler suavely tries to inform her; the housekeeper removed the white crotcheted scarfs and things from the gilded chairs, and I am sure Mrs. Denning had a heartache about their loss; but she saw that they had also vanished from Dora's parlor, so she took the hint, and accepted the lesson.
Really, her humility and isolation are pitiful.
I am going to ask grandmother to go and see her. Grandmother might take her to church, and get Dr. Simpson and Mrs. Simpson to introduce her. Her money and adaptability would do the rest. There, I have had a good breakfast, though I was late. It is not always the early bird that gets chicken and mushrooms.
Now I will go and see what Dora wants"--and lifting her furs with a smile, and a "Good morning!" equally charming, she disappeared.
"Did you notice her voice, Ruth?" asked Judge Rawdon. What a tone there is in her `good morning!'""There is a tone in every one's good morning, Edward. I think people's salutations set to music would reveal their inmost character.
