Having crossed the street and reached the first intersection beyond, they paused and looked around as though they had reached their destination — the man putting down his organ which he proceeded to open — setting up, as he did so, a small but adequate music rack.
At the same time his wife, taking from her grandson the several hymnals and the Bible he carried, gave the Bible as well as a hymnal to her husband, put one on the organ and gave one to each of the remaining group including one for herself.
The husband looked somewhat vacantly about him — yet, none-the-less with a seeming wide-eyed assurance, and began with:
“We will begin with 276 tonight.
‘How firm a foundation.’
All right, Miss Schoof.”
At this the younger of the two women — very parched and spare — angular and homely — to whom life had denied quite all — seated herself upon the yellow camp chair and after arranging the stops and turning the leaves of the book, began playing the chosen hymn, to the tune of which they all joined in.
By this time various homeward bound individuals of diverse occupations and interests noticing this small group so advantageously disposed near the principal thoroughfare of the city, hesitated a moment — either to eye them askance or to ascertain the character of their work.
And as they sang, the nondescript and indifferent street audience gazed, held by the peculiarity of such an unimportant group publicly raising its voice against the vast skepticism and apathy of life.
That gray and flabby and ineffectual old man, in his worn and baggy blue suit. This robust and yet uncouth and weary and white-haired woman; this fresh and unsoiled and unspoiled and uncomprehending boy. What was he doing here?
And again that neglected and thin spinster and her equally thin and distrait looking mother.
Of the group, the wife stood out in the eyes of the passers-by as having the force and determination which, however blind or erroneous, makes for self-preservation, if not real success in life.
She, more than any of the others, stood up with an ignorant, yet somehow respectable air of conviction.
And as several of the many who chanced to pause, watched her, her hymn-book dropped to her side, her glance directed straight before her into space, each said on his way:
“Well, here is one, who, whatever her defects, probably does what she believes as nearly as possible.”
A kind of hard, fighting faith in the wisdom and mercy of the definite overruling and watchful and merciful power which she proclaimed was written in her every feature and gesture.
The song was followed with a long prayer and by the wife; then a sermon by the husband, testimonies by the others — all that God had done for them.
Then the return march to the hall, the hymnals having been gathered, the organ folded and lifted by a strap over the husband’s shoulder. And as they walked — it was the husband that commented:
“A fine night.
It seemed to me they were a little more attentive than usual.”
“Oh, yes,” returned the younger woman that had played the organ.
“At least eleven took tracts.
And one old gentleman asked me where the mission was and when we held services.”
“Praise the Lord,” commented the man.
And then at last the mission itself —“The Star of Hope.
Bethel Independent Mission, Meetings every Wednesday and Saturday night, 8 to 10. Sundays at 11, 3, 8.
Everybody welcome.”
And under this legend in each window —“God is Love.” And below that again in smaller type: “How long since you wrote to Mother.”
“Kin’ I have a dime, grandma?
I wana’ go up to the corner and git an ice-cream cone.” It was the boy asking.
“Yes, I guess so, Russell.
But listen to me. You are to come right back.”
“Yes, I will, grandma, sure.
You know me.”
He took the dime that his Grandmother had extracted from a deep pocket in her dress and ran with it to the ice-cream vendor.
Her darling boy.
The light and color of her declining years.
She must be kind to him, more liberal with him, not restrain him too much, as maybe, maybe, she had — She looked affectionately and yet a little vacantly after him as he ran.
“For HIS sake.”
The small company, minus Russell, entered the yellow, unprepossessing door and disappeared.