In His Steps - New Abridged Editon Read online

  Rachel spoke with a vigor and earnestness that surprised her mother. But Mrs. Winslow was angry now, and she never tried to conceal her feelings. "It is simply absurd, Rachel. You are a fanatic! What can you do?"

  "The world has been served by men and women who have given it other gifts. Why should I, because I am blessed with a natural gift, at once proceed to put a market price on it and make all the money I can out of it? You know, mother, that you have taught me to think of a musical career always in the light of financial and social success. I have been unable, since I made my promise two weeks ago, to imagine Jesus joining a concert company to do what I should do, and live the life I should have to live if I joined it."

  Mrs. Winslow rose, and then sat down again. With a great effort she composed herself. "What do you intend to do? You have not answered my question."

  "I shall continue to sing for the time being in the church. I am pledged to sing there through the spring. During the week I am going to sing at the White Cross meetings, down in the Rectangle."

  Mrs. Winslow rose angrily in her seat. "What! Rachel Winslow, do you know what you are saying? Do you know what sort of people are down there?"

  Rachel almost quailed before her mother. For a moment she shrank back and was silent. Then she spoke firmly: "I know very well. That is the reason I am going. The Rev. and Mrs. Gray have been working there several weeks. I learned only this morning that they want singers from the churches to help them in their meetings. They use a tent. It is in a part of the city where Christian work is most needed. I shall offer them my help. Mother," Rachel cried out, with the first passionate utterance she had yet used, "I want to do something that will cost me in the way of sacrifice. I know you will not understand me. What have we done all our lives for the suffering, sinning side of Raymond? How much have we denied ourselves or given of our personal ease and pleasure to bless the place in which we live to imitate the life of the Savior of the world? Are we always to go on doing as society selfishly dictates, moving on its little narrow round of pleasures and entertainments, and never knowing the pain of things that cost?"

  "Are you preaching at me?" asked Mrs. Winslow slowly.

  Rachel rose, and understood her mother's words. "No, I am preaching at myself," she replied gently.

  She paused a moment as if she thought her mother would say something more, and then went out of the room. When she reached her own room she felt that so far as her own mother was concerned she could expect no sympathy, nor even a fair understanding from her.

  She kneeled. Within the two weeks since Henry Maxwell's church had faced that shabby figure with the faded hat, more members of his parish had been driven to their knees in prayer than during all the previous term of his pastorate.

  She rose, her face wet with tears. She sat thoughtfully a little while and then wrote a note to Virginia Page. She sent it to her by a messenger, and then went downstairs and told her mother that she and Virginia were going down to the Rectangle that evening to see the Rev. and Mrs. Gray, the evangelists.

  "Virginia's uncle, Dr. West, will go with us, if she goes. I have asked her to call him up by telephone and go with us. The doctor is a friend of the Grays, and attended some of their meetings last winter."

  Mrs. Winslow did not say anything. Her manner showed her complete disapproval of Rachel's course, and Rachel felt her mother's unspoken bitterness.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ABOUT SEVEN O'CLOCK the Doctor and Virginia appeared, and together the three started for the scene of the White Cross meetings.

  The Rectangle was the most notorious district in Raymond. It was on the territory close by the railroad machine shops and the packing houses. The great slum and tenement district of Raymond congested its worst elements about the Rectangle. This was a barren field used in the summer by circus companies and wandering showmen, shut in by rows of saloons, gambling dens, and cheap, dirty boarding and lodging houses.

  The First Church of Raymond had never touched the Rectangle problem. It was too dirty, too coarse, too sinful, too awful for close contact. Let us be honest. There had been an attempt to cleanse this sore spot by sending down an occasional committee of singers or Sunday school teachers or gospel visitors from various churches. But the First Church of Raymond, as an institution, had never done anything to make the Rectangle any less a stronghold of the devil as the years went by.

  Into this heart of the part of Raymond the traveling evangelist and his wife had pitched a good-sized tent and begun meetings. It was the spring of the year and the evenings were beginning to be pleasant. The evangelists had asked for the help of Christian people, and had received more than the usual amount of encouragement. But they felt a great need of more and better music. During the meetings on the Sunday just gone, the assistant at the organ had been taken ill. The volunteers from the city were few and the voices were of ordinary quality.

  "There will only be a small meeting tonight, John," said his wife, as they entered the tent a little after seven o'clock and began to arrange the chairs and light the lamps.

  "Yes, I fear so." The Rev. John Gray was a small, energetic man, with a pleasant voice and the courage of a high-born fighter. He had already made friends in the neighborhood, and one of his converts, who had just come in, began to help in the arranging of seats.

  * * *

  It was after eight o'clock when Alexander Powers, superintendent of the railroad workshops, opened the door of his office and started for home. He was going to take a car at the corner of the Rectangle. But he was roused by a voice coming from the tent.

  (Publisher's note: This would be a streetcar, originally pulled on rails by a horse or mule, but in many cities by this time (1896) powered by electricity. The word "streetcar" has been substituted from here on.)

  It was the voice of Rachel Winslow. It struck through his consciousness of struggle over his own question of the letter that had sent him into the Divine Presence for an answer. He had not yet reached a conclusion. He was tortured with uncertainty. His whole previous course of action as a railroad man was the poorest possible preparation for anything sacrificial. And he could not yet say what he would do in the matter.

  How did Rachel Winslow happen to be down here? Several windows nearby went up. Some men quarreling near a saloon stopped and listened. Other figures were walking rapidly in the direction of the Rectangle and the tent. Surely Rachel Winslow had never sung like this in the First Church. It was a marvelous voice. What was it she was singing? Again, Alexander Powers paused and listened.

  "Where He leads me I will follow,

  Where He leads me I will follow,

  Where He leads me I will follow,

  I'll go with Him, with Him,

  All the way!"

  The brutal life of the Rectangle stirred itself into new life as the song, as pure as the surroundings were vile, floated out and into saloon and den and foul lodging.

  Someone, stumbling hastily by Alexander Powers, said, "The tent's beginning to run over tonight. That's what the talent calls music, eh?"

  The superintendent turned towards the tent. Then he stopped. And after a moment of indecision he went on to the corner and took the streetcar for his home. But before he was out of the sound of Rachel's voice he knew that he had settled for himself the question of what Jesus would do.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE REV. HENRY MAXWELL paced his study back and forth. It was Wednesday and he had started to think out the subject of his midweek service which fell upon that night. Out of one of his study windows he could see the tall chimney of the railroad workshops. The top of the evangelist's tent just showed over the buildings around the Rectangle. He looked out of his window every time he turned in his walk. After a while he sat down at his desk and drew a large piece of paper toward him. After thinking several moments he wrote in large letters the following:

  A NUMBER OF THINGS THAT JESUS

  WOULD PROBABLY DO IN THIS PARISH

  1. Live in a simple, plain manner
, without needless luxury on the one hand or undue asceticism on the other.

  2. Preach fearlessly to the hypocrites in the church, no matter what their social importance or wealth.

  3. Show in some practical form His sympathy and love for the common people as well as for the well-to-do, educated, refined people who make up the majority of the parish.

  4. Identify Himself with the great causes of humanity in some personal way that would call for self-denial and suffering.

  5. Preach against the saloon [trade] in Raymond.

  6. Become known as a friend and companion of the people in the Rectangle.

  7. Give up the summer trip to Europe this year. (I have been abroad twice and cannot claim any special need of rest. I am well, and could forego this pleasure, using the money for someone who needs a vacation more than I do. There are probably plenty of such people in the city.)

  8. What else would Jesus do as Henry Maxwell?

  He was conscious that his outline of Jesus' probable action was painfully lacking in depth and power. In spite of that, he still searched deeper for sources of the Christ-like spirit. He did not attempt to write any more, but sat at his desk absorbed in his effort to catch more and more the Spirit of Jesus in his own life.

  He was so absorbed over his thought that he did not hear the doorbell ring. He was roused by the servant who announced a caller. He had sent up his name, the Rev. John Gray.

  Maxwell stepped to the head of the stairs and asked Gray to come up.

  So Gray came up and stated the reason for his call. "I want your help, Maxwell. Of course you have heard what a wonderful meeting we had Monday night and last night. Miss Winslow has done more with her voice than I could do, and the tent won't hold the people."

  "I've heard of that. It is the first time the people there have heard her. It is no wonder they are attracted."

  "It has been a wonderful revelation to us, and a most encouraging event in our work. But I came to ask you if you could come down tonight and preach. I am suffering from a severe cold. I do not dare trust my voice again. I know it is asking a good deal from such a busy man, but if you can't come, say so frankly, and I'll try somewhere else."

  "I'm sorry, but it's my regular prayer meeting night," began Henry Maxwell. Then he flushed and added, "Yes, I shall be able to arrange it in some way so as to come down. You can count on me."

  Gray thanked him earnestly and rose to go.

  "Stay a minute, Gray, and let us have a prayer together."

  So the two men kneeled together in the study. Henry Maxwell who had lived his ministerial life in such a narrow limit of exercise now begged for wisdom and strength to speak a message to the people in the Rectangle.

  John Gray rose and held out his hand. "God bless you, Mr. Maxwell. I'm sure the Holy Spirit will give you power tonight."

  Henry Maxwell made no answer. He did not even trust himself to say that he hoped so. But he thought of his promise, and it brought him a certain peace that was refreshing to his heart and mind alike.

  * * *

  When the First Church audience came into the lecture room that evening it met with another surprise. There was an unusually large number present. The prayer meetings ever since that remarkable Sunday morning had been attended as never before in the history of the First Church. Henry Maxwell came at once to the point.

  "I feel that I am called to go down to the Rectangle tonight, and I will leave it with you to say whether you will go on with this meeting here. I think perhaps the best plan would be for a few volunteers to come down to the Rectangle with me, prepared to help in the after-meeting if necessary, and the rest to remain here and pray that the Spirit's power may go with us."

  So half a dozen of the men went with the pastor, and the rest stayed in the lecture room. Maxwell could not escape the thought that probably in his entire church membership there might not be a score of disciples who were capable of doing work that would successfully lead needy men into the knowledge of Christ. The thought was simply a part of his whole new conception of the meaning of Christian discipleship.

  Chapter Sixteen

  WHEN MAXWELL and his little company of volunteers reached the Rectangle, the tent was already crowded. They had difficulty in getting to the platform. Rachel was there with Virginia and Jasper Chase, who had come instead of the Doctor tonight.

  The meeting began with a song, in which Rachel sang the solo and the people were asked to join in the chorus. Not a foot of standing room was left in the tent. The night was mild and the sides of the tent were up. A great border of faces stretched around, looking in and forming part of the audience.

  After the singing, and a prayer by one of the city pastors who was present, John Gray stated the reason for his inability to speak, and turned the service over to "Brother Maxwell of the First Church."

  "Who's the bloke?" asked a hoarse voice near the outside of the tent.

  "The First Church parson. We've got the whole high-tone swell outfit tonight."

  "Did you say First Church? I know him. My landlord's got a front pew up there," said another voice. And there was a laugh, for the speaker was a saloon keeper.

  "Throw out the lifeline 'cross the dark wave!" began a drunken man nearby, singing in such an unconscious imitation of a local traveling singer's nasal tone that roars of laughter and jeers of approval rose around him. The people in the tent turned in the direction of the disturbance. There were shouts of "Put him out!" "Give the First Church a chance!" "Song! Song! Give us another song!"

  Henry Maxwell stood up, and a great wave of actual terror swept over him. This was not like preaching to the well-dressed, respectable, good-mannered people up on the boulevard. He began to speak, but the confusion increased.

  John Gray went down into the crowd, but did not seem able to quiet it. Maxwell raised his arm and his voice. The crowd in the tent began to pay some attention, but the noise on the outside increased. In a few minutes the audience was beyond his control. He turned to Rachel with a smile.

  "Sing something, Miss Winslow. They will listen to you," he said, and then sat down and covered his face with his hands.

  It was Rachel's opportunity, and she was fully equal to it. Virginia was at the organ and Rachel asked her to play a few notes of the hymn.

  Savior, I follow on,

  Guided by Thee,

  Seeing not yet the hand

  That leadeth me;

  Hushed be my heart and still,

  Fear I no further ill,

  Only to meet Thy will,

  My will shall be.

  Rachel had not sung the first line, before the people in the tent were all turned toward her, hushed and reverent. Before she had finished the verse the Rectangle was subdued and tamed. It lay like some wild beast at her feet, and she sang it into harmlessness.

  Henry Maxwell, as he raised his head and saw the transformed mob, had a glimpse of something that Jesus would probably do with a voice like Rachel Winslow's.

  Jasper Chase sat with his eyes on the singer, and his greatest longing as an ambitious author was swallowed up in his thought of what Rachel Winslow's love might mean to him.

  Over in the shadow outside stood the last person anyone might have expected to see at a gospel tent service -- Rollin Page, who, jostled on every side by men and women who stared at the swell in fine clothes, seemed careless of his surroundings and at the same time evidently swayed by the power that Rachel possessed. He had just come over from the clubhouse. Neither Rachel nor Virginia saw him that night.

  The song was over. Henry Maxwell rose again. This time he felt calmer. What would Jesus do? He spoke as he once thought he never could speak. Who were these people? They were immortal souls. What was Christianity? A calling of sinners, not the righteous, to repentance. How would Jesus speak? What would He say?

  He could not tell all that Jesus' message would include, but he felt sure of a part of it. And in that certainty he spoke on. Never before had he felt "compassion for the multitude." What ha
d the multitude been to him during his ten years in the First Church but a vague, dangerous, dirty, troublesome factor in society, outside of the church and of his reach, an element that caused him occasionally an unpleasant twinge of conscience, a factor in Raymond that was talked about at associations as the "masses," in papers written by the brethren in attempts to show why the "masses" were not being reached.

  Tonight as he faced the masses he asked himself whether, after all, this was not just about such a multitude as Jesus faced oftenest. He felt the genuine emotion of love for a crowd. He knew that it was easy to love an individual sinner, especially if he was personally picturesque or interesting. To love a multitude of sinners was distinctively a Christ-like quality.

  When the meeting closed, there was no special interest shown. No one stayed to the after-meeting. The people rapidly melted away from the tent, and the saloons, which had been experiencing a dull season while the meetings progressed, again drove a thriving trade. Maxwell and his little party, including Virginia, Rachel, and Jasper Chase, walked down past the row of saloons until they reached the corner where the streetcars passed.

  "This is a terrible spot," said the minister as he stood waiting for their streetcar. "I never realized that Raymond had such a festering sore. Would Jesus keep silent? Would He vote to license these causes of crime and death? Would the Master preach and act against the saloon if He lived today? How would He preach and act? Suppose the church members themselves owned the property where the saloons stood. What then?"

  Chapter Seventeen

  HENRY MAXWELL went up into his study the next morning with that question only partly answered. He thought of it all day. He was still thinking of it and reaching certain real conclusions when the evening News came. His wife brought it up and sat down a few minutes while he read to her.