Again she colored a little, for Ernst’s pure and reproachful face made her feel that she had done a mean thing, but she laughed said: “You see I am not in his mission class, and have never had the instruction that you have. But, after all, why do you think Mr. Fleet better than other people?”
“By what he does.”
“That is a fair test; what has he done?”
“He saved us all from starving, and worse than starving.”
Then with feminine tact she drew from him his story, and it was told with deep feeling and the natural pathos of childhood, and his gratitude caused him to dwell with a simple eloquence on the part Dennis had taken, while his rich and loved German accent made it all the more interesting to Christine. She dropped her pencil, and, when he finished, her eyes, that were seldom moistened by the dew of sympathy, were wet.
“Goodbye, my child,” she said, in a voice so kind and sweet that it seemed as if another person had spoken. “You shall come again, and then I shall finish my sketch. When I get well I shall go to see your father’s picture. Do not be afraid; neither you nor Mr. Fleet will fare the worse for the strawberries, and you may tell him that they have done me much good.”
When Dennis, wondering at Ernst’s long absence, heard from him his story, his mind was in a strange tumult, and yet the result of his effort seemed favorable. But he learned more fully than ever that Christine was not perfect, and that her faultless beauty and taste were but the fair mask of a deformed spirit. But he dwelt in hope on the feeling she had shown at Ernst’s story.
“She seemed to have two hearts,” said the boy—“a good, kind one way inside the cold, hard outside one.”
“That is about the truth,” thought Dennis. “Good night, Ernst. I don’t blame you, my boy, for you did the best you could.”
He had done better than Dennis knew.
XXVII
A Miserable Triumph
After Ernst’s departure Christine reclined wearily in her chair, quite exhausted by even the slight effort she had made, but her thoughts were busy.
“What a unique character that Dennis Fleet is! And yet, in view of what he believes and professes, he is both natural and consistent. He seems humble only in station, and that is not his fault. Everything he does seems marked by unusual good taste and intelligence. His earlier position and treatment in the store must have been very galling. I can hardly believe that the gentleman I sang Mendelssohn’s music with the other evening was the same that I laughed at as he blacked old Schwartz’s boots. And yet he saw me laugh, and blacked the boots, conscious that he was a gentleman. It must have been very hard. And yet I would rather do such work myself than live on charity, and so undoubtedly he felt. It is very fortunate that we nearly finished the rearrangement of the pictures before all this occurred, for I could not order him about now as I have done. The fact is, I like servants, not dignified helpers; and knowing what I do, even if he would permit it, I could not speak to him as formerly. But he did show wonderful taste and skill in his help. See now that little ivy-twined basket of luscious fruit: it looks just like him. If he were only rich and titled, what a genuine nobleman he would make! He is among the few men who do not weary or disgust me; so many are coarse and commonplace. I cannot understand it, but I, who fear and care for no one except my father, almost feared him when under Miss Brown’s insolence he looked as few men can. What a jumble the world is! He sweeps the store, while insignificant atoms of men are conspicuous in their littleness by reason of high position.
“It was very kind of him to send me this tasteful gift after the miserable experience I caused him the other day. I suppose he does it on the principle of returning good for evil, as his creed teaches. Moreover, he seems grateful that father gave him employment, and a chance to earn twice what he receives. He certainly must be promoted at once.
“Perhaps,” thought she, smiling to herself, while a faint tinge of color came into her cheeks—“perhaps, like so many others, he may be inclined to be a little sentimental also, though he will never be as silly as some of them.
“What a noble part he acted toward those Bruders! The heart of a pagan could not fail to be touched by that poor little fellow’s story, and it has made me believe that I have more heart than I supposed. Sometimes, especially when I hear or read of some such noble deed, I catch glimpses of a life infinitely better than the one I know, like the sun shining through a rift in the clouds; then they shut down again, and father’s practical wisdom seems the best there is.
“At any rate,” she said aloud, getting up and walking the floor with something of the old restless energy, “I intend to live while I live, and crowd into life’s brief day all that I can. I thank Mr. Fleet for a few sensations in what would otherwise have been a monotonous, dreary afternoon.”
“What, strawberries!” said Mr. Ludolph, coming in. “Where did you get these? They are the first I have seen.”
“Your man-of-all-work sent them to me,” said Christine, daintily dipping one after another in sugar.
“Well, that is a good joke.”
“A most excellent one, which I am enjoying, and in which you may share. Help yourself.”
“And what has led him to this extravagant favor?”
“Consistency, I suppose. As a good Christian he would return good for evil; and I certainly caused him many and varied tortures
