“Get your things on, Dora; you’ve just time to reach the theatre before the curtain rises,” said her brother.
In a little while the house was quiet, and the mother and son settled down to the enjoyment of a quiet evening together.
VI
Ma Smith’s Lodging-House
Concluded
The gray day darkened into night,
Whittier
… Made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag wavering to and fro,
Crossed and recrossed the winged snow.
February drew slowly to a close. Boston had lain for the past three or four days in the grasp of the snow king. At No. 500 D Street each tenant seemed content to keep within the bounds of his or her small domain, literally “frozed up,” as Mrs. Ophelia Davis expressed it.
No one had seen much of the new lodger. She passed in and out each morning with a package of work in her hand; and all day long, from nine in the morning until late at night sometimes, the click of the typewriter could be heard coming from the “first front-square,” which interpreted meant the front room on the second floor. Dora had been very neighborly and had called on Miss Clark frequently. There was a great fascination for her about the quiet, self-possessed woman. She did not, as a rule, care much for girl friendships, holding that a close intimacy between two of the same sex was more than likely to end disastrously for one or the other. But Sappho Clark seemed to fill a long-felt want in her life, and she had from the first a perfect trust in the beautiful girl.
Mrs. Smith had furnished her rooms substantially and well, but there had been no attempt at decoration. The first time Dora entered the room after Sappho had settled herself in it, she was struck at the alteration in its appearance. The iron bedstead and the washing utensils were completely hidden by drapery curtains of dark-blue denim, beautifully embroidered in white floss; a cover of the same material was thrown over the small table between the windows; plain white muslin draperies hid the unsightly but serviceable yellow shades at the windows; her desk and typewriter occupied the center of the room, and a couch had been improvised from two packing-cases and a spring, covered with denim and piled high with cushions; two good steel engravings completed a very inviting interior.
“How pretty you have made it,” observed Dora, looking curiously around the room.
Sappho came and stood beside her, and the two girls smiled at each other in a glow of mutual interest, and became fast friends at once.
“I always carry these things with me in my travels, and I find that I can make myself very comfortable in a short time with their help.”
“I wish you would show me how to do this embroidery,” said Dora, as she lifted the edge of the denim curtain before the toilet stand and critically examined it. “This is beautifully done. Where did you learn?”
“I will teach you with pleasure,” replied Sappho; but Dora noticed that she did not tell her where she had learned.
“Do you like your work—is it hard?” asked Dora, as she idly wandered from one object to another in the pretty room, pausing beside the desk to glance admiringly at a pile of neatly written sheets, just taken from the machine.
“Oh, I like the work very well. Sometimes the dictator is obtuse, or long-winded, or thinks that the writer ought to do his thinking for him as well as the corrections; then it is not pleasant work. But, generally speaking, I prefer it to most anything that I know of. Do sit down,” she continued, pushing a chair toward Dora.
“This man receiveth sinners,” read Dora from a pamphlet on the desk, as she turned to accept the offered chair. “I see that is your illuminated text for the day. Are you a Christian?” Then she saw an ivory crucifix suspended at the left side of the desk, and stopped in some confusion.
Sappho dropped the dress she was mending, and for a moment her eyes took on the faraway look of one in deep thought. Finally she said: “I saw you glance at the crucifix. I am not a Catholic, but I have received many benefits and kindnesses at their hands. Your question is a hard one to answer. I am afraid I am not a Christian, as we of our race understand the expression; but I try to do the best I can.”
“And he who does the best he can
Need never fear the church’s ban
Nor hell’s damnation.
God recks not how man counts his beads,
For righteousness is not in creeds
Nor solemn faces;
But rather lies in Christian deeds
And Christian graces”;
quoted Dora softly. “For my part, I am sick of loud professions and constant hypocrisy. My religion is short, and to the point—feed the starving thief and make him an honest man; cover your friend’s faults with the mantle of charity and keep her in the path of virtue.”
“Then you are not one of those who think that a woman should be condemned to eternal banishment for the sake of one misstep?”
“Not I, indeed; I have always felt a great curiosity to know the reason why each individual woman loses character and standing in the eyes of the world. I believe that we would hang our heads in shame at having the temerity to judge a fallen sister, could we but know the circumstances attending many such cases. And, after all we may do or say,” continued the girl softly, “the best of us, who have lived the purest lives on earth that mortal can conceive, find at last that our only hope lies in the words of that text—‘This man receiveth sinners.’ ”
“You are a dear little preacher,” said Sappho
