“Samuel Prescott!” cried the outraged
girl. “I will not hear another word of
this!”
“Yes, that’s just what your father said!
And what your cousin said! And what your clergyman
said! And you can send for the butler and have
me put out—but let me tell you that will
not be the end of it. We shall find some way
to get at you! The people will not always be your
slaves—they will not always give their lives
to keep you in idleness and luxury! You were
born to it—you’ve had everything in
the world that you wanted, from the first hour of
your life. And you think that will go on forever,
that nothing can ever change it! But let me tell
you that it seems different to the people underneath!
We are tired of being robbed and spit upon! And
we mean to fight! We mean to fight! We don’t
intend to be starved and tormented forever!”
And then in the midst of his wild tirade, Samuel stopped,
and stared with horror in his eyes—realizing
that this was Miss Gladys to whom he was talking!
And suddenly a storm of sobs rose in him; and he put
his hands to his face, and burst into tears, and turned
and rushed from the room.
He went down the street, like a hunted animal, beside
himself with grief, and looking for some place to
hide. And as he ran on, he pulled out the faded
pictures he had carried next to his heart, and tore
them into pieces and flung them to the winds.
When Sophie came home that evening, Samuel had mastered
himself. He told her the story without a tremor
in his voice. And this was well, for he was not
prepared for the paroxysm of emotion with which the
child received the news. Miss Gladys had been
the last of Samuel’s illusions; but she was
the only one that Sophie had ever had. The child
had made her life all over out of the joy of working
for her; and now, hearing the story of her treatment
of Samuel, she was almost beside herself with grief.
Samuel was frightened at her violence. “Listen,
Sophie,” he said, putting his arm around her.
“We must not forget our duty.”
“I could never go back there again!” exclaimed
the child wildly. “I should die if I had
to see her again!”
“I don’t mean that,” said the other
quickly—seeking to divert her thoughts.
“But you must remember what I have to do; and
you must help me.”
He went on to tell her of his plan to fight for the
possession of St. Matthew’s Church. “And
we must not give way to bitterness,” he said;
“it would be a very wicked thing if we did it
from anger.”
“But how can you help it?” she cried.
“It is hard,” said Samuel; “but
I have been wrestling with myself. We must not
hate these people. They have done evil to us,
but they do not realize it—they are poor
human beings like the rest of us.”
“But they are bad, selfish people!” exclaimed
the child.
“I have thought it all out,” said he.
“I have been walking the streets all day, thinking
about it. And I will not let myself feel anything
but pity for them. They have done me wrong, but
it is nothing to the wrong they have done themselves.”
