[COMPLETE STORY.] A WILD OLIVE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 26, 1 July 1905, Page 51

[COMPLETE STORY.] A WILD OLIVE

By

Harriet Prescott Spofford

MRS. FLANDERS was in her first youth when she lost her husband. With the lapse c-f years instead of a sorrow he became pleasant memory. She remained in seclusion for awhile, and then, after a long sea-on of travel with her boy. and of lite afterward, while he was in college, in a v ilia over terraced gardens where the shadow of the ilex-trees made brighter the -un-him* of the orange, where -imply to breath* the lemon-laden air was luxury. ami where the nightingales >ang all night long, she came home and opened her house with frequent gaieti-s. fine dinm-rs and theatre parties, and now and then a eo<tly and evenings in which -he held a sort of salon and sharpen*«l hr wit in the encounter with that of men and women of more or h-s celebrity. Pleased with her success, -he permitted few people to see the other -ide of her nature, a nature wl;ose chief exerci-»* was in a complete adoration of her son Paul, a boy who h?d inherited so mu«-h of hi- mother that sometim.'s he teemed another self. She had not been completely -ati-fi d with Pau.’- college career. She was fend of respectability, and honoured the conwnti* nal. She would not have her boy a milksop, as she phrased it: but she wi-hed him to have the strength to go s far and no farther: not to hold himself bsu-k. but not to wish to go forward where it was distinctly ill-bred and more or 1 ss injurious. Since he had been a part of the gay life at home. too. there had been more than one occasun when her -< n-ii»il:ty had been cruelly shocked by his want of self-eontro!. Hardly more than tw.mty-one. still a b« \ in his affectionate, caressing ways, with great power of loving, a singular attractiveness and much talent, »ne was made to help the world along, and yet he was already making himself frdt as a part of the evil in it. Of late it was only one chance in a hundred that he would come home at night master of himself. His mother’s heart stood still with horror at the thought, tie certain knowledge that there was nothing before her boy. th* darling of her soul, but an inebriate asylum er a drunkard's grave. She was not a woman giv n to expression. Th*- Iwiy himself did not know how dear he was to her. If he thought at all about it. he thought her inter.—t centred in 1 r social life, in her salon, in making her dinners and receptions brilliant. without much tenderness, but alwax- animated concerning politic-, Loks. mu>iv. tl - new play, laughing at what she >tyhd sentimentality, the childishr»! -s « f religion- belief, of attempting to prove the unknown, c-f assuming the spiritual wl-.r-n everything we see is material. Ail the same, in this way he adored her. "My mother believes in nothing.” she once heard tlx? boy -ay. when hi- tutor wi-hed him to go to the morning service. *'J believe in nothing: too. 5 * She did not kn w why that was unpleasant to her. She reproached herself for a w. akn — m finding it so. Sh. stiU was voting, and fair to -et: hut her fir-t gray hairs were coming: the first :im< were cutting into the >mooth fac . with terror and suffering at her V< \ - behaviour. Rut when she delicat - h a!lud<d t»; the subject, be smiled in a superior w ay —he was a man, and a man mu-t see life. When -Er* ask--d lim for 1 • r sake to put a check upon hi- fn.-lina-tions. he poured out another gla-s an i drank her health. When she legged him f* r the -ake of his own future to* arrest him-r|f, he replied that he knew what he was about, and he would not be dictated t.. by evi n the most brilliant woman in the world. s b • was ip an unhappy frame when her o’d school-friend, Alary Bruce. a woman of some achievement in the world, eaine to vi-it her. Finding Mrs. Bruce, whom she had not se<n in many years, with an entirely different outlook from her own upon life here and life to come. Mrs. Manders did not make the visit a bed of ro-4‘.s. but spent most of tie time they were together in argument that should convince her friend of the folly of her faith, or of the superiority of her own mental equipment. It would have another person; it did try Mary Bruce, borne times she felt that she

was dwelling in th*- tents of Kedar: lut again she doubted if it was not a field fur work; and as for the boy —for boy he was. in spite of his 21 years and more—it made her heart ache to suspect, to know, the truth. "Dear.” she said to her friend, the night before she was leaving, having extended her stay as long as it was possible. **l don’t suppose argument ever convinced anyone. You have to feel things in religion before you believe them, maybe.” “I don’t know how I am going to feel—at least. 1 do know just how I am going to feel—when I take up my paper and read things like these.” -ail the other: ‘Great fro in su h a city, a thousand fninil’rs homeless: terrible railroad accident «»n such a line, so many killed and injured: dreadful panic in such a theatre, women and children crushed and burned: collapse of a building on such a street, a hundred working girls burled in the ruins: crime on the increase: shocking murder: child run over by an automobile: shameful embezzlement of the widows’ and orphans’ fund.’ and all the rest. And you think there is a loving Father overseeing it all. in tender relations tA each individual. How is it possible to believe that there is an all-seeing and allpowerful ruler who also is not an evildisposed one?” And Mrs Flanders threw down her paper and adjusted her hair with composure. **l don t see how you can i-e happv a moment, feeling so.” said her friend. "I don’t see what my feeling happy has to do with the truth. However, f shouldn’t be if I thought it mattered: but in this world it is up to everyone to take care of himself. There dt»esn’t seem to be anyone ebe to du it. If there i-. I don’t want, to be taken care of in the style of things I -ee in every morning paper. And I rather would believe-the re is no ruler of the universe at alf than such a cruel one as to make people suffer.” •‘Perhaps in this moment of suffering there is a presence of companionship. I know there would l>c with me. •\Vkcn thou pa-— e-t through the waters I will lie with thee: when thou walke-t through the fire thou sbalt not Im* burned.’ "’ "But they arc burned.” "Well. I don’t -uppose the fact cf the existence of a ruler of the universe depend- upon whether one believes it <»r nut.” ‘•lt does for me.” ■"How came the universe here?’’ "1 suppose that’s a conundrum."’ «he -aid. pulling out a gray hair as she looked in the glass. I never wa- good at guessing ernundrums. ' "Some one must have created it.” "And left it to run it-elf* I don’{ know what the some «-r:c is about: but as to fancying that lie is -looping to help me down-stair< or up-stair<. I don’t.’’ •'You admit, though, that he would have to stoop.’* "Oh, I don’t admit anything. I don’t deny anything, except that we are dealt with as individuals.” "I suppose. Helen, that when you go down-stairs you hope not to fall? I-r t tha- dealing w’th yen as an individual —filling you with hope wh-c-h is so constant that you are not even of it * 5 “Ai 1 11?’’ said Mrs. Flanders triumphantly. "Tl.ere you are. y»u see! I’ve read < f a snake that had four rows of teeth, each cariying poison. Veiy good for the snakes: but how about the man he bite-?*’ "The snake may l*c a survival of the period when monsters wallowed in t i»e slime, and may cease as other inou-tc rs have done.” “You don't know that it will.” “The others have. Plain’y the phy-i« cal world has worked up out <f -lime: and that is what the human world is doing, and ti e spiritual world i« doing. 1 don’t know why the world wa« made that way. But I ani sure that if there had been a betttr way it would hare been used. If we were perfect in the l,eginning. what angels and archangels we

-hould l»e! It would be Larder to understand than the fw» t that we are working up toward |»erfe<-ti« n. But we arc going to be perfect through constant struggle. The muscle' doesn’t grow that is no* ex-erci-ed. The worm never would bex-ome a butterfly that didn’t struggle out of hi- -heath. And just as the whole body may have devel«q»cd from a cell, the soul may develop from its primal spark to that full light of which, you know, he 'niakcth his ministers a flaming >w<»rd.’ ” "You have it alt rut and dried. I should think vou were quite in Hm counsels.” "Well. • f <«»ur?c. if you Jove God. you lave a greater —what shall I say? intimacy.” •What a prepost cron < notion!” tried Mr-. Flanders, running her jew« lied chain through her lingers like a rain « f light. •■lntimacy with the mighty Maker of this universe* beyend unixer-rT Int imacy T’’ "I am glad you -ay ’mighty.’ deal : because then you see* how fruitless it is to .-up|>o-v you can fathom that mighty thought. As if that ant creeping along your skirt km-w where you xvere going or x\hat you were thinking!* 5 ‘Well, regally, there is -vme difference between an ant and me!” "Perhaps not so much as you Jiink. The ant is calleel the most intelligent being after oursevles.” "1 guess that ant fathoms my thought enough to know 1 am going to kill i:in.. by the way he runs. How in the world he got in here ’’ "Why not lei the little fellow liv» ’’< »h. according to your idea that nothing i - lost I just dismiss him to a hig’ner form of life. There! And I don’t believe it is as cruel a* burning him up alive' in a railxvay wreck, or ’’ "Perhaps the moment of falling, when you shook him off your skirt, was ages long to his experience of time. Perhaps t'nc* instant that the shadow • f your foot hung over him was lifelong.” "Oh. perhaps, and perhaps—it is all perhapses!” "Well, it isn’t ‘perhaps’ that it is an absurdity for us wiih our finite inielli gem e to attempt to measure the purposes of an infinite intelligence.”

“But that is an empty shibb-!v;t. - finite and infinite/'’ “X* great I< y <md iiiin pii,,,] lien, the Maker of the uniivrsv must have !»•*«• n that. Ai d t seem* to me that if u< cant tell the i.-jm n for the - Bering •* -er. it is «.nly ral’t-ntl. in view of :; «• innumcrab’.r bles-ings «t mo to take it f< i giant«d that thin is a reason. and a wise one.” “ I here may be a foi di.ilh. It put> an < a I to things.** -ul Mrs. Fhi lift Ihhii in a fold of her law: “hut te l me. if you .an. the reason for a ll hi- sin and evil." “Oh. 1 can t. Xo •no «an. I ran only say t at death is so universal t »at it van’: 1h- regarded by the gieat l)'s|Mib<*r as an evil; and that pain ami suffering may l>e sin h v-om-ent rated pui it'< at i< n as to lie most mer< ifid and full of hive: and that even sin may be a «a- ing <-fT • f the ol<! serpent’s -kin.” “That’s all -o fanciful. \\ r .an t gov* rn our lives by fairy st«>ii«*s. l.ovc in pain and suffering? A- if I would hurt my child, for instance!” “You would, certainly, in cidct t< be of service to him.” “I would have prevented the n •. e-i*v •■f I wing . rv:• e. if I had been omnipotent.” “And so h..v< mi'- rd one of the greatest joy s of life.** “Dear me. it’s past midnight. I air keeping y« n out of bed. And I suppose I am foolis 1 talk to you. You are se prejudiced. I never am moved a par ti’-le. And it all a mounts to this a vicious circle. For if this unknown Power is almighty. Hr must le malevolent: and if He i< merciful Hr i- impo tent.” “it I did not know that He is as almighty in love as in everything else I could not sit and hear you talk so: but 1 know He leans over you at this no ment. full of tenderness—- “ How. just how. do you know -uch a ti'ing. Mary Bruce?” “Because I am conscious of it. as much as 1 am of this w; rm air. Bc ause I f*el the love all about me. In the same way 1 hear music, -meil this rose. Only it is with a spiritual, not a physical percepts on.” “1-n’t it Ar-cne Hor.csaye who savs: 'Th.ci. is a sixth sense the << use of the ideal. Bai on d'Holbf.vh ha< only five senses f 5 TV.]*?, God didn’t g»ve me. ;.nj

r *»rc than Baron d’Holbach. this ' - I’ was verv partial of Him.~ “Helen Flanders, it y«»;i stopped «rhic:> _ ••• *l. ail viiticise.i your own habit • t ought instead. you’d b? a h ippier ; ci—n.” -And *<» v mild you. I suppose you’d -N. . But 1 l*»n’t -••e why you wish sett _ - het tel to offer.” * ' > ••- ••••.*•?-. tie y< ur belie!?” -Not an atom. I don’t believe I hold y nd ;t :-i* moment. though I i I kn " I do. Dh. yes. v .<■• one single blade • f <: n \ »u ; ' rhe power that (' ' - • < 1 < .:r«.in living 2‘■*t'X A g 1 • _ _ — - - I he i : ns live in a dry land. Ihlen.” I! k! II rk! M:i :y! That'- Pad. Oh. .1 i d . ar him fall? lie's come "T y r.'-v • : boy /" :S. v.y h,in. what will be-ome of him' If you hadn't -een him I never f it. He is :. - - - • _ ised him. It’s a • » use! Y«»u **■«• I* /.crt I: - i’ 2 • /. TO do?” S. I will - ' . - • wrung her white’ hands. -Helen, yo i might pray for help/’ hat? To 1 it s - t s It ill 1 real.” "Mary Bniv»-. did y-«u ever have an "Often. I have thought. And when I ■ the thing I ask< help to do without it. something sweeter >'a i vs than thing I asked. Helen, dear, let reasoning go to the winds. Only feel! Just as you love this boy. believe ♦ God low* y<»n. Yon are wandering as far away as the boy is. Don’t think ar.' more of the evils you see. Think of blessings. Think of the loreli-

nes. <»f the world, think of your health youi hull!* 1 , your intellect. of this sp!en- - _ “Given me to see him ruin himself!” "1 don’t believe it. That won: I l»e mon-trous. You have tried your way. dear, now try mine. You presently will Ik- *o sure of a great, su -t. listening helping power that you will feel a protecting arm. everywhere a divine imminence. You will love it. It will ctmfort you. Anu it will make no difference what name you sec. You will feel the strength of a driend. a father, upholding you. of the Lord of love and life! Darling, try to find God an 1 ask Him to help you.” Her voice trembled, and the te rs shook from her eyes as she spoke. "Weil.” she said in a moment or two. "I ismst be off by the first train. You wiil be very t'reJ. so don't come down. 1 will be in to say good-bye.” Mr- Flanders smiled bitterly as the do.>r closed. "It is so easy to talk!” she said. But when her friend hung • a er her a moment next morning, so many sunbeams about her that she might have come out of the blue of the sky. she held, her back and whispered: "Alary Bruce, there is nothing left to do. I am going to try.” Helen Fiand- rs was not a person who did things by halves. There being, as she said, nothing else to do except to find God and such help as might come that way. she gave herself up to the search. She talked with men who made a science to the same effort. She threw aside her prejudice- sufficiently to see what th- ir faith did for some of these people. ”lt almost seems.” she said to herself, "as if faith was the very see l of :he soul. or. at any rate, as if the soul grew on’y a- one had faith. Knowledge is so simple; but this thing vailed faith perpetually feeds and enfolds the sou!, a- Mary -aid it would. Oh. why iiin't I learn thi- in the beginning? Why haven’t I taught it to Paul?” From rime to time Mary Bruce had sent ber the books of those who hold out the hard to help others climb. She read the gospel of St. John; and when she had read it once she read it again. And all the time she tried what nrayer. of such sort as she could make, might

do. Sc’ue T imvv it serine ! :is though her petition went «io “arther than her lip-; and she laughed al herself, and Paul s» ill stumble * home with lhe fate of the sot hangi-g <*ver him. But sometimes she would have said that down dark lengths of thought and feeling there was just a glimmer of light; a- if in the next moment revelation, however slight, was io be n a > b . some go«-d sunburst of divine wa mth and light wa- coming. And yet. after all. she only half-believed in it. One night Paul had come in much v < rse t han usual. H • had stayed in bed with aching templv~ and -linking hands the next <tiy. and he had said to hints If that he was not to listen to reproaches, and hnd xr.t word to hi* r.M ther that he wished to l»e alone, lie felt ivtter toward night. an«‘ late m the ev. ning. in his dressinggown ami slipper-. 1 e went down to his m<’tlter’s n»om. He had not seen much of hi- mother in the-*' months, having been off with a hunting party in t. e West, and when at home avoiding intervj -w* when she was alone. He stepped softly now: for if any of l:er intimates were with her he did not mean to go in: and he pushed, th? d«x'r open gently and half-part«*<l the portiere b-efore be stnpp ed. -t.iriled, and -truck stone -till. Hi* mother wa* kneeling at her table, htr dark hair half-fall*n about her face, which was white in tb? moonlight that streamed over <r and shone in her uplifted eyes. To hi- amazement his mother, this woman who had valued herself for lur com-iKon-M-n- •. fvr bier clear sight, for her wit. her aggressive agnosticism, wapraying, was praying as if to a familiar friend. thing, with fears polling over htr face, help for her son’s -oul. He felt in that *wift in-tant that a -w rd pier* -d hi* heart. He dropped the curtain, and crept away a- soft’y as he had come. An«i in all the blackncs- of that night no sleep visited him. It was lai • lhe next morning when he went l*ack to hi- mother’s room. The plae? was ful‘ of sun<hine. flowers and fragrance: but a- he looked at her his mother seemed more than all the sunshim* in the world. He went to the win dow and looked up into the -pace where

the blue sky seared into infinite dis* tanve. “Mother.” he said “J have *-*«mc t*« tell you that, no matter at what -ost. from to-day 1 will never drink another drop of this accursed stuff that lias nearly broken your heart and wrought my ruin!” “Oh. Mary Bruce.” the mother wrote that night to her fri< nd. "I have had an answer to prayvr! I Ivliwe. because I have seen. BlesMtl are those who have not seen, and yet have believed But that wa- not given me. lam only the wild olive graft-1 on. 1 am in the lower order of -oul- yet.” And Mary Bruce replied: "It is not the lower ord r of *ouls that find* its way out of <larkness into light m t fnr the sake of it-elf. hut for lhe sak * of another.”