Barriers Burned Away

by Edward Payson Roe

  CHAPTER VII

  A GOOD SAMARITAN

  Dennis was too good a Christian, and had received too deep a lessonin his father's case, to become bitter, angry, and defiant, even ifhe had believed that God was against him. He would have felt that itwas simply his duty to submit--to endure patiently. Somehow Untilto-day his heart had refused to believe that God could be against anyof His creatures. In fact, it was his general impression that God hadeverything to do with his being a good Christian, but very little withhis getting a good place. The defect in his religion, and that of hismother, too, was that both separated the spiritual life of the soultoo widely from the present life with its material, yet essential,cares and needs. At this point they, like multitudes of others, fellshort of their full privilege, and enjoyment of God's goodness. Hismother had cheered and sustained her hard lot by hopes and visions ofthe better life beyond--by anticipating joys to come. She had neverfully learned how God's love, like the sunlight, could shine upon andbrighten the thorny, rocky way, and cause the thorns to blossom, anddelicate fragrant flowers to grow in the crevices and bloom in shadednooks among the sharp stones. She must wait for her consolation. Shemust look out of her darkness to the light that shone through theportals of the tomb, forgetting that God caused His servants to singat midnight, in the inner prison, the deepest dungeon, though scourgedand bleeding.

  Unconsciously her son had imbibed the same ideas.

  Most devoutly he asked every day to be kept from sin, that he mightgrow in the Christian life; but he did not ask or expect, save in avague, general way, that help which a wise, good, earthly father wouldgive to a young, inexperienced child, struggling with the hard,practical difficulties of this world. As the days grew darker and morefull of disappointment, he had asked with increasing earnestness thathe might be kept from sin--from falling before the many and peculiartemptations that assailed him; and we have seen how God answered hisprayer, and kept him where so many would have fallen. But God meantto show him that His goodness extended further than he thought, andthat He cared for His children's well-being now as truly as in thehereafter, when He gathered them home into His immediate presence. ButDennis could not see this now. As far as he thought at all on thesubject, he had the vague feeling that God was either trying his faithor meting out some righteous judgment, and he must do the best hecould, and only see to it that he did not sin and give way morally.

  Yet, in the thick night of his earthly prospects, Dennis still lovedand trusted God. He reasoned justly, that if at last brought to sucha place as heaven, no matter what he suffered here, he had only causefor unbounded gratitude. And he felt sure that all would be right inthe end, but now feared that his life would be like his father's, atissue of disappointments, and that he, an unsuccessful voyager,storm-tossed and shipwrecked, would be thrown upon the heavenly shoreby some dark-crested billow of misfortune.

  Thus Dennis sat lost in gloomy musings, but too wearied in mind andbody to follow any line of thought long. A few stern facts kept loomingup before him, like rocks on which a ship is drifting. He had lessthan a dollar in his pocket. It was Friday night. If he did not getanything to do on Saturday, how was he going to live through Sundayand the days that followed? Then his dependent mother and sisters roseup before him. They seemed to his morbid fancy hungry and cold, andtheir famine-pinched faces full of reproach. His head bowed lower, andhe became the very picture of dejection.

  He was startled by a big, hearty voice at his side, exclaiming: "Whatmakes yer so down in the mouth? Come, take a drink, and cheer up!"

  Raising his eyes, he saw a round, red face, like a harvest moon, shiningfull upon him. It was somewhat kindly in its expression, in keepingwith the words. Rough as was the courtesy, it went straight to thelonely, discouraged heart of the young man, and with moistened eyeshe said, "I thank you for speaking to me in a tone that has a littlehuman touch in it, for the last man that spoke to me left an echo inmy ear that I would gladly get out of it."

  "Bad luck to him, then! Give us yer hand; there!" with a grip like avise. "Bill Cronk never went back on a man he took to. I tell yer what,stranger," said he, becoming confidential, "when I saw yer gloweringand blinking here in the corner as if yer was listening to yer ownfuneral sermon, I be ---- if I could take a comfortable drink. Come,now, take a good swig of old rye, and see how things will mellow up."

  Our good Samaritan in this case was a very profane and disreputableone, as many are in this medley world. He had a great, kindly nature,that was crawling and grovelling in all sorts of low, unseemly places,instead of growing straight up toward heaven.

  "I hope you will think me none the less friendly if I decline," saidDennis. "I would drink with you as quick as with any man living, butit is a thing I never do."

  "Oh, you're temperance, are yer? Well, I don't think none the wuss ofyer for standing by yer colors. Between us, it would be better for meif I was a little more so. Hang it all! I take a drop too much now andthen. But what is a fellow to do, roughing it up and down the worldlike me? I should often get lonely and mope in the corner as you did,if I didn't get up steam. When I am down in the mouth I take a drinkto 'liven me up, and when I feel good I take a drink to make me feelbetter. When I wouldn't take a drink on my own hook, I meet somebodythat I'd ought to drink with. It is astonishing how many occasionsthere are to drink, 'specially when a man's travelling, like me."

  "No fear but what the devil will make occasions enough," said Dennis.

  "What has the devil got to do with it?" asked the man, gruffly.

  Just then the miserable wretch entered who, appearing opportunely inGavin's Hotel, had cured Dennis of his desire to drink, when weary anddespondent, for the sake of the effects. For a moment they looked atthe blear-eyed, trembling wreck of a man, and then Dennis asked, "HadGod any hand in making that man what he is?"

  "I should say not," said Bill Cronk, emphatically.

  "Well, I should say the devil had," said Dennis; "and there behind thebar are the means used--the best tool he has, it seems to me; for withit he gets hold of men with some heart and soul in them, like you."

  The man winced under the words that both conscience and experiencetold him were true; at the same time he was propitiated by Dennis'sgood opinion of him. He gave a big, good-natured laugh, slapped Dennison the shoulder, and said: "Wal, stranger, p'raps you're right. 'Tain'tevery temperance lecturer though that has an awful example come injust at the right time so slick. But you've stood by yer colors, andwe won't quarrel. Tell us, now, if it ain't private, what you're sochopfallen about."

  Dennis told his story, as grateful for this rough sympathy as a thirstytraveller would be in finding a spring though surrounded by thorns androcks.

  The round, jolly face actually grew long and serious through interestin the young man's tribulations.

  After scratching a shaggy but practical head for a few moments, Billspoke as follows:

  "Seems to me the case is just this: here you are, a young blooded colt,not broken to either saddle or thills--here you are whinnying around amarket where they want nothing but dray-hosses. People look shy atyou--usually do at a strange hoss. Few know good p'ints when they see'em. When they find you ain't broke in to nothin', they want you towork for nothin'. I see how you can't do this. And yet fodder is runnin'short, and you must do somethin'."

  Bill, having dealt in live-stock all his life, naturally clothed histhoughts in language drawn from familiar objects, and Dennis, miserableas he was, half smiled at the close parallel run between him and ayoung, useless colt; but he only said, "I don't think there is acart-horse in all Chicago that feels more broken down and dispiritedthan I do to-night."

  "That may all be, too," said Bill; "but you'd feel a little oats mightyquick, and a cart-hoss wouldn't. But I know the p'ints, whether it'sa man or a hoss; you'd take kindly to work of the right sort, and itwould pay any one to take you at yer own terms, but you can't make 'emsee it. If I was in a situation to take you, I'd do it in a minute.Hang it all! I can't do much for you
, either. I took a drop too muchin Cleveland t'other night, and some of the folks in the house lookedover my pocket-book and left me just enough to get home with."

  Dennis shook his head reproachfully and was about to speak.

  "I know what you're going to say," said Bill, heading off anothertemperance lecture. "I'll take a drink by and by, and think over whatyou've said, for I can't think much until I get a little steam up. Butnow we must try and see some way out of the fog for you;" and againin absence of the wonted steam he scratched the shaggy head vigorously.

  "Seems to me the best thing for you is to do as I did when I firstbroke the home pasture and started out on a rampage. I just grabbedthe fust job that come along, good, bad, or indifferent--always keptdoing something. You can look for a bird in the bush quite well whenyou've got one in the hand as when you hain't. To be sure I wasn't assqueamish as you are. I'd jumped at the offer you had this afternoon;but I reckon I'd taken toll too often to be very profitable. But inthis way I always kept a-goin'--never got down underfoot so the strongerones could tread on me. When it comes to that, I want to die. Now ifyou've got plenty of clear grit--Leetle disposed to show the whitefeather though, to-night, ain't yer?"

  Dennis flushed up, and was about to speak, almost angrily.

  "There! there!" said his new friend. "I said yer wasn't a cart-hoss:one touch of the spur and up goes tail and ears, and then look out.Are yer ashamed to do any kind of honest work? I mean kinder piouswork, that hasn't any smack of the devil you're so afraid of in it?"

  "No! work is just what I want."

  "Would you black boots, now?"

  Dennis winced, thought a moment, and then, with a manly flush, said,"Yes, before I would take a cent of charity from any living soul."

  "Give us yer hand again. You're the kind of critter I like to investin; for you'd improve on a feller's hands. No fear about you; the onlything is to get you in harness before a load that will pay to haul."

  Suddenly he got up, strode to the bar-room door, looked out into thenight, and came back again.

  "I think I know of a way in which you can make two or three dollarsto-morrow."

  "How?" exclaimed Dennis, his whole face lighting up with hope.

  "Go to a hardware store, invest in a big wooden snow-shovel, and cleanoff sidewalks before stores. You can pick up a good many quartersbefore night, like enough."

  "I will do it," said Dennis, heartily, "and thank you warmly for thesuggestion, and for your kindly interest generally," and he looked upand felt himself another man.

  "Gosh! but it takes mighty few oats to set you up! But come, and letus have a little plain, substantial fodder. I will drink nothing butcoffee, to-night, out of compliment to you."

  Cheered, comforted, and hopeful, Dennis sat down with his goodSamaritan, and made a hearty supper, after which they parted with astrong friendly grip, and sincere good wishes, Cronk, the drover, goingon further west, and Dennis to the rest he so sorely needed.