The Witness by Grace Livingston Hill Lutz (mobi reader android TXT) 📕

Be Afraid Of Being Misunderstood.

There Were Two Or Three Professors In The Seminary Who Struck Courtland

As Being Profoundly Spiritual And Sincere In Their Lives. They Were Old

Men,  Noted For Their Scholarship And Their Strong Faith The World Over.

They Taught As Courtland Imagined A Prophet Might Have Taught In The

Days Of The Old Testament,  With Their Ears Ever Open To See What The

Lord Would Have Them Speak To The Children Of Men. At Their Feet He Sat

And Drank In Great Draughts Of Knowledge,  Going Away Satisfied. There

Were Other Professors,  Some Of Them Brilliant In The Extreme,  Whose

Whole Attitude Toward The Bible And Christ Seemed To Have An Undertone

Of Flippancy,  And Who Fairly Delighted To Find An Unauthentic Portion

Over Which They Might Haggle Away The Precious Hours Of The Class-Room.

They Lacked The Reverent Attitude Toward Their Subject Which Only Could

Save The Higher Criticism From Being Destructive Rather Than

Constructive.

As The Year Went By He Came To Know His Fellow-Students Better,  And To

Find Among Them A Few Earnest,  Thoroughly Consecrated Fellows,  Most Of

Them Plain Men Like Burns,  Who Had Turned Aside From The World's

Allurements To Prepare Themselves To Carry The Gospel To Those Who Were

In Need. Most Of Them Were Poor Men Also,  And Of Humble Birth,  With A

Rare One Now And Then Of Brains And Family And Wealth,  Like Courtland,

To Whom God Had Come In Some Peculiar Way. These Were A Group Apart From

Others,  Whom The Rest Respected And Admired,  Yet Laughed At In A Gentle,

Humoring Sort Of Way,  As If They Wasted More Energy On Their Calling

Than There Was Any Real Need To Do. Some Of Them Were Going To Foreign

Lands When They Were Through,  Had Already Been Assigned To Their Mission

Stations,  And Were Planning With A Special View To The Needs Of The

Locality. Courtland Felt An Idler And Drone Among Them That He Did Not

Yet Know What He Was To Do.

The Men,  As They Came To Know Him Better,  Predicted Great Things For

Him: Wealthy Churches Falling At His Feet,  Brilliant Openings At His

Disposal; But Courtland Took No Part In Any Such Discussions. He Had The

Attitude Of Heart That He Was To Be Guided,  When He Was Through His

Studies,  Into The Place Where He Was Most Needed; It Mattered Not Where

So It Was The Place God Would Have Him To Be.

In February Burns Had A Farewell Service In His Church. He Had Resigned

His Pastorate And Was Going To China. Pat And Courtland Went Down To The

City To Attend The Service; And Monday Saw Him Off To San Francisco For

His Sea Voyage To China.

Courtland,  As He Stood On The Platform Watching The Train Move Away With

His Friend,  Wished He Could Be On That Train Going With Burns To China.

He Was To Take Up Burns's Work Around The Settlement And In The Factory

Section; To See Some Of His Friend's Plans Through To Completion. He Was

Almost Sorry He Had Promised. He Felt Utterly Inadequate To The

Necessity!

Spring Came,  And With It The Formal Announcement Of Tennelly's And

Gila's Engagement. Courtland And Pat Each Read It In The Papers,  But

Said Nothing Of It To Each Other. Courtland Worked The Harder These

Days.

He Tried To Plunge Into The Work And Forget Self,  And To A Certain

Extent Was Successful. He Found Plenty Of Distress And Sorrow To Stand

In Contrast With His Own; And His Hands And Heart Were Presently Full

To Overflowing.

Like The Faithful Fellow-Worker That He Was,  Pat Stuck By Him. Both

Looked Forward To The Week That Tennelly Had Promised To Spend With

Them. But Instead Of Tennelly Came A Letter. Gila's Plans Interfered And

He Could Not Come. He Wrote Joyously That He Was Sorry,  But He Couldn't

Possibly Make It. It Shone Between Every Line That Tennelly Was

Overwhelmingly Happy.

"Good Old Nelly!" Said Courtland,  With A Sigh,  Handing The Letter Over

To Pat,  For These Two Shared Everything These Days.

Courtland Stood Staring Out Of The Window At The Vista Of Roofs And Tall

Chimneys. The Blistering Summer Sun Simmered Hot And Sickening Over The

City. Red Brick And Dust And Grime Were All Around Him. His Soul Was

Weary Of The Sight And Faltered In Its Way. What Was The Use Of Living?

What?

Then Suddenly He Straightened Up And Leaned From The Window Alertly! The

Fire Alarm Was Sounding. Its Sinister Wheeze Shrilled Through The Hot

Air Tauntingly! It Sounded Again. One! Two! One! Two! Three! It Was In

The Neighborhood.

Without Waiting For A Word,  Both Men Sprang Out The Door And Down The

Stairs.

"The Whited Sepulcher," As Some Of The Bitterest Of Her Poorly Paid

Slaves Called The Model Factory,  Stood Coolly,  Insolently,  Among Her

Dirty,  Red-Brick,  Grime-Stained Neighbors; Like Some Dainty Lady

Appareled In Sheer Muslins And Jewels Appearing On The Threshold Of The

Hot Kitchen Where Her Servitors Were Sweating And Toiling To Prepare Her

A Feast.

The Luxuriant Vines Were Green And Abundant,  Creeping Coolly About The

White Walls,  Befringing The Windows Charmingly,  Laying Delicate Clinging

Fingers Even Up To The Very Eaves,  And Straying Out Over The Roof. No

Matter How Parched The Ground In The Little Parks Of The District,  No

Matter How Yellow The Leaves On The Few Stunted Trees Near By,  No Matter

How Low The City's Supply Of Water,  Nor How Many Public Fountains Had To

Be Temporarily Shut Off,  That Vine Was Always Well Watered. Its Root Lay

Deep In Soft,  Moist Earth Well Fertilized And Cared For; Its Leaves Were

Washed Anew Each Evening With Refreshing Spray From The Hose That Played

Over It. "Seems Like I'd Just Like To Lie Down There And Sleep With My

Face Clost Up To It,  All Wet And Cool-Like,  All Night!" Sighed One Poor

Little Bony Victim Of A Girl,  Scarcely More Than A Child,  As The Throng

Pressed Out The Wide Door At Six O'clock And Caught The Moist Fragrance

Of The Damp Earth And Growing Vine.

"You Look All In,  Susie!" Said Her Neighbor,  Pausing In Her Interminable

Gum-Chewing To Eye Her Friend Keenly. "Say,  You Better Go With Me To

The Movies To-Night! I Know A Nice Cool One Fer A Nickel!"

"Can't!" Sighed Susie. "'Ain't Got Ther Nickel,  And,  Besides,  I Gotta

Stay With Gran'mom While Ma Goes Up With Some Vests She's Been Makin'.

Oh,  I'm All Right! I Jus' Was Thinkin' About The Vine; It Looks So Cool

And Purty. Say,  Katie,  It's Somepin' To B'long To A Vine Like That,  Even

If We Do Have It Rotten Sometimes! Don't You Always Feel Kinda

Proud-Like When You Come In The Door,  'Most As If It Was A Palace? I

Like To Pertend It's All A Great Big House Where I Live,  And There's

Carpets And Lace Curtings To The Winders,  And A Real Gold Sofy With

Pink-Velvet Cushings! And When I Come Down And See One Of The Company's

Ottymobiles Standin' By The Curb Waitin',  I Like To Pertend It's Mine,

Only I Don't Ride 'Cause I've Been Ridin' So Much I'd _Ruther_ Walk!

Don't You Ever Do That,  Katie?"

"Not On Yer _Life_,  I Don't!" Said Katie,  With An Ugly Frown. "I Hate

The Old Dump! I Hate Every Stone In The Whole Pile! I Could Tear That

Nasty Green Vine Down An' Stamp On It. I'd Like To Strip Its Leaves Off

An' Leave It Bare. I'd Like To Turn The Hose Off And See It Dry Up An'

Be All Brown,  An' Ugly,  An' Dead. It's Stealin' The Water They Oughtta

Have Over There In The Fountain. It's Stealin' The Money They Oughtta

Pay Us Fer Our Work! It's Creepin' Round The Winders An' Eatin' Up The

Air. Didn't You Never Take Notice To How They Let It Grow Acrost The

Winders To Hide Folks From Lookin' In From The Visitor's Winders There

On The East Side? They Don't Care How It Shuts Away The Draught And

Makes It Hotter 'N A Furnace Where We Work! No,  You Silly! I Never Was

Proud To Come In That Old Marble Door! I Was Always Mad,  Away Down

Inside,  That I Had To Work Here. I Had To Go Crawlin' And Askin' Fer A

Job,  An' Take All Their Insults,  An' Be Locked In A Trap. Take It From

Me,  There's Goin' To Be Some Awful Accident Happen Here Some Day! If A

Fire Should Break Out How Many D'you S'pose Could Get Out Before They

Was Burned To A Crisp? Did You Know Them Winders Was Nailed So They

Wouldn't Go Up Any Higher 'N A Foot? Did You Know They 'Ain't Got 'Nouf

Fire-Escapes To Get Half Of Us Out Ef Anythin' Happened? Did You Never

Take Notice To The Floor Roun' Them Three Biggest Old Machines They've

Got Up On The Sixth? I Stepped Acrost There This Mornin'--Mr. Brace Sent

Me Up On A Message To The Forewoman--An' That Floor Shook Under My Feet

Like A Earthquake! Sam Warner Says The Building Ain't Half Strong Enough

Fer Them Machines,  Anyway. He Says They'd Oughtta Put 'Em Down On The

First Floor; But They Didn't Want To 'Cause They Don't Show Off Good To

Visitors,  So They Stuck 'Em Up On The Sixth,  Where They Don't Many See

'Em. But Sam Says Some Day They're Goin' To Bust Right Through The

Floor,  An' Ef They Do,  They Ain't Gonta Stop Till They Get Clear Down To

The Cellar,  An' They'll Wipe Out Everythin' In Their Way When They Go!

B'leeve Me! I Don't Wantta Be Workin' Here When That Happens!"

"_Good Night!_" Said Susie,  Turning Pale. "Them Big Machines On The

Sixth Is Right Over Where I Work On The Fifth! Say,  Katie,  Le's Ast Mr.

Brace To Put Us On The Other Side The Room! Aw,  Gee! Katie! What's The

Use O' Livin'? I'd 'Most Be Willin' To Be Dead Jest To Get Cool! Seems

Zif It's Allus Either Awful Hot Er Awful Cold!"

They Went To Their Stifling Tenements And Their Unattractive Suppers.

They Dragged Their Weary Feet Over The Hot,  Dark Pavements,  Laughing And

Talking Boisterously With Their Comrades,  Or Crowded Into Places Of

Amusement To Forget For A Little While,  Then To Creep Back To Toss The

Night Out On A Hard Cot In Breathless Air Or To Creep To Fire-Escape Or

Flat Roof For A Few Brief Hours Of