The week that followed Victoria's departure passed very dolefully for Victor. The twins had never been separated before and he did not know what to do without her. He had never been able, at least he always believed he never had been able, to endure with any patience his father's ways and yet he had never been undutiful or lacking in love towards him. With Victoria gone it was different. Victor busied himself with his music as much as possible. When Sunday came he went to the church and sang. There was an immense congregation. He was nervous and impatient all through the sermon which seemed to him longer than usual. Several times he went back into the music room behind the organ. There was a curtain behind the pulpit arranged so that a person could come in and out of the music room unperceived by the congregation. Victor did not care anything for the service except his own part in it. When at last the sermon closed and the organist began the prelude to his song he came out from the shadow of the curtain. His appearance almost provoked applause. If it had been anywhere except in church and John King's church at that, it seems almost as if he would have been cheered. His pale, finely-moulded face, the head covered with its curly black hair, the boyish yet musically mature countenance produced the impression of genius on the audience. And Victor's voice! It certainly was remarkable. John King sat with bowed head, thrilled with its tone, saying to himself, "What a power!" After the service was over he saw Victor and reminded him of the Monday night Question Class.

"Come around and join us for the evening, at any rate."

"I don't know," Victor hesitated. He was shy about going out or meeting new people. But he was lonesome and he remembered Victoria's parting words. So he promised to come and the next evening when he rang the bell at Plane Street he was ushered into a room half full of young men and women to whom John King began to introduce him.

"This is Richard Bruce, Mr. Stanwood. And here is Mr. Howard. Tom and Dick, you give Stanwood a chance to know some of the class. I have a little work to do in my study while the rest are coming in. Excuse me for a few minutes.

So Tom took Victor in hand and introduced him to several young men and women in a very informal off-hand manner. Every one was talking and laughing socially and Tom soon sat down with Victor in a corner by a table of portraits and chatted with him in his gossipy way.

"You're the new tenor at John King's church, aren't you?"

Victor nodded pleasantly.

"I heard you at the concert two weeks ago. It's a wonderful voice you have. I'd give my other hand almost to be able to sing like that." Victor noticed then that Tom's right hand was gone. He didn't know whether he ought to say anything about it but Tom frankly spoke of it.

"You see I lost this hand three years ago in a little scrimmage. Not foot ball but while engaged in the gentle business of teaching a Kindergarten school in one of John King's pet slums near Clark street. Dick was with me that night. Bruce; you know him?"

"Yes, I've heard of him. He has written several books, hasn't he? I remember seeing one of his serials in the ‘Monthly Visitor.'" Victor read very little but he had seen that particular magazine.

"Yes," replied Tom. "Dick is a rising author. It's slow work though. And there's no money in it. Now I suppose music is more-more remunerative, isn't it?" inquired Tom, with his old reporter's instinct for news.

Victor smiled. He took to Tom already because Tom appeared inclined to pump him in regard to his musical talent. And he had not the least reserve about telling how much he received for singing.

"I get fifteen dollars a Sunday now. I expect more next month."

Tom looked at him seriously and suddenly changed the conversation.

"You haven't been her before, have you?"

"No. I do not even know what it is I have come to."

"You'll find out pretty soon. John King will be down in a few moments. Don't you know any one here?"

"There's Miss Lester. I have met her at musicals. I don't see any one else. Who is the girl talking with Mr. Bruce?"

"That's Miss Kenneth. She's an artist. She illustrates magazine stories."

"Who is the young lady just beyond her, by the piano?"

"That's one of John King's cousins from the east, Mary King. She is studying medicine, I believe. That other girl just coming towards her is Miss Fergus. You were introduced to her."

"What is she? Every one here seems to belong to some art or profession," said Victor with a smile.

"Oh, Miss Fergus? She is just a society girl. She hasn't any object in life except to see how much fun she can get out of it."

Tom pulled up short and a curious look came on his face. He bit his lips and laying his hand on Victor's arm he said, "I take that back. It was an ungracious thing to say. I was guilty judging. I had no right to do it. I haven't been a Christian very long and the old Adam runs my tongue a good deal. I hope you won't remember my remark."

Victor looked and felt embarrassed. He did not know what to say. He was not a Christian himself and was not in the habit of hearing anything religious spoken in such a frank open way. Before he could say anything, Miss Fergus came across the room and straight up to Tom.

"Mr. Howard, you have been saying something about me, now honor bright, isn't that so?"

Victor expected Tom to deny it. To his astonishment Tom replied,

"Yes, I'm sorry to say I did make a remark about you that I had to apologize for to Mr. Stanwood here. You have met him?'

"Yes, but you don't tell what the remark was."

Again Victor expected Tom to say something different but Tom replied quietly, "I said that you were without any object in life except to see how much fun you could get out of it, but I had no right to say it and I apologize to you, Miss Fergus, same as I did to Mr. Stanwood."

"You don't need to apologize; it's the truth, isn't it?" Miss Fergus laughed and Victor could not detect any sign of displeasure or resentment.

"It's a great pity if it is true," said Tom seriously.

"Do you think so?" asked Miss Fergus, laughing again.

"I don't see how any person can live in these times without--"

"well, without what?" asked Miss Fergus good naturedly, as Tom hesitated for the right phrase.

"Why, without having a larger object in life that going t parties and having a good time. That's what so many girls seem to live for. They don't even deny themselves or do anything that gives them any trouble for the sake of the poor or the sick or the sinful."

"Do you know a good many girls of that kind?" Miss Fergus put the question with a quick glance at Victor to see if he was listening. Victor was listening carefully.

"No," replied Tom with a laugh. "I don't know very many. It's what I hear and see that makes me judge. But there! I ought not to judge on such superficial evidence. I don't want to get into a discussion. Miss Fergus, you accept my apology, don't you?"

"I will take it under consideration. Here comes John King. He has a object in life anyway. But we can't all be like him."

"No danger," muttered Tom as Miss Fergus moved over to another part of the room. If there was anything that Tom scorned it was a person with nothing particular in the world to do except dress and have a good time. Victor remembered the little scene long afterwards when other events gave it larger meaning.

As the preacher came into the room he called out good humouredly, but strongly. "Eight o'clock. Time for business."

The laugh and chatter ceased and everyone sat down. John King produced a box which he opened and took out one at a time slips of paper with questions written on them.

The plan of the Question Class was something like this. At each meeting the members of the class handed in written questions which were answered at the next meeting a week later. The largest liberty was granted in the matter of questions. All sorts of subjects were taker up. Questions on politics, society, history, language, literature, science, local affairs, moral perplexities, in short, anything of real interest in human life especially when the thing in question was conduct or action for right or wrong. Most of the class were older that Victor. The questions were those which young men and women from nineteen to twenty-four might easily ask. The class had been started by John King as an experiment. He found the interest in it grew as years went on and the value of it was very great to certain minds. There were a few simple rules regulating the details of the class. Each member was allowed to ask but one question a week. That must be written out and left at John King's until the next meeting. This gave him a opportunity to look them over. The writer of each question signed his or her name but it was very seldom revealed by the preacher when the answer was given.

The list of questions this evening covered a wide range of subjects. Some were literary, some scientific, one or two political, but it was noticeable that most of them were related to conduct. After all, the class had learned that the most real help came to them along that line. We will listen with Victor to some of the questions and answers as John King takes them out of the box and reads. He sat down, talking informally as at a gathering where all were entirely at home for mutual help.

"Is it possible to be equally good at all times and in all places?" I mean by my question this. Is it meant that we shall be in the same state of mind while buying and selling goods ar carrying on the details of a profession as while offering a prayer or teaching a Sunday School Class?"

John King looked around and smiled in the direction of the author of the question and the Class came very near guessing who he was, although there were half a dozen members who might have asked it.

"There is a verse in the New Testament the covers the answer to this question. It is this; ‘Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.' That is very plain. That covers buying and selling and trades and professions and politics and home life and society and everything. It is no doubt harder to feel good and devout and prayerful in the world rubbing up against sinful people and all sorts of dishonesty and hypocrisy than while sitting in a prayer meeting, in a church service, or teaching a Sunday School class. But because a thing is hard is no sign that it cannot be done and no excuse why it should not be done. The growth of character is a conflict. If it was all easy and no fight at all there would be no such thing as overcoming. And the Bible has a great deal to say about overcoming. This question is one which at the present time raises a great deal of discussion. There are some men who say religion has no politics, that you cannot mix business and religion, that the only way to do is to let religion work in its place and politics and business work in their place. Then there is no trouble and everything goes along lovely. Remember that is what the politicians and the men of the world want. They do not want the moral element introduced into their selfish schemes for making money or hating their enemy or rising to power over the ruins of the weaker. But this is the very essence of Christianity, that it stamps every act and every profession and every detail of government with the command 'Do all the glory of God.'

"Yes, I answer this question by saying it is possible to be equally good at all times, in all places, in all professions that are honest, in all trades that are honorable. And it is the teaching of Christ that we should be doing everything to His glory whether we teach a Sunday School class or conduct a lawsuit, collect a bill or cook a dinner or preach a sermon or pray by the side of the dying or learn a hundred lines of Virgil or Ovid. Whatsoever we do, we are to do all to the glory of God. It will require a great deal of prayer and talking with God and study of his truth and keeping very close to the divine all the time. Indeed that is the only way the higher life can be lived. Don't forget the words of Christ, ‘ In the world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer I have overcome the world.' And as He overcame, so can we, and glorify the Father in heaven with every breath we draw, with every deed we do."

Question. "I have been praying for several weeks for a certain thing. It has not been given me. What shall I do? Stop praying because I have not received what I pray for, or keep on asking until I get it?"

"That depends on what the thing is. And also on what you want it for. If you had stated what it was-" A voice from a girl in the corner of the room at John King's left called out, "It's a piano!" There was a laugh but John King sat with unmoved face as he turned in the direction of the speaker who in her absorption with her thought had betrayed the authorship of the question. She was one of the youngest persons in the class and one of the poorest.

"Grace," said John King, "How long have you been praying for a piano?"

"About two months. I've wanted one for two years but never prayed for one until lately."

"How do you pray? I mean what words do you use?"

"Why, I say every night and every morning ‘Dear Lord, I want a piano the worst kind. Won't you put it into the heart of some one to give me one or else help me to make enough money to buy one?'"

The Class laughed again but John King's face was sober.

"If some one should give you a piano, would you consider that God had answered your prayer?"

"Of course. But I haven't the least idea that any one will."

This time John King smiled a little. "Grace, what would you do with a piano if you did get one?"

Grace opened her eyes at the simple question.

"Why, play on it of course. I'm just aching for a chance to catch up with the girls who take music at the Conservatory. But I can't do a thing without practice and I can't get anything to play on but old Mrs. Wilson's tin pan of an instrument that was made over a hundred years ago. And there are girls in the Conservatory who have every chance in the world with all the best instruments and they don't seem to care anything about the privilege." Poor Grace was pouring out her trouble regardless of the class, some of whom laughed while others felt sorry for the frank impulsive confession of poverty.

John King was silent a minute. Then he said slowly;

"You have a perfect right to pray for the piano if you pray in the right spirit. But you have no right to think God does not hear you or care for your happiness if you don't get a piano. Perhaps there are other things more necessary for you than a piano. If you want it simply to become a better player that other girls, or to grow proud over your musical ability it would be a mercy if you never had your prayer answered literally. I should answer your question by saying, No, don't stop praying, but ask yourself are you praying aright? In the right spirit. There is no promise in God's word that we shall get everything we ask for no matter how we ask for it. That is not the definition of prayer. A great many people think prayer is asking God for anything. That is not the teaching about prayer at all. We must never forget that every true prayer contains this sentence; 'Thy will be done.' Without that spirit of loving surrender to the will of our heavenly Father all our petitions to Him are powerless. True prayer is always 'Thy will be done.'"

Question. -- "I have a boy in my Sunday School class who I have lately discovered is beginning to read trashy books and stories. I have tried to get him interested in Scott and Cooper and Trowbridge. But he does not seem to care for any of those works. How can I get him to read good books?"

"Make him a present of a set of Trowbridge's stories for boys. Or make him subscriber for a year to some good magazine like St Nicholas or Harper's Young People. Unless the boy is thoroughly bad in heart he will read what you give him in that way. Have a talk with the boy's mother and father. It is astonishing how some fathers neglect their boys in matters like these. The taste for reading which the boy acquires may determine his whole after life. Yet I have known parents who let their boys read anything that came into the house, even the political daily papers," John King added with a glance at Tom. "There is this about it. Always love the boy and believe in getting hold of him. A good boys go through a fit of reading dime novels and bloody stories about Indians and pirates and howling savages and burglars and detectives and all that tribe. It is a sort of boys' story-book-disease like measles and croup and chicken pox. I had it myself when I was a boy. Large doses of Scott and Dickens and Cooper and Victor Hugo cured me. Pray for your boy. Talk with him about good heroes of the world. Oh, there are a thousand things to do to win him to the better things of life and then ask God for wisdom to do the best thing yourself."

Question.-- "How can a person best overcome the habit of saying unkind things of other people?"

"By not saying them. That is one way. Another way would be to apologize every time to the person who was hurt by the unkind saying. Very many people try to overcome some bad habit without thinking of the other people who are being hurt by it. They keep thinking all the time about themselves and how they can correct the habit all by themselves. The thought of the great harm done to others by evil habits ought to act as a powerful impulse to correct bad habits. I knew a man who once cured himself of the habit of swearing by asking a man who worked in the same carpenter shop with him to hit him a smart blow over the knuckles with a foot ruler every time he spoke a hasty oath. At first there was almost a riot in the shop, for the man was mad at being hit, but his companion always shouted, "You made me promise to do it.' And it cured him in time. What you need, however, is more divine help: You can't cure yourself of any fixed evil habit by your human power alone. What is the use of shutting God out any way, when you might just as well have his help in everything?"

Question.-- "What would you advise a young man to do who feels himself falling in love with a nice girl and yet knows that it will be several years before he will be able financially to have a home of his own?"

There was a sensation all through the class as John King read this very frankly worded question and a little laugh which ceased the minute John King began to speak. "Falling in love, young people, is just as much a part of human life as learning to talk or coming of age. It has always been so and will continue to be. I can't preach on this to-night; the subject is too large to discuss briefly, but I will say this in answer. It is easy to give advice, but there is no form of advice that is the same for all young men who feel themselves falling in love except this: if it is ever important that you do and be everything that is noble and true and manly and Christian it is when you begin to feel attached to some ‘nice girl,' as our friend in his question calls her. Regulate your conduct at such a time, young men, by the highest, most thoughtful, most exalted rule of action. Perhaps your circumstances are such that you have no right to fall in love. There is also a sentiment, foolishly weak and sometimes wicked, yielding to passion, that deserves the righteous scorn and indignation of every man who has a particle of manhood in him. Some young men fall in love very easily and there is nothing very sacred in it to them. But let me tell you, dear young people, when you meet the ‘nice girl' as the question puts it, who is all the world to you, for whom you feel able to do or be anything great, it will mean all the world to your happiness and manhood all through life if you are able to pray with one noble soul I once knew, -"Gracious God, consecrate this great experience to me that from this might happiness I may become a nobler man, a better child of thine, a greater servant of the race.'

"It is hard for me to answer such a question as this. But there are always certain rules of conduct which never change. We never ought to place ourselves or others in positions where pain and sorrow and disappointment will result from a failure to check desires or emotions which under different circumstances would be entirely right and proper. In the light of truth and honor and nobility and everything else that is good, every young man must act in this, as in every other important experience of life and in this special experience, with even more that usual thoughtfulness and search for the divine wisdom. I have known happy marriages result after very brief engagements. There is no cast iron rule. There is only the eternal law of righteousness in all of life. It is because love and the period of love between young men and women has too often been held and treated lightly and jestingly, and without seriousness as a beautifully sacred event, that so much misery has come from the imitation of true love. True love always results in happiness. For it is always the reflection of the divine being. For God Himself is love. That is the best definition we have of Deity.

Question.-- "Do you think there is any harm in a young man smoking a good cigarette?"

"I never heard of a good cigarette."

Question.-- "What are the worst faults in the young men of this age?"

"Now that," said John King with a twinkle of his eyes, "is evidently a one sided question and I do not think it is fair to answer it and not say anything about the faults of young women. So we will pass it by."

Question.-- "What does the world need to-day more than anything else?"

"Now here is a good one to close with to-night. The world needs to-day more than anything else, men and women who love truth and hate falsehood. Young men and women who have a purpose in life and are not ashamed of it. Men and women who live so that the generation that comes after may bless and not curse, honor and not despise. What the world needs in this age is goodness that has an every-day market value to it. Yes, the world may seem to need very many things, but the first and greatest is manhood and womanhood that is pure and unselfish and large-hearted. Free from narrow prejudice and miserable hypocrisy. Ablaze with enthusiasm for the right, indignant with virtue at the wrong. Such manhood and woman hood as grows up out of knowledge of God and faith in the unseen and eternal things of god, faith in mother's prayers and in all holy desires and noble aspirations to bless the world. That's what the old world needs to-day more than anything else."

John king closed suddenly, and offered a short prayer as he sat in the hush that followed, and after a brief social time the class went away.

As Tom stood by the door, he overheard Miss Fergus asking Grace to come over and play her piano any time she wanted to. He did not hear Grace's reply but thought from Miss Fergus' manner that her offer had not been accepted. "It was thoughtful in her to make the offer anyway," Tom said to himself and he again took himself to task for his snap judgment of people's characters.

Victor went home very little impressed by anything he had heard. He enjoyed the admiration he had received from those who had heard him sing, but nothing had been said or done that interested him very much. The truth was he did not care much for other people. He lived in his music. The brief quarter of an hour when he stood up in the church and sang, was the one great event of the entire week now. A month went by and he did not go to John King's house again. King invited him heartily the first week after he failed to appear and then did not ask him again. Victor felt hurt by his silence, although he had purposely stayed away. He also felt a strange sort of anger against King because he had never said a word in compliment of his singing. It seemed to him that there lay behind the silence on the part of the preacher, a reason that he did not want Victor to know. He fretted over it a good deal, not knowing anything of John King's conception of every part of the church service to glorify God and humble man. To Victor's mind the song service was the occasion for all the glorification he could get out of it. He lived on the thought of the emotion his voice could provoke in the people.

Meanwhile as days went by he had heard from Victoria. Not often, for she was living too intense and broken a life to write much. One of her letters about a month after her departure throws light on her career at that time.

Dear Vic:

Played last night in M. to a great audience. Very enthusiastic and I was recalled three times. It was very late when we closed. If it was not for my perfect health I could not endure such a life as I have had to live these last three weeks. We travel of course very much at night and I am broken of my rest. The seventy-five dollars is pretty well eaten into, what with hotels and travel and dress and all. I send you thirty-five dollars. Father said something in his last letter about the added expenses since I left. I hope, dear Vic, you will manage matters for him in a thoughtful, business-like way. You know he has no idea of the value of money. I do enjoy my life very much, after all. The public is kind and I have made friends with most of the company. Madam Rene and myself are quite congenial to each other. There are many little annoyances of course, and sometimes I grow homesick for you and the old life. There is much that is seemingly artificial in this strange life. I think of you as making great progress with your voice. I hope you are getting a great deal from John King's friendship. Don't forget to write to me all about the Question Class. Your loving sister, Victoria.

A month after the date of this letter Victoria was surprised to receive from Victor a short letter which read as follows:

Dear Vi:

I write to tell you that father has been ill again for a week. Nothing dangerous. But it has been an expensive illness and what with one thing and another, money has run short. The $35 was very acceptable. If you could send me a little more very soon it would be a great help. I think if the church people do not offer me more pay at the end of my contract I shall leave. I have had an offer from the chorister of the Cathedral at ST. Mark's Ave., and I am considering it. Don't worry about father. If you could send the money soon it would be a great help. Don't work too hard and get sick. Lovingly, Victor.

There were several things in this letter that puzzled Victoria. How an illness of a week could be very expensive she did not see. And she did not realize how Victor could use so much money for household expenses. He was getting fifteen dollars a week. The father was earning eight or ten dollars more and she had sent on nearly seventy-five dollars since she left home. They had always lived simply and she could not account for the increased expenditure except by supposing that Victor in his vanity of appearance had gone to a great outlay in the matter of clothes and especially of neckties, of which even in the old times he would get an unheard of quantity. She sighed as she thought of the money and then she reproached herself for being selfish and lovingly thought of Victor with much pride at his success. He had sent her some papers containing favorable notices of his singing and she had treasured them among her few letters. She replied to his letter the next day, sending him every cent she could spare from her immediate needs and cautioning him lovingly about unnecessary expenditure.

Another month went by. And the last Sunday of Victor's engagement at John King's church was near at hand. The musical committee had tried to make arrangements with him to continue. He had asked for time to consider and had promised to give an answer on Saturday of that week. In the afternoon, one of the committee called by arrangement but Victor was not in and had not left any word. He did not appear all the afternoon and by ten o'clock at night had not come back to the house.

It was a little after 9 o'clock that same evening that Tom Howard, walking past John King's house, saw a light burning up in the pastor's study. He walked past the house and slowly came back, hesitated a moment at the foot of the steps, then went up and rang the bell and inquired of the servant if he could see John King a few minutes.

The preacher heard his voice and came to the top of the landing.

"Come up, Tom, come up. I've got a plate of apples and some hickory nuts and we'll sit by the fire and discuss everything but politics."

Tom came up and sat down in front of the open grate fire but refused the proffered refreshment.

"What's the matter, Tom? Been stumbling over your tongue some more?"

"No," replied Tom with a faint smile. "this isn't my trouble, and I don't know as I ought to bring it to you. You have your share of burden bearing."

"Always room for one more. What is it, Tom?"

"Well, I feel as if you ought to know it. I was going by one of the Clark Street gambling house dens to-night and I saw young Victor Stanwood going in. Some one ought to know. His sister's out on the road with Minett's Company. I couldn't think of any one except you--and--"

Tom paused in great distress at the change that came over King's face and manner. He asked a few questions in a low voice and after a little, Tom went down.

When he was gone, John King kneeled down and buried his head in the couch that stood in front of the fire. He knelt there until his lamp went out and the fire died down to a quiet bed of coals. When the clock in the church steeple struck twelve he was still there in the same position.

At the moment John King kneeled in his study with the burden of another soul on his heart, bearing it up before the great loving Father, asking for wisdom to act aright for its salvation, at that very moment in another city two hundred miles away, a slight determined figure came upon the stage and faced an immense audience of people as she raised her violin and drew the bow across it to play Calovini's Angel's Prayer. As she touched the strings with the first movement of the music so pianissimo, so ecstatically, the people sat hushed in breathless quiet while a feeling of strange sadness stole into their hearts. They had never heard the violin played like that before. It was almost as if the sweet gentle rush of the angel's wings had been heard, as he folded them and knelt to pray the prayer of one who pleads with tears for eternal life, not for himself, but for a poor, lost, sinning human soul.

~ end of chapter 3 ~