A DESIGNER ^ DAWNS AND OTHER TALES o GERTRUDE RUSSELL LEWIS Class ic) 'SS^S Copyright ]^'^_ J. COPYRIGHT DEPOSm ^7 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS AND OTHER TALES A DESIGNER OF DAWNS AND OTHER TALES Little Stories of the Here and There BY GERTRUDE RUSSELL LEWIS THE PILGRIM PRESS BOSTON CHICAGO Copyright 1917 By GERTRUDE R. LEWIS / NOV -9 1917 THE PILGRIM PRESS BOSTON © CI. A 4 7 9 .1 5 1. 1. 1. mxit All iig i'lyimtta (itt^a CONTENTS The Little Old Woman Goes There The Heaven of Mothers' Dreams The Hall of Waiting . In the Crown Room. . In the Counting Room. The Potter of Nazareth A Designer of Dawns . PAGE 3 II 23 31 37 51 65 THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN GOES THERE THE LITTLE OLD IVOMAN GOES THERE THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN WAS very ill. They told her to put her trust in God. "Has it come to that?" cried the little old woman. And she worried for fear she would be lost. "Oh dear," she sighed, "I haven't believed half enough, or done half enough. I know I shall be lost." And she died. When she came to herself, verily all was dark save the figure that awaited her. That was dark too, but with a certain sinister glow that made the black suit look as though a red lining showed through at intervals. "Just as I expected," she thought. But he looked her over and said, "I'll at- tend to you presently. I've some others to see to first; stay here till I come back." He did not stand squarely and as he moved 3 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS restlessly away he stepped with a curious syn- copated effect. "Isn't it a pity he didn't learn to toe the mark when he was young," thought the little old woman. "Now he never can." As the little old woman got her breath, she looked about her and heard sighs and tears and saw dreadful things. Near her a poor soul begged for water. "Oh dear!" sighed the little old woman, "If I am so dreadfully thirsty myself, already, what must she be? Oh dear! I am so dry! I wish I had a drink." And as she spoke, at her hand appeared a cup of water. She looked at it curiously, for it was a little old stone-china cup of her mother's that she had left at the pump for passing tramps ; it had been broken long ago. She took it up and car- ried it to the sufferer; then another and another claimed her attention and so she passed, picking her way over the baked earth, dodging little flaming crevices that appeared unexpectedly. More and more painfully she 4 THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN GOES THERE moved. "Oh dear!" she sighed, "Why didn't they put on my shoes? My feet burn so, and my stockings are all in holes, so soon. And they've buried me in my best black gown and it's charred to my knees already — if they only had thought to put in an apron. Oh, how thirsty I am!" But she held an empty cup in her hand. "If I had only one more swal- low for that poor wretch over there." And she looked regretfully into the cup. "Take this," said a voice at her side. She turned and met the gaze of a great Shining One, bearing a crystal goblet. "Drink," he said. "It is the Water of Life." "But I dare not touch that," said the little old woman, conscious of her dishevelled state. "That is for the white-robed, and my best gown is in holes and my neckerchief is gone, and they forgot to put on my new cap." "Drink," repeated the Shining One. "If you could spare me a drop for that poor thing over there," said the little old woman A DESIGNER OF DAWNS tentatively. And with that she dipped her cracked cup deep into the crystal goblet and trotted away. Back and forth she went, fill- ing her cup again and again, taking the near- est and the next in a most methodical manner. She eased this one, and relieved that one, and soon began to feel quite neighborly and at home. The Shining One watched her with reminiscent delight. He could scarcely keep pace with her. He was beginning to feel jaded and she was having a beautiful time when the Old Boy appeared again. When he saw what she was doing his lining showed through horridly. "You wicked old woman," he cried, "to take ad- vantage of me when my back is turned! What do you mean by bringing your old cup of cold water in here? You just let me get hold of you, once." "I think he looks feverish," said the little old woman. "If I could give him a drop o' water — " THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN GOES THERE "You have no business to prospect my claim,", howled the Old Boy again. "Now I've lost this great piece of property." The old woman shrank. It seemed to her as if all the scareful dreams of her childhood threatened to come true in a minute. "Oh, dear! Do you think he has come for me?" "He cannot touch you," said the Shining One. "He cannot come into Paradise." "But this is Hell," said the little old woman. At this assertion the Old Boy moved a bit closer. "Just you wait," he cried. "You are lame." She wetted a bandage. "You're on your feet too much. Just let me see a minute, perhaps I can" — but he was off. The little old woman looked about to see who might next need her. The plot where they stood seemed rather rough, like un- broken ground in a new country. She 7 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS dropped her cup, but as she stooped to re- cover it a little brook rose from it, a shim- mering rivulet fringed with daffodils. Beyond w^ere green fields and lilies, blue heavens and singing birds. "Just like my Easter card," she thought. She reached up and settled her best new cap. The Shining One smiled. He always enjoyed the new ones, and now — "This is better," said the little old woman. THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN looked abroad. A change hovered over the field of her vision, — the unkempt, unfinished acres of the Reclamation. Mists fell and lifted; mists that might once have been clouds of tears but that now were shin- ing, fruitful dews, each with its tiny bow of promise here fulfilled. Before her eyes a group of rough and broken tree trunks melted and refined into a cluster of fair birches. "Oh, did you see that?" cried the little old woman. "Do you know that first bunch looked exactly like the trees my son cut for old Mrs. Ainfield the night he was going by to the Grange and stopped and found that she was near perishing with cold." The Shining One smiled down at her in II A DESIGNER OF DAWNS his gentle, whimsical way. She was so natural. "I do love birches," continued the little old woman. "He put 'em in — ^" She discovered a flock of downy sheep feeding hard by. "Once my son found a lamb with a broken leg, abandoned by the drover. The boys were for killing it outright, but he brought it home and it thrived wonderful well. This is strange. There is so much here that I almost think I know about. What is Para- dise?" "Many things; Paradise is fruition, Para- dise is fulfilled hopes and answered prayers." And the Shining One added with meaning, "Paradise is largely made of Mothers' Dreams." "Ah," cried the little woman, radiant in an instant. "Why then — but how could you know?" I As in a flash, but without sense of motion, 12 THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS the little woman saw herself once more upon earth. A sparrow, chirping in its flight, was struck down and a lifeless bunch of feathers fell to the ground. In the same breath she was again at the side of the Shining One and he was smoothing and stroking a tiny bird. Then he placed it gently on a bough, where it balanced with his aid as if bewildered for a moment, but presently flew away in a rap- ture of melody. The little woman felt as if the scene were in some way familiar to her. "Ohl — I know now" — she exclaimed, " 'Not a sparrow — not a sparrow' — but I didn't think it meant just common, ordinary sparrows" — and she turned again to the landscape. "It is his great picture," she cried. Across an intervale of Spring's prophetic green gleamed sunlight on an open sea; a play of light and shade caught in the un- dulations of tall grasses newly grown, and near at hand a little eager brook rippled out 13 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS into the great wide water world beyond; a little brook with daffodils upon its banks; the little woman stopped and gathered some. "Little woman, do you remember how am- bitious you were for the boy, and how you worked and struggled and imbued him with your own spirit; how he toiled and hoped and poured out his very soul?" "And failed," faltered the little woman, but the gladness was in her voice still. "And do you remember the fine, firm face when he said, 'Mother, it was never meant to be. I shall only spoil a good house- painter, for that I am, and the world surely needs good house-painters.' And do you re- member how he turned his canvas to the wall and went forth as a journeyman and painted honestly, the best he could? And so he took better care of his mother as a well- paid artisan than he could as an inferior artist. And he did not let her see his dis- 14 THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS appointment, nor did she show him her grief, though it lay between them all their lives." "I was willing to do anything to have him keep on," said the little woman. "His father died when he was such a little bit of a fellow." "I am glad he did not let you. It takes a fine courage to give up," replied the Shining One, gravely. "Heaven is a growth, and when the Debatable Ground was redeemed, you know in what manner, his great land- scape was made real, not in fading colors on perishable canvas, but in this lovely heavenly vista. The Raphaels, the Miltons, the Beethovens did their noble work upon earth. Here, too, they have their honored place. But here, too, the mute inglorious poet sings, to the music of the unknown symphonist. The New Heavens and the New Earth must somehow be made. I think God left this on purpose for your son." 15 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS "Maybe He wanted it here all the time!" She cheered up greatly. "Musicians too; — then I expect Mary Ainfield is in the choir. She loved to sing, but she never could have any lessons. Perhaps we wouldn't mind so much any of the time if we knew more about it" "Or trusted more," suggested the Shining One. "It's so wonderful." Then she added, "But the boy doesn't know. Oh — I wish I were back again to tell him!" "I am afraid that would spoil it. Why not keep it for a surprise?" suggested the Shining One. "A surprise? I'd love that. When he was a little boy I had to turn every way to make a birthday for him. I always managed somehow. Do you mind if I tell you? Once I made little sacks of flour and fastened them on a card, and the little mice were of glossy brown apple seeds sewed on, i6 THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS and there was real flour coming out of the sack where one had nibbled through. Then we made a story out of it, and that was all he had." "Then why not help him with this and save it up for him?" The little woman was all energy at once. She looked at her daffodils. "I've that much toward it," she said. Again the mists swerved lightly and two Others stood beside the Shining One. "What now?" said he. "We are helping a man, faithful to his task upon earth, to the fulfilment of his heart's desire," said a friendly voice, — the voice of one who had been the master artist of the ages; a man so great of soul that he could stop upon his burdened way to match a bit of ribbon for a child. "But he is just a common painter, work- ing on a scaffold," said the little woman, drawing a little nearer to her Shining One. 17 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS "I once painted a ceiling from a scaffold,"' said the Other Shining One. "That Sistine gave me a crick that I remember to this day." He moved his head up and down reminis- cently. "Just now the man is painting under a cornice where the weather is hurting the eaves. It doesn't show and many will think it is a waste of time, but see what it will do for him here." And away from the birches fell their shadows, lying light upon the grass in luminous verisimilitude. "Fine," said the third One, whose immor- tal name was Giotto, smiling. "I could never get that effect. My shadows were always as hard as the rocks that cast them." A shaft of sunlight fell upon the sea, a bright reflection of a golden deed on earth. They all went on, the Shining Ones pointing out to her, here and there, the growing beauty of the living scene. "These young artists want to get every- i8 THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS thing into their pictures," said he who matched the ribbon, indulgently. "I think most of us dread coming here most because we are afraid we will have to stop doing things," said the little woman to her Shining One. "Do they know who my son is?" she added wistfully. ''Yes, they know and they approve; his name is set with theirs in brotherhood; for it is at the willing hands of Michelangelo himself, that your boy's dream of beauty awaits him as a bit of heaven." "I like it," said the little woman. The Shining One put out a hand — and dropped it. "She is not quite ready yet," he thought. "I wish his father were here." Her heart leaped back some five and thirty years; and then for the first time she looked up and full into the kind, quiet, familiar face of the Shining One and knew him for her Own. 19 THE HALL OF WAITING THE HALL OF WAITING A BENT OLD GARDENER STOOD at last erect, to find himself beyond the Death-gate, at the vestibule of the Hall of Waiting. How he came there he may not say, but as one sees all things through the lens of experience it seemed to him like the receiving room of a florist's warehouse. All his life-work had been based upon the promise of the seed, A butterfly alighted upon his sleeve and in contemplation he passed his finger-tips across its wing. It flew away again, untarnished. He glanced thoughtfully at his hands ; they were firm and vigorous but strangely soft and pliant now, capable of the most delicate manipulation. How often, when on earth, had he refrained from touching his favorite blooms because his hands were gnarled from 23 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS working in the earth about their roots, in the faithful ministration that had made their lovely blossoms possible. He had always longed to work among orchids, under glass. But he was only a market gardener, making food for the people, and raising for his own delight those hardier flowers that endure the open. Even to the dandelion he would say, "You're bright, and funny, but you're too selfish. If you hadn't such a deep-rooted aversion to letting other plants grow, it's right pretty you could be." Now he felt as a moth, newly freed from its chrysalis. Passing to and fro about him were folk carrying strange and curious plant growths, each encased within its shell. The Gardener was interested and drew near to ask about them. '^What are these strange seeds?" "These are souls," said One, turning pleasantly. "They have lived and blossomed 24 THE HALL OF WAITING in their way, and have been garnered. Here they come to us to await their ultimate per- fecting. But that you will perceive as you look about." And as the Gardener stood before a little wicket, through it was passed a salver on which lay many varieties of these unfamiliar objects. Gently those who served took up the delicate things. The little ones were signed, according to a token that came with them, and laid away in their tiny cases jeweled with hopes and prayers and many fond desires. The Gardener lifted one tenderly. "Then it will have its life? It was not lost?" "Its 'life'? Life is not 'lost'! Then were it not 'life.' " "I would like to see the little plant de- velop," said the Gardener wistfully. "You will. That is part of it all." The larger bulbs required discrimination, and their peculiarities were examined 25 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS closely. Some, worn and hard without, were beautiful within. Some were rich with fragrance. Others, smooth and polished out- wardly, were void and filled with dark de- cay. And one, that he laid aside with a sigh, seemed to emit a tremulous flame that played above it for a moment, and was gone. Yet even that one he did not put quite away. All of the souls lay within receptacles pre- pared for them by owners upon earth; — cases made of beliefs and unbeliefs, super- stitions, traditions, religions; sheaths rough with neglect, begrimed with ill, or bright with wholesome thought and feeling. Some were so loose that the soul grew large and spongy and lost its texture. Some were so close and cramped that the poor soul could not expand at all, and well-nigh smothered under its own spiritual bondage. The one in charge cared less for them. "I fear they are light weight," he said. "Too many of those saints were of the kind 26 THE HALL OF AVAITING that devoted their lives to their own spiritual interests alone, and spent their time and all their strength furbishing up their own souls with futile ceremonial, the while their fel- lows needed them." But they were few who satisfied their higher longings wholly with observances. With most the soul, too, had acquired finish. There were many silvery souls. The souls of old people were of the choic- est, for life had polished away all the accre- tion of vain experiment and left them with the richness of experience and freshness of the untried. They were easily made ready for their resting places. And so it was that He Who had this Care conserved each particle that he could. Sometimes he looked long, and again, upon an unhappy object, cutting unsparingly; sav- ing the least portion that had promise of life. Sometimes the Gardener's heart was wrung to see how little might be kept, 27 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS though the appearance promised greatly. He, too, had cherished each possibility in his wayward roses and had, sometimes, to see them wither; helpless to renew their lives. It was all kind, but it seemed inexor- able, too. "And are our souls so incomplete?" "They are as we make them." Then suddenly the Gardener stretched out his firm and vigorous hands, soft and pliant, now, and he cried — "Give me that soul to nourish — I must help." And He Who had this Care said, heartily, "This you surely may. And when their Time of Waiting has gone by, bring them to their development, even as you were brought but now." 28 IN THE CROWN ROOM IN THE CROWN ROOM EYOND THE HALL OF WAIT- ing was the Crown Room. There was no wall behind the rows of compart- ments within which were placed the cases with the labeled souls. So, passing about and through an archway, one who had newly come and still was strange, turned upon the reverse of this screen and found himself in a marvellous workshop. It was filled with crowns and crowns, of every sort and shape. And there, he watched the fashioning of the crowns for their respective owners. Down from the shelves were lifted the little cases, the names upon them were read and the jewels suited to them were allotted. So remarkable were the crowns that the visitor was perplexed. "How may this one be worn?" he queried, 31 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS taking up an imposing structure. It was a golden frontispiece of Library, Theological Seminary and Chapel. "How can he keep it on?" And in a vision he beheld the arisen owner, with one hand or the other, forever holding his crown upon his aristocratic head. "I do not know," said the maker, "I can find no golden band for it in his case. The golden bands are of kind deeds, the little goodnesses and charities, and he does not seem to have many." With evidence of deep re- gard the custodian took from its place a heavy band of fine workmanship. "Here is its very opposite, a crown quite unassuming. It would take a lifetime to study all of the detail. You can imagine the character of the designer." One crown, most beautiful, was perfectly plain, a small rich band with two exquisite, matched jewels. So rare and so fine was it that it made the architectural crown seem tawdry. 32 IN THE CROWN ROOM "For the mother of the Wesleys," observed the custodian quietly. There were rows of pearls, jeweled crowns, and plain heavy bands. These last were crowns of duty and courage, often worn by those who for them had sacrificed all opportunity to win the more elaborate coronets. There were high spectacular mitres of very thin gold to match the saint cases he had seen before. "Here is a diadem blazing with jewels, but this plain gold band with the one great stone made it possible, and is equally honor- able." "It looks as if men made their own crowns, too," said he who had newly come. "It seems very like it," was the response. "A little practice in wearing one's halo upon earth might save much embarrassment later." 33 IN THE COUNTING ROOM IN THE COUNTING ROOM AN ACCOUNTANT HAD OFTEN wondered how things were figured out in the great Clearing House. He had seen strange sights in the bank that he had served both long and loyally. Some of them were hard to look upon. He remembered the Receiving Teller, the man who had given him his opportunity. And how, after years of perfect confidence be- tween them, a certain uneasiness had crept into their relationship. The deposit slips came to the accountant and he duly entered them. They were correct in form and he could not tell when that lurking, horrid fear came upon him, came, yet told him naught, though it sent him home, night after night, to battle for his sleep, exhausted by terror for his friend. Until one day two men, 37 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS Strangers, had come in. They said few words. The Teller had wheeled with a gasp, it seemed almost of relief, but that he had turned so white. And as he passed none looked upon him to see his misery; though to more than one man the tears came frankly as the Teller closed the door, irrevocably, behind him. Theft was proved upon the Teller. The man "higher up" was on a cruise in the Mediterranean. There were other days when it seemed to the Accountant as if he had been go-between to much that was unseemly. Over and over again a little cobbler, his hands broken with toil, drew his last dollar, pieced it out with a bill from his pay envelope, eked that out with a few odd silver coins in a leather bag, and met his payment. And the Accountant had heard Fairlygood, the party of the sec- ond part, say, as he stripped the silver wrapper from his cigar and snapped the jeweled match box, "I didn't think the little 38 IN THE COUNTING ROOM beggar would make it this time. I wouldn't mind taking over that lot. It's next my mill, you know. Of course the house doesn't cut any figure, anyway." But after years of struggle the foreclosure came and the little cobbler lost his home. The standing of Mr. Fairlygood in the community remained irre- proachable. There were better days; many square and honorable days. But it was these hard days that the Accountant wondered about. These were the problems which, ever to the last developing new factors, remained to the end unsolvable. And then he had laid his pen upon the blotter and gone Home. It was then, because one sees all things through the lens of experience, that the Ac- countant found himself in the Counting House of Life and Death. In it busy folk made out, from files of papers, vouchers which indicated the status and equipment of 39 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS the various souls. For an account was opened with each man at his first voluntary act, and was closed upon the day of his death. And after that it was made up and a clear statement entered in a Journal. This Journal is, by name, the Book of Deeds; and in the making of this Book the Accountant saw the only semblance of arbitrary judg- ment in the Hall of the Balances of Good and Evil. The Accountant looked upon the scene and marked the Keepers of the Books. Some of the data entered were peculiar and on the face of them inconsequential. Some were of a problematical nature, as when, for instance, several motives were in- dicated. Often a close comparison of divers accounts was necessary to an adjustment; for to each soul was given his own in exactitude. Sometimes it became a case of proportion. As in the Hall of Waiting, all that was pos- sible was accredited. It was with amaze- ment that he saw at once how much and how 40 IN THE COUNTING ROOM little remained available, as factor after fac- tor was struck from the record and the equa- tion reduced to terms of permanency. The vital object of many a good-enough man's life is his business. To not a few^ the very word "success" means the shekel for the shekel's sake. In this place, the values lying not in "how much" but "how gained," it was humiliating to see the showy fortunes shrink. And under this test the shifty device of seek- ing salvation through gift made no differ- ence. For, as in the early days an imperiled fortune might be saved by gift to Caesar, so later on the Christian, doubtful of his right to certain gains, thought that he might insure them by gifts to the Deity. It was a vain imagining. The Accountant stopped and looked upon the Book. An entry newly made appeared upon its pages. It is not given that a man should look upon his friend's judgment or know his 41 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS neighbor's record. Only of those who have aided or injured him may he know their special blessing or discomfiture, that he may have assurance of the Eternal Justice. The story of the unhappy Teller came to his remembrance. And as it did so, one who seemed to be in authority came and laid an affectionate hand upon the Accountant, and greeted him. "Jimmy! I have never forgotten your face, boy, when I left the bank." It was the Teller. There was much to say. They were so engaged when the Man Higher Up, he who had been the Teller's downfall, passing, swerved as he saw them, and came to them. He spoke pleasantly, but there was an un- speakable sadness in his voice, as he dropped his head on the shoulder of the Teller. What ancient history, what story of repara- tion lay in that gesture it was not given the Accountant to know. But they stood for a moment with clasped hands; and he who 42 IN .THE COUNTING ROOM had been the Man Higher Up moved away with a friendly final word to them. The Teller turned with tears in his eyes. ''This has pulled hard on him. Oh, Jimmy! if people could only realize that the hurt of sin is that you have to wait so long before you can make it right! — He will get his release soon now." There was quiet pride in the Teller's voice. "I sign it. The Al- mighty has let me be Keeper of His books." "You have tears in your eyes." "It is a great comfort to be able to shed tears, Jimmy. There is healing in tears. I used to wish for them. I never thought there could be an adjustment of the old man's account. But thank God there is, and here the tears shall be wiped away forever, Jimmy. Forever! And the little man whose mortgage was foreclosed — ^wait till you see him! He had to take care of Fairlygood until we could arrange for him. It stings to have to accept your relief from the man you 43 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS have injured, but it did him a heaven of good." They turned again to the book. The deposit slip read: Credit Rufus Fairlygood Cash to hungry child $o.io To Hospital $100,000.00 The entry in the book read quite differ- ently. The Accountant was perplexed. The ten had become five. "You see," said One Who held the Book, "Fairlygood did but give the child the smallest piece of money he had about him, with naught of effort to relieve the lad, or to help him to his betterment. Yet he could have passed without making any gift, there- fore he is credited with a half. If he had earned the hundred thousand by honest work, leaving the world an hundred thou- sand to the good thereby, he would have been the gainer by the full amount. But 44 IN THE COUNTING ROOM Mr. Fairlygood's hundred thousand does not analyze well, and ends in a settlement quite foreign to his anticipation. For I must make the entry as it stands corrected." And to the Accountant's eye the characters ap- peared after the order familiar to his calling. Credit Hospital Fund $100,000.00 Debit; the Cobbler's fore- closure 3,500.00 Patent wrung from hun- gry and discouraged genius 20,000.00 Home that should have been given the over- worked father 5,000.00 Underpaid employees 50,000.00 Monument and advertising 10,000.00 $98,500.00 Net credit to effort and good will $1,500.00 45 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS "You see it does not show very well for him." And He who held the Book shook a wise head, sadly. "But to the others?" queried he who had been an Accountant. "To the cobbler and the overworked it will be accredited in such proportion as they had it in their hearts to do for others, had they controlled the means. Some of the rich give poorly; some of the poor give richly. Sometimes he who has known poverty, com- ing to affluence forgets the companions of his sufferings, and that is saddest of all." "The hospital was on the crown of Mr. Fairlygood?" "Truly. For Fairlygood enjoyed building the hospital. He was an average man and few there are, thank God, who are utterly hard. If he but balanced an uneasy con- science he does not profit, and the blow is keen when he audits his own account, as every man must in this place. But he was 46 IN THE COUNTING ROOM • glad about the mitigated suffering, and it saved his heart from barrenness. And none more than he regrets the lack of little kind- nesses whose absence makes his crown un- wearable." The speaker smiled sadly. "He is not alone. How many who are capable of great heroism fall before the little daily irritations. How many try to make spas- modic effort take place of patient continu- ance." "And the two hundred rolls Mrs. Fairly- good ordered the cook to make for the Hos- pital Fair?" He who held the Book lifted a smiling face. He turned a page. "The cook was tired, and it was more than should have been required of her. She did the unfair task cheerfully and the credit of the rolls goes to Mary Ann." 47 THE POTTER OF NAZARETH THE POTTER OF NAZARETH JERUSALEM HAD FALLEN AND the land lay waste and desolate. But the birth and death were there and all that lies between, with daily needs of food and shelter and covering. Little children came and watched the vil- lage potter at his task. He told them many things. He had never been in the Holy City, but his father's father, following the family calling, each year had taken down the plain brown earthenware, to offer in the marketplace. And so he told them how once when Herod was returning from Rome, the grandfather had stood afar and seen the flash of arms, and heard the sound of brazen trumpets. "And," — they all drew near, "once in the marketplace, the grandfather had met one of the kitchen slaves of the palace, who bought of him a great jar, in 51 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS which to store the snows of Lebanon, used to cool the wines for the feasts. And there, as he delivered it, the grandfather had seen a Nubian slave, a very important servant, passing with a wondrous cratera in which the wine would be mixed. Never before had he seen a vase, for the vase pertained to the royalty of his calling, the finer arts of his trade. He was never weary of describing the beautiful, flower-like 'calyx bowl.' " The family no longer made the great jars. There was now no surplus of oil or wine or olives to be stored; barely the meal and the herbs for the daily pottage of their meagre fare. But as the children hung about him, the potter told them of the great brass laver of the Temple; and made them each a tiny cup, and then, rejoicing, they ran home to show their treasures. Nothing ever came to pass in Nazareth : only great stillness and a waiting. They hardly knew for what. The ancient ob- 52 THE POTTER OF NAZARETH servances were lost. It was unaccountable; except to those who knew the Way. For many years a holy teacher had grown up in Nazareth. His followers had hoped for a successor to David. He spoke of kingdoms not of this world; kingdoms be- yond the power of Rome. He was curiously fearless in a day of bated breath. He had said, ''Render unto Caesar," as if it was but one of the many passing obligations. When ceremonial observance was most servile he had said, "The kingdom of heaven is within you." If that were so, then the place whereon they stood must be holy ground, and men still could worship, though the temple of their fathers lay in ruins. And they gathered quietly on the new strange Sabbath, no longer the hallowed seventh, but the first day of the week. So it was certain that the Laws of Moses must have been fulfilled, or broken, by their Master. Thus the faith had come to the 53 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS potter. And with it the new rule of service, that made whoever was in need, even a Samaritan, a brother. Then had come one John, and told them of this new Jerusalem; and of this same Jesus whom he had seen with his own eyes changed to the promised Christ, — upon the Mount of Transfiguration. The "Son of God" frightened the potter. He could bet- ter understand the kindly carpenter. But of course all that was long ago. And John the Leonine had gone on, leaving to them visions of might and glory, principalities and powers, and of endless hosts singing mighty Hallelujahs, unforgetable. So the feast of Herod with its breathless prodigality, the gorgeous Temple worship, with its stately ministrants and brilliant ritual, were to be but a village festival com- pared to the everlasting celebration of the Christ, the Lord of Lords and King of Kings. 54 THE POTTER OF NAZARETH The potter wished he might have seen Jesus in his humbler days. His mother had known Mary and loved her as a friend. For himself, the little potter had no wish to strive after greatness. He was surely more at home in Nazareth than in the crystal courts divine. He must be loyal where he was; for he could only follow from afar the fading footprints of Him who, he had come to be persuaded, was the Everlasting Son of God. Meantime there were his aging father and mother and the children of his brother to provide for: his wares were very plain and brought but a few farthings at best. He lived; he toiled; he loved and suffered. And so he passed; to wake again in ra- diant Paradise. He found his steps along familiar paths, and came at turn of road, to where, across the vale, all glowing in an opalescent morn, he saw the golden City of his dreams and 55 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS dread, the holy City of the apocalypse, even as John had said. Surely one must be very great to enter there. He was not disap- pointed. It could not be otherwise. Even earthly kings were always high and far away. Why then should he aspire where only Saints and Angels could prevail? Beautiful musics were in the air; now here, now there he heard them. They sounded in different keys and varied rhythms. But like the sounds in nature they did not intrude: you heard it only as you chose to be receptive to it. And as he gazed, across the plain a fan- fare of silver trumpets called; and distant voices sang: '^Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in." It was very beautiful. His heart swelled; but it did not occur to him to draw near to it. The earthly Jesus had, after all, been 56 THE POTTER OF NAZARETH of the lineage of David, while his plain folk — no, only those skilled in silver and fine brass could be of service here. Little children came about him. And presently he was busy with them, quite con- tent. And he made for them cunning little cups. While he sat with them, there came a messenger to say that he was desired to come up before the Lord. He hesitated, distressed. "I fear you do not know me. I bring no worthy gift, that I should come before the Lord. I am only a potter, and there is naught here that I could do to serve my King. I shall be greatly content if after many ages I sometime may stand afar and watch Him, as He goes up within the golden gates." But, even as he spoke they had turned to walk across the intervale; and though the road did not shorten, nor their steps seem hurried, in the instant they were at the ^1 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS gates. They entered, and presently were in one of the mighty palaces John had de- scribed in his visions of the glorious Here- after. There were many there, and they looked upon him, smiling. He felt welcomed. He looked up. But there was no king upon a golden throne. "I must wait," he thought, "until He comes in stately ceremonial, to take His royal place: that I may make to Him my obeisance." He became aware of someone standing close beside him, and the kindest voice he had ever heard spoke in his native tongue. '^ou are the potter of Nazareth? I wish that you would make for me a little brown cup, like that which stood on the shelf at the door of my Mother, Mary. There stood a large brown jar, filled with cool water from the village well. And on the shelf the jar of salt, and one of spices for the pottage, and a little one to drink from 58 THE POTTER OF NAZARETH when one thirsted in the untempered sun. I would like to drink again from a little earthen cup from Nazareth." The potter sank down, bewildered, upon the marble bench. But he saw that smiling faces were looking into his, and that no one was afraid. "It is our Father's house," the voice con- tinued, "and you must see the widow's cruse, the alabaster box, and all the treasures you will so enjoy. My friend Palissy will some time come, and Ninsei of Kioto. You may help them to work out their dreams. But find your wheel and I will come in and stand beside it as I watched your grand- father when I was a boy in Nazareth." There arose a sound of many voices sing- ing: "Glory and honor, might and power"; and a multitude of the heavenly host swept by in ordered ranks, a stately pageant. But the potter was no longer bewildered. The kind voice spoke again. "See how 59 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS the palms float backward as if along the rim of a great amphora. That is my John. He dearly loves a procession," smiling. "Do not forget my little cup." "Glory and honor, might and power!" An ineffable light encompassed the Christ, and He was gone. It was John's heaven as he had spoken it. But a little potter sat beside his wheel : and as he took up a handful of clay, he also, sang. It was his heaven, too. 60 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS A DESIGNER OF DAWNS ' JENNIE WAS THE THIRD GIRL. Mary had to have the new things, be- cause nothing made over was large enough for her. When they were out- grown, they went to Ann. When both outgrown and faded, they came to Jennie. And Jennie loved color, with an instinct as exquisite and discriminating as that of Watteau; which of course she could not know. The farm was poor, and the father, an amiable if detached parent, was not a good manager. "It doesn't pay to plant cabbages when you can get a head like this for five cents," he said. His wife acquiesced, though she would have preferred to plant the five cents worth of seed and reap a handful of nickels such as she saw in the palm of her neighbor as he made change. Came then a man with a book of pictures 'Reprinted by courtesy of The Craftsman. 63 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS of such things as never grew on sea or land : tomatoes, like the apples of Hesperides; celery, all bleached and tied in bunches; currants, like cherries; cherries, like plums. "Not a penny down. We plant and leave the trees and bushes ready to be cultivated. Of course as a matter of good faith you will sign this contract to carry out your share of the deal, but it won't require a dollar of capital, and in three years you'll be on Easy street." It was so. In three years he was on the broad and easy road to the County Farm. For there was no intent of growth in the trees — ^^they preferred to bloom in the cata- logue; and the contract amounted to a mort- gage. At least the result was the same to both parties interested. Whereupon the father died as the simplest way out of an em- barrassing situation, the mother struggled along, and the children came up any way. Jane somehow learned the use of the 64 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS needle and helped her neighbors at seventy- five cents a day. They all wore brown gingham and blue calico, with black and white for mourning. So did Jane. Jane saved samples of all the dresses she made. It was very hard to make them dififerent. Once Jane would have had a white dress. It started with Mary and got as far as Ann. Poor Ann died and they ungrudgingly buried her in it. But the high-water of color in the little hamlet was the pink sun- bonnet. When the Judge's daughter was married, Jane did the underwear and thus acquired some pretty weaves in white dimity. The Judge's daughter had also a blue print dress and a pink one, and Jane made them and saved a sample of each. The Judge's wife just swept up the rest of the pieces and put them in an ordinary rag bag, like common calico. Years slipped by, and Jane had a fall. 65 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS The result was a broken hip, and Jane had to go to the County Farm. And then Jane took to quilts. The county supplied the material. It clothed its women in brown and white gingham in winter, and blue and white calico in summer. Some of the checks were large and some were small, but the blue was never light blue. Sometimes, not often, there were stripes. In chapel she heard of saints all clothed in white. "It must be lovely," she thought, "if it wasn't for the laundering." And Jane, little and old and bent, patted out her blocks and arranged and re-arranged them, trying interminably to get variety out of the invariable. "If I only had some light patches!" The words voiced her sole wish in life, and she left blank spaces, hoping. Sometimes she took out her two samples of pink and blue, and laid them in the openings. But she did not sew them fast, for she had no others; 66 A DESIGNER OF DAWNS and it is well not to court the irrevocable. Moreover she dimly felt the lack of har- mony. There was no spirit of compromise in those poorhouse colorings. At last she became very ill, and the chap- lain came and ministered to her. She did not respond until he read to her about the saints arrayed in robes of white. Then she said something, and he asked her to repeat it. "It would be— lovely— but I'd rather have a — pink one — or a — blue one. I'd like — 'em — different." "What!" said the chaplain. But he told his wife and she understood. And so did the Angel of the Resurrection. "Pink or blue," he mused; "poor, unob- trusive soul — all her drab and dreary life she has longed for color. Now she shall have it,— a sky full of it every morning." Then he took her by the hand. "Jane, my sister, how would you like to be a Designer of Dawns?" 67