Little Fishers: and Their Nets by Pansy

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE LITTLE PICTURE MAKERS.

  AFTER Susie Decker pitched out of the window that Sabbath afternoonshe became such an object of importance that you would hardly havesupposed anything else could have happened worth mentioning; but afterthe excitement was quite over, and Susie had been cuddled and pettedand cared for more than it seemed to her she had ever been in her lifebefore, Mr. Decker, finding nothing better to do, went out and sat downon the doorstep.

  Little Sate dried her eyes and slipped away very soon after shediscovered that Susie could move, and speak, and was therefore notdead. She had wandered in search of entertainment to the yard justaround the corner, where had come but a few days before, a small boy ona visit.

  This boy, Bobby by name, finding Sunday a hard day, had finally, aftergetting into all sorts of mischief within doors, been established byan indulgent auntie in the back yard, with her apron tied around hischubby neck, to protect his new suit, with a few pieces of charcoal,and permission to draw some nice Sunday pictures on the white boards ofthe house.

  This business interested Sate, and in spite of her shyness, drew herthe other side of the high board fence which separated the neighbor'sback yard from Mr. Decker's side one.

  Just as that gentleman took his seat on the doorstep, he heard thevoices of the two children; first, Bobby's confident one, the words heused conveying all assurance of unlimited power at his command--

  "Now, what shall I make?"

  "Make," said Sate, her sweet face thrown upward in earnest thought,"make the angel who would have come for Susie if she had died just now."

  "How do you know any angel would have come for her?" asked sturdy Bobby.

  "Why, 'cause I _know_ there would. Miss Sherrill said so to-day; shetold us about that little baby that died last night; she said an angelcame after it and took it right straight up to heaven."

  "Maybe she don't know," said skeptical Bobby.

  Then did Sate's eyes flash.

  "I guess she does know, Bobby Burns, and you will be real mean, and badif you say so any more. She knows all about heaven, and angels, andeverything."

  "Does angels come after all folks that dies?"

  "I dunno; I guess so; no, I guess not. Only good folks."

  "Is Susie good?"

  "Sometimes she is," said truthful Sate, in slow, thoughtful tones, atouch of mournfulness in them that might have gone to Susie's heart hadshe heard and understood; "she gave me the biggest half of a cookie theother night. It was a _good deal_ the biggest; and she takes care of memost always; one day she took off her shoes and put them on me, becausethe stones and the rough ground hurt my feet. They hurt her feet too;they bleeded, oh! just awful, but she wouldn't let _me_ be hurt."

  "Why didn't you wear your own shoes?"

  "I didn't have any; mine all went to holes; just great big holes thatwouldn't stay on; it was before my papa got good, and he didn't buy meany shoes at all."

  "Has your papa got good?"

  "Yes," said Sate confidently, "I guess he has. My sister Nettie thinksso; and Susie does too. He don't drink bad stuff any more. It was somekind of stuff he drank that made him cross; mamma said so; and thestuff made him feel so bad that he couldn't buy shoes, nor nothing;why, sometimes, before Nettie came home, we didn't have any bread! Heisn't cross to-day, and he wasn't last night; and he bought me some newshoes--real pretty ones, and he kissed me. I love my papa when he isgood. Do you love your papa when he is good?"

  "My papa is always good," said Bobby, with that air of immensesuperiority.

  "Is he?" asked Sate, wonder and admiration in her tone. Happy Bobby,to possess a father who was always good! "Doesn't he ever drink any ofthat bad stuff?"

  "I guess he doesn't!" said indignant Bobby. "You wouldn't catch himtaking a drop of it for anything. If he was sick and was going to dieif he didn't, he says he wouldn't take it. I know all about that; thename of it is whiskey, and things; it has lots of names, but that isone of them. My father is a temperance."

  "What is that?"

  "It is a man who promises that he won't ever taste it nor touch it, nornothing, forever and ever. And he won't."

  "Oh my!" said Sate. "Then of course you love him all the time. I meanto love my papa, all the time too. I'm most sure I can. What makes youmake such a big angel? Susie isn't big; a little angel could carry her."

  "This angel isn't the one who was coming for Susie; it is the one whois going to come for my papa when he dies."

  "Oh! then will you make the one who will come for my papa? Make himvery big and strong, for my papa is a strong man, and I don't want theangel to drop him."

  Mr. Decker arose suddenly and went round to the back part of the house,and cleared his throat, and coughed, two or three times, and rubbed theback of his hand across his eyes. Had he peeped through the fence andcaught a glimpse of the angel whom Bobby made, he might not have beenso strangely touched; but the words of his little girl seemed to chokehim, and his eyes, just then, were too dim to see angels.

  He was very still all the rest of the afternoon. At the tea table hescarcely spoke, and afterwards, while Mrs. Decker and Nettie weremourning over Norm's escape, he too put on his coat, and went away downthe street.

  Mrs. Decker came to the door when she discovered it, and looked afterhim. He was still in sight, but she did not dare to call. As shelooked, she gathered up a corner of her apron and wiped her eyes.Presently she sat down on the step where he had been sitting so shorta time before, leaned her elbows on her knees, and her cheeks on herhands, and thought sad thoughts.

  She felt very much discouraged. On this first Sunday, after the newroom had been made, and new hopes excited, they had slipped away, bothNorm and her husband, to lounge in the saloon as usual, and to comehome, late at night, the worse for liquor. She knew all about it!Hadn't she been through it many times?

  The little gleam of hope which had started again, under Nettie andJerry's encouraging words and ways, died quite out. Sitting there,Mrs. Decker made up her mind once more, that there was no kind of usein working, and struggling, and trying to be somebody. She was thewife of a drunkard; and the mother of a drunkard; Norm would be that,before long. And her little girls would grow up beggars. It was almosta pity that Susie had not been killed when she fell. Why should shewant to live to be a drunkard's daughter, and a drunkard's sister? Ifthe Heaven she used to hear about when she was a little girl, was allso, why should she not long for Susie and Sate to go there? Then if shecould go away herself and leave all this misery!

  She had hurried with her dishes, she had hoped that when she was readyto sit down in the neat room with the new lamp burning brightly, hewould sit with her as he used to do on Sunday evenings long ago. Buthere she was alone, as usual. More than once that big apron which shehad not cared to take off after she found herself deserted, was made todo duty as a handkerchief and wipe away bitter tears.

  Meantime, Nettie sat in the pretty church and looked at the lovelyflowers, and listened to the wonderful singing. Miss Sherrill sang thesolo of something more beautiful than Nettie had ever even imagined."Consider the lilies how they grow." What wonderful words were these tobe sung while looking down at a great bank of lilies! It is possiblethat the singing may have been more beautiful to Nettie because her ownfingers had arranged the lilies, but it was in itself enough for anyreasonable mortal's ear, and as it rolled through the church, therewas more than one listener who thought of the angels, and wondered iftheir voices could be sweeter. Nettie's small handkerchief went to hereyes several times during the anthem; she could not have told why shecried, but the music moved her strangely. Before the anthem was fairlyconcluded there was something else to take her attention. Mrs. JobSmith in whose seat she sat, gave her arm a vigorous poke with a sharpelbow, and whispered in a voice which seemed to Nettie must have beenheard all over the church, "For the land's sake, if there ain't your pasitting down there under the gallery!"

  As soon as she dared do so, Nettie turned her head for one
swift look.Mrs. Smith _must_ be mistaken, but she would take one glance to assureherself. Certainly that was her father, sitting in almost the lastseat, leaning his head against one of the pillars, the shabbiness ofhis coat showing plainly in the bright gaslight. But Nettie did notthink of his coat. Her cheeks grew red, and her eyes filled againwith tears. It was not the music, now; it was a strange thrill ofsatisfaction, and of hope. How pleasant she had thought it would beto go to church with her father. It was one of the things she hadplanned at Auntie Marshall's; how she would perhaps take her father'sarm, being tall for her years, and Auntie Marshall said he was nota tall man, and walk to church by his side, and find the hymns forhim, and receive his fatherly smile, and when she handed him his hatafter service, perhaps he would say, "Thank you, my daughter," as shehad heard Doctor Porter say to his little girl in the seat just aheadof theirs. Nettie's hungry little heart had wanted to hear that wordapplied to herself. Now all these sweet dreams of hers seemed to havebeen ages ago; actually it felt like years since she had hoped for sucha thing, or dreamed of seeing her father in church, so swiftly had thereality crowded out her pretty dreams. Yet there he sat, listening tothe reading.

  What Nettie would have done or thought had she known that Norm andtwo friends were at that moment seated in the gallery just over herfather's head, I cannot say. On the whole, I am glad she did not knowit until church was out. Especially I am glad she did not know thatNorm giggled a good deal, and whispered more or less, and in variousways so annoyed the minister that he found it difficult to keep fromspeaking to the young men in the gallery. The fact is, he would havedone so, had he not recognized in one of them his helper of the eveningbefore, and resolved to bear his troubles patiently, in the hope thatsomething good would grow out of this unusual appearance at church.

  It would perhaps be hard work to explain what had brought Norm tochurch. A fancy perhaps for seeing how the flowers looked by thistime. A queer feeling that he was slightly connected with the churchservice for once in his life; a lingering desire to know whether in thehanging of that tallest wreath, he or the minister had been right; theyhad differed as to the distance from one arch to the other; from thegallery he was sure he could tell which had possessed the truer eye.All these motives pressed him a little. Then they were singing whenhe reached the door, and Rick had said, "Hallo! that voice sounds asthough it lived up in the sky. Who is that, do you s'pose?"

  Then Norm proud of his knowledge in the matter, explained that she wasthe minister's sister, and they said she could mimic a bird so youcouldn't tell which was which.

  "Poh!" Alf had said; he didn't believe a word of that; he should liketo see a woman who could fool him into thinking that she was a bird!but he had added, "Let's go in and hear her." And as this was what Normhad been half intending to do ever since he started from the house, heagreed to do it at once. In they slipped and half-hid themselves behindthe posts in the gallery, and behaved disreputably all the evening,more because they felt shamefaced about being there at all, and wantedto keep each other in countenance, than because they really desired todisturb the service. However, they heard a great deal.

  What do you think was the minister's text on that evening? "No drunkardshall inherit the kingdom of heaven." I shall have to tell you thatwhen he caught sight of Mr. Decker half-hidden behind his post andrecognized him as the man who was so fast growing into a drunkard, andas the man who had never been inside the church since he had been thepastor, he was sorry that his text and subject were what they werethat evening. He told himself that it was very unfortunate. That ifhe had dreamed of such a thing as having that man for a listener, hewould have told him the story of Jesus as simply and as earnestly ashe could; and not have preached a sermon that would seem to the manas a fling at himself. However, there was no help for it now; he didnot recognize Mr. Decker until he had announced his text, and fairlycommenced his sermon.

  It was a sermon for young people; it was intended to warn them againstthe first beginnings of this great sin which shut heaven away from thesinner. He need not have been troubled about not telling the story ofJesus; there was a great deal about Jesus in the sermon, as well as agreat deal about the heaven prepared for those who were willing to go.I do not know that anywhere in the church you could have found a moreattentive listener than Mr. Decker. At least one who seemed to listenmore earnestly; from the moment that the text was repeated until thegreat Bible was closed, he did not take his eyes from the minister'sface. Yet some of his words he did not hear. Some of the time Mr.Decker was hearing a little voice, very sweet, saying: "Make a verybig strong angel to come for my papa when he dies; my papa is a strongman and I don't want the angel to drop him." Poor papa! as he thoughtof it, he had to look straight before him and wink hard and fast tokeep the tears from dropping; he had no handkerchief to wipe them away.Think of an angel coming for him! "I love my papa when he is good!" thesweet voice had said. Was he ever good? Then he listened awhile to thesermon; heard the vivid description of some of the possible gloriesand joys of Heaven. Would he be likely ever to go there? Little Satethought so; she had planned for it that very afternoon. Dear littleSate who did not want the angel to drop him.

  Now it is possible that if the sermon had been about drunkards, Mr.Decker would have been vexed and would not have listened. He did notcall himself a drunkard; it is a sad and at the same time a curiousfact that he did not realize how nearly he had reached the point wherethe name would apply to him. That he drank beer, much, and often,and that he was growing more and more fond of it, and that it kepthim miserably poor, was certainly true, and there were times when herealized it; but that he was ever going to be a common drunkard androll in the gutter, and kick his wife, and seize his children by thehair, he did not for a moment believe. But the sermon was by no meansaddressed to people who were even so far on this road as he. It wasaddressed to boys, who were just beginning to like the taste of hardcider, and spruce beer, and hop bitters, and all those harmless (?)drinks which so many boys were using. It was a plain story of therapid, certain, downward journey of those who began in these simpleways. It was illustrated by certain facts which Mr. Sherrill hadpersonally known. And Mr. Decker, as he listened, owned to himself thathe knew facts which would have proved the same truth.

  Then he gave a little start and shrank farther into the shadow of thepillar. The moment he admitted that, he also admitted that he washimself in danger. What nonsense that was! Couldn't he stop drinkingthe stuff whenever he liked? "There is a time," said the minister,"when this matter is in your own hands. You have no very great tastefor the dangerous liquors, you are only using them because those withwhom you associate do so. You could give them up without much effort;but I tell you, my friends, the time comes, and to many it comes veryearly in life, when they are like slaves bound hand and foot in a habitthat they cannot break, and cannot control." Mr. Decker heard this,and something, what was it? pressed the thought home to him just then,that, if he did not belong to this last-mentioned class, neither didhe to the former. He knew it would take a good deal of effort for himto give up his beer; of course it would; else he should not be sucha fool as to keep himself and his family in poverty for the sake ofindulging it. What if he were already a slave, bound hand and foot!What if the "stuff" which Sate said made him "cross" had already madehim a drunkard! Perhaps the boys on the street called him so; thoughthey rarely saw him stagger; his staggering was nearly always doneunder cover of the night. Still, now that he was dealing honestly withhimself, he must own that it was less easy to go without his beer thanit used to be. Since Nettie had come home he had drank less of it thanusual, and by that very means he had discovered how much it meant tohim. "No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of heaven!" The minister'searnest voice repeated his text just then. Was he a drunkard? Then whatabout the strong angel? Little Sate was to be disappointed, after all!

  Oh! I am not going to try to tell you all the thoughts which passedthrough Joe Decker's mind that evening. I don't think he could tell youhimself, thoug
h he remembers the evening vividly. He stood up, duringthe closing hymn, and waited until the benediction was pronounced,and then he slipped away, swiftly; Nettie tried to get to him, butshe did not succeed, and she sorrowed over it. He stumbled alongin the darkness, moving almost as unsteadily as though he had beendrinking. The sky was thick with clouds, and he jostled against a ladyand gentleman as he crossed the street; the lady shrank away. "Who isthat?" he heard her ask; and the answer came to him distinctly: "Oh!it is old Joe Decker; he is drunk, I suppose. He generally is at thistime of night."

  Yes, there it was! he was already counted on the streets as a drunkard."No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of heaven." It was not theminister's voice this time; yet it seemed to the poor man's excitedbrain that some one repeated those words in his ears. Then he heardagain the sweet soft voice: "Make him very big and strong, for I don'twant the angel to drop him."