mrs. paton has been in to make another sunday visit to grandmother; she[pg 87] is an old friend and privileged to come when she chooses—and as before i had the privilege of hearing her talk.
"we are calling ourselves a christian country," she said to grandmother, "and yet we care more for pleasure than for anything else. an actress is paid more money in one month than a preacher of the gospel is paid in a year. does not that show what the people of our country care most for? going over to christianise the heathen forsooth! we are not following christ ourselves! what an example we set them! how can we expect them to think much of our religion when they see it has done so little for us?
"christianity is despised, and rightly so. it is called cant, and so it is; going around with the bible under its arm, and never obeying its precepts. we want[pg 88] more men overturning the tables of the money-changers, and upsetting the commercialism that is grinding other men down to starvation!"
dear grandmother was not argumentative, and gently assented to all her visitor was saying.
"when this country is really following christ itself," continued the visitor, "we shall see our wealthy men, instead of using their wealth to build palaces, and to minister to the pride of themselves in a thousand forms, choosing to lead the simple life, with personal expenditure cut down to a minimum, and their ability to minister to others increased to a maximum; in short we will find them following in the footsteps of their lord. man is really the richer as he decreases his wants, and increases his capacity to help."
when she rose to leave, at the end of an hour's chat, she said very solemnly to me as she held my hand in a farewell clasp:
"my dear, each man and woman is born with an aptitude to do something impossible to any other. you have an aptitude that the world has no match for. it is your aptitude for your own peculiar and immediate duty."
oh, how solemn the words look as i write them down. what can my duty be? i wonder when i am going to find out. aunt gwendolin thinks it is to sing spanish songs, i know; she firmly believes that to be my own peculiar and immediate duty. grandmother thinks it is to study the bible. and uncle theodore thinks it is to look artistically dressed. i have not come to a conclusion yet as to what i think myself.
when i get so terribly lonesome in this america that i cannot stand it any longer, i get betty to steal down my yellow silk out of the box in the attic, the one trimmed with green dragons, and i dress up in it, and put on my head the pretty embroidered band that the chinese women wear instead of the hideous hats of america, and sweep up and down the room like a peacock with a spreading tail, betty going into raptures over my appearance, sometimes laughing hysterically, and sometimes almost in tears, because they have "no such grand clothes in america." if aunt gwendolin hears a noise and comes trailing along the hall, i jump into bed and cover myself up, yellow silk and all, and betty proceeds to bathe my head for a headache—i really have one by that time.
how many foreigners they have in[pg 91] this great country, shanghai roosters, turkey hens, persian cats, arabian horses. i wonder do all those foreign creatures feel something calling them back, back to their own country?
cousin ned spends most all his time at grandmother's at present. he had his arm broken at a baseball game, and is carrying it in a sling.
