The Angel of His Presence (3 page)

IT was Margaret Manning's suggestion that it
should be presented
quietly. Some of the others were disappointed. Mrs. Ketchum was one of the most irate about it.

"The idea!
After the school has raked and scraped together the
money, that
they should not have the pleasure of seeing it presented!
It's
a shame! Margaret Manning
has some of the most backwoods
notions I ever heard of. It
isn't
doing things up right at all. There ought to be a speech from someone who knows how to say the right thing; my husband could have done it, and would if
he'd
been asked.
But
no, Margaret Manning says it must be hung on his wall,
and so there it hangs, and none of us to get the benefit. I declare it is a shame! I wish I had refused to serve on that committee. I hate to have my name mixed up in it the way things ha
ve gone."
So
said Mrs. Ketchum
as she
sat back in her dim and fashion
able parlor and sighed.

But
the seven boys ruled things, and they ruled them in the way Miss Manning suggested. Moreover, Mrs. Brown and Mr. Talcut
had gone over to the enemy com
pletely since the purchase, the enemy being Miss Manning. Mr. Talcut rubbed his hands admiringly, and said Miss Manning was an exceedingly shrewd young woman, that she ha
d an eye for business. That pic
ture was the best bargain in that whole store.

But
Margaret went on her way serenely, not knowing her power nor enjoying her triumph. Nevertheless, she was pleased in her heart with the picture, and she thought that her
seven boys had been the true se
lectors of it. She wrote in her fine, even hand, that wa
s like her in its lovely dainti
ness, the words the committee told her to write—which she had suggested—on a white card to accompany the picture. It
read, "To our beloved superintendent, with a joyous welcome home, from the entire school of the Forest Hill Mission."

The Stanley home stood in fine, large grounds, with turf smooth as velvet and grand old forest trees all about. The house was large, old-fashioned, and ugly, but the rooms were magnificent in size, and filled with all the comforts money could buy. On one side, jus
t off the large library and con
nected with the hall, had
been built an addi
tion, a beautiful modern room filled with nooks and corners and unexpected
bay windows
, which afforded views in at least three directions because of the peculiar angles at which they were set. In one corner was a carved oak spiral staircase by which one could ascend to the airy sleeping room overhead if he did not choose to go through the hall and ascend the common stair. One side of the room and various other unexpected bits of wall
were turned
into bookcases sunk in the masonry and covered by glazed doors. The bay window seats
were heavily upholstered
in leather, and so were all the chairs and the luxurious couch.
Nearly one entire end of the room was filled by the great fireplace, the tiling
of which had been especially designed for it
. In a niche b
uilt for it with a fine arrange
ment for light, both by day or night, stood a large desk. It was a model working room for a
gentleman
.
And
this addition
had been built by the senior Mr. Stanley for his son when he should return to take up the practical work of architecture, for which he had been preparing himself for some years.

It was here that the great picture
was brought and hung over the fireplace, where it could look down upon the entire room
. It
was hun
g
just the day before John Went
worth Sta
nley's man arrived with his mas
ter's goods and chattels and began to unpack and dispose things according to his best judgment.

John Stanley's mother had come in to superintend the hanging of the picture and had looked at it a long time when she was left
alone,
and finally had knelt shyly be
side the great new leather chair and offered a silent little prayer for the homecoming son. She was an undemonstrative woman, and this act seemed rather theatrical when she thought of
it afterward. What if a ser
vant had opened the door and seen her!
Nevertheless
she felt glad she had dedicated the room, and she was glad that the picture w
as what it was. With that Ketch
um woman on the
committee
she had feared what the result might be when the scheme
had been whispered to her. Some
body must have fine taste. Perhaps
it was that dainty, lily-faced young girl who
seemed to
be so interested in John's Sun
day school class. Mrs. Stanley was busy in her home world and did not go into church work much. She was getting old and her children and grandchildren were all about her, absorbing her time and thought.

The man came in from the piazza that surrounded the bay window and reached around to the long French window at the side, where he had been unpacking a box. He placed a silver-mounted smoking set on a small mahogany table. Then he stood back to survey the effect. Presently he came in with some fine cut glass, a small decanter heavily mounted in silver and glasses to match. He went out and came back with their tr
ay. Having dusted them off care
fully and arranged them on the tray, he placed it f
irst on the handsome, broad man
tel, and as before stood back to take a survey. He knew the set was a choice
example of artistic work along this line. It
had been presented
to his master while he was visiting in the home of a nobleman, in token o
f his friendship and to commemo
rate something or other, the man did not exactly know what.
But
he did not like the effect on the mantel. He glanced uneasily up at the picture. In a dim
way
he felt the incongruity. He scowled at the picture and wondered why they put it there. It
should have been hung
in the hall or some out-of-the-way place. It was more suited for a church than anywhere
else
, he told himself. He placed the decanter tray on the little table at the other side of the fireplace from the smoking set, and stood back again. It looked we
ll there. He raised his eyes de
fiantly to the picture, and met the full, strong, sweet gaze of the pictured eyes of the Master.

The man lowered his eyes and turned away, disturbed, he knew not why. He was not a man who cared about such things, neither was he one accustomed to reason. He went out to the piazza again to his
un
packing, trying to think of something else. It wasn't h
is picture
nor
his decanter any
way, and he whistled a home tune and
wondered why he had come to this country. He
didn't
seem to feel quite his usual pride this morning in the fact that he knew his business. When he finally
unpacked the wicker-covered demij
ohn of real old Scotch whis
key that had accompanied the de
canter, he carried it through the room and deposited it in the little corner cupboard behind the chimney, shut the door and locked it with a click, and went out again without so much as raising his eyes. All that day he avoided looking at that picture over the mantelpiece, and he grew quite happy in his work again and quite self-satisfied, and felt with a sort of supers
ti
tious fear that if he looked at it his happiness would depart.

There were other rare articles that he had to unpack and dispose of, and once he came to a large, handsome picture, a sporting
scene in
water colors
by a cele
brated artist. That now, would be the very
thing to hang over the mantel in place of the picture already there. He even went so far as to suggest to Mrs. Stanley that he make the change, but she coldly told him to leave the picture where it was, as it was a gift, and showed him the envelope to place
on the mantel directly under the picture, which contained the card from the donors. So the
man left the room at last, some
what dissatisfied, but feeling that he had done the best he could. The night passed, the day came, and with
it
the new master of the new room.

"It's really a magnificent thing, mother," he said, as he stood in front of the great picture after having admired the room and shown his delight in all they had done for him. "I'm delighted to have it. I saw the original on the other side.
And
it was good taste of them to give it quietly in this way, too.
But
there is a sense in which this is quite embarrassing. They will expect so much, you know, and of course I haven't time for this sort of thing now."

"Well, I thought something ought to be done, my son," responded the mother, "so I sent out invitations for the whole school for a reception here next week. That is, I have them ready. They
are not sent out,
but are waiting your approval. Tuesday will be a free evening. What do you think?"

John Stanley scowled and sighed.

"Oh, I suppose that's the easiest way to
get out of it, now they've sent me this. It will be an awful bore, but then
it'll
be over. I shall scarcely know how to carry myself among them, I fear; I've been out of this line so l
ong, and they fancy me so virtu
ous."
He smiled and shrugged his hand
some shoulders.

"But, John dear, you mustn't feel that way. They really think a great deal of you," said his mother, smiling indulgently upon him.

"Oh, it's all right; go ahead, mother. Make it something fine while
you're
about it. Give them quite a spread, you know. Some of th
em don't get many treats, I sup
pose," and
he sank down in one of the lux
urious chairs and looked about him with pleasure.

"This is nice, mother," he said
;
"so good of you and father to think of it. I can do great thin
gs here. The room is an inspira
tion in itself. It is a poem in architecture."

Then the mother left him awhile to his thoughts and he began to piece together his life, that portion he had left behind him across the water, and this new piece, a part of the old, that he had come to take up again. There hovered on the margin of his
mind the
image of the "
ladye
of high de
gree," and he looked about on his domain with satisfaction at thought of her. At least she would see that people in this country could do things as well as in hers.

Then by some strange line of
thought
he remembered his worriment of yesterday about that present, and how he had thought of her laugh if she should know of it. A slight feeling of pleasure passed over him; even in
this
she could find no fault. It was fine and costly and a work of genius. He need not be ashamed even if someone should say
to her that
the picture was pre
sented to him by a mission class grateful for what he had done for it
. He began to swell with a sense of importance at the thought. It was rather a nice thing, this present, after all. He changed his position that he might examine the picture more carefully at his leisure.

The fire that his mother had caused to be lighted to take off the chill of the summer evening and complete the welcome of the room, sent out a ruddy glow and threw into high relief the rich, dark gloss of the frame and the wonderful picture; It was as if the somber, stone-arched room opened directly
from his own, and he saw the living forms of the Twelve gathered around that table with the Master in the midst.
But the Master was looking straight at him—at him, Joh
n Wentworth Stanley, self-satis
fied gentleman of the world that he was— looking at him and away from the other disciples.
Down through all the ages those grave, kind, sad, sweet eyes looked him through and through, and seemed to sift his life, his every action, till things that he had done now and yesterday, and last year,
that he had forgotten, and even
when he was a little boy, seemed to start out and look him in the face behind the shadows of those solid stones of that upper chamber.
The more he looked the more he wondered at the power the picture seemed to have. He looked away to prove it, and he knew the eyes were following his.

The rosy glow of the firelight seemed to be
caught
and crystallized in a thousand sparkles on one side of the fire. He looked in passing and knew what the sparkles
were,
the fine crystal points of that cut glass decan
ter. He had forgotten its exist
ence until now, since the day he had had it packed. He knew it was a beautiful thing in
its way, but he had not intended that it
should be thus displayed
. He hoped his mother had not seen it. He would look at it and then put it away, that is,
pretty soon
. Now
his eyes were held by the eyes of his Master
. Yes, his Master, for he had owned his name and called himself a Christian, and no matter what other things had come in to fill his mind, he had no wish to give up the "na
me to live."
And yet
he was con
scious, strangely, abnormally conscious of that decanter. His Master seemed to be looking at it too, and to be inquiring of him how he came to have it in his possession. For the fi
rst time he was conscious, pain
fully so, that he had never given its donor any cause to think that such a gift would be less acceptable to him than something else. His Master had understood that too, he felt sure. He was annoyed that he could frame no excuse for himself, as he had so easily done when the gift first reached him. He had even been confident that he would be able to explain it to his mother so that she would be rather pleased with the gift than otherwise, strong temperance woman though he knew her to be. Now all his reasons had fled. The eyes of his Master,
his kind, loving, sorrowing Master were upon him. He began to be irritated at the picture. He arose and seized the decanter hastily, to put it somewhere out of sight, just where he had not thought.