THE SAINT OF CONNER’S BLOCK.
By Minna Stanwood
[Minna Stanwood, in Christian Endeavor World.] Connor’s Block stood in front of the big factory. “The Saint” lived in the second house from the end of the main street. People called her “The Saint” in most bitter irony. She was a small woman, nimble and wiry, a woman of fire. She kept a boarding-house for the factory hands; that is, for as many as would stand her tongue for the sake of her cooking. Thirty-five managed to do this. Single-handed “The Saint” served these thirty-five men good food at low rates. She was as honest as day, but it was gall and wormwood for her to hear that any other woman was honest. And why? No one knew that. She had always been shrew-tongued, but she was worse after her only brother, who lived with her, and got drunk and abused her, and spent her earnings, was reformed by the Salvation Army! He knew better than to expect “The Saint” to rejoice in his conversion; but he was obedient to the lassie, and went home and told his sister that he was going to be a good brother and work thereafter. She called him hard names then, and bade him get out of her house with his cant, and stay out, too. This he did gladly enough, perhaps, altho he tried to tell his sister that he would always love her and pray for her. Since that day no one ever mentioned the name of “Bob” to her. Equally since that day no one durst whisper “Salvation Army” in her house. One Monday morning, as “The Saint” was draining her beans, the shadow of a poke bonnet scud past her kitchen window. Quick as thought she was at her door. “Out of this, you mewing, chattering, canting hussy! Out of this, I say, you psalm-singing, racketing, smirking——” “The Saint” raised her hand with the dish-towel in it. The girl in the poke bonnet stood erect. She receded not from the dirty dish-towel, or the burning eyes, or the hoarse threatening voice. She looked “The Saint” full in the face, and spoke rapidly in a voice that was low and clear, but terribly earnest: “Woman, quit your fooling! In God’s name I bid you come into Widow McCormick’s house with me. She is dying, her baby is in convulsions, and you are needed!” Captain Somes turned and walked quickly out of the yard and along the alley, and entered the fourth gate. “The Saint” stood staring. Amazement struggled with anger in her soul. She went back to her kitchen, pulled a tub from under the table, snatched the kettle from the front of the stove, and ran after the captain. She did not stop for the boiling water that splashed down on her feet. In Widow McCormick’s kitchen the captain was poking the fire with one hand, and holding the rigid baby on her left arm. “The Saint” dropped her tub on the floor, poured into it the boiling water, grabbed the baby, and plunged it into the water, clothes and all. “Quick,” she said, “some cold water!” She snatched the dipper from the captain, and laved the little head. The captain noticed that a mother could not have done it all more deftly. Gradually the purple faded from the baby face, the clinched hands relaxed, the eyelids fluttered. Presently the blue eyes were looking at “The Saint.” Yes, the baby lips began to smile at her. She took the child from the water, wrapped it in the old army blanket the captain handed her, and sat down close to the stove with the baby in her arms. It was nearly noon when Captain Somes came down stairs. “The mother died five minutes ago, poor soul,” she began gravely. Then she stopped. “The Saint” had a strange look on her face. The Salvation Army captain knew what it meant. “Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed fervently.11 “The Saint” looked foolish. She said, “I’ll take this baby home, I guess.” Then she twitched as if wrenching herself free of something, and added, deep-voiced, “And I’ll raise her honest, too, s’help me God!” She raised the hand that had threatened with the dish-towel. “I’m goin’ to send for Bob, and I’m goin’ to——O, what’s the use talkin’? I’ve said I hated cant. Deeds, give me deeds! They’ll show. Now I’ll go back an’ fix up a bit for the boys. You tend to her upstairs, and I’ll see it’s paid.” When Captain Somes went to carry clothes for the baby, she found it in the faded glory of an old-fashioned blue jacket, lying on a large, clean bed, hugging a bottle of milk. “The Saint” was leaning over, patiently brushing a lock of the baby’s fair hair round her finger. “I’m tryin’ to make it curl,” she said bashfully. “Do you s’pose it will? Lillie’s did.” “Perhaps so.” The captain’s tone was doubtful, but her smile was sympathetic. “It don’t look like curly hair to me, tho. Who’s Lillie?” “Lillie was my baby, the only one I had. She died—in convulsions. If I had known what to do, perhaps I might——. But there! I’m goin’ to call her Lillie. That’s Lillie’s sack she’s got on.” “I noticed it,” nodded Captain Somes. Then she asked carelessly, “Did you lose your husband, too?” “Lose him!” “The Saint” turned furiously. A few strands of the baby’s curl clung round her finger and pulled, but she paid no attention to the grieved cry. “Lose him! Yes, I lost him. Another woman stole him. Stole him at meetin’, too, when I was home with the sick baby. There, there; mama’s sorry she hurted her, so she is. There, there.” She charged upon the baby with the bottle, and the cry and a greedy gulp of milk got tangled up with a queer sound. The captain looked at “The Saint,” and they both laughed. “It wasn’t square of you to be down on everybody because one man treated you mean,” the captain hit out. “Not square?” “The Saint” looked interested. “Not square? No one ever said anything about me not bein’ square before.” “Folks don’t say everything they think about us,” observed the captain scornfully. “You thought you owed one man a grudge, and you’ve been working it off on everybody who came anywhere near you. If you call that square, I don’t.” The woman’s hard gray eyes expanded as the captain’s idea began to work. “I never thought of it that way before,” she said, at last. “But, anyway,” the fire began to kindle, “I never sat down and cry-babied.” “No, you stood up and bit, instead,” retorted the captain. “Well, what would you have done?” Captain Somes’s face lighted up. She took two steps forward, and got hold of the woman’s grime-hardened hands. “Sister,” she said, with a thrill in her voice, “don’t think I don’t know it was hard. I’ll tell you what I think I would have done. I would have gone down on my knees, and never moved off them till God had taken every root of bitterness out of my heart; and then I would have gone out into the world, all alone as I was, and I would have shown the world how a saint of God could live. I would have held out a strong hand to the weak; I would have been pitiful and tender and open-hearted to the poor. I would have said, ‘Lord, you’ve taken my Lillie, you’ve suffered my husband to go, but you’ve left me my health and strength, and you’ve left me yourself. After this I want you to help me to see my sister in every woman who needs me, and my brother in every man who needs me, and my own baby Lillie in every little child!’” “The Saint” was looking steadily into the young captain’s glowing face. Tears slowly filled her eyes. She gathered her brows as if they pained her. “It ain’t too late now, is it?” She put the question anxiously, humbly. “No!” The captain’s voice rang joyously. “It isn’t too late! Let us thank God for that. Come.” With her hand still in the Salvation Army captain’s, “The Saint” dropped down beside her bed, and bowed her head on the soft arm of her new Lillie.