SAINT AND SINNER | AdventAI

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 10, 1887

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 13, No. 10.

SAINT AND SINNER.

THERE is a queer little burying-ground near the White Bridge on the shores of the Sound. It is in a nook, and is bounded by bowlders against which the sea beats drearily in winter, though the salt mists keep the grass green long after the distant hills and woods have become gray and bleak. Here, some days ago, they carried a little casket. It was so light that the body it contained might have been that of a child, but old age, white hairs, and the silent dust of a feeble gentleman were inclosed therein. There were no mourning friends save one stern man of middle age. The grave received its own. The bended gate at the entrance of the little place of the dead is closed, and will never again be opened to a funeral. The burying-ground is tenanted with all who will ever rest there, for it is a family plot, and therein has now been gathered the last one of the Dows.

Strangely enough, on the same day that Deacon Dow was buried, his old playmate, business associate, and fellow church officer, the late Deacon Mills, was placed to rest in the beautiful cemetery, whose lofty monoliths and quaint monuments may be seen by the sailors as they skim along the waters of the Sound. The great brick church had been thronged by those who wished to pay their last respects to Deacon Mills's memory, and a long line of slowly, solemnly moving carriages followed the body to the grave. There, amid costly stones erected to the memory of those of his family who had preceded him, was dug the grave of Deacon Mills, and men will not for many years forget that this strong man lived once among them; for Deacon Mills was strong, and stern, and firm-willed, and great were his riches. He had built a chapel, had given a bed to the hospital, had endowed a theological professorship, and had created many business enterprises. All that he had touched in business life seemed to have turned to gold. You may read in the sectarian newspapers the account of his life, and to his career business men already point when they wish to show the model man.

But no one hears of Deacon Dow. He was a gentleman. He went shrinkingly, modestly through life. His last days were those of one dependent upon charity, and he had seen the successful career of his old playmate without other emotions than those of pleasure. They played in childhood together. Then William Dow was thought the more fortunate of the two. His father was well-to-do, while John Mills had heard early in the morning and late in the day the clanging of his father's anvil. They had gone to school together. Then William's gentleness was misunderstood, so that the boys jeered him with derisive nicknames such as "girl-boy;" while John, whose clothes were not so fine as William's, by his stubborn will and imperious manner, commanded respect and won his leadership. They had begun business life at the same time. William had a small capital and became a book-seller. John had no capital but his own hands and head, so he pegged away industriously on a shoe-maker's bench. William's purpose in business life was simply to earn a living. John, as he sat on his bench, with awl and hammer, was fired with energy and enthusiasm because he had bent his will to getting riches. Everything subserved to that. He pegged away from dawn to bed-time, and his savings accumulated. He owed none and suffered none to owe him. He prospered, and within five years had quit the bench, and surveyed with business pride his handsome store. William, gentle, unsuspecting, sweet-dispositioned man, was no better off in five years' time than when he first began. Men liked him but they pitied him. Men trusted his word. They knew he would not lie nor cheat, but they made him trust them, knowing that he would never clamor for pay. They said he was too good-natured to succeed. They sent tiresome beggars to him, knowing that William never refused an alms. They borrowed money of him, and got it, if he had it, without security. John Mills sometimes made loans, but only after the careful scrutiny of a bank-teller. William's heart melted at every tale of distress. John's never.

As years rolled on they both were chosen deacons in the church of which they had long been members, but Deacon William modestly sat in one of the rear pews in the side aisle, while Deacon John was seated in the center aisle, about half the distance down.

There was organized in that town a building association, whose ostensible purpose was to assist deserving men to build a home. John Mills made the single error of his life in placing money in this enterprise, and he made the discovery when it was too late to get the money back. Too late! John Mills had never lost a dollar yet by bad investment, and he would not suffer loss now. He thought of the matter overnight, and by morning had decided.

That afternoon Deacon Mills stepped into Deacon Dow's book store.

"Come, Brother Dow, let us take a boat and go fishing this afternoon," he said.

Fishing of an afternoon in the Sound was the only recreation that the merchants of that time took, and Deacon Dow consented.

When they had sat in the boat awhile, twitching the lines that they might see whether the fish had been hooked or not, Deacon Mills said:—

"Brother Dow, why haven't you put some money into the building association?"

"I never thought of it, Brother Mills."

"Never thought of it! Why, there isn't a better way of doing good with your money. You help your worthy young mechanics to get a home. That makes them good citizens, and you get six per cent. on your money."

"You know, Brother Mills, that I am always anxious to extend any help I can to our young men. I have got a little money. It represents all my profits since I've been in business. I shouldn't want to lose it. It's all I have. But, if the investment is safe, I'd be glad. Is it safe, do you think, Deacon Mills?"

"Why, I put a thousand dollars in!"

"Then it must be safe. You're a prudent, far-seeing man, Brother Mills. Yes, yes; if you think it safe, I'll make the investment. I have some twelve hundred dollars in the bank, and I was thinking of buying a home."

"Shall I tell the secretary to put you down for a thousand dollars?"

"Yes. I rely upon you, Brother Mills, for the safety of it."

"My money is there!"

The next morning at ten gentle little Deacon Dow drew his money from the bank, and, stepping across the street, paid it in to the secretary of the building association and received his certificate. A half-hour later Deacon Mills entered the office.

"One of our rules provides that any investor may withdraw his money at any time without notice by forfeiting interest. I believe I will withdraw mine now."

The secretary delivered to Deacon Mills the identical thousand dollars which Deacon Dow had deposited. Two days later the building association went up.

Without any manner but that of sorrow, Deacon Dow sought Deacon Mills in his handsome place of business.

"Brother Mills," he said, "you and I are old playfellows. We played together, we slept together, and we ate together often. We united with the church together, we entered business at the same time, and we were made deacons together. I want to ask you if you think it was a Christian action to induce me to put all the money I had into a place that you might draw it out? Is it a Christian action?"

"Oh, Brother Dow," promptly answered Brother Mills, "that's business, that's business."

And so the gentle little man went away in more sorrow than he came. By and by the sheriff sold him out, and when his hair was turning gray and John Mills was gaining respect for great business success, little William Dow received a clerk's pittance by keeping books, and then, when he became too old for that, a relative supported him until his life went out.

But John Mills grew richer and of more and more repute, and when he died there was a great gap in the business and social life of that community.—Gotham, in Catholic Mirror.