“Who is to blame that you can not all be addressed as workers for Christ?  Who is your Master?  Why do you not serve him?”

These were sentences that struck in upon her just as she was deciding to have a new summer silk, trimmed with shirrings of the same material a shade darker.

“Workers!”

She did not know whether the speaker gave a peculiar emphasis to that word, or whether it only sounded so to her ears.  Did this resolution that she had made put her among the workers?  What was she ready to do?  Teach in the Sabbath-school?  Involuntarily she shrugged her shoulders; she did not like children; tract distributing, too, was hateful work, and out of style she had heard some one say.  What wonderful work was to be done?  She was sure she didn’t know.  Sewing certainly wasn’t in her line; she couldn’t make clothes for the poor; but, then, she could give money to buy them with.  Oh, yes, she was perfectly willing to do that.  And then she tried to determine whether it would be well to get a new black grenadine, or whether a black silk would suit her better.  She had got it trimmed with four rows of knife pleating, headed with puffs, when she was suddenly returned to the meeting.

Somebody was telling a story; she had not been giving sufficient attention to know who the speaker was, but he told his story remarkably well.  It must have been about a miserable little street boy who was sick, and another miserable street boy seemed to be visiting him.

This was where her ears took it up: 

“It was up a ricketty pair of stairs, and another, and another, to a filthy garret.  There lay the sick boy burning with a fever, mother and father both drunk, and no one to do anything or care anything for the boy who was fighting with death.  ‘Ben,’ said his dirty-faced visitor, bending over him, ‘you’re pretty bad ain’t you?  Ben, do you ever pray?’ ‘No,’ says Ben, turning fevered eyes on the questioner:  ’I don’t know what that is.’  ’Did you know there was a man once named Jesus Christ?  He come to this world on purpose to save people who are going to die.  Did you ever be told about him?’ ‘No; who is he?’ ’Why, he is God; you have to believe on him.’  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’  ’Why, ask him to save you.  When you die you ask him to take you and save you.  I heard about him at school.’  ‘Will he do it?’ ’Yes, he will sure.  Them says so as have tried him.’  Silence in the garret, Ben with his face turned to the wall the fever growing less, the pulse growing fainter; suddenly he turns back.  ‘I’ve asked him,’ he said; ’I’ve asked him, and he said he would.’”

Ruth looked about her nervously.  People were weeping softly all around her.  Marion brushed two great tears from her glowing cheeks, and Ruth, with her heart beating with such a quickened motion that it made her faint, wondered what was the matter with every one, and wished this dreadful meeting was over, or that she had gone to Saratoga on Saturday.