CHAPTER X.

AN AWAKENING.

One Sunday evening, Dr. James was sitting in Miss Spelman's pleasant parlor; she was dozing in her chair by the fire, and Margaret sat on a little sofa near her. There had come a long pause, such as very often came on Sunday evenings, and on this occasion the doctor had been more abstracted and inattentive than usual. He sat by the table in an arm-chair, studying the fire with a troubled face, and Margaret watched him and wondered what was wrong. At last he started and said, as their eyes met,

"Miss Lester, pardon me. I believe I am very rude; I have a good deal on my mind, and when you stop speaking, my thoughts go off to something I cannot forget."

He paused a moment, and then, before she could answer him, went on. "They talk about a doctor's becoming callous, and indifferent to pain and suffering; I wish it were more true! Of course there are certain things which, when we have seen them borne well and bravely by some, we expect others to meet in the same way, and so seem unfeeling and unsympathizing when folks make a great fuss about them.

"When, however, I see people really suffering and in want, it makes me sick at heart, and I cannot forget it. There is a family a couple of miles out of the east end of this town who are in great trouble, and I don't see what can help them out of it." He stopped abruptly and stared at the fire again.

"Dr. James, do you suppose I am not interested? Go on quickly, and tell me the rest; for perhaps I can help these poor people."

He looked at her earnestly and continued,

"The husband is a shoemaker; a good fellow, though thriftless. It is the old story; want of work, a sick wife, a large family, rent due, and the wolf at the door. I have been to several people; but money seems very scarce just now, and more is needed than I can raise for them. My own funds are very low, and some kind people suggest the poor-house at Sealing for them; but that would break their spirit; so I can't bear to think of it."

"Why, Dr. James! of course I can help them. Why did you not come to me before? Cannot we go to-night and pay the rent, and take them what they need?"

"To-morrow will do for them; if you like, however, I can take the rent to Mr. Brown to-night. Perhaps you will sleep better for it; I know I shall. To-morrow you can drive there, and do what you think best for them."

Margaret's sympathy seemed very consoling to the doctor, and he talked to her freely of the state of the poor people with whom he came in contact. He said he had to see so much misery he could not possibly relieve, that it was a constant weight on his mind; it haunted him like a ghost; and even when warm and comfortable himself, he could not forget those wants which he so desired to relieve but could not. Then the people in the neighborhood rendered him but little assistance; for they either did not realize, or else were indifferent to the destitution of their neighbors.

Dr. James had never before opened his mind to Margaret as he did that evening. He spoke of his intense sympathy with the poor, simply and as a matter of course; and every word conveyed to her a reproach, for it made her conscious of her own selfishness and hardness of heart. Though she had always given freely, when asked, to fairs and subscriptions, and to charity collectors, she had done so, as she now saw, out of her abundance, and with a cold heart. How much thought had she ever given to the sufferings of the poor? What had she ever done to relieve them? Yet here was a man whose whole life was devoted to helping and healing his fellow-creatures, and who reproached himself for enjoying the simplest comforts so long as others were without them. A whole mine of new thoughts seemed opened in her mind; she longed to be alone; and when Dr. James had left her, after warmly grasping the hand that had given him the rent for his poor family, she said good-night to her aunt as early as possible, and going to her own room, she thought long and regretfully of the past, and formed a firm resolution to live more nobly for the future.