IteH^TION 
 
 4 
 
 1$ 
 
 
 i 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 S]ielf...K'j:53 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
f 
 
Cbristine's Unspiration 
 
 BY 
 
 BARBARA YECHTON 
 
 > 
 
 rN..-ua^v^v'^i_«— . lO'vvcKo. zyQj^j\y^^^y--K^oJ\jr-. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 JAMES POTT & CO., PUBLISHERS 
 
 1892 
 
Copyright 
 
 JAMES POTT & CO. 
 
 1892 
 
 ;0 
 
 TROW DIRECTORY 
 
 PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANV 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
"But thanks he to God, Zi^hich giveth us 
 the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
CHRISTINE'S INSPIRATION. 
 
 Christine Brownlow came to the 
 city determined to work hard, and 
 she carried out her intention with- 
 out flinching. A great sorrow had 
 suddenly come to her when there 
 seemed to be every prospect of a 
 great joy, and, as such trials some- 
 times will, turned the sweetness of 
 her nature to bitterness, and made a 
 change in her life necessary ; so she 
 left her home, and came to the big 
 city to work off alone some of the 
 bitter hardness that threatened to 
 pervert her whole nature. 
 
 Her means being as small as her 
 ambition was great, she contented 
 herself with a little room at the top 
 
8 Christine's Inspiratioji. 
 
 of a lodging-house in a respectable 
 but very unfashionable neighborhood 
 — a bare room, whose only merit lay 
 in its large skylight, which took the 
 place of a window, and which, while 
 it let in more cold air than was always 
 comfortable in a living room, also 
 admitted great patches of sunshine, 
 making the place a good studio. And 
 here Christine painted day after day, 
 when she was not at her class, finish- 
 ing first some winter scenes that she 
 had brought with her, views of vari- 
 ous points of interest in her country 
 home, painted with an accuracy of de- 
 tail, a delicacy of finish, that ought to 
 have commanded a higher price than 
 they brought. 
 
 Lent had begun, Easter would 
 soon be near. '' Look out for some- 
 thing original," said the old picture- 
 dealer, who had sold several small 
 
Christine's Inspiration. 9 
 
 views for her, and who, in a dry, 
 business-like way, had a Hking for 
 the odd, gray-eyed girl. " Look up 
 something, and paint it as well as you 
 have these others, and perhaps I can 
 find you a buyer for it." 
 
 '' Easier said than done," thought 
 Christine, as day after day passed and 
 no inspiration came to her. In vain 
 she went to sleep and rose up with 
 the idea ; nothing original occurred 
 to her ; her golden opportunity was 
 slipping by without her being able to 
 grasp it, and she was feeling very 
 discouraged the afternoon she came 
 home and found Billy sitting on the 
 stair by her door. The hall was so 
 dark that she almost stumbled over 
 him. " Who are you ? " she de- 
 manded, a little sharply, trying to get 
 her key into the door. '* And what 
 are you doing here ? " 
 
lO Christine s Inspiratioji. 
 
 *' I'm Billy ; our room's awful dark 
 an' tole, an' I tome out here to wait 
 for my muzzer," was the prompt and 
 succinct reply of the unknown. - 
 
 By this time the door was opened, 
 the eas lighted, and Christine, turn- 
 ing to view her visitor, held her 
 breath with admiration. He was 
 about three and a half or four years 
 old, with an exquisite baby face, pink 
 and white coloring that suggested 
 delicacy of constitution, great, solemn, 
 dark blue eyes that looked black in 
 the gaslight, a pathetic little mouth 
 showing a gleam of pearly teeth be- 
 tween the parted lips, and yellow hair 
 like spun silk that turned up round 
 his white forehead and hung over his 
 shoulders in loose curls. A small 
 red shawl was tied across his shoul- 
 ders, and round his waist, over a 
 shabby blue dress ; faded stockings 
 
Christines Inspiration. ii 
 
 and a pair of much -worn shoes com- 
 pleted his costume. 
 
 ''You small creature," cried Chris- 
 tine, '' did you drop from heaven ? 
 Where are your wings ? And how 
 long do you intend remaining with 
 us ? " 
 
 The solemn eyes gazed wide- 
 opened at her. *' I ain't dot no 
 win's," he said, shaking his small 
 head until his curls fairly danced. 
 '' I'se Billy — muzzer's boy. I live 
 dere," he pointed through the open 
 door to a room on the opposite side 
 of the landing. And then Christine 
 remembered that she had seen a cou- 
 ple of trunks and a child's shabby 
 rocking chair going into that room 
 when she went out the day before. 
 Billy and his '' muzzer" must be her 
 new neighbors. 
 
 She asked the little man to sit 
 
12 Christine s Inspiration. 
 
 down, which he did on a small foot- 
 stool of home manufacture, gravely 
 watching her light her fire, draw her 
 curtain over the skylight, put the 
 small Japanese teapot on the stove, 
 and lay the cloth on the end of a 
 table crowded with books, unfinished 
 pictures, and odds and ends of all de- 
 scriptions. Besides her own, Chris- 
 tine laid a little cup which had been 
 hers as a child, and which mother had 
 packed up for the sake of the home 
 remembrance it might call up. It was 
 white, with tiny rosebuds over it, and 
 evidently met the little boy's ap- 
 proval, for he said " pitty " when it 
 appeared. 
 
 When the brown bread and butter 
 and home-made jam were all on the 
 table, and the teapot giving out a 
 fragrant steam, Christine said, '' Billy, 
 will you take tea with me ? " 
 
Christine s Inspiration. 13 
 
 Billy hesitated. '' Muzzer didn't 
 say no ? " he said, appealing to his 
 hostess ; he was struggling between 
 inclination and a sense of possible 
 duty. 
 
 " Of course she didn't," answered 
 Christine, briskly, and when she im- 
 provised a high chair out of the foot- 
 stool and another chair, he allowed 
 himself to be persuaded to remain. 
 His quaint baby talk did her good, 
 and she was laughing the first hearty 
 laugh for months, when a knock came 
 on the door and a slender, dark- 
 haired woman entered, at sight of 
 whom the child slipped down, run- 
 ning to meet her. " Her ast me, 
 muzzer," he said, in explanation of his 
 position, which statement Christine 
 hastened to confirm, trying to set her 
 visitor at ease. The facts of the case 
 soon came out. Mrs. Lindley was a 
 
14 CJiristiiic s bispiratioji. 
 
 widow who supported herself and her 
 Httle boy by sewing. She had a sad 
 face, which with her black dress, told 
 of recent bereavement. 
 
 To earn enough for their support 
 she had to be away from Billy for 
 many hours, which was an additional 
 sorrow, as she passionately loved her 
 little boy. " I know it's not good for 
 him to be so much alone," she con- 
 cluded, '* but what can I do ? " In a 
 few minutes she went away, taking 
 the child with her. 
 
 As Christine washed her dishes, an 
 idea evolved itself in her brain, and as 
 she put away the last one she clasped 
 her hands together with a deep 
 drawn breath — ''After all, Billy may 
 prove to be my inspiration ! " She 
 placed a fresh block of canvas on her 
 easel, and went to bed anxious for the 
 morrow's sun. 
 
Christine s Inspiration. 15 
 
 She petitioned Mrs. Lindley that 
 she might have Billy with her every 
 day while his mother was out, but for 
 some inexplicable reason said noth- 
 ing about her intention to paint him. 
 The little fellow was very content to 
 be with her, and Christine worked 
 rapidly while he talked or played. 
 Some of his sayings startled her by 
 their quaintness and pathos, and as 
 the picture grew under her quick fin- 
 gers, reproducing little Billy's angelic 
 face on the canvas, she realized the 
 extreme delicacy of the child, and a 
 premonition of further sorrow for the 
 poor mother grew upon her. 
 
 She was delighted with her work 
 so far, and invited the old picture- 
 dealer to see her *' inspiration," as she 
 called it. He came, glancing critical- 
 ly from the beautiful child, who sat 
 on his footstool gazing solemnly at 
 
1 6 Christine s hispiratioji. 
 
 him, to the exquisite half-finished pict- 
 ure on the easel. " Fine, very fine," 
 he said, with a gesture of satisfaction. 
 " Finish that as you've begun it, and 
 it will give you a name, and I will 
 promise you a buyer for it as soon as 
 it is ready." 
 
 Christine appreciated this praise, 
 for she knew he was usually scant of 
 commendation, and worked hard to 
 get it finished for Easter week. It 
 was almost completed when an unex- 
 pected telegram called her home ; 
 she was unavoidably detained nearly 
 a week, and returned to find a great 
 sorrow had fallen on her opposite 
 neighbor. Little Billy had been very 
 ill for several days, and now lay still 
 and white in his mother's room, his 
 small waxen hands folded on his 
 breast. The golden hair still clus- 
 tered lovingly round the blue-veined 
 
Christine' s Inspiratioii. 17 
 
 brow, but the beautiful eyes were 
 closed forever in this world ; the quaint 
 baby tongue silenced. The broken- 
 hearted mother rocked herself to and 
 fro in a dumb despair that touched 
 Christine more than the most violent 
 demonstrations of grief could have 
 done. She, too, felt the little fellow's 
 death keenly, and turned his picture 
 to the wall that she might not see the 
 pathetic eyes that seemed to follow her 
 all about her room. Little Billy was 
 laid to rest beside his father, and the 
 lonely mother took up her life again ; 
 but the stony misery that looked out 
 of her eyes was terrible to witness, 
 and she grew paler day by day. 
 
 One evening, two weeks before 
 Easter, Christine crossed to Mrs. 
 Lindley's with a bunch of spring flow- 
 ers, daffodils and daisies, hoping the 
 sight of the pretty things, with their 
 
1 8 Christine s Inspirntio)i. 
 
 sweet, orreen odor, would do her 
 good. She heard a low moaning, 
 and as her knock remained unan- 
 swered, she opened the door and 
 stepped into the room. Mrs. Lind- 
 ley sat with her head in her hands, 
 moaning. The face she lifted to 
 Christine was white and drawn, the 
 eyes glittering with unshed tears. 
 " Tell me," she cried, vehemently, 
 '' what did my boy look like ? I close 
 my eyes and see your face, the faces 
 of people I have met a few times, 
 people I take no interest in ; but I 
 can't see a feature of my darling's 
 face, I can't see the color of his eyes, 
 or his hair — his pretty hair ; his face 
 is a blank in my memory. I shall go 
 mad if this lasts much longer, I have 
 forgotten his dear face ! What shall 
 I do ? Oh, my baby ! my baby ! " 
 " Have you no likeness of him ? " 
 
Christine s Inspiration. 19 
 
 asked her visitor, in a constrained 
 voice. 
 
 " None," answered Billy's mother, 
 bitterly. ** It was always just from 
 hand to mouth ; we had no money to 
 spare for such luxuries — our only 
 child, too. I thought of it sometimes, 
 he was so beautiful. You are an ar- 
 tist — Why did you not paint him ? 
 Surely he was lovely enough for an 
 angel." 
 
 She dropped her head in her hands 
 again and moaned. Christine an- 
 swered not a word : she had grown 
 very pale ; a hard expression was on 
 her lips ; she laid the flowers on a 
 table and left the room She locked 
 her door, and by the light of the dy- 
 ing afternoon sun looked long and 
 critically at her work. The exquisite 
 baby face looked out at her from its 
 wreath of Easter lilies ; to Christine's 
 
20 Christine s Inspiration. 
 
 excited fancy the blue eyes gazed re- 
 proachfully at her. " I don't care," 
 she cried, defiantly, " the picture is 
 mine ; I conceived it, I worked it out. 
 It is mine, mine, and no one shall force 
 me to give it up." But she could not 
 sleep that night, the cry, " I shall go 
 mad if this lasts," repeating itself in 
 her brain until she was thankful to 
 see the morning light. For the next 
 few days she painted with her door 
 locked, carefully turning the picture 
 to the wall at night ; she would not 
 bear the reproachful look of those 
 eyes any longer than was absolutely 
 necessary. Christine was fighting a 
 battle with her better self in these 
 days. She tried to time her going 
 out and coming in so as to avoid 
 meeting Mrs. Lindley. 
 
 On Wednesday of Holy Week, the 
 dealer and a gentleman called to see 
 
CJiristinc s Inspiration. 21 
 
 the picture, which was nearly fin- 
 ished. The stranger appeared much 
 impressed with Christine's '' inspira- 
 tion," and the dealer told her later 
 that he was almost confident he 
 would buy it, so she agreed it should 
 be sent for on Saturday noon. On 
 Thursday afternoon, after a steady 
 day's work, a desperate fit of rest- 
 lessness fell on her ; the last gleams 
 of the sun were disappearing behind 
 the houses when she locked her door 
 and started for a tramp. Two feel- 
 ings were struggling within her, and 
 everything she looked at appealed 
 to one or the other emotion. She 
 stepped into an old book store to 
 turn the current of her thoughts ; the 
 first book she opened was a volume 
 of sermons. The text of the first 
 was, *'Thou shalt love thy neigh- 
 bor as thyself." She closed the book 
 
22 Christine s hispiration, 
 
 hastily, and opened the next, which 
 was a novel. The title page bore 
 the line, '' The first great lesson of 
 life is renunciation." With a scowl 
 she slammed the cover to and left the 
 store, but the echo of the words was 
 with her yet, and pursued her up and 
 down the streets as she walked rapidly 
 along, seeing nothing of her surround- 
 ings until night fell and the lamps had 
 long been lighted ; then a quick, sharp 
 rain began to fall, and Christine ran 
 for shelter into the vestibule of a small 
 building that attracted her eye. It 
 was so small a building, with so small 
 a vestibule, that, standing in it, she 
 could distinctly hear every word that 
 a man inside was saying in a low, 
 earnest voice to some other men who 
 sat on benches before him. 
 
 The man stood on a raised plat- 
 form, on which was a simple reading- 
 
CJiristines Inspiration. 23 
 
 desk ; back of this were some dark 
 red portieres throwing into rehef a 
 simple wooden cross. '' A church," 
 thought Christine, catching her 
 breath. She was tempted to go out 
 in the rain ; in her present mood she 
 was afraid of what she might hear; 
 but it was pouring — she could not 
 afford to eet wet, so she remained. 
 
 '^And after that night in Gethse- 
 mane," continued the earnest voice, 
 '' after the terrible emotion that drew 
 great drops of blood to the Saviour's 
 brow, came the arrest in the morning 
 liorht, when all forsook Him and fled. 
 Those whom He had loved and 
 chosen, those who had promised alle- 
 giance to Him, left Him in His hour 
 of need, to die alone, without the 
 common justice we give to a criminal 
 in these days. Picture, if you can, 
 the mockery of the trial that ensued ; 
 
24 CJiristmes Inspiration. 
 
 the cowardly judge, afraid to oppose 
 the angry people, condemning an in- 
 nocent man ! Think of the indignities 
 He suffered, the mockery of the pur- 
 ple robe ! the cruel crown of thorns ! 
 Think of the impious wretches who 
 dared to strike their Lord ! dared to 
 spit in His face ! " The speaker's 
 voice shook with intense feeling. 
 *' Oh, I fancy the angels in heaven 
 must have hid their faces and wept 
 for those poor, lost men. Then the 
 long, weary walk under a hot Eastern 
 sun, burdened with His heavy cross, 
 and after that the agony of the death 
 upon the cross, the dying cry of an- 
 guish, the piercing spear! Your 
 Lord, my Lord, God Almighty's dear 
 Son, dying this shameful death that 
 we might be saved. Oh, dear men 
 and brothers, is it too much to ask 
 that we make some self-sacrifice for 
 
Christine s Inspiration. 25 
 
 Him this week ? That we think of 
 Him with prayer to - morrow ? ' A 
 man can do no more than this, that a 
 man lay down his Hfe for his friends.' 
 Remembering the agony of Calvary, 
 the Precious Life that was there laid 
 down for us, and all that it has 
 brought us, let us each practise some 
 self-denial, do some act of kindness 
 this week, as a token of our love, our 
 gratefulness, to the dear Christ." 
 
 Christine had always prided herself 
 on not being impressionable, but tears 
 were running fast down her cheeks as 
 she sped through the pouring rain, 
 and for the first time in her life 
 *' Christ, the Son of the living God," 
 became an actual, personal presence 
 to her, and the story of Calvary 
 stirred her heart to its depths. 
 
 She prayed that night as she had 
 never before prayed, rising up pale 
 
26 CJiristvics Lispiration. 
 
 and exhausted, but possessing a peace 
 that had been absent from her for 
 months. Going over, she turned the 
 picture to the Hght. *' I'm not afraid 
 of your eyes now, Billy boy," she 
 said, softly, '' for with God's help I am 
 prepared to render unto mother the 
 thing that is mother's. And perhaps 
 some day I may have strength to thank 
 Him that He permitted the sacrifice. 
 But now I'm weak, Billy, very weak ; 
 and I'll have to go away, or I may fall 
 into temptation again, and try to filch 
 my offering from the altar whereon I 
 have laid it. Yes, I must go away." 
 She went out Friday morning be- 
 fore eleven o'clock, not returning un- 
 til late in the afternoon. There were 
 signs of tears about her eyes, but 
 peace still reigned. That evening 
 she packed her trunk and all her pos- 
 sessions. It was late when she fin- 
 
Christine s Inspiration. 27 
 
 ished, and in the stillness of the night 
 she could hear Billy's mother moan- 
 ing, but the sound of her grief did not 
 irritate the girl as it had done ; she 
 glanced at the baby face on the easel 
 and smiled — a smile full of pity and 
 self-abnegation. 
 
 Saturday morning she stopped at 
 an express office and made arrange- 
 ments to have her trunk taken away 
 that afternoon, then she went to a pict- 
 ure store, purchased a simple frame 
 of ash wood, and had an interview 
 with the dealer who had promised to 
 dispose of her ** inspiration." He ex- 
 postulated warmly with her, but evi- 
 dently to no effect, for he cried angrily, 
 as she walked away, '' She's as crazy 
 as a loon. Fit for a lunatic asylum ! " 
 
 Easter morn dawned brio-ht and 
 
 o 
 
 warm, the sky as blue as azure, and 
 Christine could hear the birds chat- 
 
28 Christine s Inspii'ation. 
 
 tering under the eaves of the house 
 as she dressed. 
 
 Billy's mother stood at her window, 
 gazing up into the heavens where 
 her darling had gone. She was white 
 and thin, a hard, defiant light in the 
 eyes that used to look so gentle — a 
 contrast to the girl who entered her 
 room after a hasty knock. There 
 was a chastened peace in the shining 
 eyes that illuminated her whole coun- 
 tenance, and attracted even Mrs. 
 Lindley's weary regard. Christine 
 advanced. '* Please look out of the 
 window for a moment," she said, with 
 a sweet smile, '' I will tell you when 
 to turn." 
 
 Listlessly the mother obeyed. 
 " Now," cried Christine, and she 
 turned ; the visitor was gone, but on 
 the lounge, lighting up the worn hair- 
 cloth covering and the dingy wall 
 

 y '^1 
 
 J 
 
 ,^ ...u^^. 
 
 w^^ 
 
 -m^ 
 
 WBM^^^^^k 
 
 ^ 
 
 pp-" 
 
 
Christines Inspiration. 31 
 
 against which it leaned, was a picture 
 of her lost darling. Just the head and 
 shoulders, floating in an azure back- 
 ground. Easter lilies from the four 
 corners leaned lovingly forward as if 
 anxious to touch the exquisite baby 
 face. It was a perfect likeness, and 
 the poor mother stood spellbound for 
 a few minutes, going eagerly over 
 each feature ; she leaned forward to 
 caress the yellow curls, drawing in her 
 breath with a sobbing sound ; then 
 the flood-gates of her grief were un- 
 locked, and falling on her knees be- 
 fore the picture, the blessed tears 
 rained down her face. '' God has 
 remembered me after all. Oh, my 
 baby ! my baby ! " she sobbed. 
 
 In the edge of the frame was stuck 
 a scrap of paper on which was writ- 
 ten, '' God has mercifully allowed me 
 the opportunity to paint this picture, 
 
32 CJiristincs Inspiration. 
 
 and I give it to you praying it may 
 comfort you in your great sorrow." 
 
 Later on, when her grief was 
 somewhat spent, she went over to her 
 neighbor's ; the door opened to her 
 touch, the room was empty ; the 
 bareness struck her with a misgiving. 
 '' Yes," said her landlady, in answer 
 to her query, '' Miss Brownlow has 
 gone away for good. She did not say 
 where to, and I didn't ask. But she 
 particularly told me to give you her 
 love if you should ask about her." 
 
 The two women never met aeain 
 on earth. The struggle and self-ab- 
 negation of the one, the gratefulness 
 and renewed courage of the other, 
 were never expressed to each other, 
 but "Me that planted the ear, shall 
 He not hear ? He that formed the 
 eye, shall He not see ? " 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 117 885 8 ^