CHAPTER II.

THE brave girl was now full of hope that a good day was about to dawn for the P. S. P. S. Uncle John was there. He had said as much; and what could not he do?

The members must each be visited and urged to attend the meeting and hear what Uncle John had to say.

She would undertake it. Of course they would be so glad to hear that the Society was now to be revived and go on finely again. So she thought.

With a light heart and face full of sunshine she started on her way.

The first ring brought a servant to the door, only to say that the children had just gone away for some days. The next door opened promptly as she still held the knob in her hand, but only to assure her that Carrie was not well—probably could not go out for weeks. The third call found no one at home.

A fourth was answered with, “My! I thought the P. S. P. S. was dead. But I’ll see what mamma says. Maybe she’ll let me come.”

A little further on Jennie met an old member and laid before her Uncle John’s plans for a meeting, and all about it, only to receive a stare and, “Who is your Uncle John?” And the inquirer, without waiting to be told, went skipping on her way.

Sometimes Jennie was told, “Don’t get me to any more P. S. P. S. poky meetings;” or, “Oh! I’m invited to a card-party the very night of your meeting. Of course I must go. And there’ll be dancing and ice-cream, and ever so much fun;” or, “Mamma says I can never attend any more,” etc., etc.

A sunny sky is sometimes overcast and the rain falls instead of beams of light.

Do not blame Jennie if she cried. It was such a sharp disappointment.

Thus far not one word of encouragement. Every one seemed to frown upon her, and all the laughing she met or saw on either side of the streets through which she passed, seemed to be at her expense. She was mistaken, but a heavy heart often feels a sting where there is really no stinger.

What shall she do?

“It’s no use, Jennie; I told you so,” came from one of the committee boys, who happened to follow her track and overhear some of the rebuffs received by Jennie, and who now came up by her side to put the last straw upon her breaking heart. “What’s the use?” he went on. “They say you are making yourself ridiculous, and—” and he was about to add another straw when they turned a corner and met Uncle John coming towards them. Without noticing her face, he took Jennie by the hand and turned up another street, leaving her companion to go his way.

Uncle John went on to say how he had thought of little else besides the Poplar Street Pansy Society and now he was all ready for the meeting.

A little further on the other member of the committee was met, who reported that he had called upon some of the others, but no one had promised to attend the meeting.

But blessed Uncle John cheered Jennie by saying it was always darkest before the day and that no matter how matters had turned out this time, it might be just the contrary to-morrow.

So the tears were wiped away, and the young heart said, “I’ll try again, for Jesus’ sake.” That night she went and told Jesus. The next day there was joy in store for her. Not one laughed or mocked. Some said they would come and bring others.

Sure enough. Jennie must needs bring in twice as many chairs as were arranged for the meeting.

Everything being ready, Uncle John began:

“A long time ago there lived in one of our large cities a—Mr. Riddle. He was a banker. But no matter about him. I am now going to describe another member of the Riddle family, and if you will sharpen your wits and be wide-awake some of you good guessers can guess who or what he is, and I will promise you he will take you into copartnership and let you share his riches.”

At this point every eye began to open at the thought of suddenly growing rich.

“He was born before Methusaleh,” continued Uncle John, “and”—the eyes opened still wider—“he lives now;” at which not only were the eyes open to their utmost, but many mouths, and questions came thick and fast: “Born before Methusaleh?” “Lives now?” “Do you really mean it just so?” “How can it be?” “Who ever heard of such a thing?” “Is not it a conundrum, or a puzzle, or a riddle, or”—

“Yes,” from Uncle John; “and if you will listen closely and do some of the best thinking of your life you will surely guess my riddle.”

“And share the riches you spoke of?” asked one.

“And share the riches, just as I said.” And here Uncle John looked around, silent and amused at the perplexed faces of the young folks.

Then he continued: “This Mr. Riddle will probably live hundreds of years more. He was and he is a banker, richer than all other bankers, the Rothschilds thrown in to boot. There isn’t a place in all the world where he has not a bank. Some are hundreds of feet in the earth; some as high in the air; some, built of iron; some, of silver, tin, glass, paper, dirt, ice, clouds, coal and much more of which I may tell you more by and by. This is enough now. Don’t ask me any more questions to-night. We will sing a verse of a hymn, and have a short prayer, and then you must all go promptly home and to bed and be up early to-morrow morning and do all the sharp thinking you can get time for, and come again in the evening at seven o’clock, and I will tell you more about this puzzling banker, Mr. Riddle.”

Then Uncle John’s rich voice led, and, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” filled the room and swelled hearts with new and strange thoughts.

Then they all joined in “Our Father,” etc., and the meeting was out.