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Read Ebook: Venna Hastings: Story of an Eastern Mormon Convert by Farr Julia
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Ebook has 1640 lines and 42642 words, and 33 pages
Venna pressed her father's hand in sympathy, and there were a few moments of thoughtful silence.
Hastings noticed a wistful sadness come to the brown eyes--a look which always bothered him.
"Why so pensive?" he asked gently.
Venna gave a little sigh.
"Lately, I've been thinking quite a lot about the 'may-bes' in religion. I've been talking to Dr. Hansom a great deal and he's so full of 'may-bes.' So are you. Daddy dear."
"So is the whole Christian world, honey. You know the Bible tells us that we see through a darkened glass. But 'enough to know is given'" he added with practical satisfaction.
"That may be. 'Enough to know is given,' but do we ponder enough over what is given? We seem so unsure of almost everything. There's a girl in my class at school who is a Christian Scientist. She claims she understands everything, but when I ask her questions, her answers are so hazy and confused."
"Why puzzle over those things, dear? You're too young to bother your head this way. What this world needs is good, wholesome manhood and womanhood. Not a lot of dreamers, filled with catch-penny ideas. Be your own bright self and live your young life naturally. Don't we give you everything, dear, to make you the happiest girl in New York? If there's anything lacking, say the word," he added, patting her curls.
"Oh, you're wonderful. Daddy!" she replied, smiling brightly at him. "I'm never really unhappy. I just love to sometimes sit alone and dream." Then softly she added, "It is only then that I feel mother is near me."
Hastings' keen eyes scanned her face anxiously.
"I guess you had a hard last year at school. I'm glad you've graduated for good, and decided not to go to college. Just think of your music now, plenty of fresh air and lots of fun! It doesn't do for girls to get weak nerves!"
"Weak nerves! How funny! I'm strong as strong can be!" she said, laughing joyously.
Hastings shook his head.
"Moods show overstrain. Come, get your hat. We'll take a brisk walk and drop in at a show tonight."
Venna jumped up delighted. She would rather go out with Daddy than do anything else in the world.
In a few minutes they were in the brisk November air, John Hastings adjusting his usual quick pace to the shorter, slower step of his daughter.
With all her bright energy, Venna's walking seemed a contradiction. It was rather slow, very deliberate, and with a dignified bearing that was very attractive.
In the street, nothing ever escaped her notice. She would always prefer to walk rather than ride. She hated her limousine. Cosmopolitan New York was a constant delight, and a walk down Broadway a pleasurable habit.
The brilliant lights, the gay theatre throng, the queer, oddly contrasted styles of dress affected by the girls with the powdered noses--all these were never-failing amusements. But deeper than this light attraction was the real human throb of the great city's throng, hurrying to and fro, some laughing, some anxious, some with a self-important strut of achieved success, others with the dogged defiance of failure and chagrin.
"The Great White Way! Was there ever anything so interesting?" thought Venna, appreciating with her bright mind the appealing contrasts. As yet she was too young to be saddened by the undercurrent of human longing and unrest.
Suddenly Venna exclaimed, "Listen, Daddy! There's a bunch singing hymns on the next comer. How great that sounds!"
In strong contrast to the surroundings, the solemn chorus of mixed voices were filling the air with "Nearer, my God, to Thee."
"How strange," thought Venna, "God doesn't seem here at all."
"Some street missionaries," Hastings replied seriously. "They certainly get the crowd. They aren't paid for it either."
As they neared the little group of workers a very young girl with a violin stepped forward and started to play. She looked upon the small crowd gathered. Her hand trembled. She stopped short with embarrassment.
"O Daddy, see! She's so nervous. She's tried and can't go on!"
The crowd smiled. Some laughed. Before Hastings realized what his daughter had done, Venna stepped forward to the girl's side.
"Won't you let me play?" she asked softly.
Surprised and glad, the girl handed Venna her violin.
Then Hastings saw what seemed to him one of the unrealities Venna had talked of. Was it a dream or the impossible truth? There she stood, his darling, her genius making the violin fairly plead with the mixed crowd.
Suddenly she turned to the group of young workers.
"Sing!" she commanded as she struck a few chords of "Jesus, Lover of my Soul."
In two minutes the air was filled with the beautiful melody. The whole crowd joined and Venna stood leading them with a look on her young face that her father had never before seen.
He certainly didn't approve of this publicity, but something held him back until the last note was sung. Then he hastily stepped forward, "Come, dear, don't delay longer," he said with a gentle firmness which Venna knew meant a command.
With a happy smile she handed back the violin.
One of the young men, tall, manly, with gray eyes of shining enthusiasm, stepped to her side.
"We can't thank you enough. You have certainly drawn the crowd for us. Now I can preach."
She looked up into the earnest face.
"I would love to stay to hear you. May I, Daddy?"
"Not this time, Venna. Come, we will be late."
Hastings spoke brusquely. The spell was broken and he felt annoyed at the crowd gazing so intently at Venna.
The young preacher compelled her gaze.
"No time for the gospel message? Read these, then," he added, smiling into her eyes, as he handed her a few tracts.
Venna took them with a "Thank you," and as she walked away with her father, she heard the young preacher's first words ring out to the crowd.
"My friends, that Divine music has thrilled your souls. What prompted that young lady to stop? It was the Spirit of God, working in this city of worldliness and"--
Venna heard no more--her father was walking her rapidly away. She folded the tracts, and put them in her bag.
"You're not angry with me, Daddy?" she asked at last, breaking the silence as they swung down Broadway.
"Angry, child? No! But don't do it again. Your aunt would never approve of such unconventionalism. You are too impulsive. Be dignified--even in religion."
"But Christ went into the highways. Oh, I like that young preacher so! He didn't look as though he had any 'may-bes!'"
"Forget him, Venna. Now what theatre shall we go to?"
Venna decided and they were soon sitting comfortably in their box, listening to the newest light opera New York had to offer.
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