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THE RETURN HOME.
"Oh, how good it is to be home again!" said Ellen, and Jerry echoed her words.
Merry was the children's talk, as they gathered around the table for their evening meal. They were ready to laugh at the least thing, and Johnny, by simply remarking that Jerry and baby had learned to walk at the same time, provoked a burst of merriment. But beneath this innocent mirth, there were serious thoughts, and when his mother suggested that it was time the little ones went to bed, Jerry, looking at his father, said, quietly but earnestly:
"Father, before we go to bed, won't you thank Jesus for having made me well?"
The request took his father by surprise; he coloured deeply, scratched his head, and looked appealingly at his wife.
She responded to his glance by lifting her Bible from the shelf on which it lay, and placing it on the table before him.
"My father always used to read a chapter and pray with his children before they went to bed," she said. "I wish we had followed his example at the beginning of our married life. But it's not too late to turn over a new leaf. The Lord's been very gracious to us, although we've forgotten Him. Let us thank Him for His goodness, as the dear lad says."
Her husband opened the Bible, but turned over its leaves with an air of embarrassment.
"What shall I read, wife?" he asked.
She found him the 103rd Psalm, and slowly, and not without difficulty, for he was "no great scholar," as he often told his children, he read it.
The prayer was a harder matter. Memory came to his aid, however, recalling words familiar to his ears in boyhood, and in tremulous accents, he repeated the Lord's Prayer. Then he ventured to add a few words of thanksgiving for the especial blessings they, as a family, had received, with humble confession of sin. Broken and imperfect utterances they were, but spoken from the heart, and inspired by the Spirit of God.
That evening, watching angels could say of Joseph Mansfield, as was said of one of old, "Behold, he prayeth," and had cause to rejoice that to another of earth's homes, salvation had come. There were tears in his wife's eyes as she rose from her knees, but they were not tears of sorrow. The habit thus commenced was never dropped. Henceforth, not a day was allowed to close, without a portion of God's Word being read and a brief prayer offered.
All too quickly for Ellen, the happy hours passed by, and the day came when she must return to her work at Charmouth. It was with much regret that she said good-bye to her home once more. Had the choice been offered her, she would have preferred to remain at home, and help her mother with the domestic duties she had formerly despised. But it was too late to change her plans. Her assistance was no longer urgently needed, for baby was now out of hand, and Lucy was able to give her mother all the help she needed.
Ellen had made her decision, and must abide by it. Recognising this, she put a cheerful face upon the matter, and bravely, though with a somewhat heavy heart, went back to her tedious occupation, resolved to serve her aunt, not with "eye-service," but as "the servant of Christ."
She gradually became more accustomed to her aunt's peculiarities, and learned to love her in spite of them. Miss Mansfield treated her niece with kindness, and her demeanour showed that she was actuated by a different spirit from that which had influenced her in the past. But she still spoke quickly and sharply on occasion, and never quite lost her love of scolding, for the habit of a lifetime is not easily broken.
TEN YEARS LATER.
IT was a cold winter's night, more than ten years later, and the streets of Charmouth presented a dreary appearance, as a drizzling rain fell on the slushy pavements, and a chill breeze swept round the corners. It was miserable everywhere, even in the broad thoroughfares and ample squares, along which persons hurried, eager to get comfortably housed as speedily as possible; but the rawness of the night was especially felt on the quays and in the narrow gloomy streets adjoining them. On such a night, no one cared to be abroad, and it was little wonder that many, both young and old, should be crowding into the gorgeously lit gin-palaces, which were so numerous in the lower part of the town. To many of the dwellers in this neighbourhood, these taverns offered more attractive shelter than their own dismal homes afforded.
But in one of the narrow alleys, a warm light was streaming from a building which had no resemblance to a gin-palace, save that all comers, no matter how poor and miserable, were welcome to cross its threshold and seat themselves on the comfortable benches with which the interior was furnished. A board over the door informed the public that this was a mission hall, and the words "God is love" bore witness that the Father had not forgotten His children, nor the Saviour His lost sheep.
Towards this hall two persons were hastening, whose appearance differed considerably from that of most of the people whom they met. The elder of the two was a tall, bright-faced young woman, who, wrapped in a thick woollen shawl, stepped along bravely, and seemed quite unconscious of the disagreeable character of the weather. Her companion was a young man of slight stature and delicate appearance, with a singularly sweet expression of countenance. He seemed scarcely strong enough to be abroad on such a night, but he was warmly clad, and a thick comforter shielded his throat and chest from the raw atmosphere; and the purpose which had brought him out was one for which he would have encountered a far greater risk.
As he passed along these dark, noisome streets, his heart was full of pity for the wretched beings he met.
"Oh, Ellen, to think how little one can do!" he said to his sister. "All this sin and misery; so many treading the paths of death, and so few stretch forth a hand to their rescue! Oh, if only I could do more!"
"You do all you can, Jerry, I'm sure," replied Ellen Mansfield. "I feel quite ashamed of myself when I see how hard you work for others. If only I could do more! But it seems that sewing is the work God intends me to do, for I am so fully occupied, that I get little time for anything else."
"But sewing may be done to His glory," returned Jerry; "and you have an opportunity of guiding and helping other workwomen. By the bye, what has become of that Julia Coleman you used to talk to me about?"
Ellen's face grew sorrowful.
"Oh, Jerry, I have seen nothing of Julia for years," she said, "and I am afraid when I think of her, for she was so wild and wilful, and seemed so bent upon pleasure. Aunt bore with her heedless ways as long as ever she could, but she was obliged to dismiss her at last. Then she found work in a shop, but soon lost her situation through idleness. And now I don't know what has become of her, but I fear no good. I feel very unhappy when I think of Julia."
"Let us pray for her, Ellen," said Jerry; "let us ask the Great Physician to bring her back to Himself, that He may heal her sins."
But now they had gained the hall, where already a good congregation awaited the arrival of the young preacher. For Jerry's cherished wish had been realized, and he lived to tell others of the Saviour whom in his childhood, he had found so gracious.
He and Ellen had made a little home for themselves in Charmouth, and spent many a happy hour together, though Ellen still passed the greater part of each day in her aunt's work-room. Some of their brothers and sisters had also settled in the town, so that they were not separated from their family. And whenever they could take a holiday, they hastened back to the dear home, to receive a warm welcome from their parents and the children, who would soon be children no longer.
Ellen was thinking of the old home as she entered the mission hall.
She was recalling the days when Jerry lay helpless on a bed of pain, praying to the Saviour to give him health, and she rejoiced to think how wonderfully his prayer had been answered.
Probably Jerry had similar thoughts, for he chose to speak to the poor, wretched-looking people who gathered about him of the Great Physician, and took for his text his favourite words, "As many as touched Him were made whole." He blessed God for his theme as he looked at the sad faces turned towards him, and thought of the sickness and sin and misery which marred the lives of these people. Who could have had the heart to go into their midst, did he not bear them glad tidings of a mighty Friend, who "Himself took our infirmities and bare our sicknesses"?
Jerry's words were simple and loving. He told of the Saviour's love to sinful man; how, when He was upon the earth, He had had compassion on all who came to Him, healing their maladies, deadly though they might be; relieving their distress, however great; forgiving their sins, howsoever numerous. He spoke of the woman who, too fearful to ask for mercy, had crept behind Jesus in the crowd, and laid her fingers on the hem of His garment. He described the case of the leper who cried, "Lord, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean," and received the gracious answer, "I will, be thou clean." And told the story of the sinful Magdalene, who dared but to bathe His feet with her tears, yet was bade to go in peace with sins forgiven.
Then with joy, Jerry proclaimed that the Saviour was still "mighty to save." His heart had not changed towards man; He still yearned over them in love, and pitied their sorrows. He told these miserable folk that Jesus cared for their bodies, that He knew every ache and pain that they suffered, and could understand their weakness and want. He encouraged them to bring every malady, physical or spiritual, to the Great Physician; but with especial earnestness, he pleaded with them to seek deliverance from the fatal leprosy of sin, which worketh death both to body and soul.
However great their guilt, Christ could make them clean, for still, as in the days of old, "as many as touched Him were made whole."
Tears were in Jerry's eyes, as he besought his hearers to come and be healed, and his earnest words were not spoken in vain. The Holy Spirit carried them home to many a heart, causing it to cry out for salvation, and "the power of the Lord was present to heal them."
The hymn with which the service closed was a fit sequel to Jerry's address, and expressed the desire of many in that assembly. The words were these:
"Heal us, Immanuel; we are hereWaiting to feel Thy touch;Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair,And, Saviour, we are such."Our faith is feeble, we confess,We faintly trust Thy word;But wilt Thou pity us the less?Be that far from Thee, Lord."Remember him who once appliedWith trembling for relief;'Lord, I believe,' with tears he cried,'Oh, help my unbelief.'"She too who touched Thee in the press,And healing virtue stole,Was answered, 'Daughter, go in peace;Thy faith bath made thee whole.'"Like her, with hopes and fears, we come,To touch Thee if we may;Oh! Send us not despairing home,Send none unhealed away."
Whilst the hymn was being sung, Ellen's eyes were arrested by the appearance of a girl who sat on the bench before her. She was an unhappy looking girl, dressed in ragged and tawdry finery.
Ellen had noticed her when she entered, and had fancied that her features were familiar, but after that moment's glance, she had paid no further heed to her, till at the close of Jerry's address she saw this girl hastily cover her face with a corner of her shawl, whilst the sobs which shook her frame showed that she was in an agony of grief.
Ellen watched her with much concern, and seeing that she continued to weep, she hastened to her side, when the people began to move from the hall, and gently asked the cause of her grief.
Her words elicited no response. The girl did not raise her head, but sobbed more violently than before.
"Do tell me what is troubling you," said Ellen kindly; "I want to help you if I can."
This time the girl lifted her head, and looked to see who was speaking to her. She started back with a cry as she caught sight of Ellen, and as she did so, Ellen recognised Julia Coleman, sadly altered though she was.
"Oh, Julia, is it you?" she exclaimed, laying her hand affectionately on Julia's arm. "I have so wished to see you again."
"Don't, Ellen," cried Julia, hastily shaking off her hand. "Don't look at me—don't speak to me like that! If you knew how bad I am, you would not touch me."
As she spoke, Julia rose from her place, and turned to make her escape from the hall. But Ellen held her by the hand, and would not let her go.
"No, no, Julia," she said, "you must not run away from me thus. I want to be your friend, if you will let me."
"I cannot!" cried Julia. "I am not fit to be your friend. Oh, if you only knew how bad I am!"
And, overcome with emotion, Julia sank on to the bench, and again began to sob.
"Dear Julia, if you are a sinner, I am one also," said Ellen. "And the Saviour who has forgiven my sins, will forgive yours, if you will only ask Him."
"Oh, Ellen, is it true?" cried Julia, a ray of hope passing over her countenance. "Is it all true that the preacher said—'As many as touched Him'? Can I go to Him? Can I touch Him?"
"Yes, it is true, quite true," Ellen assured her. "The Lord Jesus will receive you lovingly, and heal your sins. But here comes Jerry; he will tell you better than I can. You did not know that the preacher was my brother Jerry."
And now Jerry added his words to Ellen's, and encouraged Julia to seek the Great Physician, who now, as in the days of His flesh, "receiveth sinners."
It was long before she could believe that, wretched and sin-stained though she was, Jesus would not disdain to hear her cry. But at last, faith conquered fear; and bowed beneath the burden of her sin, yet trusting in the Saviour's love for forgiveness, like the penitent woman in the house of Simon, she knelt at Jesus' feet, bathing them with her tears, and was comforted by hearing from His lips the words, "Thy sins are forgiven thee; go in peace."
She knew that in this life she must ever bear the scar of her sins, but their smart was healed, and in her case also was the saying true, "As many as touched Him were made whole."
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.