"But Jesus said that He was the resurrection," said Beryl; "and Jesus was a man, was He not?"
"Oh, Miss Beryl!" exclaimed Lucy, shocked at the irreverence of which the child in her ignorance seemed to her to be guilty. "Surely you know better than that! Jesus was the Son of God, 'who for us men and our salvation came down from heaven.'"
"But what does it mean about the resurrection?" persisted Beryl. "Will dead people, will my mamma live again? Shall I see her? Do tell me, Lucy!"
"Oh, hush! Miss Beryl; you are talking too fast," said Lucy, giving a warning glance at the bed, as she felt herself unable to answer the child's questions.
"You should ask your clergyman those questions, my dear," said Mrs. Despard, gently.
"Oh, I could not ask him anything," said Beryl emphatically.
No one spoke for some minutes after this. Beryl was disturbed by an irritating sense of mystification. Lucy was uncomfortably conscious that she, as a good Church-woman and regular communicant, ought to be able to give a satisfactory explanation of the truth she professed to believe. As for the sick woman, she was as anxious as Beryl to know all that was meant by the words the child had repeated. Coral was the only one at ease; and as she sat on the bed close to her mother's pillow, her large dark eyes were turned on the others with the open gaze of childish wonder.
Thus Mr. Hollys found them when he came to enquire how Mrs. Despard was.
"You are looking rather better to-day," he said to her; "do you feel so?"
"Yes, I am a little stronger," she replied; "if only my mind were at peace. I have been thinking a great deal about my brother this morning. Do you think there is any possibility of finding him? Although he could not forgive me, he might be kind to little Coral for my sake."
"I do not know; but we can make enquiries," said Mr. Hollys. "I will do what I can to find him. But make your mind easy about the child; if he does not claim her, I will be her friend. She shall have a home here as long as she needs one."
"Oh, thank you; how good you are!" cried the poor woman, bursting into tears in her sudden sense of relief from anxiety. "I cannot thank you as I should; but God will bless you for your goodness to the stranger."
"No thanks are needed," he returned hastily; and without saying more, he quitted the room, for the sight of the dying woman's emotion affected him painfully. Beryl slipped after her father. Though he had lowered his voice in speaking to Mrs. Despard, she had heard enough to enable her to guess what it was that he had said which gave Coral's mother such comfort.
"Oh, papa!" she cried, as she hastened after him, "How good you are! Thank you so much for saying that Coral may stay with us. You cannot think how glad I am."
"Not so fast, little woman," he said, smiling fondly on her; "you are taking things too much for granted. It is by no means certain that Coral will remain here. If we find her uncle, he will probably take charge of her."
"Then I hope he will not be found," said Beryl. "I want to keep Coral."
"Now, I wonder if I have done a very foolish thing," said Mr. Hollys to himself as he walked away. "I fancy most people would say that I have. Well, I have committed myself now, and must take the consequences."
But as yet he appeared to have little dread of unpleasant results, and his face did not wear the look of a man who regretted an act of folly.
A TALK ABOUT THE KINGDOM
IN the afternoon, when Mrs. Despard was sleeping, Lucy took the children for a walk. They went through part of the village, and then ascended a steep hill, which led them to a narrow winding path high above the waves, and commanding a splendid prospect of sea and sky. Ferns and mosses grew plenteously on the landward side of this path, but its outer edge overhung the cliff, and was unguarded, so Lucy held little Coral's hand, lest the child should unwarily venture too near the dangerous brink. The path led to some barren fields shelving down to the beach. Near the gate of the first field a stone bench had been erected, which seemed to invite the passer-by to halt and admire the grand sea-view spread before it.
When Beryl was much younger, her nurse had often brought her to this spot, and allowed her to play at will amongst the thin grass, whilst she sat on the bench and knitted, an occupation of which Lucy never tired. Lucy now sat down and gazed silently at the sea for a few moments. She saw, without knowing how beautiful it was, the constant play of light and shadow on the shimmering water, and the glorious stretch of blue sky with its snowy clouds drifting slowly to the west.
Yet, though unconscious of the beauty about her, some of the gladness of the hour stole into Lucy's spirit. She thought, not with shuddering horror, but with deep thankfulness for his safety, of how nearly her brother had found his death beneath the blue waves now dancing so joyously in the sunlight.
But Lucy could not long indulge in such musings, for Beryl was impatient to pass on through the fields to the little pebbly cove beyond. When they reached the stile, from which a steep, narrow path ran down to the beach, they saw, to their surprise, a little crowd of persons standing below within the shelter of the cliff.
It was not unusual for there to be a number of boys and girls playing on the beach on a Sunday afternoon; but though the majority were children, there were several grown-up persons in the little company standing so quietly below.
"What are they doing, Lucy? Why do they stand there?" asked Beryl.
"Don't you see there is a gentleman talking to them, Miss Beryl?" said Lucy. "I remember now that Joe told me there was a gentleman from London, an artist, he said he was, had taken to preaching to the folks down here on a Sunday afternoon; but I forgot all about it when I said we would walk this way."
"I am very glad we came," said Beryl; "let us go down and hear what he is saying."
And she started at a run down the steep path. Lucy and Coral followed more cautiously; Lucy feeling rather doubtful of the propriety of her allowing Miss Beryl to attend "the preaching."
But Beryl, very curious as to this unusual proceeding, pushed her way into the little crowd gathered about the speaker. Seeing her approach, the people respectfully made place for her, and so it happened that Beryl soon found herself close beside the gentleman, who stood leaning against the cliff, as he spoke in simple words to his untaught, childish audience.
Beryl liked the look of the speaker, and did not doubt his right to be called a gentleman, though he had not the well-to-do, easy air her father always wore, and his clothes were of poor material, and well worn. Even to the child's glance there was something beyond the ordinary in his appearance and bearing. His face was thin, and he had the pallid complexion which betokens delicate health. He wore his black hair rather long, and a thick, dark beard covered his chest. His eyes were of a deep, clear grey, and had the open, steadfast look those only have which can look beyond self, having escaped the thraldom of personal desires and ambitions. There was a winning gentleness in the man's expression, and though his voice was not strong, its tones went home to every heart.
"Last Sunday, my friends," he said, "we were talking together about the first petition in that prayer which you say so often at church or chapel: 'Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.' Now, to-day I want to speak to you about the second petition of that prayer: 'Thy kingdom come.' And first let us ask what is meant by a kingdom? What do you understand now that a kingdom is?"
He paused and awaited an answer; but the question was a difficult one to his hearers, and though several of the rough, honest faces before him looked thoughtful, as if they were considering the matter, no one ventured a reply.
"We often use the word kingdom, do we not," he went on, "in speaking of the country or countries over which a king or queen rules? We speak, for instance, of 'the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.' But the word is sometimes used to represent the power and sovereignty of a king, and sometimes, too, it means the living beings, the human hearts over which he reigns. Now, I think there is somewhat of all three meanings included in this petition. 'Thy kingdom come;' whose kingdom do we mean when we say this?"
"God's," answered a young girl standing near Beryl.
"Yes, it is the kingdom of God; and what is the relation God bears to us? What were we talking about last Sunday?"
"'Our Father, which art in heaven,'" said a sad-faced woman with a baby in her arms.
"Yes, you have given us the answer, my friend," said the speaker, looking kindly at her. "Jesus taught us that God is our Father; so you see it is our Father's kingdom that we pray may come. God is at once our Father and our King. Think for a moment what it is to have a King who is our Father. I remember that when I was a boy, and had lessons to do, I was constantly finding in my books this sentence: 'A good king is the father of his people.' Now, that is a grand description of what a king should be, because it is founded on the Divine idea of kingship."
"But how imperfectly can this be realised by any earthly monarch. We are proud of our Queen Victoria, are we not? We think her one of the best of sovereigns. But it is not possible that she can take a parent's interest in all our homely needs and daily anxieties. I dare say that if any of the great men of her court should tell her that you fisher-folk of Egloshayle were in sore distress from famine or fever, and needed her succour and sympathy, her kind heart would prompt her to send immediately to your relief; but you might suffer a thousand ills of which she would never hear."
"Not so is it with our Father-King. He is with you in your homes, and knows the weight of each burden of care which lies so heavily on your hearts. Nothing escapes His knowledge. He knows how you are tried when the weather makes fishing impossible, or when your nets are lost and your boats wrecked, and the gaunt wolf of want comes nearer and nearer to your door. Then He knows and pities, and He will send you help, if only you will trust Him as a Father should be trusted."
"Well, it is our Father's kingdom, then, that we pray for; and if we are good and loving children, we shall take a great interest, shall we not, in our Father's kingdom? The Prince of Wales, your Duke of Cornwall, of whom you are proud, and all the other children of the Queen, take a great interest in their mother's kingdom. And why? Is it not because in being her kingdom it is also theirs? They belong to the kingdom and the kingdom belongs to them. And so it is with us. We are not merely the subjects of God's kingdom, but the children of that kingdom."
"That expression, 'children of the kingdom,' occurs twice in the Bible. In the first instance, Jesus (for in both cases it is our Lord who uses this word) says, referring, it is supposed, to the Jewish nation, 'The children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.' God forbid that you or I should, like those Jews, be cast out of the kingdom as unworthy to belong to it!"
"Again, our Lord, in explaining His parable of the sower and the seed, says: 'The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom; but the tares are the children of the wicked one.'"
"How I wish I could persuade you, my friends, to aim at being like the good seed in this great field in which God has placed you. Who is willing to be a child of the kingdom?"
"I am," murmured Beryl, who had been listening with intense interest to the speaker's words. "I am willing."
The gentleman heard the child's low response. He was silent for a few minutes, and then went on with growing earnestness:—
"I heard some one say, 'I am willing,'" he said, not looking at Beryl, but so far beyond her that she fancied he could not know that she had said the words. "God be praised for one willing heart! But I trust there are others amongst you ready to become children of the kingdom; and in order that we may understand what this means, let us try to form some idea of what the nature of this kingdom really is."
"First, let me say that it is not a kingdom of the future, but a kingdom existing now. Some people mean heaven, the world of joy and rest, which they believe death will open to them, when they speak of the kingdom of God."
"But God has a kingdom now, in this world, a kingdom into which we may enter if we will. The kingdom is not yet perfected, it is true; but it is daily growing and increasing. We cannot describe its form, for it is an invisible kingdom. Jesus said, 'The kingdom of God cometh not with observation; neither shall they say, "Lo here!" or, "Lo there!" for behold the kingdom of God is within you.' And St. Paul, taught of the Spirit, said, 'The kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.'"
"Now do you begin to see something of what the kingdom is? The realm over which our Father would reign is the hearts of men. It is His by right; He is its lawful ruler; but He desires to win its loving submission. Wherever there is a heart bowing to the will of its Father, striving to do His will, struggling to live worthy of its Divine birth, there is the kingdom of heaven. The Lord Jesus Christ is the door into that kingdom. The man who, loving Christ, tries to follow His example, living a true, pure, honest life, working his hardest when work is to hand, and trusting his Father without grumbling when times are bad, is a child of the kingdom."
"The woman who does her lowly household work as to the Lord, loving her husband, caring for her children, keeping her home clean and bright, and living peaceably with her neighbours, is a child of the kingdom. The boy or girl who tries to be like the child Jesus, obedient, gentle, loving, making the sunshine of glad smiles and the music of happy voices in this sad earth, is a child of the kingdom."
The gentleman ceased speaking, and looked with searching, though kindly glances at the people standing about him. Many had listened only with idle wonder; but on some few his words had made a deep impression.
These now moved forward to shake hands with him and utter their rough but hearty thanks. Beryl remained beside the gentleman, although she was aware that Lucy, who had lingered on the outskirts of the crowd, was beckoning to her to come away.
Beryl was determined that she would not move till she had spoken to the stranger, and perhaps asked him the question she was so anxious to have answered.
BERYL GAINS A FRIEND
BERYL had to wait for some minutes before she could speak to the stranger, whose words had so interested her.
The gentleman was not unaware of the little figure waiting patiently beside him; but many persons were just then claiming his attention, and he thought it best not to speak to the child till he was at leisure to hear all that she might have to say. One by one the strange congregation dispersed, and, having said the last good-bye, he turned to meet Beryl's upturned glance.
"Well, my dear," he said, noting with pleasure the pretty flushed face and soft blue eyes of the child; "I saw you listening to me just now. What is your name, if you do not mind telling me?"
"Beryl Hollys. We live at Egloshayle House. I dare say you know my papa," said Beryl, displaying some consciousness of her own importance.
"Yes, I have heard of your father since I have been at Egloshayle," the stranger replied. "So your name is Beryl—a precious stone. Well, my child, you must make your name good. You must be a precious stone in the living temple. I heard you say you were willing to be a child of the kingdom."
"Yes, if I can be; but I do not know how," said Beryl.
"No one can more easily enter the kingdom, my child. The kingdom is yours. Don't you remember that Jesus said, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven'? You have only to come to Jesus."
Beryl knew the words well. Lucy had taught them to her when she was a little girl; but now they seemed to her quite new, as their meaning suddenly flashed upon her mind.
"But how can I come?" she said.
"My child, you can come to Jesus at any moment. He is ever near you. He loves you even better than your father does. You can lift your heart to Him, and tell Him you will be His."
"But," said Beryl, with a touch of impatience in her tone, "there are so many things I want to know, and I have no one to tell me. I want to know what the resurrection means. I asked papa, but he only said I should understand when I was older. But I want to understand now."
The gentleman looked at her in surprise.
"What set you thinking about the resurrection, my dear?" he asked.
"It is on mamma's grave," said Beryl, "'I believe in the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.'"
"Ah, to be sure," he replied, "I remember seeing those words in the churchyard. And that was your mother's grave, my little friend? You want to know what that long word resurrection means?"
"Yes; will you tell me?" asked Beryl eagerly, sure that he could tell her, if only he would.
The gentleman was silent for a minute, thinking how he could put in simplest words what he knew of the great mystery of the resurrection.
"Beryl," he said gently, "do you know that Jesus said, 'I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die'?"
"Yes," said Beryl, "I know; I found those words in the Bible."
"Well, my child, that word resurrection means life from the dead, a returning from the grave, as it were."
"But no one ever does return from the grave," said Beryl, her face full of wonder and awe.
"Jesus returned from the grave," said her new friend. "Do you not remember? You know that Jesus died?"
"Yes," said Beryl softly; "He was God's Son, and He died on the cross."
"And after He was dead they laid Him in the grave, a grave made in the rock, and a great stone was rolled to the mouth of the grave to make it secure. But Jesus could not be the prisoner of death. The Lord of Life rose from the dead, and when the women who loved Him came to weep beside the grave, they found the stone rolled away, and the place where He had lain empty. Then Jesus appeared to Mary and the other disciples, the very same Jesus whom they had known and loved and mourned as dead. And the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord, and knew that He had conquered death. And so Jesus is the Resurrection, the Life from the Dead, because having conquered Death Himself, He can promise the same victory to all who trust in Him. He has the keys of Death. Our dead are in His keeping, and He will raise them up at the last day. Can you understand me, my child?"
"Yes, I think so," said Beryl, but still looking puzzled. "But where do people go when they die? Where is my mamma? Where is Coral's papa?"
"Many have asked such questions as those, my child, but they cannot yet be answered; we must wait for fuller knowledge. All we know is that our dead have passed into a region which is under the control of Christ. They are safe in His keeping. His voice it was which called them from earth, and His voice it is which will call them forth on the morning of the resurrection. 'Them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.'"
"But when will that be?" asked Beryl.
"We know not. The Lord has not revealed the time of His appearing; only we must seek to be ready for His coming," said the stranger. "But I am afraid I am keeping you too long, my child. Is that your nurse who is beckoning to you so energetically?"
"Yes, that is Lucy," said Beryl; "and Coral is with her. Won't you come and speak to Coral?"
"Who is Coral?" asked the gentleman. "Your little sister?"
"Oh no," said Beryl quickly; "but she is going to live with me, and be like my little sister."
And then, in hurried words, she told the story of the shipwreck—of Coral's and her mother's rescue—and of her father's sad fate.
The gentleman listened with interest to the child's account, though he had already heard all particulars of the shipwreck. Then, pitying the impatience which Lucy manifested, he crossed the beach to where she and Coral stood, and proposed that as he was about to return to the village, they should all walk back together.
The children were very pleased with their new companion, and chattered fast to him as they passed through the fields. When they reached the stone bench at the top of the hill, the gentleman paused and looked round.
"Look, children," he said, and they all turned to look.
The sight was indeed worth a long gaze. The sun was sinking in the west, and its crimson light flushed the water. A bank of purple clouds lay on the horizon, and where they parted the ruddy rays broke forth in glorious beauty. The whole sky caught the illumination, and the tiny clouds which floated overhead were of a delicate rose-colour.
"How pretty the sky is!" said little Coral. "It was often like that when we were in the ship. Papa used to take me on deck to look at it."
"It will be a fine day to-morrow," said Lucy; "it always is when the sun goes down red."
Beryl said nothing, but gazed in silence on the beauty of the sky. She could not have explained what she thought of it, but somehow, in the child's mind, the glory of that sunset was entwined with her idea of the kingdom of heaven. It was indeed a symbol of the happy death unto sin and new birth unto righteousness by which we enter into the kingdom of God.
They watched till the sun sank into his grave, which yet was no grave, and the pink clouds grew grey in the fading light. Then Lucy and Coral went on, and Beryl and her new friend followed. When they reached the village street, he said he must bid her good-bye.
"But I shall see you again some day, shall I not?" asked Beryl wistfully.
"Yes, my child, I hope so. I shall be at Egloshayle a few weeks longer; and, Beryl, if your father should wish to know my name, you can tell him I am David Gilbank, and I am staying at the Blue Anchor for a while, in order to do some sketching."
"David Gilbank," said Beryl. "Yes, I shall not forget. Good-bye."
And she bounded away to overtake Lucy, eager to tell her father, or any one who would listen to her, of the new friend she had gained. But her father was not to be found when she reached home, and she learned, to her vexation, that he had gone out.
Miss Hollys, as usual at that hour, was reclining on the sofa in the drawing-room; but when Beryl burst in, eager to tell all that had happened, her aunt, annoyed at her intrusion, showed no sympathy for the enthusiasm with which Beryl spoke of her new friend.
She chose to consider it an occasion for fault-finding, and scolded Beryl for being so ready to make acquaintance with an utter stranger, who was not likely to prove a desirable person to know.
Beryl received her aunt's rebukes more patiently than was her wont. The recollection of her resolve to be a child of the kingdom helped her to refrain from a rude and angry retort.
Later in the evening, when the children went to Mrs. Despard's room to bid her good-night, Beryl found the sympathy for which she longed.
Mrs. Despard was sitting up, and looking much better, Beryl thought, because a bright crimson spot burnt in each cheek, and her eyes were large and brilliant. She began to question the children about their walk, and soon heard all that Beryl could tell her of the stranger whose name was David Gilbank.
"I wish you could have heard what he said," the child cried eagerly; "he was speaking about the kingdom of God, and oh! He made it all so plain—how God is our Father and our King, and we must all be children of the kingdom. And I am going to be a child of the kingdom; I said that I would!"
"Ah, it is easy for the young," sighed Mrs. Despard; "but I have never thought much of religion, and now I fear the door of that kingdom is closed against me."
"But Jesus is the door," said Beryl. "David Gilbank said so; he told me to come to Jesus, who said,—'Suffer little children to come unto Me.' But then you are not a little child; I forgot that. I don't know what you must do."
"No, I do not know what I can do," was the sad response.
"But the kingdom is for men and women too. He said that; so I do not see why you should not come, although you are not a little child," observed Beryl. "If I were you, I should ask Jesus to let me in."
"Should you?" said the poor woman, wistfully.
"Yes; and oh, I asked him the meaning of the resurrection!" exclaimed Beryl eagerly. "And he explained it all so nicely. But I am afraid I cannot tell you properly what he said. Resurrection means rising from the dead; and as Jesus rose from the dead, so all those who trust in Him shall be raised up at last, although they are dead. But it is very difficult to understand, only it is plain that when we die we shall go to Jesus, and He will take care of us; so you see that there is nothing really to be afraid of in dying."
"Ah, child, it is easy to say so," said Mrs. Despard mournfully; "but I have been such a sinner. I cannot expect that the Lord would receive me."
"But I thought Jesus died for every one, whether they were sinners or not," said Beryl, looking puzzled; "and if any one can go into the kingdom, you can. You've only got to ask Jesus."
How straight to the point went the childish words! Long after Beryl had left her, the sick woman lay pondering them, and adding to them all that she could recollect of what she had learned in her childhood about the Saviour of the world, who by His death upon the cross and His glorious resurrection has redeemed us from the power of sin and death.
When Lucy came in, Mrs. Despard asked her for a Bible, and from that time, as her strength permitted, she daily studied the sacred Book, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, its words brought her life and peace. As she read of Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and who died to save His people from their sins, and deliver them from the fear of death, her spirit grew calm and restful. She looked no longer on her sins, but on the Lamb of God, who had taken them away. She could trust in God her Saviour, and trusting in Him with childlike faith, death was robbed of its sting and the grave of its terrors.
Some days passed ere Beryl again saw her friend David Gilbank, for a sudden change in the weather made it unpleasant to saunter on the beach, and quite impossible to sketch in the open air. The advance of spring was checked by biting east winds, which brought showers of sleet and even a slight snowstorm in their train. In place of the bright and joyous Easter which every one had expected, came a cold, inclement season, which would have seemed like Christmas but for the opening buds, and the primroses and violets, which smiled in the face of the cold wind, as if confident that its triumph would be of short duration, and sunshine and beauty would conquer in the end.
To the invalid's failing strength, the cold, raw weather struck a fatal blow. There was a rapid change for the worse, and she sank so low that the doctor gave warning that death might come at any hour.
On Easter Sunday, Beryl went with her father to church, but Coral was left at home in Lucy's care. The day was cold and showery, but every now and then the sun broke through the clouds, and smiled an assurance of better things to come. Beryl watched with pleasure the gleams of sunlight which from time to time lit up the diamond-paned windows, and sent bright shafts of light athwart the dusky old church. She was pleased to see Mr. Gilbank at church. He was looking pale and ill, and was much wrapped up, for the east winds had their perils for him.
Beryl drew her father's attention to the artist, and looked forward to speaking to him when the service ended.
Beryl was able heartily to enjoy that Sunday morning service. The solemn, sweet anthem, the bright, exultant hymns stirred the child's heart. She knew now the significance of Easter Day, with its joyful recognition of a risen Lord. She had learned the meaning of the long word which had puzzled her, and, however faint and imperfect the child's ideas of the resurrection may have been, doubtless she, in her childish simplicity, came nearer to the truth than many of the wise and prudent.
David Gilbank was in the porch as they went out of church, and Beryl addressed him eagerly, and hastened to make her father acquainted with her new friend. Mr. Hollys spoke cordially to the artist, and invited him to come some day to Egloshayle House to see some pictures of which their owner was rather proud.
Beryl was not allowed to go into the sick-room when she returned from church. Mrs. Despard was too ill to see her, Lucy said. But when bed-time came, she as well as Coral was allowed to go into the room to say good-night to the weary sufferer. Even to Beryl's eyes it was clear that a strange, indescribable change had come over the colourless, wasted face. And it was not good-night but good-bye she said to the children, clinging to her poor little Coral with a passionate tenderness which brought tears to the eyes of all who witnessed the farewell.
Some hours later Beryl awoke from her first sleep' to find a candle burning in the room, and Lucy standing by Coral's bed with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
"What is the matter, Lucy?" she asked, springing up. "Is Coral's mamma worse?"
"She is gone, poor lady," said Lucy, wiping her eyes; "she passed away in her sleep as gently as possible, and now she looks so peaceful and happy."
"Oh, Lucy, do you mean that she is dead?" said Beryl, in a tone of awe and sorrow.
"Yes, Miss Beryl, it is true; her troubles are over now; but don't make a noise and wake Miss Coral; she will know soon enough, poor dear."
Beryl covered her face with the bed-clothes, and cried bitterly at the thought of little Coral's loss. It seemed so sad and dark and terrible. But even as she cried, and thought of the dark grave and the lonely, motherless life, there came to her mind, with some sense of comfort, the words they had sung that morning in church—
"Jesus lives! Henceforth is deathBut the gate of life immortal;This shall calm our trembling breath,When we pass its gloomy portal."
THE FIRST QUARREL
A FORTNIGHT after Mrs. Despard's death, Mr. Hollys went to London. The children seemed already to have forgotten their experience of earth's darkest shadow. May dawned so fresh and beautiful, that it was impossible for thoughts of sorrow to dwell in their childish hearts.
It was delightful to pass the sunny mornings on the beach, hunting for shells and seaweed, or raising with their spades castles or embankments, which the incoming tide always swept away. It was warm enough now for Beryl to commence the bathing which she so thoroughly enjoyed. Beryl's swimming seemed to Coral a wonderful performance. She did not soon forget the fright Beryl gave her on the morning on which they first ventured into the water.
"Look, Coral; see what I am going to do!" exclaimed Beryl, as she waded through the shallow waves towards a rock, which rose high out of the water.
On the other side of the rock, the waves were running high. Coral watched Beryl wonderingly as she scrambled up the great rocks, and stood on the top, looking a strange little figure in her pretty scarlet bathing-dress. Coral laughed and clapped her hands to see her perched there; but her laugh changed to a cry of horror, as she saw Beryl suddenly raise her hands high above her head, and, springing forward, plunge headlong into the waves surging around the rock.
Coral screamed with fear, as her friend disappeared from view. She felt certain that Beryl would be drowned.
"Don't be frightened, my dear," cried Lucy's voice from the shore; "that's only one of Miss Beryl's venturesome tricks. She's safe enough, for she can swim like a fish. Master had her taught when she was quite a little girl. Look! There she is again."
And Coral's fears were allayed by seeing Beryl's head appear above the water, and hearing her laugh merrily as she shook the water from her eyes and head.
"You little goose! Did you think I was drowned?" she cried. "Look how well I can swim. Come, Coral, I will teach you to swim."
But Coral was cold and nervous, and felt no desire for a swimming lesson.
"I don't want to learn," she said. "I am tired of being in the water; I shall go in."
"Oh, you can't think of going in yet," cried Beryl, who was warmed and exhilarated by her exercise; "you have been in the water no time. Come, let me dip you."
But Coral screamed and drew back as Beryl laid rather rough hands on her. Beryl, little used to having her will opposed, lost her temper at this, and the children, who up to this time had agreed most charmingly, now began to quarrel.
"You silly little thing," said Beryl, in a tone of contempt, "I do believe you are frightened. I would not be such a coward for something. There, go along with you; I don't want your company."
Coral ran sobbing to Lucy, and Beryl swam leisurely round the rock, and tried to believe that she was enjoying herself very much. But in truth she was feeling too angry with Coral to be very happy.
"Coral was a silly, cross, disagreeable little thing," she said to herself again and again, not being at all willing to acknowledge that she too had been cross and disagreeable.
"How could you be so unkind to Miss Coral?" said Lucy, when Beryl at length came out of the water, and went into the garden-house to be dressed. "The poor child has been sobbing like to break her heart. I wonder at you, Miss Beryl, treating a poor little motherless girl like that!"
Now, Beryl was already beginning to feel ashamed of herself, but she was not willing to acknowledge this to Lucy. At her nurse's words her heart grew hard again.
"I don't care," she said defiantly. "Coral was much more cross than I was. She is a horrid little thing."
"Well, I never! Miss Beryl!" exclaimed Lucy, lifting up her hands in astonishment. "And to think how anxious you were to have her for a little sister. No one would have thought, to hear you talk of her then, that you would so soon behave badly to her."
Beryl made no reply; her face wore a sullen, proud look, which it was not pleasant to see. When she was dressed, she went down to the beach again. Coral had ceased to cry, and was playing there very contentedly.
Beryl passed her without vouchsafing her even a look, and went to some rocks at a little distance, where she sat down and stared sulkily at the sea. Beryl was quite conscious of her own naughtiness, but felt disposed to encourage it and prolong it as much as possible.
Presently Coral, finding it dull to play alone, came timidly to the place where Beryl sat.
"Beryl," she said, trying to appear oblivious of past occurrences, "won't you come and play with me?"
For a moment Beryl felt inclined to dismiss her vexation and yield to Coral's wish, but pride and ill-temper reasserted themselves.
"No," she said crossly; "I don't care to play with a stupid little thing like you. You can go away."
"You ought not to call me stupid," replied Coral, her dark eyes flashing angrily; "you are a bad girl."
And she raised her hand and struck Beryl.
The blow did not hurt Beryl in the least, but in her present mood it was more than her pride could endure.
"How dare you!" she cried, turning upon Coral, with her face aglow with passion, and giving the child such a violent push as made her fall with her face on the rough stones.
Beryl did not wait to see if Coral were hurt, but ran off at full speed along the beach, as if anxious to get as far away as possible. But run as fast as she might, Beryl could not escape from the evil self which was the source of her unhappiness. She came to a sudden halt as she caught sight of a distant figure seated in a quiet nook amongst the rocks, with easel and paint-box at hand. She had no inclination now to bound forward to greet the artist. She fancied that Mr. Gilbank would be able to read in her face the secret of her naughtiness. The very sight of him had the force of a silent reproach.
Hoping that he had not seen her, Beryl turned back, and began slowly to climb one of the many zigzag paths leading to the top of the cliff. Half-way up, she paused, and stood looking down on the beach. She was anxious to see Coral, but the child was not in sight.
It was lovely to watch the blue, foam-crested waves breaking on the stones, to gaze across the beautiful bay, or at the pure white clouds sailing slowly overhead; but these things were lost upon Beryl. Conscience was awake now, and her unhappiness had taken a new and better shape.
The sight of Mr. Gilbank had reminded her of her resolve to be a child of the kingdom, and she felt that she had miserably failed. She saw her conduct in its true light, and wondered to think how easily she had given way to bad temper. How could she behave so crossly to poor little Coral, who had lost both her father and mother, and had no one else to love her! She had meant to be so tender and loving, and to act the part of a good, wise, elder sister to the child. Beryl really loved Coral, and she now felt heartily sorry and ashamed to think how she had treated her. She began to fear that Coral must have been very much hurt by that fall on the sharp stones.
She longed to go in search of her and ask her forgiveness, yet she shrank from doing so. How could she bear it if she found Coral suffering greatly from the effects of her violence?
The more Beryl thought of all that had happened, the more uneasy she became. At last she turned to the best source of comfort for our troubles, whether they spring from sin or not. There is but one voice that can absolve from sin, and one Friend whose sympathy can reach every sorrow. When Beryl had told her sin and sorrow in the ear of that Friend, she felt calmer, and started off, determined to lose no time in finding Coral and telling her how sorry she was that she had been so cross.
She ran down to the beach, and hastened in the direction of home, looking everywhere for Coral; but the child was not to be seen. Once or twice Beryl called her name, thinking that Coral might be hiding amongst the rocks; but no answer came, and she hurried on with a vague sense of fear. Coral was not at the end of the beach, where she had left her, and Beryl ran up the steps into the garden, hoping to find her there. But no; the garden paths were quiet and deserted; and, feeling more and more frightened, Beryl hastened into the house, and ran upstairs to the nursery, meeting no one by the way.
The nursery was empty, but the door of the adjoining room, in which the children slept, stood ajar, and something prompted Beryl to peep inside. She started and trembled greatly to see Coral lying on her little bed, looking very pale, with closed eyes, and a white bandage on her forehead. For a few moments Beryl scarcely dared to move, so alarmed was she. Then she ventured to creep nearer; but as she did so, Beryl saw to her horror that there was blood upon the handkerchief which bound Coral's forehead. The sight was too much for Beryl's self-control, and she uttered a sharp cry of distress. At the sound Coral's eyes opened, and she looked up at Beryl with a dazed, bewildered glance.
"Oh, Coral, Coral!" sobbed Beryl, quite overcome by emotion. "I thought I had killed you! What is the matter with your forehead? Is it very bad?"
"The stones cut it," said Coral, "and it bled so, and I was frightened, and cried, so Lucy carried me in and put me to bed. She said I had better try and go to sleep, and I think I have been asleep."
"Oh, I am so sorry, Coral," said Beryl; "I can't think how I could be so horrid to you. I can never forgive myself for knocking you down and hurting you so."
"Don't cry, Beryl; it is better now," said the child; "it only smarts a little."
"I was a cross, bad thing," said Beryl; "can you forgive me, Coral?"
"Oh yes, of course I forgive you," said Coral readily; "please do not cry any more."
But Beryl's tears burst forth anew as she stooped to kiss Coral. She hardly left Coral's side for the rest of the day, and tried by loving words and actions to atone for her previous unkindness.
Beryl did not soon forget the lesson she had learned. Though the cut on Coral's forehead soon began to heal, its scar lingered for many a day to remind Beryl of her ill-temper and its consequences. This, their first quarrel, was also the last serious disagreement which the children had.
When Beryl was tempted to give way to passion and pride, she remembered the misery she had endured that day on the beach, and tried to check her anger, and show the loving, forgiving spirit of a true child of the kingdom.
After this, the days passed very pleasantly with the two little people. As spring grew into summer they took long walks and rides along the shore, or they explored the beautiful woods lying beyond the village.
Andrew was very pleased when he could find leisure to accompany the young ladies, and lead the pony whilst they rode by turns. In this way, they were able to go a good distance, and they generally came back from these excursions laden with ferns and wild flowers.
Sometimes Lucy would get her brother to take them for a row in his boat, a treat which the children thoroughly enjoyed. Beryl planned how, when she was a little older, she would get her father to give her a boat of her own, which she would learn to row her very self.
Once Mr. Gilbank joined them in one of their boating excursions, and his presence added greatly to the children's pleasure, for he talked to them and told them stories as they sailed over the bright rippling water.
The children saw a good deal of the artist in those days; they often sat by his side on the beach whilst he painted. Their presence did not disturb him, and he was never too busy to answer the questions they asked.
The only drawback to Beryl's happiness at this time was the thought of the governess, of whom mention had been made. Beryl fancied that a governess must of necessity be a disagreeable, cross-looking individual, who would feel it to be her duty to restrict their pleasures, and scold and punish them as much as possible. She disliked the thought of her coming. Beryl was beginning to be sensible of her need of instruction, for she had discovered that Coral, though two years younger, could read and write better, and knew a great deal more than herself; but she could not regard a governess otherwise than as a necessary evil.
It was a relief to her to find that her father's letters contained no allusion to his purpose of seeking a governess, and she began to hope that he had forgotten all about it, and for the present, they might enjoy unrestrainedly the delights of life at Egloshayle.
A STRANGE SUNDAY SCHOOL
THE children were very sorry when their friend David Gilbank quitted Egloshayle. He had made a longer stay than he had intended at the Cornish village, and he carried away with him many beautiful sketches, to be worked up to perfection in his London studio. Not the least excellent of these was a water-colour sketch of Coral and Beryl, seated side by side in the shelter of a fisherman's boat, turned keel upwards on the beach. Mr. Gilbank hoped in time to finish this picture, and make it a worthy memorial of the little friends in whom he took such interest.
The children missed him sadly when he had gone away. There were no nice talks on the beach now, no preaching on Sunday afternoons, no friend who could tell them what they wanted to know. They wandered about listlessly on the Sunday afternoon following his departure, and found the time long and dull.
Beryl had been unusually silent for some time, and Coral, finding her remarks unheeded, had also grown thoughtful, when suddenly Beryl exclaimed, "Oh, Coral, I've thought of such a splendid thing!"
"What is it?" asked Coral, eager to hear any new idea which might brighten the dulness of their day.
"You know what Mr. Gilbank was saying last Sunday, how we might all help to make the kingdom grow and spread in the world? You remember that, don't you, Coral?"
"No," said Coral, shaking her head, and speaking in a tone of indifference, as she began to think that Beryl's grand idea was, after all, nothing very delightful. "No, I don't remember nothing about it."
"Oh, Coral, and it was so plain!" said Beryl. "Don't you recollect that he said we could be workers with God, and that even a child could do something for the kingdom?"
"No, I don't," said Coral decidedly. "Is that all you have to tell me?"
"Of course not; but that was what made me think of it. Coral, I've been thinking how nice it would be if we could keep a little Sunday school."
"Oh, Beryl, a Sunday school! What do you mean?"
"Why, don't you know that Mr. Gilbank said, what a pity it was that there was no Sunday school at Egloshayle, and the children were left to play about on the beach all Sunday afternoon? Now, I think you and I might keep a sort of school, just for the very little ones, you know."
"Oh, Beryl, do you really think we could?" exclaimed Coral, delighted, as all children are, with the idea of keeping school. "But do you think we are big enough? What could we teach them?"
"Oh, we could teach them something," said Beryl, confidently. "We must know more than they do;—at least we ought to," she added, with a momentary sense of her own mental poverty. "Anyhow, we could read to them, and teach them hymns. There's—'Around the throne of God in heaven,' and 'When mothers of Salem';—I could ask Lucy to lend us her hymn-book, which has them in."
"Oh yes, that would be very nice," said Coral; "but where could we have the school?"
"We must have it somewhere on the beach," said Beryl; "it would never do to bring the children into the house. Aunt Cecilia would be in a rage. Oh, I know what, Coral. There's that cave which runs such a long way back, that would do splendidly. The rock at the entrance would do nicely to put our books on, and the children could sit on the ground, or stand. Yes, that is the very thing."
"But the cave is sometimes full of water," suggested Coral.
"Yes, when the tide is high," said Beryl; "but it is very often empty, and when it is high water we must go somewhere else. Come, Coral, let us run and have a look at it, and then we will try and find some nice little children, and ask them to come to us there next Sunday afternoon."
The appearance of the cave was considered to be satisfactory, on the whole, for though its walls were damp and slimy with seaweed, Beryl declared that no one need sit close to them, and the rock in the middle would do equally well for a table or a seat.
Having decided on the place of meeting, Beryl set to work to form a class. There were a number of children playing rather noisily at the further end of the beach. She walked towards them, followed by Coral, and as the young ladies drew near, the rougher children ceased their play, and stared wonderingly at them. Beryl was always very dignified in her approaches to the fisher-folk and their children, but at the same time, she was gracious, and the young people of Egloshayle admired the young lady greatly, though they stood rather in awe of her.
When Beryl, addressing one of the little ones, began to explain her scheme for a Sunday class, the child shrank away frightened, and would say nothing but "No" in reply to her invitation. The others to whom she spoke were just as unresponsive. This was discouraging, but Beryl, undaunted, proceeded to take the elder sisters into her confidence, and got them to promise to bring the little ones to the cave on the following Sunday afternoon. Then, contented with the arrangement they had made, she and Coral went home.
During the rest of the week, Coral and Beryl talked and thought of little else but the Sunday class. They did not say a word about it to Lucy, for fear she should oppose their plans; but whenever they were alone they discussed the matter at great length. They hunted through the house for books suitable to read to their Sunday scholars, but could find hardly any that seemed of the right kind. Many a book was thrown aside, because the words were too long and difficult, and the matter they expressed was often quite beyond the comprehension of those who were taking upon themselves the work of teachers. At last, Beryl decided that it would be best to dispense with all books except the Bible and Lucy's hymn-book, which she lent them readily enough, without asking any questions as to the purpose for which it was required.
The children watched the sky with some anxiety on Saturday afternoon. How annoying it would be if rain came and spoiled all!
But Sunday dawned fair and bright, and the children's hearts beat high at the thought of their grand undertaking. Lucy took them to church in the morning, and she thought she had never known them so restless and fidgety. Miss Beryl, who had so improved of late, seemed suddenly to have returned to all her tiresome ways. The fact was the children were impatient for the long service to be over, and the afternoon to come.
As soon as they could, after dinner, Coral and Beryl escaped from Lucy's care, and went into the garden. From the garden, they soon made their way to the beach, and hurried along in the direction of the cave.
Early though they were, their scholars were earlier. There was quite a crowd of children gathered about the cave. And now Beryl began to feel nervous and doubtful of what she was going to do, though she would not allow Coral to suspect the least failure of self-confidence. She was dismayed to see so many great boys and girls in the party. Summoning her courage, she addressed herself to the little ones, and tried to coax them to sit down within the cave. This was a difficult matter, for they were shy and frightened, and seemed to have no notion of sitting still and keeping quiet. If one child was settled for a minute, another would start up and run away, and as soon as that one was brought back there would be a fresh defaulter. Beryl grew hot and cross in her endeavours to reduce to order this unruly school.
To add to her embarrassment, the elder boys and girls hung about the place, and seemed to derive great amusement from observing what was going on. In vain Beryl told them to go away. They moved off a few yards in obedience to her command, but had evidently no intention of going out of sight and hearing of what passed between her and her little scholars.
At last, after a great deal of trouble, Beryl managed to get the little ones seated in a row on the ground, with Coral closely guarding them to prevent their escape. Then Beryl began to read to them out of the Bible the story of Joseph. But Beryl's reading, as she stumbled over the long words, and paid not the least heed to punctuation, could not attract her audience.
The ignorant young scholars did not attend to her for a moment; they kicked and writhed, played the queerest pranks, pinched each other, and laughed and talked as if they had not the least idea of the purpose for which they were assembled.
At last Beryl closed her Bible in despair.
"It is of no use, Coral," she said; "we had better try to teach them a hymn."
This attempt was no more successful than former ones. But one child could Beryl persuade to repeat the words after her, and she only managed to imitate the sounds, and had clearly not the least notion of the meaning of what she said.
Beryl persevered as long as she could, in spite of a dreary sense of the futility of her efforts; but at last the attention of her brightest scholar was attracted by the sight of a sailing boat nearing the shore.
She started up, and, clapping her hands with delight, exclaimed, "Daddy's boat! Daddy's boat!"
Then darting out of the cave before Coral could stop her, she ran at full speed across the beach. The children outside also scampered off to meet the incoming boat, and this was the signal for the sudden break-up of the school.
In a moment, the class was in utter confusion, each child struggling to escape.
"Never mind, Coral; let them go!" exclaimed Beryl, in a tone of disgust, as Coral attempted to hold back the runaways. "It is of no use trying to teach them anything; they are the stupidest little things I ever saw."
"Oh, what a pity!" said Coral regretfully. "And I thought that biggest one was just beginning to learn something."
"I wish I had not tried to keep school," said Beryl, tears of disappointment in her eyes. "I could not have believed they would be so tiresome. And I did so want to do something for the kingdom."
"Perhaps they will behave better next Sunday," suggested Coral.
Beryl shook her head despondingly. She could not trust herself to speak, for she felt so inclined to cry, and she could not bear that even Coral should know how keenly wounded she was.
Without another word she quitted the cave, and with grave, downcast face marched homewards. Coral, taking up the Bible and hymn-book, which Beryl had forgotten in her despair, followed at a little distance.
Beryl strode on in silence till she reached the steps leading to the garden. There she paused, and waited for Coral to come up.
"Well, no one can say that I have not tried to do something for the kingdom," was Beryl's remark as Coral gained her side.
"I expect we are not big enough," said Coral.
"We don't know enough, perhaps," returned Beryl.
When they went into the house, Beryl slipped away from Coral and shut herself into their bedroom. She was there for a long time alone, and when she came down again she looked brighter and happier, though her eyes were very red, as though she had shed many tears in the solitude of her room.
"Coral," she said, "I have thought of what I will do."
"What?" asked Coral, eagerly.
"It is plain that those children will not listen to reading," said Beryl, in a tone of grave deliberation, "so I think I must try to tell them the Bible stories in my own words, and I've been thinking that if I could get some pictures, pretty coloured ones, you know, like those that I have in my scrapbook, it would make it easier for them to understand."
"What will the pictures be about?" asked Coral, full of wonder.
"Why, Bible pictures of course," replied Beryl. "We might be able to get one of Joseph in the coat of many colours, perhaps."
"But where will you get them?" asked Coral.
"Oh, I shall write and ask papa to send them to me," was Beryl's ready reply.
On the following day Beryl devoted much time to manufacturing a letter to her father, in which she begged him to procure her some beautiful coloured Bible pictures, the largest he could get, and to send them as quickly as possible. The letter, at which she toiled laboriously, was, when finished, a blurred, ill-written, and atrociously spelled epistle; but Beryl despatched it with but slight sense of shame. Her father would know what she meant, and that was enough, she thought.
Mr. Hollys, however, read his daughter's letter with considerable dismay. He forgot to wonder what had prompted her request in his horror at Beryl's peculiarities of orthography and penmanship.
"Dear, dear!" he said to himself, "This is a shocking production for a girl of eleven. Cecilia might have taught her to write and spell. But I must lose no time in finding a governess for her. I will call on Mrs. Everard to-morrow, and ask her advice on the subject. I dare say she can tell me how to secure the right person."
OVERTAKEN BY THE TIDE
WHEN the next day came, Mr. Hollys was prevented from carrying out his intention of calling on his old friend Mrs. Everard, and asking her to aid him to find a governess for Beryl. But he did not forget the request which Beryl's ill-written letter had conveyed to him, and being in the city that day, he made his way to Paternoster Row, and there purchased some of the best Scripture pictures that he could see amongst the many tempting publications displayed in the windows of that narrow but important street. He ordered the pictures to be sent direct to his home at Egloshayle, and to the children's delight the packet arrived there by post the very next day.
With the greatest satisfaction, Coral and Beryl unrolled the pretty coloured prints.
They suited Beryl's purpose admirably, and were far larger and prettier ones than she had expected to get. There was a beautiful picture of the Good Shepherd carrying a lamb in His arms; a picture of the child Jesus talking to the doctors in the temple; another showing the tender Saviour taking the little ones in His arms, whilst their mothers stood watching Him with looks of eager love; and many others, all representing incidents of our Lord's life.
"There is no picture of Joseph after all," said Beryl, when she had examined the whole collection. "I wish there had been; but these all seem to be taken from the New Testament."
"I should think they would rather see pictures about Jesus than about Joseph," said Coral.
"Why?" asked Beryl quickly.
"I don't know; but I think I would rather," said Coral. "Don't you like that picture of the Good Shepherd, Beryl? He looks so kind and good."
"Yes, it is a beautiful face," said Beryl. "But I suppose the face of Jesus was really much more beautiful than that."
"But is not this just like it?" asked Coral in surprise.
"Why, no, Coral, you must know better than that. Don't you remember that Mr. Gilbank said it was impossible for any one to make a true likeness of the Lord Jesus? He said he had seen many lovely pictures of Christ, but never one in which he did not feel that there was something wanting."
Coral shook her head. She did not remember it. Mr. Gilbank's words had not made so deep an impression on her mind as on Beryl's.
"Perhaps it is better the pictures should be all about Jesus," said Beryl, thoughtfully. "The children ought to learn about Jesus rather than Joseph; for Jesus is their Saviour, not Joseph. Still it is very nice about the coat of many colours, and I should like to have seen a picture of it. I like that picture of Jesus saying, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not.' We must tell them about that, Coral. And Mr. Gilbank said that Jesus was just the same still. Though we cannot see Him, nor hear Him, His arms are opened wide to receive little children, and He says to them, 'Come unto Me.' Oh, I wish I could tell them just what Mr. Gilbank said. I do hope they will be quiet and good next Sunday."
"They will be sure to like the pictures," said Cora hopefully.
Beryl was looking forward with some tremor to her next attempt at keeping a Sunday school. She had so set her heart upon success, that the thought of disappointment was most painful to her. Many a childish petition for Divine help went up from the depths of her heart. She prayed that the weather might be fine, that the children might be good and orderly, and that she might be able to tell them in words they could understand about the loving Saviour whose arms were opened to receive them.
When Sunday afternoon came, it was in a very humble mood that Beryl went down to the beach to meet the children she had undertaken to teach.
The day was fine, and there was no falling off in the attendance of the scholars. Indeed, it seemed to Beryl that there were more present than on the previous Sunday. Beryl had very wisely decided to show them only one picture on each occasion, for she judged that the sight of many at a time might distract their attention from her words, and make them more unruly than ever. The picture she had chosen to show them to-day was that of Christ blessing the children.
There was much confusion and jostling in the class when Beryl unrolled the picture and laid it upon the flat rock. The little ones pressed round her, eager for the pretty sight; and the elder ones pushed their way into the cave, determined to see the object which was exciting such cries of admiration.
For a few moments, Beryl found it impossible to preserve order. She was obliged to rescue the picture from the rude and dirty hands that were laid upon it, and, holding it high above her head, declare that if they did not instantly sit down, and become quiet, no one should look at it again. The elder children, quite as eager as the little ones to see the picture, supported the teacher's authority, and by shakes, and pushes, and many an angry word, reduced their young brothers and sisters to submission.
Then Beryl arranged that only three children at a time should enter the cave and look at the picture. This plan answered admirably, and each child had a good look at the picture without any confusion or uproar. The exhibition of the picture occupied some time. When they had thus examined it, Beryl contrived by means of some pebbles to prop the picture up against the wall of the cave, so that all could glance at it.
Then, sitting down, she began to tell the children in simple, childish words, how the Jewish mothers had ventured to bring their little ones to Jesus, and how the disciples had tried to drive them back, but Jesus had stretched forth His arms to them in love, and said, "'Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.'"
Beryl's simple talk was far more effectual than her reading had been. Her quick imagination gave many a graphic touch to the narrative, and as she pointed every now and then to the picture, and drew her listeners' attention to its various details, there was quietness and order in the class.
After awhile, of course, they grew restless and began to fidget, and then Beryl knew that she had said enough. She now tried to teach the children the first verse of "When mothers of Salem," and actually a few little ears caught the words and remembered them, and, led by Coral and Beryl, the scholars sang the verse in a queer, discordant fashion.
Beryl was well pleased with the success of her endeavour this afternoon. Her heart felt light and happy as, rolling up the picture, she told the children it was time for them to go home, reminding them, however, that she should hope to see them again on the next Sunday.
"Oh, Beryl, how nice it has been!" cried Coral, as the last child toddled away, and they were left alone. "Weren't they good to-day? That picture was splendid."
"Yes, how pleased they were with it!" said Beryl, her face aglow with delight. "I was dreadfully afraid they would tear it at first; but they were very good afterwards. And I really believe they understood what I said."
"And didn't they sing the hymn well!" said Coral.
The hearts of the young teachers were glad and thankful as they went home. What a joyful thing life seemed that summer afternoon! The radiant sunshine, the shining waves, the bright sky, all spoke to them of love and joy. Even for these children, life was becoming a grander, more blessed thing, now that they were learning to care for the good of others.
Beryl did not always find her scholars so attentive as they had been on this occasion. As the pictures lost their novelty, she found them more troublesome, and often had her patience severely tried. But she persevered in spite of every difficulty, and did her utmost to make her class pleasant to the little ones.
Sometimes she felt discouraged, and fancied that her efforts were all in vain; but in this she was mistaken. The scholars, ignorant and untaught though they were, were beginning to know something of a Saviour's love, and fragments of Beryl's teaching were repeated by childish lips in homes where hitherto the name of God had been unheard save in blasphemous utterance. Truths grasped by the mind in childhood are not easily forgotten, and some of Beryl's little scholars remembered to the end of life what she told them of the love of the Son of God.
She was but a child herself, much too young, many would have thought, to be a teacher; but she was growing in the knowledge of the Lord Jesus whilst she was trying to teach others about him. Coral and Beryl had no one to teach them now Mr. Gilbank was gone; but the Lord Himself was their teacher; and as they read the Bible, and talked to each other of its words, His Spirit made things plain to their childish understanding. They found no difficulties, and fell upon no stumbling-blocks, for truths that are hidden from the wise and prudent were revealed to these babes in the faith.
Lucy made no enquiries as to the manner in which her young ladies spent their Sunday afternoons. She saw them go away with their books, and felt relieved to think that they did not require her attendance, but left her free to spend the time as she liked. She did not think that her young charges were likely to get into any danger, for Miss Beryl was well acquainted with the shore, and generally knew the hour at which the tide would turn; indeed, Miss Beryl was such a clever, shrewd little person, that it would have been absurd to feel anxious about her when out of sight.
Beryl had hitherto been careful to avoid being overtaken by the tide, which, when high, filled the cave in which she held her class.
During the few weeks since she began to keep a "Sunday school," the changes of the tide had suited her convenience tolerably well. But familiarity with danger sometimes engenders carelessness, and at last Beryl was thus betrayed.
One Sunday afternoon, when the class had been exceedingly interesting, and her scholars had said their hymns in the most satisfactory manner, she lingered in the cave talking it all over with Coral, long after the little ones had gone away, quite forgetful of the fact that the tide had been on the turn when they came down to the beach, and was now coming in fast. The cave in which the children stood was a large one, running far back under the cliff. Its extreme end was lost in darkness; but the subdued light sufficed to show a hollow opening at one side of the cave, just above a shelf of rock which ran around it, about four feet from the bottom.
"Coral," said Beryl, seized with a new idea, "do you see that hole in the side of the rock? Let's have a look at it; I fancy it would do nicely for a little cupboard to put our hymn-books in. It is such a bother having to carry them home every time."
They ran to the spot; but Beryl found that the opening was too high up to make a convenient cupboard. It was impossible for her standing on the ground to reach it, and she was planning how she should climb to it, when some words of Coral's startled her with a sudden reminder of her imprudence in lingering so long in the cave.
"Wouldn't the hymn-books get wet, Beryl?" she asked. "I thought this cave was full of water at high tide."
"So it is. Oh, Coral! And it must be almost high tide now. What are we thinking of to stay here so long? Oh, come quickly!"
As she spoke, Beryl darted towards the mouth of the cave; but alas, the warning was too late! At that very moment there was a roar, a rush, a sudden darkening of the light, as a huge wave burst into the cave and swept almost to the children's feet, ere it receded, to be followed by another as mighty.
Coral and Beryl saw their peril at the same instant, and a cry of horror broke from their lips.
"Oh, we shall be drowned! We shall be drowned!" was all Beryl could say. "There is no hope for us; none whatever. The cave will be full in five minutes, and no one knows where we are!"