I
fell asleep and dreamed. Before me spread out verdant fields, picturesque villages, valleys of peace and plenty, cities of care and toil, the wide ocean restlessly tossing, the mountain bare and rugged.
At first my eyes seemed heavy with sleep, but after a time I began to see things more clearly, and in all these varied scenes I perceived there were children moving to and fro.
I was apparently at a great distance from them, and could not well understand what they did, nor could I hear what they said.
They appeared to be very busy, often eagerly running or walking; talking together in twos and threes; playing with the trifles which seemed to lie everywhere for their amusement; sometimes two quarrelling loudly over these same trifles, and crying pitifully if they could not have what they wanted.
In my dream I seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer to them, and I began to perceive the differences in their countenances and dress, and to find that there was only one point of resemblance in them all; and this one thing caused me great surprise.
Some were robed in dresses whose sheen, reflecting the rays of the morning sun, dazzled my eyes; again, others had garments of the dullest hue; and the clothes of others were so covered with mud and dirt, that I could not have told what they once were. But, whether gaily decked or dressed in sombre attire, each child had fastened round it a curiously-fashioned girdle, to which hung a small pitcher. The pitchers appeared to be all of one shape and size, but the materials of which they were made seemed to differ widely.
On some of the children, whose dress was of gayest hue, the pitcher, strange to say, appeared to be made of commonest material, for it looked dull and dark; while at the girdle of some who were most plainly attired hung vessels of brightest gold. This also was incomprehensible to me.
Presently my dream seemed to bring me so near that I could see what they were doing and hear a little of what they said.
A group of them were sitting on a bank of flowers, resting in the shade, and as they talked I drew near to listen.
"I do not believe it," said a sturdy little boy,as he threw a ball of flowers into the lap of a little maiden opposite.
"What do you not believe?" asked a grave-looking girl who was seated near.
"That there is any hurry to get the pitchers filled."
"Did any one say there was?" asked the girl, glancing thoughtfully at the vessel hanging at her side, while I perceived that it had the look of being neglected and soiled.
"Yes, there was a proclamation this morning that the pitchers might be needed this very day, and that all who had not the Golden Oil should, without delay, repair to the place whence it could be obtained."
"So there is every day," exclaimed a tall youth who was lying on the grass at their feet. "That is nothing new: it is the duty of the Herald to proclaim, and it is our duty to hear, but——"
"No one ever thinks of obeying," laughed the roguish boy, weaving his flowers as if all his life were centred in doing that only.
But the thoughtful girl looked up with a deep flush at those careless words. "I do not thinkevery onedoes that, Ashton; for Esther here——"
She pointed to a child at a little distance who was threading daisies together wherewith to deck a tiny brother, who sat watching her little fingers with absorbed interest.
Now that my attention was directed to this little girl, I took note of her for the first time. Her dress was of some white material, her eyes clear as the deep summer azure, her face full of sunshine, while close to her heart a golden pitcher gleamed in the light, as her happy little figure turned backwards and forwards in her task.
"Oh, Esther always obeys!" said the youth from the grass, "and is the happiest little mortal in doing so; but that would not suit every one."
He turned round restlessly, and any one who cared might see that his pitcher was empty enough as it lay on the ground under his arm.
Esther was all unconscious that the eyes of the party were fixed upon her. When she had completed her chain of daisies, she took her little brother's hand in hers.
"Now, darling," she said softly, "you promised me you would go at once to get your little pitcher filled."
He nodded and trotted off by her side, while she continued, "It would be so sad not to have any Oil when night comes on, wouldn't it?"
"But you could lend me some," answered the child, confident in her love.
"You know I can't; I must not; no one can lend. So that is why I want you to get some for yourself."
As they turned round to go towards the placewhere I imagined the Golden Oil was to be obtained, I saw another strange thing about these children which I had not noticed before; each carried, fastened to the same girdle, a tiny lamp. I looked round to enquire the meaning of it all, but found myself unable to speak; so I could do nothing but follow the two children to see what would become of them.
"But why must we have our lamps lighted. Esther?" asked the little one; "I go to sleep all night."
"Yes," said Esther; "but every night before I go to sleep I trim and light my lamp, and then, if the King were to come, I should only have to jump up and run out to welcome Him."
"But I should take hold of your hand, Esther!" said the little man.
"Oh, but the King says we mustobey, Ernest; it is of no use thinking you will do all those things. You might not be able to find me in the dark, nor find the King. He tells us to ask for the Golden Oil, and to trim the golden lamp, and we have nothing to do but obey."
Esther pressed his little hand, and they hastened on. Presently, just by the side of the road I saw a Herald standing, with an open book in his hand, and though I could not catch all the words he said, I saw that the children understood.
"I do not like to go in," little Ernest wasurging, as he pulled back Esther's hand; "I am afraid to."
"But the Herald says, 'Whosoeverwill,' that means you, Ernest darling."
Then they turned in under an archway, Ernest, now that his mind was made up, running on before.
Esther waited just inside the gate. She could not follow right into the chamber where the Oil was given away, for each one who would get his vessel filled with the Golden Oil must go in alone to receive it.
In a very few minutes Ernest came out again, bearing the golden pitcher full of Golden Oil. His face was radiant, and as he took Esther's hand once more, he looked up into her face with large, wondering eyes.
"Esther," he said, "the King came down and spoke to me Himself, and put His hand on my head, and charged me to listen to the Herald's message, and to obey."
Esther's eyes glistened. "Is He not a gracious King, Ernest?" she said.
As my eyes followed these children I perceived that the possession of the Golden Oil seemed to bring them happiness and peace.
Everywhere they went they did loving little actions, said kind little words. Sometimes I wondered at the very smallness of these actions and words; and yet, as I noticed the faces brightenon whom they fell, I knew that they were understood and appreciated.
By-and-by Esther joined the group of children from whom she had parted but a while ago. The sun had risen higher in the heavens, and had begun to descend by the time she and Ernest returned to them; but still they were where they had been, and were occupied in much the same way as before.
The tall boy in the grass had sauntered away for a walk with another companion, and though he again passed the Herald, his warning voice was still unheeded.
Esther sat down by the girl whom I had observed as being anxious about the Golden Oil, and as little Ernest ran to play with some other children Esther said, "I wish you had been with us, Allea; we have had such a happy morning."
"I cannot see that a walk with a little prattling brother can give such delight," she answered.
"But we have been to get his pitcher filled. Oh, Allea, I went almost into the presence of the King!"
"Youdid!"
"Yes; I was never so near before, except the day——"
"When?" asked Allea, looking into Esther's face.
"When He gave me the Oil Himself."
"You make so much of having this Oil," saidAllea, discontentedly; "more than half the world gets on very well without it."
Esther looked abashed for a moment. This was true certainly. Then her eyes were raised to the blue vault of the sky above her, and beyond it she saw, what all those who received the Golden Oil could see if they looked, a mystic word written—Eternity!—and as she read and re-read its well-known letters, they seemed to melt away and transform themselves into a wondrous palace of beauty and light, where her King dwelt, and where He had promised to take those who obeyed Him during this little Journey. Still absorbed in the sight, she gazed upward till one by one the azure towers and palaces faded back; but before it vanished from her sight, once more the word Eternity stood like a fleecy cloud upon the blue, and then melted away.
Then her eyes came back to her companion's face: "Yes, Allea, you are quite right, half the world does very well without itnow."
"Well?" said Allea impatiently.
"But when this little Journey is ended, or when night comes on, if the King suddenly calls us to come with Him, then, oh, Allea! what would it be to be shut out of the Everlasting City?"
Allea was silent, while one or two children who had noticed the earnestness of their talk had gathered round them to hear. "Will you not get your pitcher filled to-day. Allea?" pleaded Esther with wistful eyes.
"By-and-by," she answered; "I shall be passing that way this evening."
"The night cometh when no one can work," whispered Esther, as if to herself.
"But I am going before night," answered Allea somewhat proudly; "you are too fast, Esther."
As they sat and talked, I fancied that shadows began to fall over the land. The children did not seem to heed it at first, but presently they seemed divided one from another by the deepening twilight, and before I knew where I was, I found myself following Esther and her little brother, who held by the hand one of the children who had been listening to the conversation.
Again we approached the portal where the Herald stood, and I could see that Ernest and Esther were both hurrying forward with all their speed, helping their companion along, who, though hastening as much as she could, seemed weary and spent.
Ever and anon upon the quiet evening air the Herald's voice sounded clear and full, 'The time is short—the day is far spent—ask and it shall be given you;' and as they ran under the archway darkness fell upon the land, and I could not follow them.
But while I pondered on these things, I saw a little glimmering light in a casement, and seemeddrawn to approach near enough to see what it was. As I came close I could see the interior of a small chamber; hard by on a couch lay Esther, fast asleep, with her little brother's arms flung about her neck. Close beside them, and still fastened by golden links to their waists, stood the two Golden Lamps, burning brightly and steadily, while a King's Messenger, arrayed in white apparel, waited near, guarding the sleepers and the Lamps with watchful care.
Long did I look, and was at last turning away, when a strange sound startled the midnight air: "Your King cometh! your King cometh!"
At the words, so long looked for, so eagerly expected, Esther sprang from her rest, caught her Lamp in her hand, looked round with joyful eyes for her little brother, who had also heard that cry, and then both ran out to meet the King. Did I see their companion of the evening before, holding aloft a Golden Lamp too, to welcome Him?
And then I thought I heard confused tones of regret, and sorrow, and wailing disappointment, as one and another, awakened by the lights and glad sounds, hastened from their couches—not to meet the King; alas! no—but to find He had come, and had taken those who were ready, into His glorious Palace, to go no more out for ever.
"Agnes," said Minnie, looking up solemnly intoher sister's face, "I think I know, but isn't the Oil in that story meant for the Holy Spirit?"
"Yes, darling, and the promise stands fresh and sure now, as it did eighteen hundred years ago, 'If ye...know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him.'"
W
hat are you searching for?" asked Agnes, entering the schoolroom the next morning, which was littered over from end to end. Her brothers and sisters were busily engaged in turning out a large cupboard, and the contents were scattered all over the room.
They looked up with rather flushed faces.
"Oh, Agnes," exclaimed Minnie eagerly, "we are sorting my old toys over, to see what I can spare."
"What for?" asked Agnes.
"Don't you know? Why, for those poor little children who haven't any toys or pleasures!"
"Which children? I never heard."
"Didn't you? not what mother told us the other day?"
"No," said Agnes, sitting down by the fire and surveying the confusion with some curiosity.
"ThenI'lltell you," burst out Hugh.
"Yes, you tell her," said Minnie.
"Well, they say that there are numbers and numbers of children who have hardly any enjoyment in their lives, who are sick and full of suffering, lying on beds with nothing to do, or seated in chairs from which they cannot move. The kind people at the hospital do all they can for them, you know, Agnes; but of course they must spend their money on necessary things, and on beds and food, and they cannot afford to buy toys."
"Well?" said Agnes.
"Mother told us thatanythingalmost would be a treat to these poor little things, and so we are seeing what we have got."
"But this is all rubbish," said Agnes, speaking regretfully, for she felt sorry to disappoint her eager brothers and sisters.
They were not so easily daunted, however, having heard what very old toys give infinite delight to the poor little invalids, and Hugh answered:
"But you see, Agnes, these are for their very own, and when we have mended them——"
"Oh, if they are mended, of course, that is a different thing," said Agnes.
"So we shall," said Minnie; "see, the glue-pot is on already, and we are going to begin soon."
"The worst is," said Hugh, "where shall we begin, this is in such a muddle."
"I will help you," said Agnes kindly, "if you will give me any idea of what you mean to send."
"Well," said John, who had been persuaded to help, "here are some dominoes. You know we've that nice new set, and there are a good many of these, only the box is broken. What could we do for a box, Agnes?"
"Would a little bag do?"
John looked doubtful; but Alice, who had been busily sorting out while the others had been talking, seized upon the idea of a bag as the very thing, and wrote down on a piece of paper, "Wanted, a bag for dominoes."
"Very well," said Agnes; "now what next?"
"Here is a little horse with his head off; but I know the head is somewhere, and we shall come across it presently."
"That's for the glueing heap, then?"
"Oh, yes! Thank you, Agnes; now we shall get on," said Minnie.
"Here is a lot of small furniture, but it is very broken," said Hugh.
"Perhaps a few of them will do. Have you the box?"
"Here is an empty one."
"Perhaps you have a little dolly to put in with them?"
Alice went to a corner and produced a dilapidated Dutch doll.
"I will put her on a new frock while you sort the things," said Agnes.
"Here is a bit of pink chintz," answered Minnie; "and here are my scissors to 'pink' the edges."
The heap for glueing was fast increasing, and John said he had better begin, while the others collected for him.
"We have agreed not to quarrel over it," he added, smiling, "but to do whatever comes first, because——"
"Because?" said Agnes.
Minnie came close to her, and said softly, "We are trying to do something forHissake, you know. Agnes."
"I see," said Agnes; "I am so glad."
But though the glueing might be pleasant work, the sorting out such a heap ofdébriswas a tiring thing, and taxed the patience of the children very much. Agnes sat by, helping with advice and interest, and feeling deep down in her heart that she was giving her little service to the Lord Jesus too. Had she not left the piano, where she had but just opened a new song? Had she not made all her arrangements to have an hour's practice this morning, when she could be certain of the piano to herself? But all this had been put aside, and now she heard the tender voice whispering, "Thou hast been faithful over a few things...enter into the joy of thy Lord."
And even now she was tasting that joy, which,some day, all who love Him, shall know in its fulness.
At last the floor was clear, and Hugh ran downstairs with a basketful of real rubbish, while the table now held many heaps, over which careful Alice kept guard.
"Not there," she would say, as a contribution was brought; "that must be for this heap, and those broken toys for John to glue."
When Hugh returned with his empty basket, they surveyed the present results of their labours. A heap of already mended toys, carefully bound together with thin string; a lot of pictures and scraps to be pasted into old copy books, of which several lay at hand; two or three very old dolls, which were to be freshened up, some with a little soap and water, some with a bit of odd ribbon, some with a new glazed lining frock, just run together and snipped out at the bottom; a few boxes containing the remains of dolls' furniture, dominoes, little cups and saucers, and the like; an old six-penny watch, with a bit of pink tape for a guard; and last, an old doll's perambulator, which John was now busily engaged in renovating.
Minnie looked at the things, while a deep sigh escaped her, "I wish we could do more," she said, "but we have so little money."
"We must remember," said Agnes, "that God accepts, not according to what we havenot, but according to what we have."
"Yes," said Hugh; "and if we were to sit down to do nothing because we have no money to spend, quite thirty little children would go without what will give them a good many hours' pleasure."
"So they would," answered Minnie, looking more cheerful; "so now I will set about making the best of what I have."
It took a good many days before all the things were really completed; and sometimes they were tempted to get tired and give up; but one or other of them would remember for whom they had agreed to work, and this nerved them to make a fresh endeavour.
At last all was done. A box was found to send the things in, and the pleasant task of actually packing it was begun.
Agnes told them to let her know when everything was ready, and now came in, bearing a little tray-full of tiny bags of net, filled with sugar-plums.
She proceeded to tie one on each toy or doll, and placed one in a sly corner in the various toy boxes.
"Oh, Agnes, how kind of you!" they all exclaimed.
So the packing went on with great zest.
They all clubbed together to pay the carriage of the box by the Parcels Delivery Company, and with great pride Alice wrote the label, and pasted it on. Then Hugh and John carried the package into the hall, and when they came up again they all looked at each other with happy faces.
"I thought it would never get done," said Minnie.
"Did you?" asked Alice; "there is nothing like perseverance to get things finished."
"It is bringing forth fruit withpatience," said Agnes.
T
hus the few days before Christmas passed busily on, while Agnes began to feel less anxiety as to her charge during their parents' absence.
The nearness of her grandmother and aunt were an untold comfort, but her mother had said to her before she left, "Do not run in to them with every little tittle-tattle, but remember there is a nearer Friend always close. Should any great emergency arise, be thankful that He has so placed you that you can ask advice of them."
The whole family, according to the usual custom, were to spend Christmas-day at Mrs. Headley's, next door, to which pleasure the young people looked forward in their different ways.
On Christmas-eve, while John, Hugh, and Alice were making and putting up the ivy and holly wreaths, Agnes and Minnie set forth on their errand of carrying the Christmas parcels to thepoor people for whom they had prepared them; and when they came in, wet and cold, the others gathered round to know what they had done, and how the parcels had been received.
"It is bitterly cold to-night," said Agnes, coming forward to the fire; "you will let us get warm first, before we say a word, the wind blows through you."
"You should have let us go," said John. "I knew it was more fit for Hugh and me than for that little scrap of humanity!"
"But Minnie was promised," answered Agnes, "and I amveryglad I went—very glad."
"So am I," answered Minnie earnestly.
"Why?" asked Hugh.
"I must tell you another day; to-night I feel as if I could only thank God for all our mercies."
She sat down by the fire and looked into it abstractedly, while Minnie stood near her very soberly too.
"Were they so pleased?" asked Alice.
Agnes looked round on the warm room, with its comfortable curtains, clean wall-paper, tidy carpet, all lighted up with the glow of the log of wood which Alice had put on the fire to welcome her.
"If you could have seen!" she said, "how thankful you would all feel forourblessings."
At six o'clock the next morning the Christmas bells of joy rang out on the still morning air. They woke Alice, and she started up in bed andcalled to Minnie, who, after sundry groans and sighs, came to herself, and asked, "What is the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter, only don't you want to hear the Christmas bells?"
"Not very much," answered Minnie sleepily.
"You are a goose!" said broad-awake Alice. "But all the same, I wish you a happy Christmas."
"So do I," answered Minnie, trying to be polite; "but when I really wake up to-morrow morning I'll say it better."
"Why itisto-morrow morning," laughed Alice.
After breakfast, just as they were going to open a package on which they had ventured many conjectures, a ring at the front door interrupted them.
"Perhaps it's another parcel," said Minnie, running to the window, while Agnes exclaimed:
"Oh, Minnie, don't expect things, pray. I should not like to be counting on presents—it is horrid!"
Minnie looked round astonished. "I didn't know——" she said, confused.
But the ring was quickly explained.
"Please, Master Hugh," said the housemaid, "there's a young gentleman in the hall, and he wants to know if you'll go out for a walk with him?"
"Who is it?" asked Hugh, vexed. "Did he say his name?"
"I'll enquire, Master Hugh."
"It's Master Tom Radnor," she said, returning.
Hugh threw down the string he was untying, and followed the maid into the hall.
"Holloa, Tom!" he said.
"I've nothing to do to-day," said the other; "and you said you'd go for a walk."
"You're remarkably early, or else we're remarkably late."
"Don't you want to go?"
"Oh, yes; but I'm busy just this minute."
"Not done breakfast?" asked Tom, grinning.
"You're wrong there! Look here, Tom, I'll call for you in half an hour, will that do?"
"All right."
So the front door opened and closed, and Hugh came back.
"What did he want?" asked Alice.
"To go for a walk."
"On Christmas-day? How funny."
"Not funny that I know of."
"Did you ask him to?" said Minnie.
"Yes—no—at least he said something about it when I met him yesterday."
"I should have said I couldn't," said Alice decidedly; "but never mind now, Hugh, let's open our things."
They gathered round the table, and soon had forgotten all about Tom in their interest in the presents their mother and father had prepared for them.
A beautiful work-basket for Agnes; a book for John; a new paint-box for Hugh; a desk, fitted-up, for Alice; and a long-shaped box for Minnie, on which was written, "Care—great care—little Minnie."
"What can it be?" exclaimed the child, peeping round it, and enjoying her anticipations.
And then John untied the string and raised the cover, while Minnie's little fingers tenderly lifted some tissue-paper, and disclosed to view a baby-doll of surpassing loveliness.
Agnes and the rest admired and exclaimed to the heart's content of the little mother, and then She took her doll away to show it to the servants.
Just then Hugh discovered that the half hour was nearly over, and started up.
"Are you not coming to church?" asked Alice.
Hugh stopped short for a moment, "Are you?" he asked.
"Yes, we are going with Aunt Phyllis."
"But I can't get out of this, Agnes, and father wouldn't mind?"
"No; he thinks Christmas-day is not like Sunday, and we need not feel bound about going to God's house as we are then; but for my own part I should like to."
"So should I," said Alice.
"Is John going?" asked Hugh, looking crest-fallen and vexed.
"Yes; I don't know that I had intended itthough, for I look upon Christmas-day as a blessed holiday, but I've other reasons."
"Then you think I can go with Tom?"
"As far as that is concerned," said John; "but I should hardly think Tom was a nice companion for you."
"Why not?" exclaimed Hugh, turning red.
"There are several things about him that are not satisfactory, and I should not like him for my friend."
"He is not 'my friend' exactly; but that's always the way with you, John, you despise other people."
"I'm sure I don't; but I've always told you. Hugh, that that boy's a humbug."
"How do you know he is?" Hugh answered angrily.
"He never looks you in the face for one thing."
"Nonsense. Did ever you hear such an absurd thing, Agnes, to judge by a fellow's looks?"
"Then he does not go with the good set at school, you can't say he does," pursued John.
"He goes with me, and I should like you to tell me I belong to the bad set."
"You will if you go on with him," John answered quickly; and then he saw Agnes move suddenly and raise her eyes from the table, where they had been fixed during the altercation.
One flash of thought, one glance at his sister, and then John stood still with firmly-closed lips.
Agnes felt deeply thankful, but she said not a word.
"Have you anything more to say?" asked Hugh bitterly, "or have you exhausted all your powers in that last effort?"
John was still silent, but an earnest supplication went up that he might know his Lord's will and do it.
"Eh?" exclaimed Hugh, coming close to him and speaking to him in hot anger.
"I was thinking, Hugh," answered John slowly, "wondering whether I had been unkind in what I said, or right in warning you?"
"Warning me! If you had had a grain of sense in your body, you'd have warned me in private, and not before a pack of girls."
"Yes," answered John, hesitating a little, "I think I ought not—not like that, but it never occurred to me; we got into it before I knew."
"That is a very poor excuse for annoying your brother, and a very cowardly way of getting out of it."
"Cowardly?" said Alice, beneath her breath, to Agnes.
But John answered, "Having acknowledged that I should have told you in private, Hugh, will you forgive me? and may I come up with you and talk it over?"
"No," exclaimed Hugh; "never mention the subject to me again."
And with that he gathered his painting materials together, and walked off, followed by Alice, who was looking grieved enough.
"Oh, Agnes!" said John, turning to her, "I meant to do right, but after all I have broken my promise on Christmas-day!"
"I can't see that you have," answered Agnes gently; "no one can guard against all difficulties."
"But I've quarrelled with him, and offended him more deeply than ever before, when I meant——"
"But I do not see that you quarrelled, John, after all."
"It was far nearer to words than I ever dreamed of going."
Agnes felt very sorrowful, but at last she looked up.
"I wonder whatHewould have us do?" pointing to the text.
John followed her glance for a moment, then he left the room abruptly, and she heard his footsteps going three at a time up the stairs.
"Hugh," he said, entering their joint room, and closing the door, "I feel more sorry than words can say about this."
His brother was sullenly preparing to go out, and did not turn round. "Then you shouldn't speak to a fellow so," he muttered.
"Hugh," answered John, seriously, "I dare not unsay what Isaid; that part of it was right. But I was wrong to have exposed your schoolaffairs before anyone else. Can't you let us be friends again on Christmas-day? I would not have had it happen for any money, and I am sorry I have vexed you."
John's tone was so earnest, and Hugh's anger had cooled down, so that he felt he could not do less than say, uncomfortably, "Oh, well, there is no need to make such a fuss; I'm sure I don't want to bother about it, so there, we'll say no more."
John sat on the edge of the bed, looking dejected, and Hugh finished his preparations, and turned to the door. "Why do you mind so much?" he asked suddenly, coming back again; for, after all, he was a kind-hearted boy, and did not like to see his brother annoyed.
"I have made two promises," said John, "and have not succeeded in keeping either."
"Two promises?" echoed Hugh.
"One to Agnes, and one to God," said John in a low tone half to himself.
"There!" exclaimed Hugh, "I'm sorry I was so cross; and—and I'll take to heart what you said about Tom. I'm off now."
I
t was time to start for church, and John went down to find his sisters.
His face was pale, and there was a disappointed look about him which was very unusual in the bright boy.
Agnes saw it, and walked along by his side, trying to think of something cheering to say. But, after all, when the heart is sore there is only One who can truly comfort.
Alice and Minnie had gone in to fetch aunt Phyllis, so the brother and sister were alone.
"Agnes," exclaimed John at last, when they came in sight of the church, "I'm so vexed with myself, so 'taken down a peg,' if you can comprehend such a phrase."
He gave a little sad laugh to hide a deeper feeling which Agnes perfectly understood.
"It's dreadfully unpleasant," she answered, "but I've gone through it before now."
"You?"
"Heaps of times. Don't you suppose, John, we all trust in ourselves ever so much too much?"
"I suppose we do."
"Don't be discouraged," she said cheerily, "it's a comfort to feel He has got us in hand."
"What do you call 'in hand'?" asked John.
"Not letting us go our own way unhindered."
"But that's just what I didn't want, Agnes; I wanted with all my heart to go His way, and yet I failed."
"Yes," said Agnes slowly; "and He knew that. But perhaps, John——"
"Say on."
"Perhaps—I don't know, I only guess by myself—perhaps you felt you were strong, and could stand alone."
Agnes glanced up with eyes that glittered with tears as they went up the steps beneath the deep portico.
John squeezed her arm, and they entered the church.
If Agnes had given John a lesson, she had taught herself one too. That Christmas morning was a time never to be forgotten; and to John, who had gone there hoping for a little quiet time to renew his vows, to ask afresh what his Lord would have him to do, there came a very different discipline. Instead of being a soldier buckling on his bright armour, he found himself a beaten-downcombatant who was returning home wounded and sore.
But a comforting thought came to him as he knelt with his face buried in his hands; all the same for his wounds and feeling of defeat, he was fighting under the great Captain, who loved him in spite of all.
And when the text was given out his lesson came home to him, and he raised his head joyfully as his eyes sought those of his sister.
"Now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before His presence with exceeding joy, be glory for ever. Amen."
After an instant's pause their minister began.
"I am not going to speak to the joyful this Christmas, for they do not need it so much; but I am going to speak to the downcast, that they may look forward to this exceeding joy."
Every word might have been meant for John, and he took it all humbly home to his heart. Never had his face looked like that before, and when they came out there were two people happy among the throng at anyrate.
Aunt Phyllis took Agnes's arm, while the rest lingered for a moment to shake hands with some friends.
"Agnes," said Miss Headley, "what has come to John; he looks different?"
Agnes pressed her aunt's arm, and whispered. "Don't say a word, auntie; butGodhas been speaking to him."
Aunt Phyllis gazed at her, then, with a wondrous gladness in her pale face, turned homewards.
They all separated at their different doors. "The children," as they were called, promising to come in at the right time.
"No fear of our punctuality to-day, auntie," said John, smiling.
"I don't know," answered his aunt. "I have known unpunctual people as late on great occasions as on small."
"Have you? Then we shall prove ourselves, I hope, to be not unpunctual people."
They ran up their own steps and found Hugh taking off his coat in the hall.
"Make haste, Hugh," said John; "auntie has been giving us a lecture on not being late."
"I don't call it much of a lecture," said Alice. "Aunt Phyllis never lectures."
The girls went upstairs "to make themselves smart," as Hugh called it, and the two brothers walked into the dining-room.
John glanced at Hugh, but his face did not invite conversation, so he took up his new book and sat down in the window.
"What a smell of beer!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I wonder what it is?"
Hugh turned scarlet. "I've had a glass," he said defiantly.
"You?" said John, too surprised to hide his grieved dismay.
"There's no sin in that, I hope," answered Hugh coldly.
John thought a moment. "No—no, Hugh, I don't know that there is."
"Then why blame a fellow?"
"I don't think I blamed you; at least, not in words. But——"
"Have it out then. Cut me up to your heart's content."
"I wouldn't for the world, Hugh, dear boy. What would father have wished you to do?"
"He never bound us."
"I think he did. He never thought we should wish to take any till we were of an age to decide for ourselves."
"Don't you call fourteen old enough? Tom says he calls it absurd to tie us down to an idea."
"Tom knows nothing about it, Hugh."
"How doesn't he?"
"Nothing about father's opinions, nor the principle of the thing."
"Do you mean to say father has ever forbidden me?"
"Perhaps not in so many words."
"Do you think he would have, if I had waited to ask him?"
"I believe so."
"I did not do it as an act of disobedience," saidHugh, "and your making it out so is horrid. I thought I was free to take it if I liked, so long as I didn't take much."
John sat down by the fire, his face grave and troubled.
"Hugh," he exclaimed, in a beseeching tone, "say you won't be tempted to take it again till father comes home. Oh, Hugh, I would give everything I possess if you hadn't!"
Hugh was silent. In his present mood he did not feel inclined to promise.
"Where's the harm?" he asked at last.
"Father trusted us not to take it till we were old enough to judge of its dangers; he said we must take his judgment till then."
"And how long was that to last?"
"I don't know, but I was quite willing to leave it till then. Hugh, what does our text say, as father is not here?"
John's voice was low, and his face full of feeling.
"I hadn'tthatto look at out there!" murmured Hugh.
"No. Oh, Hugh,sayyou will not again till they come home?"
"I'm sure I wish I had not, now you say so much about it. John, you won't tell the girls?"
"Not 'the girls;' but I must tell Agnes."
"Then I shan't promise!"
John was staggered for a moment, but after an instant he said:
"I must not do evil that good may come. I'm sure you will think better of it, Hugh dear; and it would be such a comfort to me if you would."
"At anyrate don't tell Agnes to-day, till I have had time to think it over. Do as much as that for me, John."
"I think I may promise that," answered John. "Hugh, we've had such a beautiful sermon this morning on, 'Able to keep you from falling;' it has helped me ever so much."
Then John left the room, and Hugh got up and walked round the table, and stood in front of the new frame: he stood long and silently, and did not move till the others came in.
"You are not dressed," said Alice; "we shall be late after all!"
"I shan't take long," said Hugh, hurriedly leaving the room.
"There is time yet," said John; "don't be a fidget, Alice. Is Minnie going to take her beloved baby?"
"Of course I am. Do you suppose I'm such a bad mamma that I should neglect my children?"
John laughed merrily. "Sometimes mothers like to show them off; that's one way, you know. Minnie."
"Well, you're not a mother, so you can't judge," answered Minnie saucily.
"Oh, that's it! Very well. But if you don'tmind, I'll play 'father;' and see if you don't find the tables are turned."
John shook his head so comically that Minnie hugged her new treasure closer, and retired behind Agnes, who said:
"You may trust John, Minnie; he will not do you or Dolly any harm."
"But I don't like being teased," said Minnie, looking shy; "I'd a great deal rather not, please John."
Just then Hugh came in, looking very fresh and nice, and the girls threw on their shawls and went in next door, bonnetless for once.
As they all crowded up their grandmama's steps, John felt a twitch at his coat, and Hugh's voice whispered:
"I'm awfully sorry now, John; and I'll promise."