"Duncan, I'm glad to see you here! Suppose you go into the parlour. You'll find Mr. Earle there."
Now Mr. Earle was the very last person in the world whom Duncan McNair wished to find just then; however, somewhat bewildered, he obeyed the suggestion. As he entered, he heard Mr. Earle say, as in response to some one who had been speaking—
"Blessed news! Another wanderer brought home!"
Then, as he saw the newcomer, he continued—
"Ah! Duncan, we've been waiting a long time for you. We are very glad you've come at last. Will you take this seat?" indicating a chair near his own.
The boy went forward wondering. This was not at all his idea of a prayer-meeting. Both rooms were nearly filled.
Deacon Griffin had charge of the meeting in the outer room. His father and mother, Dr. Myers, Mr. Clarke, and others, were there, singing praises and rendering thanks for the gifts already bestowed, seeking the continued presence of the Spirit with its renewing power, and speaking words of instruction and counsel to some of the young converts who were there, ready to take up the Master's work, only asking to be shown how.
In the room where Duncan was seated were Willy and Helen Knapp, Alice Trafton and Mr. Trafton himself, besides many more of Duncan's schoolmates and acquaintances.
"'Well, Mr. Trafton," Mr. Earle said, turning back to continue the talk Duncan's entrance had interrupted, "I think you quite understand the step you have taken. I hope that you will join the working force at once. We need you. If you will stop a minute after church, I have a hint to give you to start on. And so, Willy, you, too, have quite made up your mind to belong to Christ?"
"Yes, sir; but I don't know what to do."
"What to do," repeated Mr. Earle, smiling kindly. "Why, my boy, you've nothing to do. Christ has done it all. He takes you just as you are. You have but to trust in Him."
"Yes, I know," returned Willy. "I don't mean just that. He has forgiven me and made me his own, and now I am different, I ought to live different. I mean I don't know how I ought to live. It is just as you said, sir. I want to do something to please Jesus, but I don't see anything that I can do."
"I understand you now," Mr. Earle replied; "and I think I can help you. Suppose that to-morrow morning when you fill the wood-box and sweep the paths, or bring the pail of water, you go about it with the thought that it is the work Christ has given you to do, and do it promptly and cheerfully. I think the Saviour will be pleased with the service. Then I suppose, like all school-boys, you like to play tricks on your mates—now, if you remember the rule Jesus gave, you will drop the paper ball before you send it flying across the school-room, aiming at somebody's nose; you would not like to be in the place of that other boy, nor of the teacher. These are little things, but if you are faithful, God may call you to do greater work for him. And how is it with Helen?" turning to the little girl.
"Oh, sir, I am very happy. I asked Jesus this morning to help me to be good-natured this day, and I think he did. I told mother that Willy and I hoped we were Christians, and she said she was very glad, and she wished she was one herself. I am praying for her and for father."
"We will all pray for them. Well, Alice, there was a very sad-looking little girl sitting in that seat last evening; but I see a very happy face tonight. What has become of the sadness?"
"It has all gone out of my heart, and that's the reason it don't show in my face, I suppose."
"Yes. Have you any idea what drove it out?"
"Yes, sir," Alice replied. "I think it was Christ himself. I felt so bad last night that I cried all the while you were preaching. Helen sat with me, and she was so happy, and that made me more miserable. I thought I was left out. When I went home, I went straight to Henry's room, and told him all about it. Then I knelt down by his chair, and he prayed for me, and I think Christ heard him, and that he has forgiven my sins; and with the sin all washed out, I couldn't be sad, you know!"
Duncan listened in amazement. Here were these children, three or four years younger than himself, rejoicing in sins forgiven, and starting out in the Christian life. When Alice spoke of her sins being forgiven, he said to himself, "Whew! If that little innocent puss had sins to forgive, what kind of a reckoning would I have?"
There were others to testify for Christ, and some who had not yet heard the sweet, gentle voice, saying, "Fear not, I have redeemed thee." Behind Mr. Trafton sat a young man who was greatly agitated. While the rest were singing, Mr. Earle went over and sat beside him.
"Nicholas," he said, "don't you find Christ yet?"
"No," returned the young man, choking with emotion, "I can't find Him, and if I could, I don't believe it would do any good. He wouldn't pay any attention to such a wicked fellow as I am."
"I'll agree to that, if you will find any account of his turning away from anybody."
"Are you sure He never turned anybody away?" asked the poor fellow. "May be they didn't tell of it."
"We have his word for it:
"'Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.'"
As Mr. Earle went on repeating the precious promises, Duncan leaned forward to see who he was talking to, and, to his utter astonishment, discovered that it was Nick Turner!
He began to take in some idea of the extent and power of the work that was going on. True, he had heard many details, or might, if he had listened to conversations that went on around him, but he had failed to comprehend more than that there were meetings which a great many people called very interesting.
He felt something of the solemnity that rested upon all present, and when Mr. Earle knelt and prayed for Nick, he found himself wondering how he should feel if it was himself that was being prayed for. He listened eagerly to all that followed, until fearing he might become interested in spite of himself, he resolutely set about turning his thoughts away from the place. Suddenly the bell rang out for the preaching services. Mr. Earle laid his hand upon Duncan's shoulder to detain him, then, turning to Willy and Helen, he said—
"If you feel so anxious about your parents becoming Christians, I suppose you are willing to make some sacrifice for it. Are you not?"
"Yes, sir," said Willy.
"I think so," Helen said thoughtfully.
"Well, suppose that to-morrow evening you two offer to stay with the two little ones, and let your father and mother come to the inquiry meeting. Don't decide now, but think and pray about it. Good night."
To Duncan, "Well, my boy, is your decision made?"
"I haven't made any decisions lately," was the reply. "I didn't even decide to come here tonight."
"Ah! But since you are here you are not sorry?"
"No—I guess not."
"And you'll come again?—Will you?"
"I don't know—perhaps I will."
"Duncan, will you, if God permits, meet me here at a quarter before six to-morrow evening? We shall be alone then, and I would like to have a long talk with you. You may bring a friend if you like. Will you come?"
Duncan could not refuse, and gave his promise, which he wanted to take back the next minute. Mr. Earle's sermon that evening was a solemn appeal to the hearts of those who still refused Christ's invitation, and Duncan felt that the truths presented reached him—he saw his guilt and danger—indeed, I am not certain that he had not seen it before—but hitherto he had been quite determined to resist for the present. Now he was not so certain; perhaps it would be better to settle the matter now, if he only could.
It was so awkward to start; he had made a good many remarks about the "revival they were getting up," and it would seem queer to come around now and join in with the rest. He couldn't do it. As yet, his class at the seminary had not been broken into; they all stood out firmly against the call, and he wouldn't be the one to break the ranks. But then he had been to an inquiry meeting. What would they say to that? And he had promised to go again! Then, again, it might be, as Mr. Earle had said, that this was his very last opportunity. He remembered Willy Loring, and thought, what if he had waited for this time! He began to see where he stood, but was unwilling to take the step that would plant him upon the rock.
The next day a spirit of insubordination ran through his class-room, and it was plain from what corner it emanated. Never had Duncan McNair seemed so full of fun and frolic. He was quite determined to forget and make everybody else forget the position into which he had been led. Lessons were failures, ridiculous notes and outrageous caricatures were slyly handed about, causing subdued explosions of laughter. Had Professor Mills had charge of that department, serious trouble must have ensued; but Professor Harris understood the boys better than they understood themselves, and quietly watched and waited. Toward the close of the day's session, Duncan captured a note intended for his neighbour, reading it with a flushed and angry face.
"I must prevent an outbreak there," thought the teacher. "That boy has been in a state of excitement all day, and he won't stand much more."
A little while after, he said—
"McNair, I have discovered the error in your work. If you will stop a moment and make the correction, we will overlook the mistake, as your statement is correct."
Then, when the work was done, "Duncan, if it is not a breach of confidence, will you tell me what was in that note that made you so angry at Clarence Golden?"
"It was an insult to one of the best friends I have in the world," answered the boy, flushing again. "I'd fight any day for Dr. Myers's honour, and Clarence knows it. I think he will keep out of my way, and he'd better, too."
"Duncan, would you fight for your Saviour's honour?" Receiving no reply, Professor Harris continued, "Dr. Myers cannot be a better friend to you than Christ has been, and yet you do not hesitate to offer Him a gross insult, despising and rejecting his friendship, without which you are lost."
The conversation was not prolonged. There were others waiting to speak to the teacher, into whose ears he was sure to drop some word of warning or encouragement. Duncan walked slowly home. All the fun and frolic gone, his heart was burdened with a sense of his sin. It was true; all that Dr. Myers had done could not be compared with Christ's sacrifice.
And yet that very day he had ridiculed Christians and scoffed at things that belong to Christ's kingdom. How it all appeared to him now! Could he hope for pardon—might it not be too late? In his own room, he waited for the hour which Mr. Earle had set for their interview, for which he was now as anxious as he had been averse. Half-past four! An hour and a quarter to wait, when he was not sure of a minute. Inconsistent follow! Yesterday he had scorned the idea of any help whatever, thinking to make his way alone to the mercy-seat, when he should decide to start; and now he was depending entirely upon Mr. Earle. Why didn't he kneel right down there and give his heart to Jesus? This was the very thought which presently occurred to him.
And when, an hour later, he met Mr. Earle, and that gentleman said, smiling, "Well, shall I talk to you, or you talk to me?"
He replied—
"I have not much to say, only to answer your question of last night as to the decision being made. I think, sir, that I have made it. I do not feel sure that Christ has forgiven and received me, but I am very sure that I want to be his."
Again the glad pastor said fervently, "Thank God!"
ALMOST WITHIN.
"He called me once again,Pleading that He had precious things to say."
VERY soon after it became manifest that the Holy Spirit was in an especial manner present with the people of Westville, the clerks from Mr. Wynn's store began to drop into church after "closing time," which was perhaps half an hour before the dismissal. Soon one and another got leave to go earlier, and at length, finding that almost everybody went to church, the merchants entered into an agreement to close their places of business an hour earlier, that their employes might have the full benefit of the extra services. The interest among that class of young men was very general.
If Mr. Wynn had found it inconvenient to have one earnest Christian clerk in his employ, he was likely to have more trouble of the same sort, for five out of his six clerks came out squarely for Christ. The sixth was Perry Morse. Like the rest he had gone regularly to church, and listened with deep interest to the preaching. Like the rest he had heard the call to forsake sin and follow Christ. For many days he was grave and thoughtful; he slipped into the inquiry meetings, and once in the congregation, he spoke of his desire to become a disciple of Jesus Christ. One evening in particular he was deeply impressed. Mr. Earle had a long conversation with him, saying afterward to Dr. Myers—
"That boy seems almost ready to step in, yet there is something holding him back. If I could only get at it! It will be a sad thing if he comes so near only to draw back."
Since that first evening when Perry went with Nick Turner to Murphy's saloon, he had gone steadily downward, not swiftly—he was too cautious for that—but surely. He had found the allurements of that glittering trap of Satan's quite too strong to be passed over and resisted. He had long been a frequent visitor, and cards and wine had grown as familiar to him as anything connected with his home life, and the excitement of the one and the stimulus of the other seemed almost necessary to his existence. But now for a little time he had withdrawn from this haunt, and was apparently giving his whole thought to the work of seeking God's favour. Still days passed, and he held back. Nick Turner, his old crony, had forsaken the path they had been walking together, and now he was trying to persuade Perry to turn from it altogether.
"I can never forget," he said, "that I was the one to lead you into sin. If I could only undo it all. Perry, won't you break off and come with us?"
"Oh, I don't mind that sort of thing much," replied Perry. "You need not feel any remorse about it. Doubtless I should have found my way there some time. Besides, I can assure you, Nick, it is something else that keeps me from becoming a Christian. There is something stronger than the attractions of Murphy's saloon that holds me back. There, don't ask—you won't find out. I thought I'd tell you, that you needn't be fretting over your share in the work, if I go to the bad wholly."
When Mr. Earle asked, "Perry, could you give up evil associates, strong drink, and gambling?" Perry winced slightly at the plain words, but answered very decidedly—
"Yes, sir. I've got past that. The very thought of those things is a horror to me. But—there are other things in the way."
"Do you imagine that there will ever come a time when the way will seem perfectly clear?" asked the pastor.
"Perhaps not; but if I could got around one or two things it wouldn't be so hard; but I can't get around them. I'd have to go right through."
"Perry, there is nothing it would not be worthwhile to give up—no duty too hard, no cross too heavy, for the sake of God's favour. Don't let anything keep you from grasping the hand that Christ holds out to you. And let me tell you that the very things you dread will seem very different to you when the cloud of God's displeasure is lifted, and you walk in the sunlight of sin forgiven."
"I can't do it, Mr. Earle. I want to be a Christian, I surely do, but I'm afraid I can't. No matter—don't think any more about me. Work and pray for somebody else, and let me go."
"No," replied Mr. Earle, "we can't let you go. You will not be so foolish. Whatever your stumbling block may be, Christ will help you to pass it—only ask Him to help you."
Perry went home and spent a night of conflict. It did seem that there never were so many things to hinder a boy from coming to Christ. Satan contested every step of the way. Perry had gained many points, but here was this thing, the something that Mr. Earle could not come at. It loomed up before him, darkened the way, seeming to shut him out of heaven. To be sure there was a way through it, as he said. It was right through it. But could he do it?
Could he go to Mr. Wynn and tell him that a year ago when he had charge of the books for a few days, during the brief illness of Morris Clarke, he had made false entries to cover up a theft he had committed? It was a small sum, and apparently had never been missed; and he had almost forgotten it himself, until now his quickened and tender conscience kept it continually before him. The money went, with a great deal more, to pay gambling debts. Doubtless his father would replace it, but, of course, dismissal would follow disclosure. And this wasn't all. While treasurer of the Sunday-school missionary society he had used some of the funds intrusted to him. If he could only quietly refund this money and the other, and have no noise made about it!—but this thought gave him no comfort.
In the first place, he could not very well do it; and besides he felt that God required that he should confess his sin—and here was his stumbling block. Here he halted, as we have said, for days. Thinking it over and over, he remembered Mr. Earle's earnest:
"Don't let anything keep you from Christ."
And finally he resolved, hard as it would be, that he would go to Mr. Wynn the first thing in the morning and tell him the story and accept the consequences. Now it never occurred to him that as a Christian man, Mr. Wynn was bound to forgive a repenting brother, and unite his own prayers with his for the forgiveness of a holy God. Of course it didn't! Mr. Wynn's life was not calculated to awaken any such thought. A man to whom business and religion are entirely distinct affairs is likely to have a great deal of the one and very little of the other, and to be the last person who would kneel down in his private office and pray for an erring clerk. So Perry made up his mind to face his anger; at least he thought he made it up; but he forgot to plead with Christ for help that his steps should not falter, that his courage might not fail, that Satan might be restrained from throwing any further hindrances in his path.
He went down to breakfast and drank his coffee in silence, until Mr. Morse addressed him—
"Perry, have you ever spoken to any one about that black horse that I sold to Davis? I mean about any defect in him."
"No, sir, I think not," replied Perry, wondering.
Mrs. Morse laughed as she said—
"I don't think you needed to ask that question. Did you ever in your life know Perry to acknowledge that anything he had an interest in was not quite perfect?"
"I know he is a great boaster of his own perfections," replied the father. "I shouldn't wonder though if somebody might find a flaw or two in him if they looked sharp. Eh, Perry! But about the horse. It will be just as well if you don't know anything about it. Understand?"
"Not quite. Why?"
"Nothing, only Davis threatens to sue for damages, so I hear. He asked no questions about the horse, and I wasn't bound to tell all I knew unless asked. That's what Lawyer Bradford says. Davis had known the horse longer than I had. It was raised within two or three miles of his place. If he should make a fuss, it would be as well if you know nothing about it."
"Of course, you wouldn't want Perry to tell a downright lie about it," said Mrs. Morse; and little Charlie wondered if downright lies were any different from other lies.
"Why, no—certainly not. But he never drove the horse—what can he know? I'll trust him to get around it. Of course if he should have to come upon the stand and testify, he would have to tell the truth about it. But if he don't know anything about it, he will not be likely to be called upon."
Perry wondered if a lie in the court-room was really so much worse than a lie in somebody's parlour or breakfast-room; but then Perry's conscience was tender just then.
Perry's resolution had not gained strength by this little conversation, and his father's hint at his own possible imperfections disturbed him somewhat. What would he say when he knew all? Oh, if Perry's father had lived nearer to Christ, and if Perry had gone first to him with his confession! He was walking straight on toward the private office where he expected to meet Mr. Wynn, when he was stopped by that gentlemen.
"Morse, see here—some goods belonging to your department have just come in. I want to show them to you. There—aren't those beauties?" displaying some laces. "Now see if you can tell the difference. Is there any?"
"I should be a dull scholar not to have profited by the lesson you gave me on laces," returned Perry, smiling; "but the imitation is so like the real that I am almost afraid to call it so."
"Just so! Just so!" said Mr. Wynn. "Now, Morse, I am going to take a set of these up to Mrs. Wynn, and when you show the others you can say that Mrs. Wynn has a set like them—they are very like, you see. And you understand, you are not to show them both to the same customers. Mrs. Golden or Mrs. Amesbury would detect a difference very quick, but Mrs. Longseam would never know whether she paid ten dollars for a collar exactly like Mrs. Wynn's or not. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir, I understand," said the clerk to his employer; then as that individual turned away, he continued to himself, "I quite understand that it is no worse for me to take twenty-five dollars of your money than for you to take ten dollars from a poor woman for an article that isn't worth five, because she never will know any better. Yes, I understand. You and father call yourselves Christians, and I don't know as it will pay for me to humble myself for the sake of being like you, and I sha'n't do it. My secret is safe now, and I'll keep it. I'd like to know how Lester, and Clarke, and all the rest of them, are going to get along here. I can tell them that religion hasn't any chance for a foothold in this store. They'll have to give in at last; then they won't be any better off than I am."
A customer interrupted this one-sided talk, and he had no farther opportunity for meditation during the day. Indeed he would have avoided anything of the sort. He said he had "stopped thinking; he guessed it would do as well to let things slide along;" and by way of doing his part, he did not go near the church that evening, but went back to Murphy's, and reeled home toward midnight with just sense enough left to remember his broken resolutions.
As he kicked off his boots and groped about for a match, he muttered, "Well, this is different from last evening! And to think that all my hard work to bring myself up to the confessing point has just ended in smoke! Everything knocked over by the wonderful consistency of two church members! Well, if it hadn't been for father and Mr. Wynn, I should have spent this evening differently, I presume. Humph! I guess so! For all I know I might have spent it in jail. Mr. Wynn would have been as likely to take that course as any other. My! What a mountain I made of it last night! It wasn't such a great affair, after all. I have done extra work enough to earn that money a dozen times over; and as for religion, I don't want the kind that some folks have, and in my position, I couldn't very well manage any other. Heigh ho! I'm sick of Westville. I wish I had Herbert's chance in New York. He is a lucky dog. It was dull at Murphy's without Nick. I must try to coax him back."
With which resolve Perry tumbled into bed and snored off into a stupid sleep that lasted so long that he was late at the store, and Mr. Wynn wondered "how much longer those meetings were to be kept up. The excitement was spoiling the clerks. He had given them their evenings, and now they took the mornings of their own accord."
"Who takes?" asked Morris Clarke, respectfully. "I cannot remember that any of us have been late before for a month. I can assure you, Mr. Wynn, that the meetings don't make a fellow into, and they do help one to do better work; and as for excitement, there is very little of that element."
"Oh," returned Mr. Wynn, "I never yet knew a person to acknowledge that he was excited."
"But, Mr. Wynn," said young Lester, "don't you approve of such things? I thought you were a member of Mr. Earle's church."
"So I am. But, my boy, it does not follow that I indorse all of Mr. Earle's measures."
"It seems to me," said Morris Clarke, "that these meetings are the Lord's measures."
"Well, well, doubtless you think so. I only hope they won't infringe upon business. 'Diligent in business,' you know, is just as much a command as a great many other passages that much stress is put upon."
"Yes, sir. And, Mr. Wynn, that is just what we boys mean to be. We have decided for Christ, and we find it to be a part of our Christian duty to do our very best at whatever we are set about, and we promise to be faithful to your interests. In our inexperience, we shall doubtless make missteps in trying to follow Christ, but we hope that you will bear with us, and out of your longer experience in Christian living show us when we go wrong."
If Morris Clarke had meant to be sarcastic, he could scarcely have done better than in this last remark. Mr. Wynn show young disciples how to walk! And yet he was sincerely glad that these young men were converted. If only they would not be over-zealous, and this was what he said, stammering a little. Religious conversation was not easy for him.
"Well, boys, I am glad that—to know—to hear —it is a very good thing to start while you are young. I hope you will all hold out. I'm very glad. But I want to warn you against fanaticism—a quiet, even sort of thing is what I like in religion. Yes, I am very glad."
Perry Morse stood a little apart during this talk, and as Mr. Wynn moved away he said, following him—
"Sir, I didn't go to church last night. I wasn't well this morning. That's how I was late."
"Never mind. I was a little worried over a missing letter, and spoke a little sharper than I intended. But how is it that you didn't go to church? Aren't you one of them?"
"No, sir."
"Ah, better go with the rest, Perry. Little as I approve of what are called revival meetings, I would not for the world hinder any one from becoming a Christian."
"You've hindered me," thought Perry as he went forward to show the laces to a wealthy customer.
And so Perry Morse drew back. His father wondered why it was that in this ingathering his son was left out, and as months went by, Mr. Wynn complained of Perry's dissipated habits, and neither of them dreamed how near he had come to the gate of the kingdom, nor suspected that they had helped to turn him back to indifference and sin.
TROUBLES.
"I dared not look on the long way before;I dared not look on the dark way behind."
Six months later, Judge McNair and his wife were dining at the Wynn mansion. Mrs. Wynn had exquisite taste, and also plenty of money at her command: consequently the finishing and furnishing of that dining room was a rare combination of beauty and comfort. The hangings were of the palest of green tints, the carpet wonderfully like the rich moss into which our feet sink in our summer rambles, the pictures few and appropriate, the chairs of a graceful pattern; flowers filled one window with colour and the room with delicate fragrance, while an open fire at the farther end dispelled the chill and gloom of a November day. The table appointments were perfect, and the cook had done her part well.
There was no extra display—the daughter of the house had come to spend the day with her mother, and the judge had been invited to an informal dinner. No doubt they ought to have been very bright and happy, all of them. Mabel and her mother had passed a very cheery morning, and Judge McNair came in smiling and genial as ever; but the host wore a vexed and pained expression, which did not altogether pass off as the dinner progressed. When they came to the wine, which, as usual, Mabel and her husband declined, Mr. Wynn said—
"I believe you are right, judge. If I had a boy, I'd do the same."
"But, father," said Mabel, "you have young men in your employ."
"I'm not responsible for my clerks' habits," Mr. Wynn returned; "and, besides, they don't sit at my table."
"I have no doubt but that they perfectly understand your views and practices on the temperance question, though they never saw you take a glass of wine; but, father, it seems to me that you are to a certain degree responsible for them."
"I hope not," he answered quickly. "I don't want to be held responsible for Perry Morse's dishonesty, which has just come to light. I declare I don't know when I have been so sorry for anybody as for Mr. Morse; but I couldn't help it, I had to discharge him."
"Why, Mabel!" said Mrs. Wynn. "He was one of your famous boys, wasn't he?"
"Yes," replied Mabel sadly.
"Humph! I wonder you didn't instil in him some of the first principles of honour," growled Mr. Wynn.
"You mean," returned Mabel, with a touch of sarcasm, "you wonder why I didn't teach him the happy medium. It seems there is one. Queer that Herbert should have been discharged for being too strict, and Perry Morse for being too loose."
"Herbert Bradford was discharged for disobeying orders; but Perry Morse was sent adrift because he is a drunkard and a gambler, and took my money to pay his gambling debts. If his father had not been an old friend, I'd have lodged the boy in jail, and I am not sure that I should not have been more in the way of duty if I had done so."
"Give him another chance," said Judge McNair quietly.
"Another chance at the money-drawer?" Mr. Wynn asked, laughing. "No, I can't do it. Morse must find some other berth for his scapegrace; but I am really sorry for them. I declare," turning to his daughter, "I don't see how you happened to make a failure of him. I thought all those boys were going to turn out paragons. It seems that Perry was too much for you, eh?"
"I do not give Perry Morse up for lost yet," returned Mabel. "The freshness and purity of his boyhood may be sadly marred, but he may make a good and useful man. I have worked hard for him, but Satan has been busy too."
"Do you know what Morse thinks of doing with him?" asked the judge.
"No; he spoke of his brother's establishment near Dunkirk, and thought perhaps he would take him."
"What is the business?" asked his wife.
"Manufacturing leather—in other words, a tannery."
"Do you mean that Mr. Morse would be so unwise as to set a boy of Perry's peculiar tastes and temperament to work at that disagreeable business?" exclaimed Mabel.
"Why not?" returned Mr. Wynn. "I presume you would prefer the odour of hides and tan-bark to that of whisky. Anyway, the fellow wants bringing down."
"I don't think so. He needs lifting up. He is a proud, fastidious fellow. I dare say you would never find him at Smith's den around the corner, nor over the railroad at Bacon's, but always at Murphy's, where Satan takes especial pains to be agreeable and fascinating to boys of Perry's stamp. He would never have become a drunkard, if he had been forced to buy his liquor at Smith's. He will rebel against any such plan as you suggest."
"But, Mabel, don't you see that he has forfeited all claim to a consideration of his tastes and inclinations?"
"No, I don't see. Doubtless he has gone very far astray; but I don't feel at all sure that he may not be reclaimed, and under proper influences led into the right way."
"I don't know what you mean by proper influences," retorted Mr. Wynn. "His father and mother, as you know, are Christian people, and I have no doubt have tried to train their son up in the way he should go."
"Unfortunately Christian people sometimes make sad mistakes, and Perry is one of those persons who are sharp to detect inconsistencies in the lives of professing Christians, and turn them to account in excusing their own faults. I can't help thinking that if the atmosphere of his home had been more truly Christian, if love to Christ had been the ruling motive in every day's affairs, if the life, the labour, and the conversation had been of and for Jesus, Perry Morse might have turned out differently. That's what I mean by proper influences. Influences that lead to Christ, not away from Him. It would be very far from my intention or desire to judge Mr. and Mrs. Morse," continued Mrs. McNair; "but we all know what has been the tenor of their walk and conversation, and only the faithful are sure of the promises."
"Well, all I have got to say about it," returned Mr. Wynn, "is that the fellow has been taught at home and at church better than he has done, and his common sense might have told him that the way he has been going on must lead to ruin first or last. The scamp has only himself to blame as I can see."
"Now, if we allow that (which I do not), suppose one should give him a chance to thank somebody for a helping hand, so that he gets back to a safe path, wouldn't it be better than letting him go on down hill, because it is his own fault that he started?"
"It might be, if he showed any signs of wanting to turn about; but I can tell you, my dear, coaxing won't do any good in his case, he is too hardened."
Mabel said no more, but her thoughts were busy while her father and Mr. McNair branched off upon a less painful topic.
Meanwhile Perry, sullen and defiant, listened to his father's reproaches, which were neither few nor mild.
"To think that a son of mine should be a drunkard! A man of my position in both business and religious circles! Young man, it is positively outrageous!"
"Father," said Perry, with a sneer, "I wouldn't find so much fault with my own work if I were you. If I am a drunkard, you made me one."
"I made you one! What an abominable story to invent! Pray tell me how I, a temperance man, succeeded so admirably in the work you credit me with."
"I don't know what you mean by being a 'temperance man;' but I do know that when Mr. Spencer was here lecturing upon temperance, he one Sunday spoke to the Sunday-school, and after he had spoken a while, he asked all who would promise to abstain from intoxicating drink to rise. Almost everybody in the church rose, and I was just going to get up with the rest of our class, when I looked over and saw you keeping your seat, and I thought that if you didn't think such a pledge was right for you, of course it wouldn't be for me. And that is how I came to be a drunkard, sir! If I had taken that pledge, I should have kept it."
For a moment Mr. Morse was confounded, but recovering himself, he said—
"Of course that is nonsense, Perry. You know very well that I do not believe in total abstinence pledges, but that I do believe in temperance. There is a vast difference between an occasional glass of wine, or even an habitual glass, and this drinking to excess, frequenting saloons, and being brought home dead drunk."
"Won't you please to tell me how a fellow is going to know just where temperance ends and intemperance begins?" asked Perry, in a sarcastic tone.
"I should think you had tried the experiment times enough to find out for yourself," retorted his father sharply.
"I reckon you'll have some trouble to lay the rest of your confounded follies upon my shoulders," he said, after a pause. "You can't accuse me of training you in the art of gambling. I never played a game of cards in my life—or stole a dollar," he added bitterly.
"Perhaps not," returned the boy, stung to madness. "But who bet fifty dollars on the election last fall? And maybe cheating isn't stealing, but—"
"Perry!" exclaimed Mrs. Morse. "Won't you stop? I cannot endure it."
Perry turned toward the pale little woman who, exhausted with grief, lay upon the lounge listening to this talk.
"Yes, mother, I will stop; but isn't it hard to be reproached for learning a lesson too well?"
I think Mr. Morse had it in his heart to strike his son to the floor, but he restrained himself, remembering his plan, which would bring a sweeter revenge, and to Perry a more bitter punishment.
"You'll soon be under another teacher, young man," he said quietly. "I have just written to brother John, and if he will take you, I'll apprentice you to him for the next two years."
"Father!" exclaimed Perry, in utter dismay. "You won't do that?"
"I will do just that!"
"I will never go there."
"We shall see."
"But, father, you are not in earnest? I'd sooner die."
"Oh, no, people are not so ready to die. And pray what objection have you to my plan? I should suppose you would be glad to hide yourself somewhere."
"Not in a tan-vat!" said Perry. "Father, I don't like the business—that is my objection."
"Of course it is a coming down; but remember, you brought yourself down."
"But it is such dirty work."
"Afraid of dirt, eh? Perry, you are too proud for your present position. If I were you, I'd be thankful for any work that is respectable, and not mind if it is not as—"
"I'm not afraid of dirt, but I hate it; and as for pride, I'll prove to you it is not that, by doing any kind of clean work, even if it is sawing wood. But I never will go into Uncle John's tannery."
Mr. Morse repeated his cool "We shall see," and left the room. Mrs. Morse said—
"You'd better not oppose your father now. He feels your fall into sin very deeply. Perhaps he will be more yielding after a little while."
"It isn't so much the sin that he cares about as the disgrace," said Perry. "I tell you, mother, if I had not gone so far, it would have been all right. A gentleman tippler, a parlour gamester, a sharp money-getter—these pass muster."
"My son, you are unreasonably bitter toward your father."
"And isn't he unreasonably bitter toward me?"
"Oh, I don't know, I don't know," moaned the poor woman; "but don't quarrel. I can't bear it. Oh, Perry, how could you go so wrong? You certainly have been taught better."
"Yes, mother, I have had a mixed sort of education; and, unfortunately, I found some of the lessons easier than others. But, after all, I think you and father are making a great fuss about something that happens every day. I've done no more than half a dozen rich men's sons that I could name."
The poor mother turned her face to the wall; she did not know what to say to her boy; she only partly understood him, but she began to realise faintly that there had been a fault in his training, that the seed which had brought such bitter fruit might have been of their own sowing. Unconsciously and ignorantly on her part the evil had been wrought; but was she not to blame for this very unconsciousness and ignorance? Alas! She had followed Christ afar off, and so her children had failed to see manifested in her life the beauty of holiness. And, too, now in her troubles, her Saviour seemed afar off, so far that she could not carry her grief to Him, and she had no strength to call out that He might hear and draw nigh. Poor mother!
A BATCH OF LETTERS.
"How many lives made beautiful and sweetBy self-devotion and by self-restraint!"
THAT which they said of Perry Morse was true. He had been brought home dead drunk; he had neglected his business and taken his employer's money to pay his gambling debts, and he was only seventeen! The reproaches which his father had heaped upon him had roused a spirit of defiance and stubbornness; yet he was not altogether hardened, as was shown by the tears he shed over a note he received the next morning. It ran thus:
"DEAR PERRY:—Could you come and see me a little while this afternoon? I would like to have a little quiet talk and consultation upon a matter of interest to you, and think that we may have a better chance to be alone here. Shall we say at three o'clock?"Your friend,"MABEL MCNAIR."
But Perry found himself unable to accept this invitation. The course he had been pursuing had undermined his health, and the excitement and shame of the last day or two had quite used up his strength. He lay upon the lounge, with throbbing head and fever pulse. By the following morning, Mrs. Morse was thoroughly alarmed, and would have a physician.
Mr. Morse said, "Very well. If you are anxious, I'll send up Dr. Maxwell."
"I don't want Dr. Maxwell," said Perry, overhearing the remark. "I'll have Dr. Myers, if anybody. Dr. Max. is fussy."
"Well, you won't have Dr. Myers, I can assure you," replied Mr. Morse.
"Dr. Maxwell is our family physician," said Mrs. Morse soothingly. "It would not be treating him well to call any one else."
"I don't know why," said Perry. "If I like Dr. Myers better, I should think I might have him."
"The things you like don't always happen to be the best," replied Mr. Morse significantly, as he closed the door after him.
An hour after this, Dr. Maxwell made his visit. He found his patient sullen and silent. Surprised, he turned to the mother for an explanation.
Embarrassed and pained, Mrs. Morse said hesitatingly, "The truth is, Perry took a freak into his head to want Dr. Myers, and I have not been able to reason it out of him."
"Of course not," returned the kindly old doctor. "He is not in a state to be reasoned with. Why in the world wasn't Dr. Myers called?"
"Why, you know you are our family physician, and Mr. Morse did not think it would be right to employ any one else," replied Mrs. Morse, conscious that she was telling only half the truth.
"Fudge! That's being over particular. I'm too old a man to be jealous or troubled by any such thing. I'll send Dr. Myers up myself," said the doctor, rising to go.
"Oh, no, don't do that; at least, not until you have seen Mr. Morse—I—he—well, I think my husband does not quite approve Dr. Myers."
"Well, I do, but I'll see Morse. Good morning."
Mr. Morse was surprised and a little alarmed when Dr. Maxwell entered his store that morning.
"See here, Morse," began the visitor, "you made a mistake. I wasn't wanted up at your house."
"Just as I thought," returned Mr. Morse, "but my wife is nervous and easily alarmed, and I called you to pacify her."
"Not that, not that," said the doctor quickly. "There's need enough of a physician's service, but I am not the one to help the boy. It seems he wants Dr. Myers, and he is the man to go to. I was going to send him up myself, but your wife thought I'd better see you first."
"I do not employ Dr. Myers," said Mr. Morse, with emphasis. "I have confidence in your skill and am satisfied to trust him with you."
"Thank you, but it won't do. The boy is in no state to be reasoned with or crossed; he wants Dr. Myers, and Dr. Myers he must have."
"But I tell you I won't have him."
"Not when I assure you that I consider him a perfectly reliable physician, and that I would trust my own son with him?"
"Not even upon that assurance."
The good old man was puzzled and troubled, too. After a brief silence, he said slowly—
"Mr. Morse, I do not understand you. You and Dr. Myers are members of the same church, and yet you seem to hold bitterness toward him. I do not understand that. Further than this, you will let your son die, perhaps, for lack of the help which the man you dislike can give, because you happen to dislike him. I do not understand that. I did not prescribe for your son, and I shall not. It is of no use. He must be soothed and quieted. My visit was an injury to him. But of course you must do as you think proper. Good morning."
Turning back from the door, Dr. Maxwell added, "If it would be a satisfaction to you, I will agree to call often enough to watch the progress the disease is making, and will counsel with the doctor. But something must be done at once."
Though Mr. Morse was becoming alarmed by the doctor's earnestness, he retained his almost surly manner as he replied, "Well, I have placed him in your care. If you prescribe a heavy dose of Dr. Myers, I suppose we shall have to submit, however unpleasant."
Dr. Maxwell found his friend just returned from his morning round of calls, and he was soon sitting beside the sick boy, holding his burning hand in his own cool one, while he spoke gentle soothing words.
For a few days fever and delirium raged, then came a slow convalescence. Dr. Myers came often, and sat long beside his patient trying to cheer him and drive away a gloom that hung over him. Perry rarely smiled; his mood seemed between sullenness and despair. One day the doctor said—
"Perry, my boy, you don't gain as fast as I wish you did. You must try to cheer up; it is low spirits that keeps you back."
"There is always something keeping me back," returned Perry.
"Supposing you were to break loose and take a fresh start. Which is it? Are you brooding over the past, or dreading the future?"
"Both."
"Well, you can't undo the past, but you know how it can be wiped out."
Perry looked up inquiringly.
"The blood of Christ," said the doctor softly.
Perry shook his head.
"True, some of the consequences of sin must follow you, but your future will be very much what you make it."
"No, it won't. It will be just what father makes it," said Perry bitterly.
"Outwardly, perhaps so; but that need not affect the real, the inner life. True living is of the soul, and, Perry, if you would cease to work against Christ, and begin working with and for Him, then you would begin to live. Don't waste these hours of quiet in useless regrets and miserable forebodings, but go to Jesus with all your burden of sin, take the pardon that awaits you, and leave the future with Him. Can't you do this?"
Perry again shook his head. "I don't mind telling you," he said, "that I am sorry for the past, and I would like to be different, but it is of no use to try; they won't give me a chance."
This is only a bit of that talk. To all Dr. Myers's arguments and entreaties, Perry continued to respond, "It is no use to try." Yet it seems not to have been altogether in vain. Some faint glimmer of hope must have reached the boy's heart, for he grew more cheerful, and gained strength correspondingly, and in the course of a week was able to come down-stairs.
Lying upon the lounge in the sitting room, while the family were at dinner, he overheard a fragment of conversation which sent the blood capering through his veins, and set heart and head to throbbing violently. Mr. Morse was saying, "I suppose I had better write to John. He will be waiting for an answer. Probably Perry will not be able to go for a month yet."
"I should think not sooner, perhaps not then," replied his wife. "But hadn't you better wait a little before you make any decisive answer? I do not think Perry will be willing to go."
"Can't help it. Of course, I have his welfare in mind, and I think it is the best thing to do. He is ruined for Westville, and a stranger would not take a boy without recommendations. As for not liking it, he will get over that after he is once fairly at work."
Forgetting how weak he was, the unhappy boy started to go to the dining room to enter an indignant protest, but sank upon the threshold limp and white. Then there was consternation, running for restoratives, a swift messenger for the doctor, and it must be confessed upon Mr. Morse's part an uncomfortable feeling that he was to blame for what might prove a serious relapse. And so it turned out. At the end of a month, instead of going to work in Uncle John's tannery, the invalid, muffled in shawls and tippets, was taken out in the doctor's carriage for an airing, and when another four weeks had passed, he was pronounced fit for work.
Meantime this bit of correspondence had been going on:—
"NELSON, Dec. 10."MY DEAR BROTHER:—Harvey is about leaving me to go West. Can you send me a good clerk to fill his place, or one to grow into it, not a fresh hand, but one with some knowledge of the business. You know what Harvey's position has been. For the present, I shall take more care and work upon myself, but I want to get some one who can be trusted as I have trusted him. If you can find an honest fellow, let me know at once."Yours as ever,"DAVID MCNAIR."
"WESTVILLE, December 12."DEAR BROTHER DAVID:—I have in mind a clerk for you, and fine accountant, a good salesman, but not otherwise up to your requirements."David, good boys can get places any day, but one who has been discharged for dishonesty is in a bad fix. And the worst is, there are so few who are willing to give such a boy a chance to redeem himself. This boy is a mate of Duncan's, and was a member of my wife's class in Sunday-school, and I am much interested in him. I have offered him a place in my office, but his inclinations are still for a mercantile life."Now, can you find it in your heart to do your Master a service by giving this young fellow an opportunity to begin life anew? I hope you will consider it, I need not add prayerfully, knowing as I do your habit. There is no immediate hurry. He has been ill and is just getting about. Let me hear at the end of a week. And may Christ through his Spirit guide you to decision in accordance with his will."Your brother,"ROBERT MCNAIR."
"NELSON, Dec. 20."BROTHER ROBERT:—I think my duty has been made plain to me. The Lord has so prospered me that I have no need to be anxious about money affairs, so that I have more time to give thought to this work; and just at present, I find here nothing especial to put my hand to (mind, I say nothing especial—there is always the ordinary, every-day work for Christ); so it seems to me that perhaps I may be his chosen instrument to help the boy you speak of, by bearing with his faults, correcting his mistakes, and strengthening his good purposes."Harvey has decided to remain until spring. If your young friend comes, he will board with us and room with Harvey. As to salary . . . if he should remain with me and fill Harvey's place, of course the pay would be the same that he receives. If this is satisfactory, he may come as soon as he is able."Yours, &c.,"DAVID."
It was Dr. Maxwell who undertook to set this proposition before Mr. Morse. That gentleman's opposition was at first very decided. He had made the proposal which his brother had accepted, and he would much prefer not to retract anything. However, Perry was so averse to the idea, he was willing to promise him a release at the end of a specified time, if he should not become reconciled to it. The truth was, his brother was wealthy, and had offered to do well by his nephew. Perry would be a rich man in a few years, and it was all nonsense this being afraid of a little dirt.
"It is a good deal of dirt instead of a little," laughed the doctor. "Of course that sort of work has to be done, but you must remember that you have always encouraged Perry's fastidiousness, and love of neatness and pleasant surroundings has become a part of his very nature, so that if you insist upon forcing him into such uncongenial work, I really believe it will have a bad influence upon his mental and moral character. Now he has a chance to retrieve the past, and seems ready to make the attempt. I beg of you don't put a straw in his way."
Now Mr. Morse's word had always been decisive in his family. When he said a thing was to be, or not to be, that ended discussion, and he hated to give in. Finally Dr. Maxwell said, "See here, Morse, that boy is not pronounced convalescent yet, and I believe he is under my care. I recommend the air of Nelson. Don't you dare to disobey your family physician!"
"I suppose you'll have your way," said Mr. Morse, laughing a little, and really glad to have the mutter settled. He had been very angry with Perry, and in wrath had fallen upon this plan of punishment, and afterward it had seemed a good thing in a money point of view; so you see he had several reasons for holding on to his idea.
Before his departure, Perry went to bid the McNairs good-bye. This was the first opportunity for that quiet talk which his friend had suggested in her note so many weeks previous, and now they had but a few moments together, and the subject was altogether different from that which she had in mind then.
"Perry," she said, "when you were too ill to know any of us, I stood beside you with a very sad heart. It seemed to me that I must have sadly failed in trying to show you the way to Christ, and I promised God then, that if he would spare you, I would never give up until you came to Christ. Remember always that I am praying for you, that the burden is ever upon me. I know you are going away armed with many good resolutions, but I do not feel that you are safe so long as you trust in yourself."
In the course of a few months, Mr. Morse received from his son fifty dollars to repay Mr. Wynn's loss.
"I have never," he wrote, "used money more to my satisfaction than I do in repaying this. It is a great relief to be able to make retribution. Now I wish I could forget all about that miserable business, but I don't suppose I ever shall. I am perfectly contented here. Mr. McNair expresses himself as very well satisfied with my work, and I think he has considerable confidence in me. I have often wondered if he knew of my reputation. I hardly think he did—at least he has never made the slightest reference to it. You can tell mother that this is a no-license town, and there is not a liquor-saloon within five miles of here."
About this time he wrote to Dr. Myers:—
"MY DEAR FRIEND:—I received your letter the other day. Yes, I am contented here. Harvey went away two months ago. He is a splendid fellow. I can't help thinking that he ought to have been a minister. I said so once, and he replied that Christian merchants were needed. I can tell you, business is done here on Christian principle. I'd just like to tell Mr. Wynn that a man can do a thriving business and be perfectly true and fair. There are three clerks of us, and I don't know what Mr. McNair would say if one of us should sell an article for what it is not, or recommend a thing one bit higher than it will bear. I believe that man loves the truth as he does his own life. The least little bit of a lie would be terrible to him. Mrs. McNair and Emily are very pleasant. Emily is twelve years old. We are reading German together. Her father said I might find it useful, as the German population is very large about here."In answer to your question, Am I following Christ? I have to say, not as you mean. I am different from what I was in Westville. I feel that I am changed in many ways. I do not think that I could be induced to taste a bit of liquor, or touch a card, or take a penny that did not belong to me. I do not shun religious people and religious services as I did once. When Harvey was here, I always joined him in reading and prayer, but I know that I am not a Christian. I almost wish I were. But you remember I told you once there was always something to hold me back. I can't tell just what it is now; only I think that if I did start, and then did not follow any closer than some Christians I know, I should not be better off than I am now. I don't want to say anything hard of any one, but I will tell you that I was almost a Christian once, and was turned back by those who profess to be living for Christ. I thought I could do as well as they could any day without being a Christian, and I think so still."Now there is Dr. Maxwell. He is not a church member, but how kind and patient he was when I abused him. He took my part all the way through, and I know well enough that I shouldn't be here to-day if it had not been for him. He couldn't be better if he belonged to forty churches. I am much obliged to you for writing to me. I wonder why you were always so kind to us boys?""Your friend,"PERRY MORSE."
It was perhaps a year later that Perry's employer wrote to his brother a letter, from which I copy a sentence or two.
"We have had a precious work of grace in our midst. Of my Bible class of twenty young men, all but two are now professing Christians. One of these two is your young friend, Perry Morse. He seems to linger just on the threshold. He has been attentive and interested, but will not come in. I am pleased with him in a business way. He is honourable and upright. It seems sad that he will imperil his soul by this strange halting."
Not yet was the burden lifted from the heart of the praying teacher.
LEWIE AMESBURY'S CREED.
"Our eyes see dimly till by faith anointed."
HERBERT BRADFORD remained in New York about four months, when he was thrown out of business by the failure of the firm by which he was employed. Again he returned to Westville disappointed.
"I think it is queer, the trouble I have in getting into business," he said to his old friend and companion, Lewie Amesbury. "You never seem to have any trouble of any sort. I wonder what you would do, if you were disappointed and thwarted every time you tried to do anything that seemed likely to amount to something."
"I wonder what you would do, if you were disappointed and thwarted about a dozen little things every day," responded Lewie, laughing. "My life isn't so smooth and easy as you imagine; but I have got into a way of letting go of a good many annoying things, and trying new plans. Maybe I should do the same in more important cases."
"I can't lie around and do nothing," said Herbert, "so I may have to take up something else. Just for the present I am going to help father with a quantity of copying; but this is only to fill up the gap. Have you decided what to do?"
"Oh, I shall study law. I expect to enter Princeton next fall. I wish you were going. I suppose you could be ready if you studied hard until then?"
"Yes, I suppose so, and father would like it. He has always wanted me to be a lawyer, but I don't incline that way."
"You are not obliged to be a lawyer," said Lewie, laughing.
"I know," returned Herbert, "but my ambition has been to become a rich merchant—not that I should care to be just a rich man and nothing more, but I'd like to do good in the world, and if I had money, I could be so much more useful. I'd like to help poor people, build churches and send out missionaries, and that sort of thing."
"I see; that's all very nice to want to do, and maybe you'll reach that point; but I think you are made to travel by a roundabout road."
"That's so," returned Herbert. "As I said, failure is written upon everything that I undertake. I'm sure I don't know what to do."
"Ask God!" said Mr. Earle, who in passing caught the last sentence without at all guessing the drift of the conversation, but such was his thought and practice to ask God for direction in all things, and the reply came readily in reply to Herbert's bewildered tone and words. He only halted an instant, then passed hurriedly on to catch the train that was puffing and snorting in the depot, seemingly in haste to be gone. It was seed by the wayside in a literal sense, but it was also seed sown on good ground.
"What a queer man Mr. Earle is," said Lewie.
"He is a thoroughly good man," returned Herbert. "Perhaps you call that queer?"
"Well, rather; such men are rare, I confess. But I was thinking how queer to ask God whether you should be a merchant or a lawyer."
"Don't you suppose God cares?" asked Herbert, upon whose mind the thought had just flashed that he had never asked God any such thing.
"I don't know; but if He cares enough to interfere, He will do so without your asking."
"Don't you believe in prayer?" questioned Herbert, in a troubled tone.
"I don't disbelieve in it. I suppose it has its place and its uses; but I don't believe that it will make any difference with your business arrangements whether you pray about them or not. Now didn't you pray over that affair at Mr. Wynn's store and you got your leave of absence for all that!—And I suppose you prayed when you went to Dayton's, and when you were in New York, and yet here you are without a situation, no better off than as if you had never prayed at all."
"What do you think prayer is for, then?"
"Why, I suppose that some people find comfort in it," returned Lewie. "I suppose you do, and Mr. Earle, and my father. I suppose there is such a thing as a kind of communion with God, and I presume that people who are so privileged gain spiritual strength, and that helps them over hard places. I know father smooths the tangles out every morning so far as they concern him; but as for things really being any different, I never could see that. Now, Herbert, did you ever get what people call a direct answer to prayer?" Lewie asked presently, and Herbert replied,—
"Yes, more than once—answers so direct that no power on earth could convince me that I was mistaken. I'll tell you of one instance which I think was remarkable. It was connected with the lawsuit against the widow Blake's place. You remember that it was Tom Allan's testimony that proved her claim. Father was her lawyer, and he had been very much troubled, because nobody knew what had become of Tom Allan. He hadn't been heard from in five or six years, and there was no hope unless he could be found.
"I felt so sorry for Aunty Blake that I couldn't keep the matter out of my mind; and I began to pray about it, asking God to let the truth come out by revealing Tom's hiding place. One day mother sent me over across the river to see if old Betsy could come and clean house. The old lady was trying to read a letter from her boy Jake, and as her eyes were poor, she asked me to read it for her. I fairly shouted over it.
"He said, 'Tom Allan turned up here the other day, and we have gone into partnership,' &c.
"I forgot all about the house-cleaning, and rushed up to the office. Father says I came in like a whirlwind. Now you need not tell me that it just happened, because I don't believe it. Betsy said she hadn't heard from Jake before almost in two years, but you see that letter came just at the right time."
Lewie laughed a little incredulous laugh, and said, as he turned off to go to his home—
"Well, now, suppose you study out a reason for your own ill-luck."
"I intend to," was the reply.
A week later, he said—
"Lewie, it is all clear to me now. I had just made up my mind to be a merchant. I don't think I ever prayed at all on that point, but I was so presumptuous as to ask God to bless me in a decision which I had made without consulting Him. I begin now to think that this constant thwarting of my plans means something."
"So you've been studying up the case as I advised," said Lewie, with a slight sneer, which Herbert did not mind. He was used to Lewie. They did not think and feel alike upon religious subjects, but they always spoke freely to each other.
Lewie went regularly to church and Bible class (the remaining members of the old class having been transferred to Dr. Myers's class, while Mrs. McNair took charge of the younger scholars), the old motto still hung in a conspicuous place in his room, and he assured himself whenever he looked at it that he was following, even closer than many who bore the name of Christian. Did he call himself a Christian? We will see what he thought about it.
Herbert had returned home to find Westville in the midst of the spiritual awakening of which we have already written something. Mr. Earle had the rare faculty of understanding how to set people to work, and in a quiet, unostentatious way Herbert was soon earnestly engaged in the work of winning souls for Christ. It was through him that Nick Turner was led to place himself within reach of the means of grace. It was he who brought Willy and Helen Knapp to the children's meeting, and, too, it was he who rejoiced with Henry Trafton when his young sister Alice gave her heart to Christ, and his father owned Him as his Saviour. And after Duncan's conversion, a prayer-meeting was started among the boys at the seminary, and here Herbert found work. In the three years that had gone by since he gave his heart to Christ, he had tried to do his Master service as he found opportunity, but it seemed that he had never found so grand an opening for labour as now, and never before had his heart been so full of love for souls.
Mr. Earle watched him with gladness, yet with anxiety. He felt that by his providence God was calling Herbert to devote himself entirely to the work of spreading the gospel, and he waited longingly for the time when the Spirit should show the boy the meaning of those things that puzzled him now.
But to go back to what we were saying about Lewie Amesbury's thoughts, as to whether he might call himself a Christian or not. One evening, after many had spoken, old Christians out of their rich experience, and young converts out of hearts all aglow with love, Mr. Earle said—
"I have no doubt; that many, perhaps nearly all, here, would be glad to testify for Christ tonight, and if there were time, or if it were prudent to remain, we would gladly listen to their testimony; but us we cannot do this, I have a request to make. Will all who would like to speak for Christ, all Christians, and all who are willing now to accept Christ's terms of discipleship, and be known henceforth by his glorious name, will all such rise, and thus swell the crowd of witnesses?"
Every seat in that large audience-room was occupied, as were the benches and camp chairs put down in the aisles; and as Mr. Earle ceased speaking, the great congregation seemed to rise with one mind. But there were a few who retained their position, looking straight before them or down at the floor, feeling, doubtless, some embarrassment at being so small a minority. Indeed it must have required more courage to sit quietly in their places than to rise on that occasion. And Lewie was one who braved it out; and this is what he said about it as he walked home with Herbert:—
"I don't like some of Mr. Earle's measures. I think that was a very unwise course he took tonight. It is not very pleasant for a person to be forced to express his views whether he wants to or not."
"I don't understand how there can be anything objectionable in it," returned Herbert. "If one is a Christian, he certainly can have no objection to being known as such, and if one is not a Christian, he will not wish to sail under false colours. If you don't like your position, Lewie, it is a good time to take a new and safer one."
"I am satisfied with my position," said Lewie, "but I don't like to be placed in a false one. I don't class myself with those you call Christ's enemies, but I know very well that Mr. Earle didn't mean me when he called upon Christians to rise, so I sat still, like George Hawley and the rest of the set—fellows that lie and swear, and don't know the meaning of the word honour."
"Lewie! What do you mean, anyway? If you are not Christ's enemy, and if you will not acknowledge yourself as his friend, what are you?"