UNCLE JOSEPH.
Oneof the prominent figures in our meeting house for many years was that of Uncle Joseph—for thus was he known by the young and old who frequented our religious gatherings.
He occupied the second seat in the men’s gallery—and it was with him that the Elder shook hands in sign that Friends should separate, when it seemed likely that the spirit would move no others to utter gentle words of blessing or stern warning against the wiles of the tempter.
As children we regarded Uncle Joseph in the light of a patriarch,although I now know that his years, at the time of which I write, had scarce reached the limit of a half century.
He was a comely man, straight and tall, his smooth-shaven face beaming with good nature, and his soft blue eye lighted with sympathy, but he was not intellectual. Slow of movement and uncertain in expression, his hearers were often troubled to follow his excellent thought, and it was no uncommon thing for my parents to refer to his ministrations as being “labored.” We had a consciousness, based perhaps upon accidental knowledge, that he was uncommonly well to do, and also that there was considerable feeling in the society that Sarah Sidney, with her clear insight and facile speech, would be a fit life companion for the good man.But time wore on and there seemed no likelihood of a realization of this desire.
I can remember one occasion when the subject really assumed the importance that is usually given to gossip, but it was so lovingly and conscientiously touched upon that I was greatly impressed.
My father and mother were in the way of inviting many friends to dine with them on monthly meeting day. Quarterly meeting brought even more persons from a distance, and among the children little unaccustomed duties were distributed. I was frequently desired to remain for a time in the front chamber and assist our women visitors in removing their wraps and adjusting the cap crowns that often met with disaster beneath the stiff bonnets. It was always a pleasurable duty, for Friendsnever forget the young, and as each one grasped my little palm, she did not neglect to speak an encouraging word.
On the occasion to which I have alluded, meeting broke up somewhat later than usual. I hurried home, warmed my chilled fingers, and ran upstairs, where a bright fire was burning on the hearth. I glanced about to see that the wood box was full, and looked out of the window where my eye rested upon a short line of carriages all bent in the direction of our home. First came father and mother, grandfather and the three younger children; then a vehicle well known to me as that of Elias Chase from Derry Quarter; and thus I counted them off, as one by one they drew up beside the horse-block.
I missed Sarah Sidney, whogenerally came with Theophilus Baldwin’s family, and having seen her placid face in its usual place on the seat beneath the gallery, fronting the meeting, I was at a loss to explain her absence. She was tenderly attached to mother, and I could not believe any light matter would take her to another’s table.
A gentle voice called me to my duties:
“Why, Katherine dear, thee must have been very spry to get home before us. I was pleased to see thy interest in the meeting to-day.”
The good woman kissed me and thanked me for the little aid I was able to give in unpinning her great shawl.
Directly afterward, sweet Jane Spencer came tripping up the stairs. She was frequently spokenof as exhibiting “overmuch ardor” in all her good works, but we children loved the enthusiastic little woman.
“O Katherine, I am glad to make use of thy quick fingers. My cap strings are sadly awry. I have been most uncomfortable in them all through meeting. Our breakfast was a trifle late this morning, and we had far to drive.”
One and another arrived, each with a thought of me. “How thee grows, child,” or “Thy mother is blessed in her little helpers.”
The room was well-nigh full, when someone asked the question that had been trembling on my lips.
“Where is Sarah Sidney?”
No one directly replied, but after a moment’s reflection nearly all had a suggestion or a little interest in her to express.
“Methought her face bore traces of anxiety this morning. I trust she has met with no further financial disaster. Thee knows, Rhoda, she is benevolent to a surprising degree in one whose purse is not lengthy, and it is therefore a serious matter to be forced to curtail in her giving.”
“Sarah is too true a follower of the Great Teacher to be long afflicted by the things of this world,” replied an aged friend.
“Ah, Hannah dear,” answered the first speaker, “thee has never had the bread and butter trouble, and therefore thee can hardly compass its misery.”
I think we all felt the force of this argument, for Hannah was richly dowered. Presently Jane Spencer sighed:
“I cannot help wishing that Uncle Joseph would recognizethat the hand of the Lord is pointing him to Sarah Sidney.”
“If such be the will of our Heavenly Father, I doubt not it will be revealed in due time,” and Hannah spoke with great deliberation.
“That is quite true, and undoubtedly it is only those among us who are a trifle worldly minded, that show a disposition to hasten these things.” Jane Spencer was always very meek under reproof, and I felt glad that others sustained her desire that Uncle Joseph should be a little less deliberate in his action.
“I can hardly think that he realizes Sarah’s worth,” said a late comer.
“On the contrary,” it was Rhoda Longstreet’s voice, “I am sometimes inclined to believe that his doubt rests upon his ownmerit. If he were one of the world’s people I should say he was bashful. As it is, I shall call him slow in perceiving his adaptation to any peculiar calling.”
“Thee may be right,” responded Jane Spencer, and I was struck with the note of merrymaking that accompanied her words. “If so, I can only wish that somebody would give him a hint, for I really believe that Sarah has perceived their true relationship, and that her spirit is troubled with doubt since no sign is given unto her.”
“Ah,” interrupted Hannah, “shall we never learn that God does not wish us to call upon him forsigns?”
Now it had chanced, although none of those present were at that time conscious of it, that Sarah Sidney had given up her seat in a friend’s carriage to a person whowas suffering from a weak limb, and had walked briskly along the frozen road toward our house.
Uncle Joseph, too, had chosen to leave his vehicle at home, and seeing in the distance a familiar plump little figure, he made haste to overtake her.
For a few moments they talked together of the lesser things of life. Then they fell into silence, which was at last broken by Uncle Joseph’s voice.
“My mind has dwelt much to-day upon the Bible teaching of the relation of Ruth and Boaz.”
I am sure the throbbing heart beneath the clear muslin kerchief of Sarah Sidney must have bounded a little at this. He went on: “Has thee ever thought it over, and applied the test to our own lives?”
It certainly was not strangethat the good woman hesitated before she answered:
“If thee means to ask whether it has been shown to me that I am chosen of the Lord to be thy companion, I will admit that it has; but, Joseph, thee is not an old man, nor am I a young hand-maiden.”
Uncle Joseph stopped short in his walk, and catching a frightened look upon the honest face beside him, he gravely said:
“It was not uponthatrelation my mind ran. I thought rather of the increased duty in this day and generation which must belong to the husbandman and his gleaners; or in other words the responsibility of him upon whom the benefits of this world have been showered, and the loud call that is ever sounding in my ear to extend help to those who need; andit has been whispered to me that thy material goods have been slipping from thee, and—and, I wished to offer my aid.”
Could one marvel if a feeling of faintness crept over the gentle Sarah, or that a beseeching look set the seal upon the awful stillness that followed? Her face grew first scarlet, then very, very white. Uncle Joseph’s voice sounded strange in her ear. She feared she should fall, but as the tones grew clearer, something else impressed her.
“Sarah, thee has a more receptive spirit than my own. I have sometimes longed to see aright in regard to the formation of a closer bond with thee, and I rejoice that through my own ill-chosen speech thee has been led to point the way.”
He took her trembling handbetween his own, and smiled down upon the sweet but tearful face; then her lips were opened, the pain went forever out of her heart, and she whispered only:
“Dear Joseph.”
But her trial was not quite over. We were already summoned to the dining room when Uncle Joseph and Sarah Sidney entered the door together. I glanced about me, and was certain that I saw more than one look of satisfaction exchanged by the company present.
The moment of silent blessing was past. My mother moved as if to begin serving the soup, but she caught Uncle Joseph’s eye, and awaited his slow words:
“Dear friends,” he said with a little tremor in his voice, “rejoice with me, for to-day has our beloved Sarah Sidney revealed tome the message that the Lord has given into her keeping.”
He paused, and with a flush brightening her soft cheeks Sarah asked calmly:
“Joseph, will thee kindly explain thyself?”
I never knew him to do anything so well as he now related to us the manner in which he had obtained an insight into the secret knowledge of Sarah Sidney’s heart.
As he ceased speaking, her own rhythmic tones filled the room in tender thanksgiving to the Lord for his gift of companionship, and this has evermore remained in my memory as one of the most beautiful supplications I have been privileged to hear.