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A TERRIBLE TIME.
OF course my going back to Grassbourne, to carry the infection with me, was out of the question. I wrote to my mistress, and told her the state of the case, and then I was able to relieve my poor mother very much, by taking entire charge of Salome.
She was very ill, and as the days went by she grew worse. The doctor was proved right in his opinion of the complaint, for the very day after I arrived Bartholomew and Jude were both taken ill with the fever, and two days after that Thomas fell ill, and about a week after, Matthew and Simon were also smitten.
It was a terrible time. As I look back upon it now, I wonder how we ever bore up as we did. We had six of them ill at once, so ill that the doctor shook his head each time he saw them, and said he was afraid they would none of them pull through. My poor mother was up night and day, going from one bed to another with a white and anxious face.
My father said little, as was his nature under all circumstances, but he felt it deeply. He would wander about the house sighing loudly, and would stand beside the doors of the two sick-rooms for hours together, that he might be at hand to fetch or to carry anything, or to help us in any way he could. He felt it all the more, I think, from his having so little to do. He was a very honorable man, and he made no secret of our having the fever in the house. As soon as the doctor had told him that it was a case of malignant scarlet fever, he had let all his customers know, for he thought that concealment in such a case was both cruel and wicked.
So few came to the shop, and the till was very empty during that time of sorrow.
I had much time for thought during the weeks which followed. As I was sitting up at night, watching beside Salome and Jude and Simon, my mind was very busy, and my heart was very much troubled. And yet I could not pray. I felt as if there were a great wall between me and God, and if I tried to pray, the words seemed to come back to me, as if they could not pierce the separating wall. It was my sin which had come between me and my Master. I knew that well enough, and I was very miserable when I thought of it.
But one night I took up Salome's Testament, the one I had given her on her fifth birthday, which was lying on a table near her bed. I opened it to see if I could get any word of comfort, and my eyes fell upon these words:
"The Lord turned, and looked upon Peter."
If an angel had said them to me, they could not have seemed to come more direct from heaven.
I had sinned against my Lord, the Lord who had loved me so much, yet now He was turning His face not away from me, but towards me; He was looking at me, not with anger, nor with scorn, but with tender, sorrowful love. Oh! How could I ever grieve such a Master as that. Like Peter in the Gospels, as I sat in that quiet sickroom, I wept bitterly.
And then came comfort; I could pray now. That look of the Lord Jesus had taken away the wall. I could call on Him now and ask Him to forgive me, and never to let me leave Him again.
If I had not come back to the Lord Jesus that night, and had the comfort of feeling His presence very near me, I do not know how I should have gone through the next terrible week. Sickness and sorrow had been in our home before; but now the angel of death drew near.
I had felt sure from the very first that Salome would die. She seemed to me so unlike every one else, and so fit for heaven, that I had no doubt whatever in my own mind that the Master's voice would call her to Himself.
"'One shall be taken, and the other left,'" I said to myself over and over again, as I sat beside her at night, "Salome taken—Peter left."
Even the sound of her breathing seemed to be saying the same words to me in the dark, silent night. "'One taken, another left; one taken, another left.'" And the steps of the passers-by in the street, when morning dawned, echoed the same words, "'One taken, another left.'"
But the words were to come true in a different way from what I had expected.
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SALOME'S RECOVERY.
IT was the night on which Salome seemed most ill; indeed, her face looked so altered and strange, that I thought every breath might be her last. I felt sure that the angel of death was in the room that night.
He was in the room, but it was not for Salome that he had come. Little Jude was taken, and Salome was left. And two days afterwards the angel of death came again, and Bartholomew was taken; and then after a few more days, Simon and Thomas were taken, and still Salome was left. But the doctor still would give very little hope; she might pull through, he said, but he did not think it was likely that she would.
That was a terrible time for us all.
It was a terrible time for my poor father, for he loved his children very deeply, and after he and I had followed one little coffin after another to the grave, he would come home and sit for hours with his head resting on his hands, not speaking a word, but full of sorrowful thought.
It was a terrible time for my poor mother. I felt sure she would be ill when it was all over. She had cried bitterly when little Jude was taken; but after that she seemed as if she could not cry, as if her tears were locked up, and as if she were doing everything she did in her sleep. Indeed, I believe it seemed to her more like an awful dream than a real trouble.
Poor father and mother, they had no heavenly comforter; the Lord was not at that time their Friend and their Saviour! But this very sorrow, which seemed the worst thing which could have happened to us, was to be used by God to bring them to Himself.
One night—I think it was the night after Simon and Thomas had been laid in the grave—we were sitting in Salome's room. She was conscious now, and the fever had quite left her; but she was very weak—so weak that I was afraid to let her talk; so weak that she was as helpless as a little baby. Matthew was much better; he had not had the fever so badly as the others, and he was sitting up in bed.
"There seems nothing to do," said mother that night, as she sat by the fire in her black dress; and for the very first time since little Jude had died she burst into tears.
I knew it would do her good to cry, so I did not stop her, but I laid my head on her shoulder, and we cried together, and my father, who was sitting near Salome's bed, groaned aloud.
We sat in silence for a long time, and we thought Salome was asleep, for she had her eyes shut, but she suddenly opened them, and said:
"Read a bit, please, dear Peter."
I took up her Testament and read aloud:
"The Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first:
"Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.
"Wherefore comfort one another with these words."
"Don't you wish Jesus would come to-night, father," said Salome, "and bring Simon, and Thomas, and Bartholomew, and Jude with Him? We would all go flying up to meet them then; wouldn't we, father?"
My father did not speak; but he took hold of Salome's thin hand and kissed it.
"She's always talking about that, Peter," said my mother. "Ever since you gave her that Testament, her head has been running on that.
"'Mother,' she says, 'would the angels take you?'
"'Jude,' she says, 'would you be taken, or left?'
"'Thomas,' she says, 'wouldn't it be nice if Jesus came to-day?'
"And the boys listened to her wonderful; they did, indeed. Simon, he talked a deal about it just before he died, and about his sins being washed away. I don't know much about it," said poor mother, crying more than ever; "I've toiled, and worked, and slaved to get you food and clothes, and to keep you clean and decent. But I haven't thought about these things as I should, and it seems to me, if the Lord was to come, the angels would be carrying you all away, and leaving me behind."
"And me!" said father, with another groan.
"Oh, no!" said little Salome, with all the strength she had. "Father and mother must come, too; mustn't they, Peter? Kneel down and ask Jesus to wash their sins away, and then He won't forget to send the angels for them when He comes in the sky."
So I knelt down and said a very simple little prayer; and when I rose from my knees both my father and mother were crying.
They said nothing more then, but I have every reason to believe that they did indeed come to the Lord Jesus as their Saviour that very night, and that, from that time, both father and mother loved and served the Lord Jesus, and longed for His appearing, feeling sure that in that great day they would be taken, and not left.
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GREAT SORROW.
SALOME grew stronger every day, and the doctor was astonished at her recovery.
How good God has been to spare her to me! I said to myself again and again. It seemed almost like getting her back from the dead.
But just as things at home grew a little brighter, and I was rejoicing over Salome's first going downstairs, I got a letter from Bagot, which filled me with sorrow and grief. For it told me that little Master Reggie, whom we all loved so dearly, had been taken away from us. The Master had come, and had called for him, and the child had heard His voice, and had gladly hastened to meet Him. It was another severe attack of croup which had carried him off, and a few hours after he was taken ill, the call had come.
Bagot wrote in great distress, and he said my poor mistress was very ill, and very much broken down. She wished him to say that she would be glad if I could come back whenever the doctor thought it was safe for me to do so. She sent me her kindest sympathy in my trouble, and she wished me to tell my poor mother how often she had thought of her, and had prayed that the Lord would be her Comforter.
I felt leaving home very much, for they all seemed to cling to me and to lean on me after that time of sorrow. My father had aged a great deal, and had turned in a few weeks into an elderly man.
My poor mother said over and over again that she had nothing to do.
"Oh, Peter," she said one day, "I used to grumble, and to think I had a hard time of it, with so many to cook for, and so many clothes to mend, and so many stockings to darn, and such lots of things to wash and to iron, and so much to see after. But now, God knows, I would give all I have to have one of those busy days back again. I didn't know, till they were gone, how much I should miss them all. God forgive me if I ever grumbled at having to work for them!"
It was a very different home now—so quiet and still, with so many empty beds and silent rooms, with so much space at the large dinner-table, which used to be so well filled, with so many vacant chairs, and with a row of caps hanging on the pegs in the passage, which were never taken down from their places, but which mother seemed as if she could not take away. Every one who came to the house must have noticed the difference in our once merry, noisy home.
Yet it was a different home in another way, for now both father and mother were leading their children in the way to heaven.
It was a great effort to my father to open the Bible and begin family prayer, but he made it. It was a great effort for my mother to put on her bonnet, and, in the face of astonished neighbors, to go to church again, but she made it. And when I left them, I had the joy of knowing that whenever the cry was heard:
"Behold the Bridegroom cometh: go ye out to meet Him!"
We should, as a family, be all ready to obey the summons; for in that great day when the King shall gather together His own, every one of us would be taken—none of us would be left behind.
I went to Calvington by the early train, and walked from the station to Grassbourne. Mrs. Bagot gave me a warm welcome when I arrived at the cottage.
"I'm glad to see you, my lad," she said; "I am, indeed. The master and me have been awful lonesome without you, we have, indeed. What with our lady's trouble, and the loss of that dear boy, we've been very dull and low altogether."
She told me I should find Bagot in the garden, and I went to look for him.
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I MET MY MISTRESS COMING OUT OF THE HOUSE.
On my way there I met my mistress coming out of the house with a large basket on her arm. I knew what basket it was, and guessed at once where she was going. She spoke very kindly to me, and she said, "Peter, you and I have both had great sorrow since I saw you last; but we must never forget God sends it in love; we must never doubt for a moment that God is good.
"'He doeth all things well,We say it now with tears;But we shall sing it with those we love,Through bright eternal years.'"
My mistress let me carry the basket for her, and we went together to feed Master Reggie's children. We both of us felt it very much, and we scarcely spoke a word the whole time.
"He would be so pleased if he knew we were taking care of them," my mistress said, with tears in her eyes, when our work was done, and we were walking towards the house. "He missed you very much, Peter, and asked many times when you were coming back. He was able to get out again after that bad attack that he had the day before you went home, and he seemed so much better and stronger that I felt very hopeful about him. But he took cold again, and the croup came back, and nothing could be done to save him.
"Only that last afternoon, as he lay on the sofa beside me, he was talking of you. He said:
"'Dear mother, is Peter sorry that the Lord Jesus came for his little brothers?'
"I told him you were very sorry, for you would miss them very much.
"'But it's very nice for the little brothers, dear mother; isn't it?' he said.
"And that very night the Lord Jesus came for him; and now I must try to remember what he said, that it's 'very nice' for him. And, Peter," she said, "I shall go to him, though he will not return to me."
My poor mistress could say no more, but hastened into the house, and I went away to look for Bagot.
From this time, it was part of my daily work to carry the basket for my mistress when she went to feed Master Reggie's children, and she often, at these times, talked to me about him. She never spoke of him as dead, but as living—living in the Father's home, happy and well attended, but still loving her as much as ever, and ready at the King's call to go in the King's train to meet her, and to welcome her when her waiting time should be done.
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AFTER TWENTY YEARS.
IT is twenty years since all this happened, and yet the twenty years have passed away so fast that I can hardly realize that they have gone. I can scarcely bring myself to believe that I have lived so many years in this pretty cottage with my dear old friend, Jem Bagot. Our life here has been so peaceful, so far removed from the bustle and constant stir of the busy town, so little has happened to mark the time, or to make any break in our quiet lives, that the days and weeks and months and years have gone by as swiftly as I think days and weeks and months and years could possibly go.
When I had been three years at Grassbourne, my mistress offered to keep her promise, and to find me a situation as footman; but I was so happy here, and Bagot and his wife were good enough to say they were so fond of me, that my mistress very kindly said I might still stay on with her, if I would like to do so.
Very soon after this, Bagot had a terrible attack of rheumatic fever, and during his long illness I took entire charge of the garden and hothouse, and then, when Bagot got better, he was very weak and feeble, and could not have managed to keep pace with the work, if he had only had a young, inexperienced boy to help him.
And so it came to pass that I never left Grassbourne, and now Bagot is getting old and infirm; he is seventy-five years old, and he can do no hard work. But I have stepped into his place, and he enjoys helping me, and doing any little job which he can manage without tiring himself.
Dear old Bagot, I believe he loves me as much as if I were really his own son. Ever since his wife died—and she has been dead now more than ten years—he has leaned on me more than ever. He felt her death very much.
"The missus and me always pulled together, Peter," he said, as he cried like a child on the night she died; "it was a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull both together, it was, and the boat went bravely over the waves. But now, my lad, it has landed her on the other shore, it has; and how I shall ever pull on without her, Peter, it beats me to think."
"But the Lord is in the boat, Bagot," I said. "He won't leave you to pull on alone."
"You 're right there, Peter," he sobbed, "you are. I was forgetting that, like an old foolish-headed fellow, I was; but I wish, Peter—I can't help wishing, my lad—that we had both got to the shore together."
I did all I could to cheer him and to comfort him when we were left alone together. And when Kate came, the old man felt he had a daughter as well as a son to take care of him. I never saw any two people take to each other so well as Bagot took to Kate, and Kate took to Bagot. He wanted to go away when he knew I was going to be married, but I would not hear of that, and Kate would not hear it either, and we could not be a happier little family than we are now.
Bagot's great pleasure is in the children. Little Jude and the tiny Kitty are his constant playmates, and they follow him about wherever he goes. Little Kitty is wild with joy whenever she hears Bagot's step coming in from his work, and she toddles to meet him, and climbs up into his arms, saying, "Dear daddy Baggy, dear daddy Baggy."
My mistress has aged very much since I first came to Grassbourne. Her hair is growing white now, and her face has lost much of the beauty which made her so much admired when she was younger; but sometimes I think she looks more like an angel now than even when first I saw her. She is twenty years nearer the end of the journey now, and the twenty years of patient waiting, the twenty years of busy working, the twenty years of discipline in the Lord's school of sorrow, the twenty years of learning daily more and more of His love, have all left their mark upon her, and have made her even more beautiful in the eyes of those who know her best, than she was in those by-gone years.
I sometimes think the waiting time may not be much longer for her now; it seems, at times, as if a gleam of glory from the Heavenly City were shining on her face, and I tremble as I think that the gates may even now be opening to let her in. I tremble for ourselves, and for all those whom she helps, and teaches, and comforts; but I can but rejoice for her, if the wilderness way is growing shorter, and the welcomes in the Father's Home are drawing nearer.
Yet the thought often comes to me, "Oh that we could all go together! Oh that, instead of the Master's voice calling us one by one, instead of the terrible parting with one dear one after another, as they go gladly at the sound of His voice, He would come again, and receive all, all to Himself, He would appear to gather together in one His children scattered abroad, and that we, all of us together, might gladly go, hand in hand, to meet Him!"
The "Rules for To-day" still hang over the chimney-piece in their old place, and we are still trying; by God's grace, to carry them out in our daily lives. And the blessed hope of the Lord's appearing still stirs us up to live very near to Him, and to keep very far from sin, and still comforts and cheers us in all the sorrows and anxieties of our every-day life.
My old home has been broken up a long time now. My poor mother died the same year as Mrs. Bagot, and she rests from her labors in that Home where the weary are at rest. My brothers are all doing well for themselves, and have wives and families of their own.
My father gave up the business when Salome married, and went to live with her. He often comes over to see me, and the quiet of this country place is a great enjoyment to him. He is as silent as ever, and it is amusing to see him and Bagot sitting together over the fire. They have quite renewed their old friendship, and are very fond of each other; but when they talk together, it is an equal division of labor, for Bagot does all the talking, and my father does all the listening, and yet it seems to give them both the greatest satisfaction.
Salome came over to see us last week with her little girl, and in the evening I drove them to Calvington in the light cart. It was Salome's birthday, and she came over to see me for her birthday treat, for she and I love each other as much as ever.
It was a lovely evening, and as we drove along the sun was setting behind the distant hills. The sky was full of glory, golden clouds floated along in the deepest blue, like islands of glory on an azure sea, and then there were deep rose-colored and crimson clouds beyond, which looked like the glorious shores of this lovely sea, and which were constantly changing, both in form and color.
We were in good time, and we pulled up in a quiet bit of the road, and looked at the sunset.
"Don't you think it will look something like that, Salome," I said, "when the Lord comes?"
"I was just thinking so, Peter," she said. "When I was a child, ever after you and I heard that sermon on my birthday, whenever such a sky as that came, I thought it was the Lord coming in glory."
"But He hasn't come yet," I said, with a sigh.
"No," answered Salome, "not yet, Peter.
"'But the Day is nearer now,Far nearer,—And the signs of His approachFar clearer!'"
"That's a very comforting thought, Salome," I said.
"You would like that hymn, Peter," said my sister. "I had a copy of it given me the other day, and I will send it to you."
And this morning the hymn arrived, and I have just been reading it to Bagot and Kate.
"'YE SEE THE DAY APPROACHING."'When we were little children, and heard of Jesus' love,We often wished that He would come, and take us all above.But the Day is nearer now,Far nearer,—And the signs of His approachFar clearer!"'And oft, with childish fancy, at the closing of the day,We hoped that in those golden clouds the King was on His way.But the Day is nearer now,Far nearer,—And the signs of His approachFar clearer!"'Lord, we are growing older, those days and years are fled;And time and change have done their work; and some we loved are dead.But the Day is nearer now,Far nearer,—And the signs of Thine approachFar clearer!"'Lord, make us ever ready, as each day hurries by,To raise the welcome shout of joy,—"The Lord our King is nigh!"But the Day is nearer now,Far nearer,—And the signs of Thine approachFar clearer!'"
"Amen," said Bagot, when I had finished reading. "'Even so, come, Lord Jesus.'"
THE END.
University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.