CHAPTER V.

“Get thy spindle and thy distaff ready, and God will give thee flax.”—Old Proverb.

AFTER the commencement of Tom’s evening-school, and before he gave up his field-work, his time was so fully occupied that when the labors of the day were over, he often felt so very weary that he had almost given up the thought of his Sunday-school; and when it did occur to him in his longing to do more Christian work, he knew very well that he had not leisure enough to devote to any such thing. Now, however, as soon as he was installed in the master’s house, to spendfive or six hours every day with his books, in the leisure hours which came to him, the thought of the Sunday-school recurred to him constantly. Still, he dreaded to undertake this task. He felt how very young he was, and saw dimly what an undertaking it would be. It was quite a long time therefore before he took any active steps in the matter, and then it was through a letter from Miss Mason. She had known a little, from what Tom had written, of how the boy was progressing; and although long ago he had told her of his anxiety to commence a Sunday-school, she had never heard more of it, and of late his letters were written in a half-desponding tone, which she could not feel easy about; so she wrote him a letter which, without mentioning the subject, gavehim just what he wanted to think about.

“The Lord’s work needs hands always,” she wrote. “I took up a book the other day when I was feeling rather listless and inclined to remain at home, and I had not read two verses of a hymn upon which my eyes fell before I laid it down, put on my bonnet and went out to visit my scholars. Isn’t there some work for you, Tom, among all those people? Suppose you remember the two verses I read, and if they affect you as they did me, it will not be long before the Lord’s work comes ready at your hands.”

“Two hands across the breast,And work is done;Two pale feet crossed in restThe race is run;Two eyes with coin-weights shut,And all tears cease;Two lips where grief is mute,And wrath at peace:So pray we ofttimes, mourning our lot;God in his kindness answereth not.“Two hands to work addressed,Aye for his praise!Two feet that never rest,Walking his ways;Two eyes that look above,Still through all tears;Two lips that speak but love,Never more fears:So cry we afterward low on our knee,Pardon those erring prayers—Father, hear these!”

“Two hands across the breast,

And work is done;

Two pale feet crossed in rest

The race is run;

Two eyes with coin-weights shut,

And all tears cease;

Two lips where grief is mute,

And wrath at peace:

So pray we ofttimes, mourning our lot;

God in his kindness answereth not.

“Two hands to work addressed,Aye for his praise!Two feet that never rest,Walking his ways;Two eyes that look above,Still through all tears;Two lips that speak but love,Never more fears:So cry we afterward low on our knee,Pardon those erring prayers—Father, hear these!”

“Two hands to work addressed,

Aye for his praise!

Two feet that never rest,

Walking his ways;

Two eyes that look above,

Still through all tears;

Two lips that speak but love,

Never more fears:

So cry we afterward low on our knee,

Pardon those erring prayers—Father, hear these!”

“I was feeling just in the mood that the first verse expresses, Tom, but the second verse sent me out. Can we do too much for Him who said, ‘the fields are white unto the harvest,’ and who told us through his blessed apostle John, ‘Let him that heareth say, Come’?”

Tom drank in every word of this letter as one who was athirst, and he had just put it away the morning after its reception, after a third reading, and was bending over his writing, when Mr. Sutherland came in and sat down to read the newspaper. Tom’s pen moved more slowly. He glanced frequently from his task to Mr. Sutherland, and once or twice held his pen above the paper, watching him as though he wished to speak, and finally, when Mr. Sutherland laid down his reading, Tom lifted his head and spoke—very faintly, indeed, at first:

“Mr. Sutherland, I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

“Well, Tom, be in a hurry; I must get over to the other plantation.”

This was not very cheering, butafter the first effort he gained fresh courage:

“I have long been wishing to start a Sunday-school among the people, Mr. Sutherland. Have you any objection to my undertaking it?”

“Isn’t one school enough for you, Tom?” asked Mr. Sutherland, a little gruffly.

“No, sir,” he replied, with a little smile—“not while I can do more good.”

“There is no place to hold a Sunday-school,” objected the master.

“There is an empty log-cabin out beyond the quarters, which would do very well in warm weather.”

“Then I suppose you will shout and make a great noise about it.”

“No, sir, indeed,” urged Tom; “it will be as quiet as white people’sschools—as near like the one I have been attending all the year as I can possibly make it.”

“Well,” returned Mr. Sutherland, “I don’t know that I care much; but mind, if there is any disturbance I will put an end to it at short notice.”

Tom thanked him with a face full of pleasure, and returned to his work with a glad heart.

That evening, just after his work at the house was finished, and just before school-time, he went down to the quarters and visited the people. With a great deal of timidity and faint-heartedness he knocked at the first cabin door, but it was here his round of joy began. He used in years after to look back upon the pretty twilight walk with utter joy, and never without a fresh desire in his heart to workfor that Lord who always gives the wherewithal when we have the spirit.

“It’s Tom Alson,” said the little child who opened the first cabin door, and Tom heard his welcome from within:

“Come in, Tom, here’s supper just ready,” said Aunt Polly’s voice, “and you must have somethin’, sure. It’s a fine ev’nin’, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful, Aunt Polly, but I must not stop. We are going to have a Sunday-school in the log-house behind the quarters Sunday afternoon, and I came to find out whether you would come.”

“Is you gwine to be thar?” asked she.

“Certainly, Aunt Polly.”

“Then I’ll come, sure. Bring the chil’ens, did you say? I reckon Iwill if you want them. Why, do you know Polly and Becky?” for the children had given Tom a very glad greeting.

“Yes’m, I know them,” he replied; “we are quite old friends. Now I must go; good-bye.”

And so on to the next house, and the next, and the next—everywhere a warm greeting and a petition that he would stay; everywhere the children ran, for Tom had in no way neglected to make their acquaintance long ago, thinking always that he might leave with them of the sweet Bible words on which he lived. His heart grew bigger and bigger with thankful delight and pleasure as his list swelled. Two or three places he was obliged to stop to explain the evening lesson or read a few words, so that when hereached the step of Aunt Margaret’s cabin it was almost dark. To any but Tom the experience of the afternoon might have brought a little feeling of his own importance and the respect in which these people held him, but there was nothing of that—only a devout thankfulness and a longing to have Martha with him to share his joy.

But more than ever he longed for the help which he knew she could give when he called his little Sunday-school together on Sunday afternoon. His face did not show what he felt, but it was only with the help of a fervent prayer that he brought himself there at all. When he opened his little Bible to read, there were thirty faces looking toward him—men, women and children of every age. Theyeach brought a chair or a stool with them, and sitting around the sides of the cabin, some leaning back and others erect, they all gave the most careful and fixed attention to the voice, manner and words of the reader. As for Tom, with a trembling heart, he opened his Bible and began. He had chosen one of the Psalms, and as the words of trust, and refuge, and sure strength have come home to tired hearts ever since the words were first given, so they came home to Tom’s heart, and made him “strong in the Lord of hosts.”

The prayer that followed was our Saviour’s own, and oh how much better it made Tom feel! They sang after that one of their own hymns, and the words given in their full, rich voices, with all the pathos belonging peculiarlyto the race, stilled more hearts than one.

“There’s no more rain to wet you,Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home;Dere’s no sun to burn you,Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home;Dere’s no hard trials,Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home;No evil-doers in de kingdom,Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home;All is gladness in de kingdom,Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home.”

“There’s no more rain to wet you,

Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home;

Dere’s no sun to burn you,

Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home;

Dere’s no hard trials,

Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home;

No evil-doers in de kingdom,

Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home;

All is gladness in de kingdom,

Oh yes! I want to go home—want to go home.”

After they had finished, Tom talked to them a while from some sweet Bible words. Oh how humble, how unfit he felt that he should be the one to lead them home! It was only his love for Christ that brought the words forth at all, but that, stirring his soul, sent that which was sweet to hear. As for those who listened, it was nothing new to them. All that was strange was that he should talk tothem all at once, but there was not one there who had not heard the name of Jesus from the boy’s lips before. They all knew how sweetly it came, or they would not have been here to-day. “When young Tom talks religion, I can listen,” said one old man. “He talks sense, and he is brimming over with God’s love.” That was the secret of his success everywhere.

Just as he had finished his little talk he looked up, and through the doorway he could see Mr. Sutherland walking quietly down the road toward the building. It confused him for a minute, but then, regaining his composure, he asked them to sing again; so when Mr. Sutherland came in the wild notes of another hymn were being thrown out on the sweet summer afternoon air. The master stoppedjust within the door and stood still to listen. When they ceased singing, Tom asked them if they remembered any texts which they could repeat. There was a moment’s hesitation, and then one said:

“Men ought always to pray and not to faint.”

“Yes,” replied Tom, with a smile, “if people pray they will not faint. Are there any more?”

There were plenty more. It only needed some one to commence. One followed another, and their memories seemed stored with sweet words of rest and hope. Minds which could not grasp many a simpler thing of every-day life, rested and dwelt upon the divine words, and understood them because theyweredivine.

When they had finished Tom lookedround toward Mr. Sutherland with a little smile of triumph, but there was no response there. He stood with his hat pushed back off his forehead, and one hand thrust negligently into his pocket, leaning against the door-post. His eyes were on the floor, but somehow Tom knew they had not been fixed there for the past fifteen minutes. Nevertheless, he turned back a little disappointed.

“I think it is time to close now,” he said. “We have no books or we would have a short lesson, but if you like to come next Sunday we will be glad to see you all. Now let us put ourselves in God’s hands, and then go home.”

So Tom kneeled by the little rush-bottomed chair he had brought from Aunt Margaret’s cabin, and gave hisschool into God’s keeping for the week, praying that the words they had heard to-day might stay by them always, and help them in all they did to work for God’s glory.

Then Tom arose, just in time to see Mr. Sutherland standing erect in the doorway, his hat in his hand and his head bent in the attitude of prayer. Tom’s heart gave one throb of joy. There were others that saw it besides himself, he knew, and it was all he wanted to impress the lesson of the afternoon. What a blessed Sunday evening that was! I think Tom never spent such another. The Sunday-school grew and prospered ever after that, and the Sunday evenings were always pleasant, but never one like this. It was a stand taken, a point gained; begun thus in God’s strength,it was sure to succeed. Tom was very grateful.

After supper, he sat on the step of Aunt Margaret’s cabin, letting the full moonlight pour over him, and longing for Martha’s presence that he might talk over the precious afternoon with her. Whilst he thus sat and mused two or three children approached him from the quarters, and stopping near him, one of them timidly asked him,

“If you please Tom, could you teach us a text for next Sunday? We want to recite something.”

“Yes, oh yes.” Tom was willing, so they sat down on the step below him, and each one was given a text.

“Love one another with a pure heart fervently.” That was the first.

“God resisteth the proud andgiveth grace unto the humble.” That was the second.

The third—which Tom gave to the eldest of the three, who sat looking up earnestly at him, waiting for his words—was one whose glorious words had been pouring their light through Tom’s soul ever since the afternoon school—his triumph in Christ’s name:

“This is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith.”

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