CHAPTER III.
“Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost.”
I
IT was a bright Sunday in July, and the bells of some of the neighbouring churches were ringing for afternoon service, as Susan Morley, after leaving her little brother and sister at the door of their school, made her way through some narrow bye-streets to the little ragged school that was so dear to her heart, and from which on Sunday afternoons for the last four years nothing had ever kept her absent.
It was a rough-looking place, which had formerly been used as a coal-shed; but loving hands had hung the walls with sweet texts and pictures, and transformed it into a pleasant-looking place within; while the humble appearance of its exterior had this advantage, that it attracted, while a granderbuilding would have frightened away, the very class of children it was so desirable to get hold of.
A stranger going in that afternoon, as he looked round on the clean faces of the children, and marked their generally tidy appearance, and quiet orderly behaviour, might have questioned the fact of its being araggedschool. Very different was the appearance of the children who attended it ten years previously, when it was first opened through the loving thoughts and efforts of some kind friends who had laboured earnestly in behalf of the lost little ones; and very different was the neighbourhood generally then, from what it now was. Through those years of patient toil and prayer the earnest workers had seen, at first perhaps only dimly, here and there tokens for good to bid them not be weary in well-doing; but now, in looking back, they could feel how the good hand of their God had indeed been uponthem, and multiplied the seed sown a hundredfold. To homes once sunk in darkness and ignorance had the blessed light been carried, and little children, taught of Jesus, had borne home to their parents the glad tidings of great joy, and taught the lips which first taught them to speak the words of eternal life. Thus had the wilderness been turned into a fruitful field; and in the day of the harvest those patient sowers shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing their sheaves with them.
As Susan opened the door of the school, a group of children followed her in; and on taking her place in the class, a little girl stepped forward, and curtseying, said: “Please, teacher, you told us last Sunday that we were to try and say ‘come’ to somebody else, and on the way here I saw two little girls standing at the corner of our street, and I asked them if they wouldn’t like to come to school with me, and hearwhat teacher would tell us about Jesus, and they said they’d like to come, only they’d got such ragged things, they didn’t like to come in, because, perhaps, the ladies would be angry, and send them away; but I said you didn’t mind how ragged we were, if only we came. But when they got near the school they looked frightened, and said they couldn’t come, unless so be I asked leave for them. Oh! can I fetch them in, teacher? I said I was sure you’d say ‘Yes.’”
The eager request was soon granted; and before many minutes the child returned, leading, one on either side of her, the poor children for whom she had pleaded. They were indeed ragged, and the sad, pinched look on both faces told of the privations they must have suffered. Susan spoke to them very kindly, and, gradually reassured by her gentle voice and manner, they gained confidence, and ventured to look round them. When prayers were over, andthe other children had said their texts and hymns, Susan turned to the little strangers and asked them a few simple questions; amongst others, whether they had ever heard of heaven? The elder of the two looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, “Isn’t that the place where nobody wants nothing to eat or drink?”
Teacher and students
Deeply touched by an answer which told so much, in a few short words, of the suffering and want with which they were evidently so early familiarised, but unwilling to show what she felt, Susan answered: “Quite right, dear; heaven is a place where nobody wants for anything; every one there is quite happy. But can you tell me how we may get there?”
No responsive word or look came this time from either of the little new-comers; but amongst Susan’s own children many a hand was held out, and when she made a sign to one of them to answer, a little girl named Jane Hardy said, “Please, teacher, for Jesus Christ’s sake.”
“Quite right, dear; but now tell me what you mean when you say, ‘for Jesus Christ’s sake.’”
“Please, teacher, because Jesus came down from heaven to die for our sins; and if our sins are forgiven for His sake, and our naughty hearts changed by His HolySpirit, we shall go to heaven when we die.”
“That’s right, dear; it is only because of our Saviour Christ’s great love in leaving His home above, and coming down to our earth to live and die for us, that we can have any sure and certain hope of ever reaching heaven. You know the little verse which says—
‘And this, not for any good thing we have done,But all for the sake of His well-beloved Son.’
‘And this, not for any good thing we have done,But all for the sake of His well-beloved Son.’
‘And this, not for any good thing we have done,
But all for the sake of His well-beloved Son.’
And now tell me if Jesus is willing to receive little children into His beautiful home.”
Several hands were held out, and almost with one voice the children answered: “Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
Susan then told the children to turn to their Bibles; and, after reading with them the parable of the lost sheep, she toldthem as simply as possible, how Jesus is the Good Shepherd who goes out after the lost sheep, and never rests until He has found them; how by the “lost sheep” are meant those who have not known His love in dying for them; how tenderly He loves little children, and longs for them to come into His fold. She explained to them how weak and unable to protect themselves the sheep are; and just so, how feeble and helpless we all are in ourselves, and what need we have to be led and kept day by day in the right way. She spoke to them of the tender love of the Good Shepherd for every one, even the least and feeblest of His lambs; of their great enemy, the devil, from whom He died to deliver them: how He knows each little one by name, keeps His eye always upon them, watches over them by night and by day, goes after them when they wander from Him, and brings them back to His fold; and, at length, when life is over, receives them into Hisown gloriously bright and holy kingdom above.
The children all listened quietly and attentively; and amongst the little eyes fixed on the kind young teacher, none seemed more riveted than the poor little stranger-children, by whom alone of all the class the sweet story of old—the story which is ever new—was heard for the first time.
When school was over, the children stood up and sang together the sweet hymn, which followed so well on the subject of the lesson:
“Jesus is our Shepherd,Wiping every tear,Folded in His bosom,What have we to fear?”
“Jesus is our Shepherd,Wiping every tear,Folded in His bosom,What have we to fear?”
“Jesus is our Shepherd,
Wiping every tear,
Folded in His bosom,
What have we to fear?”
When the class was dismissed, Susan called the little strangers to her, and asked them their names, and where they lived, and if they would like to come to the school again. The elder one answered:
“I’m called Polly, and that’s Lizzie. We don’t live nowhere. This is a rare nice place; we’d like to come again.”
“And have you no father or mother?”
“Please, ’m, mother’s dead, and father went away to sea long ago, and we’ve nobody to look after us.”
“And where are you going now?”
“We shall walk about till it’s dark, and then creep under one of the arches, or on to a doorstep, if nobody don’t turn us away; but most often we get turned away from one house after another, or the police sees us, and then we has to hide away as fast as we can. It’s not as bad now as in the winter. Lizzie gets a cough then; and I don’t know how to keep her warm; we often shiver all night long. Arches is draughty; but sometimes we find an old barrel, and creep into that; that’s the best place.”
“Not quite the best,” said the younger child; “we once slept in a warm place.”
The elder child here shook her head at poor little Lizzie, and made a sign to her to say no more; but the movement did not escape Susan’s observation, and only served to confirm what she had already strongly suspected, that these poor, forlorn children were none other than Daisy’s “prayer-children.” It had been her earnest hope that somehow, through means of the ragged school, which brought her into contact with so many of the poor children and homes of the neighbourhood, she might learn something about them; and now the longings and prayers of the past months seemed at length about to be answered. Their eyes brightened when Susan asked them if they would like to go home with her, and to have some warm tea and bread-and-butter; and poor little Lizzie could not resist saying, “We’re so hungry; we’ve had nothing but some dry crusts since yesterday morning.”
Telling them to keep close to her, andtalking to them, as they walked along, of the Good Shepherd who loved them, and was even now seeking to bring them to His fold, Susan led them to her own home. The shutters being closed, the children did not at first recognize the place where six months before they had found shelter; but as Susan led them through the shop, watching their faces meanwhile, to discover any sign of recognition, Lizzie suddenly pulled her sister’s arm, and said in a low voice, “Wasn’t this the place where we slept that night?”
Polly looked frightened, and whispered, “Perhaps we shall be punished for it;” and in another moment both of them would have darted out of the door, had not Susan closed it and taken them by the hand, saying to them very gently, “Don’t be afraid, dear children; this is the nice place where you once slept, one cold night in the winter, and we hoped you would have come to it again, and used to leave thedoor unlatched for you every night. God your Father in heaven led you here, and we asked Him to bring you back, and He has heard our prayers. Polly and Lizzie needn’t fear anything now; for, if they are good, they shall stay here always, and never sleep out in the cold any more again.”
Then leading them into the inner room, she brought them to Daisy, who was lying on her couch in the window, and said:
“Daisy, here are your ‘prayer-children,’ found at last through your prayers and my dear little school.”
Daisy’s face beamed with joy and thankfulness. During the quiet hour while her brother and sisters were at school, and her father and mother at church, she had been praying that Jesus would suffer these little children to come unto Him, and that they might be found; and even while the prayer was rising up from her heart the answer of peace was coming down, and the promiseof old being fulfilled: “It shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.”
There was general rejoicing that afternoon in the Morleys’ home when the rest of the family came in.
Kind Mrs. Morley, with Elsie’s help, soon washed and dressed the poor children in some better garments than their own miserable rags; and the loving mother’s heart did not repent when she saw poor little Lizzie sitting at the tea-table that evening in Lily’s place, and clad in Lily’s clothes.
Happy, thrice happy, they who know the joy and blessed privilege of ministering to the Lord of glory, in the person even of a little child, and who, from love to the Saviour who loved them and gave Himself for them, receive one such little one in His name.