T
HERev. John Birge stood before the window in his cosy little study, and drummed disconsolately and dismally on the pane. Without there was a genuine carnival among the elements, a mingling of snow and rain, which became ice almost as it fell, and about which a regular northeast wind was blustering. The Rev. John looked, and drummed, and knitted his brows, and finally turned abruptly to little Mrs. John, who sat in the smallest rocking-chair, toasting her feet on the hearth.
"Now, Emma, isn't it strange that of all the evenings in the week Thursday should be the one so constantly stormy? This is the third one in succession that has been so unpleasant that very few could get out."
This sentence was delivered in a half-impatient, half-desponding tone; and Mrs. John took time to consider before she answered, soothingly:
"Well, you will have the satisfaction of feeling that those who come out this evening love the prayer-meeting enough to brave even such a storm as this, and of remembering that there are many others who would brave it if they dared."
But the minister was not to be beguiled into comfort; he gave an impatient kick to an envelope that lay at his feet, and continued his story.
"I haven't athingprepared suitable for such an evening as this. My intention was to have a short, practical, personal talk, addressed almost entirely to the unconverted; and I shall have Deacon Toles and Deacon Fanning, and a few other gray-haired saints, who don't need a word of it, to listen to me. I had in mind just the persons that I hoped to reach by this evening's service, and that makes it all the more discouraging to feel almost absolutely certain that not one of them will be out to-night. I certainly do not see why it is that the one evening of the week, which as Christians we try to give to God, should be so often given up to storm."
Mrs. John could not see her husband's face this time, it had been turned again to the window pane; but there was that in the tone of his voice which made her change her tactics.
"Itisa pity and a shame," she said, in demure gravity, "that Thursday evening of all others should prove stormy. Do you think it can be possible that our Heavenly Father knows that so many of his people have made it an evening of prayer? Or if he does, can't he possibly send some poor little sinner to meeting, if it be his will to do so, as well as those saints you spoke of?"
The minister did not reply for a little. Presently he turned slowly from the window and met his wife's gaze; then he laughed, a low, half-amused, half-ashamed laugh. He could afford to do so, for be it known this was a new order of things in the minister's household. Truth to tell, it was the little wife who became out of sorts with the weather, with the walking, with the people, and had to be reasoned, or coaxed, or petted into calm by the grave, earnest, faithful, patient minister; and his rebellious spirit had been slain to-night by the use of some of his own weapons, hurled at him indeed in a pretty, graceful, feminine way, but he recognized them at once, and could afford to laugh. Afterward when he had buckled his overshoes and buttoned his overcoat, and prepared to brave the storm in answer to the tolling bell, he came over to the little rocking-chair.
"My dear," he said, "we will kneel down and have a word of prayer, that our Father willhave this meeting in his care, and bring good out of seeming ill."
And as they knelt together they had changed places again, and the minister's wife looked up with a kind of wistful reverence to the calm, earnest face of her husband.
"It storms like the mischief," Mr. Roberts said on this same evening, as he closed the door with a bang, and a shrug of his shoulders. "Very few people will venture out this evening. Tode, if you want an hour or two for a frolic, now is your time to take it. After you have been up with the mail you can go where you like until the train is due."
Here was fun for Tode. This would give him two full hours, and he had at least two dozen schemes for filling up the time; but it chanced that wind and sleet and cold were too much even for him.
"Jolly!" he said. "What a regular old stunnerthatwas," as a gust of wind nearly blew him away; and he clapped both hands to his head to see if his cap had withstood the shock.
"This ain't just the charmingest kind of an evening that ever I was out. I'd tramp back to our hotel quicker, only a fellow don't like to spend his evening just exactly where he does all the others when it's a holiday. I wonder what's in here? They're singing like fun, whatever'tis. I mean to peek in—mightgoin; no harm done in taking a look. 'Tain't anyways likely that it blows in there as it does out here. Tode and me will just take a look, we will."
And he pushed open the door and slipped into the nearest seat by the fire just as the singing was concluded, and the Rev. John Birge began to read; and the words he read were about that strange old story of the great company and the lack of food, and the lad with the five barley loaves and two small fishes, and the multitude that were fed, and the twelve baskets of fragments that remained—story familiar in all its details to every Sabbath-school scholar in the land, but utterly new to Tode, falling on his ear for the first time, bearing all the charm of a fairy tale to him. There was just one thing that struck this ignorant boy as very strange, that a company of men and women, some of them gray-headed, should spend their time in coming together that stormy evening, and reading over and talking about so utterly improbable a tale. He listened eagerly to see what might be the clew to this mystery.
"We are wont to say," began Mr. Birge, "that the age of miracles is past; yet if we knew in just what mysterious, unknown paths God leads the children of this day to himself, I think some of their experiences would seemto us no less miraculous than is this story which we are considering to-night."
No clew here to the mystery; only a number of words which Tode did not understand, and something about God, which he could not see had anything to do with the fairy story. I wonder if we Christian people ever fully realize how utterly ignorant the neglected poor are of Bible truth. One more ignorant in the matter than was Tode can hardly be imagined. He knew, to be sure, that there was a day called Sunday, and that stores and shops as a general rule were closed on that day, just why he would have found very difficult to explain. He knew that there were such buildings as churches, and that these were opened on these same Sundays, and that well-dressed people went into them, but they had nothing whatever to do withhim. Oh no, neither had Sunday nor churches. He knew in a vague general way that there was a Being called God, who created all things, and that the aforesaid well-dressed people were in some way connected with him; but it chanced, oh, bitter chance, that there had never come to him the slightest intimation that God in Christ was busy looking up the homeless, the friendless, the forsaken ones of earth, and bidding them find home and friend and joy in him. The meeting continued with but one other interruption. Midway in the services the door opened somewhat noisily, and with many a rustle and flutter Mrs. Hastings and Miss Dora made their way from out the storm and found shelter in the quiet chapel. This was just as Deacon Fanning asked a question.
"Mr. Birge, don't you think this little story is to teach us, among other things, that God can take the very few, weak, almost worthless materials that we bring him, and do great things with them?"
"I think we may learn that precious truth from the story," answered Mr. Birge. "And I never feel saddened and discouraged with the thought that I have nothing with which to feed the multitudes, that this story does not bring me comfort. God doesn't need even our five barley loaves, but stoops to use them that we may feel ourselves workers together with him."
What queer talk it was! Tode had never heard anything like it in his life.
Then Deacon Toles had something to say.
"Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, just expresses our feelings, I think, sometimes. 'There is a lad here which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes; but what are they among so many?' Andrew was gloomy and troubled even while talking face to face with Jesus. Not disposed to think that the Master could do anything with so little food as that, it's just the way I feel every now and then. 'Lord, here we are, a handful of people, and we have fragments of the bread of life in our hearts: but what are we among so many?'"
"Yet the Lord fed the five thousand despite Andrew's doubts," chimed in the pastor. "May we not hope and pray that he will deal thus graciously with us?"
Tode could make nothing of it all, and was half inclined to slip out and go on his way; but the same dear Savior who had so long ago fed the five thousand had his All-seeing Eye bent on this one poor boy, and had prepared a crumb for him.
There arose from the seat near the door an old gray-haired man. His dress was very plain and poor, his manner was uncultured, his language was ungrammatical. There were those who were disposed to think that so illiterate a man as old Mr. Snyder ought not to take up the valuable time. However old Mr. Snyder prayed, and Tode listened.
"O, dear Jesus," he said, "the same who was on the earth so many years ago, and fed the hungry people, feed us to-night. We are poor, we want to be rich; take us for thy children; help us to come to thee just as the people used to do when thou didst walk this very earth, andask for what we want. We need a friend just like Jesus for our own—a friend who will love us always, who will take care of us always, who will give us everything we need, and heaven by and by. We know none are too poor or too bad for thee to take and wash in thy blood, and feed with thy love which lasts forever. Give us faith to trust thee always, to work for thee here, and to keep looking ahead to that home in heaven, which thou hast got all ready for us when we die. Amen."
There were those present who did not quite see the connection of this prayer with the topic of the evening. There were those who thought it very commonplace and rather childish in language. But how can we tell what strange, bewildering thoughts it raised in the heart of our poor Tode?
Was there really such a somebody somewhere as that man talked about, who would make people rich, or anyhow give them all they needed; who would take care of them, no matter how poor or how bad; who would even take care of them in that awful time when they had to die, and all this just for the asking? If there were any truth in it why didn't folks ask, and have it all? But then if there wasn't, what did these folks all mean?
"They don't look like fools; now that's afact," said Tode, meditatively, and was in great bewilderment.
The meeting closed. Mrs. Hastings rustled up to the minister.
"So sorry to have intruded upon you, Mr. Birge, but the gale was so unusually severe. Dora and I were making our way to the carriage, which was but a very short distance away, and just as we reached your door there came a fearful gust of wind and we were obliged to desist."
While Mr. Birge was explaining that to come to prayer-meeting was not considered an intrusion, Dora turned to Tode. Now Tode had in mind all day a burning desire to tell Dora that he had made all the twenty-six letters of the alphabet, just twenty-six times on twenty-six old envelopes that he had gathered together from various waste-baskets, and could "make every one of 'em to a dot." But instead of all this he said:
"Say, do you believe all this queer talk?"
"What do you mean, Tode?"
"Why this about the youngster, and his fishes and bread, and such lots of folks eating 'em, and more left when they got done than there was when they begun. Likely story, ain't it?"
Dora's eyes were large and grave.
"Why, Tode, it's in the Bible," she said, reverently.
Tode knew nothing about reverence, and next to nothing about the Bible.
"What of that?" he said, defiantly. "It's queer stuff all the same; and what did that old man mean about his friend, and taking care of folks, everybody, good or bad, and feeding 'em, and all that?"
"It's about Jesus, Tode. Don't you know; he died, you see, for us, and if we love him he'll take care of us, and take us to heaven. Sometimes do you think that you'll belong to him, Tode? I do once in a while."
"I don't know anything what you're talking about," was Tode's answer, more truthful than grammatical.
"Why, give your heart to him, you know, and love him, and pray, and all that. But, Tode, won't you run around to Martyn's and order the carriage for us? John was to wait there until we came, and I guess he'll think we are never coming."
Mrs. Hastings repeated the direction, and Tode vanished, brushing by in his exit the very man who had prayed at his dying mother's bedside years before, and who had intended to keep an eye on him. As he slid along the icy pavements the boy ruminated on what he hadheard, and especially on that last explanation, "Why, give your heart to him, you know, and love him, and pray, and all that." To whom, and how, and where, and when? What a perfectly bewildering confusion it all was to Tode.
"I'll be hanged if I can make head or tail to any of it," he said aloud.
Then he whistled, but after a moment his whistle broke off into a great heavy sigh. Someway there was in Tode's heart a dull ache, a longing aroused that night, and which nothing but the All-seeing, All-pitying Love could ever soothe.
"There were fourteen people in prayer-meeting," the Rev. John informed his wife. "The two deacons of whom I spoke, and several other good men. I couldn't make use of my lecture at all, for there were none present but professing Christians, save and except Mrs. Pliny Hastings, who apologized forintruding!"
And then the husband and wife laughed, a half-amused, half-sorrowful laugh.
After a moment Mr. Birge added:
"Therewasa rather rough-looking boy there; strayed in from the storm, I presume. I meant to speak with him, but Mrs. Hastings annoyed me so much that it escaped my mind until he brushed past me and vanished."
M
ODErang the bell at Mr. Hastings', and waited in some anxiety as to whether he should get a glimpse of Miss Dora. He had some momentous questions to ask her. Fortune, or, in other words, Providence, favored him. While he waited for orders, Dora danced down the hall with a message.
"Tode, papa says you are to come in the dining-room and wait; he wants to send a note by you."
"All right," said Tode, following her into the brightly lighted room, and plunging at once into his subject.
"Look here, what did you mean the other night about hearts, and things?"
"About what?"
"Why, don't you know? Down there to the meeting."
"Oh! Why I meantthat;just what I said. That's the way they always talk at a prayer-meeting about Jesus, and loving him, and all that."
"Was that a prayer-meeting where we was t'other night?"
"Why yes, of course. Tode, have you got the letters and figures all made?"
"Do you go every time?"
"What, to prayer-meeting? What a funny idea. No, of course not. It stormed, you know, and we had to go in somewhere. Wasn't it an awful night?"
"Who is Jesus, anyhow?"
"Why, he is God. Tode, how queer you act. Why don't you ask Mr. Birge, or somebody, if you want to know such things. Mamma says he is awful."
"Awful!"
"Yes, awful good, you know. He's the minister down there at that chapel. Wasn't it a funny looking church? Ours don't look a bit like that. Tode, where do you go to church?"
"My!" said Tode, with his old merry chuckle. "That's a queer one.Idon't go to church nowhere; never did."
"You ought to," answered Miss Dora, with a sudden assumption of dignity. "It isn't nice not to go to church and to Sunday-school.Igo. Pliny doesn't, because he has the headache so much. Shall I show you my card?"
And she produced from her pocket a dainty bit of pasteboard, and held it up.
"There, that's our verse. The whole school learn it for next Sunday. Then we shall have a speech about it."
A sudden shiver ran through Tode's frame as he read the words printed on that card:
"The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good."
He knew very little about that All-seeing Eye, but it came upon him like a great shock, the picture of the eye of God reaching everywhere, beholding theevil. He felt afraid, and alone, and desolate. He did not know what was the matter with him, he had felt so strangely troubled and unhappy since that evening of the meeting. Almost the tears came into his eyes as he stood there beside Dora, looking down at that terrible verse.
"Take it away," he said, suddenly, turning from the bit of pasteboard. "I don't want his eyes looking at me."
"You can't help it," Dora answered, with great emphasis. "There are more just such verses, 'Thou God seest me;' and oh, plenty of them. And he certainlydoessee you all the time, whether you want him to or not."
"Well stop!" said Tode, with a sudden gruffness that Dora had never seen in him before."I don't want to hear another bit about it, nor your verse, nor anything—not a word. I wish you had let me alone. I don't believe it, anyhow, nor I won't, nor I ain't a going to—so."
At that moment Mr. Hastings' note came, and miserable Tode went on his way.Howmiserable he was; the glimmering lamps along the gloomy streets seemed to him eyes of fire burning into his thoughts; the very walls of his darkened room, when he had reached that retreat, seemed to glow on every side with great terrible, all-seeing eyes. Over and over again was that fearful sentence repeated: "The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil." Just then he stopped. He had suddenly grown so vile in his own eyes that it seemed to him that there was nothing good left to behold; he tumbled and tossed on his narrow bed; he covered himself, eyes, head, all, in the bed-clothes; but it was of no use, that piercing Eye saw into the darkness and through all the covering—and oh, Tode was afraid!
He was a brave, fearless boy; no darkness had ever before held any terrors for him. I am not sure that he would not have whistled contemptuously over a whole legion of supposed ghosts. He was entirely familiar with, and quite indifferent to, that most frightful of all human sights, a reeling, swearing drunkard;but this was quite another matter, this great solemn eye of God, which he felt to-night for the first time, looking steadily down upon him, never forgetting him for a moment, never by any chance turning away and giving him time to go to sleep. Tode didn't know why he felt this terrible new feeling; he didn't know that the loving, pitying Savior had his tender eyes bent on him, and was calling him, that God had used that powerful thrust from the Spirit to wound his sinful heart; he knew nothing about it, save that he was afraid, and desolate and very miserable. Suddenly he sprung up, a little of his ordinary determination coming back to him.
"What's the use," he muttered, "of a fellow lying shivering here; if I can't sleep, I might as well give it up first as last I'll go down to the parlor, and whistle 'Yankee Doodle,' or something else until train time."
But his hand trembled so in his attempt to strike a light, that he failed again and again. Finally he was dressed, and went out into the hall. Mr. Roberts opened his own door at that moment, and seeing the boy gave him what he thought would be a happy message:
"Tode, you can sleep over to-night. Jim is on hand, and you may be ready for the five o'clock train."
No excuse now for going down stairs, andthe wretched boy crept back to his room;utterlywretched he felt, and he had no human friend to help him, no human heart to comfort him. He wrapped a quilt about him and sat down on the edge of his bed to calculate how long his bit of candle would probably burn, and what heshoulddo when he was left once more in that awful darkness. On his table lay a half-burnt lamp lighter. He mechanically untwisted it, and twisted it up again, busy still with that fearful sentence: "The eyes of the Lord are ineveryplace." The lighter was made of a bit of printed paper, and Tode could read. The letters caught his eye, and he bent forward to decipher them; and of all precious words that can be found in our language, came these home to that troubled youth: "Look unto me and be ye saved, all—" Just there the paper was burned. No matter, be yesaved, that was what he wanted. He felt in his inmost soul that he needed to be saved, from himself, and from some dreadful evil thatseemednear at hand. Now how to do it? The smoke-edged bit of paper said, "Look unto me." Who was that blessedMe, and where was he, and how could Tode look to him?
Quick as lightning the boy's memory went back to that evening in the chapel, and the wonderful story of one Jesus, and the gray-hairedman in the corner, who stood up and shut his eyes, and spoke to Jesus just as if he had been in the room. Perhaps, oh,perhaps, the All-seeing Eye belonged to him? No, that could not be, for that card said, "The eyes of the Lord," and Tode knew that meant God, but you see he knew nothing about that blessed Trinity, the three in One. Then he remembered his question to Dora: "Who is Jesus, anyhow?" and her answer: "Why, he is God." What if it should in some strange way all mean God? Couldn't he try? Suppose he should stand up in the corner like that old man, and shut his eyes and speak to Jesus? What harm could it do? A great resolution came over him to try it at once. He went over to the corner at the foot of his bed with the first touch of reverence in his face that perhaps it had ever felt. He closed his eyes and said aloud: "O Jesus, save me." Over and over again were the words repeated, solemnly and slowly, and in wonderful earnestness: "O Jesus, save me." Gradually something of the terror died out of his tones, and there came instead a yearning, longing sound to his voice, while again and yet again came the simple words: "O Jesus, save me."
After a little Tode came quietly out of his corner, deliberately blew out his light and went to bed, not at all unmindful of the All-seeingEye; but someway it had ceased to burn. He felt very grave and solemn, but not exactly afraid, and a new strange feeling of some loving presence in his room possessed his heart, and the thought of that name Jesus brought tears into his eyes, he didn't know why. He didn't know that there was such a thing as being a Christian; he didn't know that he had anything to do with Christ; he didn't know that he was in the least different from the Tode who lay there but an hour before only. Yes, that solemn Eye did not make him afraid now; and with an earnest repeatal of his one prayer, which he did not knowwasprayer, "O Jesus, save me," Tode went to sleep.
But I think that the recording angel up in heaven opened his book that night and wrote a new name on its pages, and that the ever-listening Savior said, "Ihave called him by his name; he is mine."
In the gray glimmering dawn of the early morning Tode stood out on the steps, and waited for the rush of travelers from the train. They came rushing in, cold and cross, many of them unreasonable, too, as cold and hungry travelers so often are; but on each and all the boy waited, flying hither and thither, doing his utmost to help make them comfortable; being apparently not one whit different from the bustling important boy who flew about there every morning intent upon the same duties, and yet he had that very morning fallen heir to a glorious inheritance. True, he did not know it yet, but no matter for that, his title was sure.
The days went round, and Sunday morning came. Now Sunday was a very busy day at the hotel. Aside from the dreadful Sunday trains that came tearing into town desecrating the day, the whole country seemed to disgorge itself, and pleasure-seekers came in cliques of twos and fours for a ride and a warm dinner on this gala day. Tode had wont to be busy and blithe on these days, but on this eventful Sabbath morning it was different. Gradually he was becoming aware that some strange new feelings possessed his heart. He had continued the repeatal of the one prayer, "O Jesus, save me;" going always to the corner at the foot of his bed, and closing his eyes to repeat it. And now he was conscious of the fact that he had little thrills of delight all over him when he said these words, and a new, strange, sweet sense of protection and friendship stole over him from some unknown source. Now a longing possessed him to know something more about Jesus. He had heard of him at only one place, that chapel. Naturally his thoughts turned toward it. He knew it would be openon that day, and "Who knows," said ignorant Tode to himself, "but they might happen to say something about him to-day." In short, Tode, knowing nothing about "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy," never having so much as heard that therewasa fourth commandment, wanted to go to church. And wanting this very much, knew at the same time that it was an extremely doubtful case, utterly unlikely that he should be allowed to go.
He brushed his hair before his bit of glass, and buttoned on his clean collar, all the time in deep thought. A sudden resolution came to him, that old man had said Jesus would give us everything we wanted or needed or something like that.
"I'll try it," said Tode, aloud and positively. "'Tain't no harm if it don't do no good, and 'tain't nobody's business, anyhow."
And with these strangely original thoughts on the subject of prayer, he went into his corner, but once there the reverent look with which he nowadays pronounced that sacred name spread over his face as he said, "O Jesus, I want to go to that church, and I s'pose I can't." This was everything Tode was conscious of wanting just at present, so this was all he said, only repeating it again and again.
Then when he went down stairs he marcheddirectly to headquarters, and made known his desires.
"Mr. Roberts, I want this forenoon to myself. Can I have it?"
"You do," answered Mr. Roberts, eyeing him thoughtfully. "Well, as such requests are rare from you, and as Jim's brother is here to help, I think I may say yes."
"A queer, bright, capable boy," Mr. Roberts thought, looking after Tode as he dashed off down town. "Going to make just the man for our business. I must begin to promote him soon."
As for Tode he was in high glee.
"What brought that Jim's brother over to help to-day?" he asked himself. "I'd like to knowthatnow. I believe I do, as sure as I'm alive, thatheheard every word, and has been and fixed it all out. I most know he has, 'cause things didn't ever happen around like this for me before."
The pronoun "he" did not refer to Jim's brother, and was spoken with that touch of awe and reverence which had so lately come to Tode. And I think that the words were recorded up in heaven, as having a meaning not unlike the acknowledgment of those less ignorant disciples, "Lord, I believe."
T
HEchurch toward which Tode bent his eager steps was quite filled when he reached it, but the sexton made a way for him, and he settled into a seat with a queer, awkward sense of having slipped into a spot that was not intended for such as he; but the organ tones took up his attention, and then in a moment a burst of music from the congregation, among the words of which he could catch ever and anon that magic name Jesus. So at least they were going to sing about him. Yes, and talk to him also, for Mr. Birge's prayer, though couched in language quite beyond Tode's reaching, yet closed with the to him wonderful sentence, "We ask in the name and for the sake of Jesus our Redeemer." When he opened the great book which Tode knew was the Bible, the boy was all attention; something more from the Bible he was anxious to hear. He got out his bit of pencil and a crumpled twist of paper, andwhen Mr. Birge announced that he would read the fourth Psalm, Tode bent forward and carefully and laboriously made a figure four and the letters S A M in his very best style, and believed that he had it just right. Then he listened to the reading as sometimes those do not who can glibly spell the words. Yet you can hardly conceive how like a strange language it sounded to him, so utterly unfamiliar was he with the style, so utterly ignorant of its meaning. Only over the last verse he had almost laughed.
"I will both lay me down in peace and sleep; for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety."
Didn'the know about that? The awful night, those dreadful eyes, and the peace in which he laid down and slept at last.
"Oh, ho," he said to himself, "some other fellow has had a time of it, too, I guess, and put it in the Bible. I'm glad I've found out about it just as I did."
Tode didn't mean to be irreverent. You must continually bear in mind the fact that he didn't know the meaning of the word; that he knew nothing about the Bible, nor dreamed that the words which so delighted him were those of inspiration, sounding down through the ages for the peace and comfort of such as he.
Presently Mr. Birge announced his text, reading it from that same great book, and Tode's heart fluttered with delighted expectation as he heard the words, "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." Theveryname! and of all news this, that he passes by. Oh, Todewantedso to see him, to hear about him. He sat erect, and his dark cheek flushed with excitement as he listened eagerly to every word. And the Spirit of the Master had surely helped to indite that sermon, for it told in its opening sentences the simple story, entirely new to Tode.
"A little more than eighteen hundred years ago, very near a certain city, might have been seen a large concourse of people, differently circumstanced in life, many of them such as had been healed of the various diseases with which they had long been afflicted. This throng were following a person upon whose words they hung, and by whose power many of them had been healed. As they passed by the roadside sat a blind man begging. He, hearing the crowd, asks what it is. They answer, 'Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.'"
Thus, through the beautiful and touching story, he dwelt on each detail, giving it vivid coloring, bringing it almost before the very eyes of the eager boy, who drank in every word.
The truth grew plain to his mind, that thisJesus of Nazareth once on earth had now gone back to heaven, and yet, oh beautiful mystery, still was here; and he heard for the first time that old, old story of the scoffed and spit upon, and bleeding and dying Savior; heard of his prayer even in dying for the cruel ones who took his life. So simply and so tenderly was the story told, that when the minister exclaimed: "Oh what a loving, sympathizing, forgiving Savior is ours!" Tode, with his eyes blinded by tears, repeated the words in his heart, and felt "amen."
Then came the explanation of his passing by us now, daily, hourly, calling us in a hundred ways, and then—a few sentences written, it would seem, expressly for Tode's own need:
"Sometimes," said the minister, "he passes by, speaking to the soul with some passage from the Word. Did you never wonder that some portion, some little sentence from the Bible, should so forcibly impress your mind, and so cling to you? Perhaps you tried to drive it away so much did it trouble you, but still it hovered around, and seemed to keep repeating itself over and over to your heart. Be not deceived. This was Jesus of Nazareth passing by, waiting for you to say, 'Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.'"
Was ever anything so wonderful! How couldMr. Birge have found out about it—that dreadful night—and the one verse saying itself over and over again! Then to think that it was Jesus himself calling and waiting. Could it be possible—was he really callinghim?And the tears which had been gathering in Tode's eyes dropped one by one on his hand.
Presently, as he listened, the minister's tones grew very solemn.
"There are none before me to-day who can say, 'He never came to me.' Sinner, he is near you now, near enough to hear your voice, near enough to answer your call. Will you call upon him? Will you let him help you? Will you take him for your Savior? Will you serve him while you live on earth that you may live in heaven to serve him forever?"
From Tode's inmost soul there came answers to these solemn questions: "I will, I will, I will."
And there went out from the church that Sabbath day one young heart who felt himself cured of his blindness by that same Jesus of Nazareth; who felt himself given up utterly to Jesus, body and soul and life; and without a great insight as to what that solemn consecration meant, he yet took in enough of it to feel a great peace in his heart.
"There goes a Christian man, if ever therewas one." This said a gentleman to his companion, speaking of another who had passed them.
Tode overheard it, and stood still on the street.
"A Christian," said he to himself, quoting from a sentence in Mr. Birge's sermon. "A Christian is one who loves and serves the Lord Jesus Christ with his whole heart." Then aloud. "I wonder, I do wonder now, if I am a Christian? Oh, what if I was!" A moment of earnest thought, then Tode held up his head and walked firmly on. "Imeanto be," he said, with a ring in his voice that meant decision.
Tode was dusting and putting in order a lately vacated room one morning. He was whistling, too; he whistled a great deal these days, and felt very bright and happy. He picked up three leaves which had evidently been torn from an old book; reading matter was rather scarce with him, and he stopped the dusting to discover what new treasure might be awaiting him here. He spelled out, slowly and carefully, the name at the top: "H-a-b-a-k-k-u-k."
"Queerest name for a book ever I heard of," he muttered. "Words must have been scarce, I reckon. Let's see what it reads about. School book, like enough; if 'tis I'll get it all by heart."
And Tode sat down upon the edge of a chairto investigate. The story, if story it were, commenced abruptly to him.
"Scorn unto them," being the first words on the page. He read on: "They shall deride every stronghold; for they shall heap dust and take it."
"My! what curious talk," said Tode. "What ever is it coming at? I can't make nothing out of it."
Nevertheless he read on; only a few lines more and then this sentence: "Art thou not from everlasting, O Lord my God, mine Holy One?"
A sudden look of intelligence and delight flushed over Tode's face; and springing up he rushed into the hall and down the stairs, nearly tumbling over Mr. Ryan in his haste.
Mr. Ryan was a good-natured boarder, and on very friendly terms with Tode.
"Oh, Mr. Ryan!" burst forth Tode. "What is this reading on these leaves?"
"Why, Tode, what's up now; forgot how to read?"
"Oh bother, no; but I mean where did it come from. It's tore out of a book, don't you see?"
"Piece of a Bible," answered Mr. Ryan, giving the leaves a careless and the boy a searching glance. "What is there so interesting about it?"
"What's it got such a queer name for? What does H-a-b-a-k-k-u-k spell, and what does it mean?"
"That's a man's name, I believe."
"Who was he, and what about him?"
"More than I know, my boy. Never heard of him before that I know of. What do you care?"
It was Tode's turn to bestow a searching glance.
"Got a Bible of your own?" he asked at last.
"Oh yes, I own one, I believe."
"And never read it! Bah, what good does it do you to have books if you don't read 'em? Now I'm going to find out about this 'H-a-b-a-k-k-u-k,' and then I shall know more than you do."
Mr. Ryan laughed a little, but withal seemed somewhat embarrassed. Tode left him and sped back to his dusting.
"Queer chap that," muttered Mr. Ryan. "I don't know what to make of him."
And a little sense of what might be termed shamefacedness stole over him at the thought that this ignorant boy prized more highly his three leaves of a Bible, picked out of the waste-basket, and possibly was going to know more about it than he, Edgar Ryan, had gleaned from his own handsomely bound copy, wherein his Christian mother had written years ago his ownloved name. Mr. Ryan, the cultivated young lawyer, took down his handsome Bible from the shelf of unused books as soon as he had reached his office, dusted it carefully, and turned over the leaves to discover something about Habakkuk.
As for Tode, he literally poured over his three leaves. Very little of the language did he understand—the great and terrible figures were utterly beyond his knowledge; yet as he read them once, and again and again, something of the grandeur and sublimity stole into his heart, helped him without his knowledge, and now and then a word came home, and he caught a vague glimpse of its meaning. "Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil." That was plain; that must mean the great All-seeing Eyes, for Tode knew enough of human nature to have much doubt as to whether any human eyes were pure. But then those unsleeping eyesdidbehold evil—saw. Oh, Tode could conceive better than many a Sabbath-school scholar can just how much evil there was to behold. How was that? Ah! Tode's brain didn't know, couldn't tell; but into his heart had come the knowledge that between all the evil men and women in this evil world, and those pure eyes of an angry God, there stood the blood-red cross of Christ.
There were many guests to be waited on; the tables were filling rapidly. Tode was springing about with eager steps, handling deftly coffee, oysters, wine, anything that was called for—bright, busy, brisk as usual. As he set a cup of steaming coffee beside Mr. Ryan's plate, that gentleman glanced up good-humoredly and addressed him.
"Well, Tode, how is Habakkuk?"
"First-rate, sir, only there's some queer things in it."
"I should think there was!" laughed Mr. Ryan, spilling his coffee in his mirth. "Rather beyond you, isn't it?"
"Well,someof it," said Tode, hesitatingly. "But it all meanssomething, likely, and I'm learning it, so I'll have it on hand to find out about one of these days, when I find a lawyer or somebody who can explain it, you know."
This last with a twinkle of the eye, and a certain almost noiseless chuckle, that said it was intended to hit.
"You're learning it!" exclaimed Mr. Ryan, undisguised astonishment mingling with his amusement.
"Yes, sir. Learn a figure a day. It's all marked off into figures, you know, sir."
"Well, of all queer chaps, you're the queerest!"
And Mr. Ryan went off into another laugh as Tode sped away to a new corner. By the time he was ready for a second cup of coffee, Mr. Ryan was also ready with more questions.
"Well, sir, what's to-day's figure?"
"For the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea," repeated Tode, promptly and glibly.
"Indeed! and what do you make out of that?"
"It makes itself; and that's something that's going to be one of these days."
"Oh, and what does the 'glory of the Lord' mean, Tode?"
"Idon't know; expecthedoes, though," answered Tode, simply and significantly.
Mr. Ryan didn't seem inclined to continue that line of questioning.
"Well," he said, presently, "let's turn to an easier chapter. What's to-morrow's figure?"
"Don't know. I might look though, if you wanted to hear." And Tode drew his precious three leaves from his vest pocket.
"Oh, you carry Habakkuk about with you, do you? Well, let's have the figure by all means, only pass me that bottle of wine first."
But Tode's face paled and his limbs actually shook.
"I can't do it," he said at last.
"You can't! Why, what's up?"
"Just look for yourself, sir. It's the figure 15." And he thrust the bit of leaf before the gay young lawyer, and pointed with his finger to the spot.
Of all words that could have come before his eyes just then, it seemed strange indeed that these should be the ones:
"Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor drink!"
"Pshaw!" said Mr. Ryan at last, with a little nervous laugh. "Don't be a goose, Tode. Take your paper away and pass me the wine."
"I can't, sir," answered Tode, earnestly. "I promised him to-day, I did, that I was going to do it all just as fast as I found it out."
"Promised who? What are you talking about?"
"Promised the Lord Jesus Christ, sir. I told him this very day."
"Fiddlesticks. You don't understand. This refers to drunkards."
"It don't say so," answered Tode, simply.
"Yes, it does. Don't it say, 'and makes him drunk?'"
"It says and makes him drunkalso," Tode said, with a sharp, searching look.
Mr. Ryan laughed that short nervous laugh again.
"You ought to study law, Tode," was allhesaid. Then after a moment. "I advise you to attend to business, and let Habakkuk look after himself. Jim, pass that wine bottle this way."
This to another attendant who was near at hand, and Tode moved away to attend to other wants, and to turn over in his mind this new and startling thought.