"What is all this hurry about?" Clarissa inquired one evening, as they were going down-stairs in answer to the tea-bell; "why are we earlier than usual? Anne says we are."
"Oh, because it is prayer-meeting night—no, not prayer meeting, it isn't either, but our Band-meeting; and we have to be early for that, you know. Oh, you don't know anything about our Band; but you will, to-night. You'll join it, won't you, Clarissa?"
"I know something about Bands," said Clarissa; "but I never belonged to one. Is it the custom here for ladies to do such things?"
"What things? And do you know about bands? like ours?"
"I daresay I shall find I have something to learn," said Clarissa.
"There is a great deal to learn from Mr. Richmond, I can tell you," said Maria. "Oh, you don't know Mr. Richmond, you haven't seen him, because Sunday was so stormy. Well, you'll see him to-night."
"Aunt Englefield," said Clarissa, when they were seated at the tea-table,—"is your Mr. Richmond Band-master as well as clergyman?"
"Bands are a mystery to me, Clarissa," said Mrs. Englefield; "I do not understand Maria when she gets upon that subject. I hope you will be able to enlighten me some time. Are you going to-night?—well, then, I shall hope to be wiser when you return."
Tea was hurried through, cloaks and furs and hoods and all sorts of wrappings were put on; and the party set forth, Anne and Letitia this time going along. It was pleasanter out than in. White streets and clear starlight, and still, cold, fine air. About the corner a few men and boys were congregated as usual; after passing them and turning into the other street, few passengers were to be seen. Here and there one, or a group, making for the lecture-room; here and there somebody seeking a friend's house for pleasure; nobody was out on business at Shadywalk in the evening, and no waggons or sleighs got belated in the darkness. It would have been very dark, but for the snow and the stars. There were no shop-windows illuminated, and no lamps along the street and no gas anywhere. Past the shut-up houses and stores, in the dim, snowy street, the little cluster of girls went swiftly on.
"You are in a great hurry," said Clarissa.
"Oh, we want to get there before anything begins," Maria said. "And it's cold, besides!"
"What church is this we are passing?"
"Oh, this is our church. You haven't seen it. It is real nice inside."
"Not outside?" said Clarissa. "Well, I cannot see it in this light. And is that next place the one we are going to?"
"Yes, that's our lecture-room. That'sverynice."
So it was. Pleasant light from withinside streamed warm through the hanging window-blinds of the long windows, and promised welcome before they got in. At the door, under the projecting hood, a lamp shone bright upon the entrance steps. People were flocking in. The opening door let them into a cheerful room, not large, with long rows of seats on either hand of a wide, matted aisle; the view closed by a little desk at the farther end on a raised platform. Right and left of the desk, two small transepts did somewhat to enlarge the accommodations of the place, which had a cosy, home look, comfortable and bright.
"Where do those doors lead to?" Clarissa whispered;—"behind the desk?"
"Oh, those open to the infant class room. Isn't it nice?" Maria answered.
"It is small," said Clarissa.
"It is large enough, though.Weshall not fill it to-night."
And they did not. There was only a little company gathered, of various ages. Some quite grown people; many who were younger. They had drawn towards the upper end of the room, and clustered near the platform.
"There is Mr. Richmond," Maria whispered presently; "do you see him? he is up there near the desk talking to Mr. Barker,—Mr. Barker is one of our teachers, but he has got nothing to do with the Band. That is Mrs. Trembleton, isn't she pretty?—sitting down there in front; she always sits just there, if she can, and I have seen her ever so put out if she couldn't when somebody else had got it, you know. And there"——
"But, Maria," whispered Clarissa, gravely, "do you think it is quite proper to whisper so in church?"
"This isn't church!" Maria replied, with great readiness.
"What then?"
"Why, it is only our Sunday-Schoolroom; and this is a Band meeting."
"It looks very like church to me," said Clarissa. "Hush! don't whisper any more."
For the minister now took his stand at the little desk before mentioned; and even Maria was quiet enough during the prayer with which he began the proceedings. But then Mr. Richmond came in front of the desk, and began to speak seriously indeed, but with an easy simplicity which Clarissa thought was "not like church."
"It may not be known to everybody present," Mr. Richmond began, "exactly what was done at our last meeting here Thursday night. I wish it to be very well understood, that every one may join with us in the action we took, intelligently;—or keep away from it, intelligently. I wish it to be thoroughly understood. We simply pledged ourselves, some of us who were here Thursday night, to live and work for Christ to the best and the utmost of our ability, as He would give us grace to do. We pledged ourselves to each other and to our Master; to the end that we might the better help each other, being so pledged; and that we might enter into some system and plan of work by which we might accomplish much more than we could hope to do without plan or system. I have a list in my hand of various kinds of work which it may be well for us to attempt; some kinds will suit some people, and other kinds will suit other people; but before we go into a consideration of these, I will read something else to you. We must do this thing—we must enter into this pledge to God and each other, those of us who enter into it,—knowing exactly what we do, and if possible, why we do it. I have drawn up in a few words what we mean, or what we ought to mean, in giving this pledge; and now I am going to read it to you; and after I have read it I shall ask all of you who have heard it and agreed to it, to rise up, without any regard to the question whether you were among those who rose last Thursday or not. I wish no one to stand who does not fully and intelligently agree to every word of this covenant;—but I hope that will be the case with every one of you all. The children can understand it as well as the grown people. This is the covenant:—
"'We are the servants of Christ.
"'And as He died for all, that they which live should not live unto themselves but unto Him; so we do not count ourselves to belong to ourselves. We are the Lord's.
"'We want to do all we can do, that would please Him and honour Him, whether it be in our own hearts or in the world.
"'So we stand ready to do His will; in telling the good news to others; in showing how precious we hold it; in carrying help of every sort to our neighbour, upon every opportunity; walking as children of the Light; if by any means we may advance our Lord's kingdom and glory.
"'And all this we will try to do, by His help,—trusting in His grace and resting in His promises, whose word cannot fail.'
"Now," said Mr. Richmond, when he had read this, which he read very slowly and deliberately, as if he wished that every one should weigh every word, "I am going to ask you to rise and so declare your agreement with this covenant—all of you who have heard and understood it, and who are ready to pledge yourselves to its responsibilities. Every one whose own mind and wish this covenant expresses will please rise."
The little stir which this request occasioned through the room, left few of the assembly in their seats. Maria, as soon as she was upon her feet, looked to see how it was with her companions. To her great satisfaction, Clarissa was standing beside her; but Anne and Letitia were sitting in their places, and so was Matilda in hers beyond them. Maria frowned and nodded at her, but Mr. Richmond had desired the people to sit down again before these signs could take any effect.
"It is as I hoped," Mr. Richmond said in a satisfied voice. "I have no alteration to make in my lists, beyond the addition of one or two new names; and that sort of alteration I shall be glad to make whenever people will let me. I will receive new names at any time, of those who wish to join our Band—our Working Band. I do not know what we shall call ourselves; but one thing is certain, we mean to be a working people. Now, suppose we see what kinds of work we are prepared to undertake—each one of us in particular. Of course, we areallto doallwe can, and ofallkinds; but there are some kinds of work that each one can do better than he can do others; and to those particular lines of effort each one will pledge himself to give special attention.
"The first thing on my list is—
"'Bringing new scholars to the school. Who will take this as his special work? Observe, it is not meant that you should ask any children to come to our school who are already members of some other school. We do not wish that. But who will undertake to look out and bring in some of the children that go nowhere? All who want to do this, raise your hands."
There was a show of hands.
"We must have a secretary," said Mr. Richmond. "Mr. Van Dyke, here is paper and ink; will you kindly come and write for us? We want to put down all the names that enlist in this department of work. This is Number One. Put down, opposite to Number One, Mattie Van Dyke, Willie Edwards, Mary Edwards, Maria Englefield."
Mr. Richmond went on giving the names until some eight or ten were registered. The children looked delighted. It was great doings.
The next thing on Mr. Richmond's list was the "School-singing." He explained that he wished the special attention of those who could give it to this matter; that they should always stand ready to help the singing in the Sunday-School, and make it just as good as it could be, and keep it good; that they should not wait for others, if there was no one to lead, but start the hymn themselves and carry it through with spirit.
There were not so many that pledged themselves to this work; but, as before, Maria was one.
The third thing, was "Welcoming strangers and new scholars" in the church and in the school. Here a breeze sprung up. Mr. Richmond had remarked upon the great importance of this duty and the common neglect of it; nevertheless there seemed to be some prospect that the neglect would continue. Mrs. Trembleton asked, "How were such strangers to be welcomed?"
"What would you like yourself, Mrs. Trembleton? Suppose you were to go to a strange church, where you knew nobody. Would it be pleasant to have some one come up and take your hand and say you were welcome? and give you a greeting when you met in the street?—perhaps come to see you?"
"I think," said Mrs. Trembleton, after a pause, "it would depend a good deal on who it was did it!"
"Whether it would be pleasant?" said Mr. Richmond, smiling. "But you do not doubt that it would be pleasant to any stranger to haveyoucome up and speak and shake hands, and do such offices of kindness?"
"It might be pleasant to them," said Mrs. Trembleton. "I don't think I should like to do it to everybody."
"What do you say, Miss Benyon?" Mr. Richmond asked.
"Oh, I couldn't, Mr. Richmond!" the young lady answered, shrinking.
"I'll do it," spoke out one of the boys.
"George Lockwood will welcome strangers, Mr. Van Dyke," said the minister. "And Willie Edwards holds up his hand,—and Ben Barth. But shall we have none but the boys to do the welcoming? The new scholars will not be all boys. Ah! there is Miss Peach; Ellen Peach, Mr. Van Dyke;—and Maria Englefield,—and Sarah Bent."
"Won't it make confusion in the school?" Mr. Van Dyke suggested.
"Will not what make confusion?"
"Why, if half-a-dozen scholars are jumping up and leaving their classes, to receive somebody who is coming in?"
"I did not say that they should choose lesson time—or school time at all—for their kind civilities. After school is over—or when meeting in the street—or going into church. Opportunities will present themselves. It is rather the will that seems to be wanting than the way."
"It seems to me," spoke out another lady, "this welcoming of strangers is everybody's business."
"Proverbially nobody's business, Miss Fitch," Mr. Richmond answered with a smile. "You will leave it for me to do; and I shall conclude that Mrs. Trembleton will attend to it; Mrs. Trembleton does not like the charge;—and there we are. Esther, what do you say?"
"Oh, I should not like to do it, Mr. Richmond!"
Nobody seemed to like to do it. Some were shy; some were humble, or thought they were; some fancied themselves of too little consequence; some of too much! Mr. Richmond went on to the next thing, which was "Temperance Work." Here there was no want of volunteers. Boys and girls and young ladies, and even men, were ready to pledge themselves to this cause. The names were many. It took some time to get them all down.
Then came what Mr. Richmond's list called "Aid and Comfort;" and which he explained to mean, the giving of all sorts of material and social aid that the cases of sick and poor and distressed might call for. Anybody who would visit such cases, and provide or procure what they needed, or anybody unable to visit who would furnish the necessary supplies if called upon, might be enrolled on this committee. Plenty of people were ready for this.
"Visiting absent scholars" found quite a number willing to engage in it. The cause of "Missionary Collections" and "Sunday-School prayer-meetings" found but few; evidently those were not popular objects. "Promoting attendance upon church" did not meet with much favour. The tenth department of work was "Carrying the Message". This Mr. Richmond explained to mean, the telling the good news of Christ to all who have not heard or who do not accept it; to everybody we can reach, at home and abroad, wherever we may. There were not a few who were ready to pledge themselves to this; as also to "Bible Reading" in houses where sickness or poverty or ignorance made such work desirable. But "Tract Distributing," which one would have thought a very kindred effort with the two last, was much more cautiously undertaken. Some boys were ready for it; a few girls; very few grown up people of either sex.
The young people of Mrs. Englefield's family walked home more silently than they had come. To be sure, there was a little throng of persons going their way; they could not speak in private. So under the still, bright stars, they went home without telling any of their thoughts to each other. But perhaps the air was chilly after coming out of the heated lecture-room; for they all poured into the parlour to get warm, before going up-stairs to take off their things.
"Well, you are late," Mrs. Englefield said.
"Yes; but we had, oh, such a nice meeting!" Maria answered.
"What was it all about? Now, I hope, we shall get at some light on the subject."
But the light was not in a hurry to come. Anne and Letitia loosened their bonnet strings, and sat down; Maria and Matilda threw off their cloaks and hoods and sought the fire; nobody volunteered to be spokesman for the party.
"What was done, Clarissa?" her mother asked.
"I can hardly tell, mamma. A sort of association formed, for doing parish work."
"I do not think much of associations," Mrs. Candy said. "People can work just as well in private, if they would only be content. Didyoujoin this association?"
"What isparish work, Clarissa?" Matilda asked.
"Why, work in the parish, of course," Mrs. Englefield answered.
"I don't know what the parish is, mamma?"
"Don't you? Well,—all the people that Mr. Richmond has the care of, I suppose; isn't it, sister?"
"But who has he the care of?" Matilda persisted, looking up at her mother earnestly.
"Well, child," said Mrs. Englefield, half laughing, "in a sort, he has the care of all the people he preaches to."
"Does he?" said Matilda. But at that the laugh became general.
"Why not, Tilly?" said Mrs. Candy.
"Who gave him the care of us?" said Matilda, thoughtfully.
"A minister always has the care of a church when he has a church," said Mrs. Candy. "Is this Tilly's way of going into things in general, Marianne?"
"But," said Matilda,—"can anybody take a church and take care of people, if he has a mind?"
"No; only a man who has been properly educated and appointed."
"Then how comes he to have thecareof us?"
"Come here, Tilly," said Clarissa. And she began a whispered explanation, to which the little girl listened intently.
"I do not hear yet what was the business done to-night?" Mrs. Englefield went on.
"Why, there were committees formed," said Letitia, "for doing every sort of business under heaven."
"Committees!" said the two ladies who had stayed at home.
"Maria can tell you," said Anne. "Maria, on how many committees are you?"
Maria hugged the fire and did not answer.
"On how many, Maria?"
"I don't know. I didn't count."
"I lost count, too," her sister said. "Let me see. Mamma, Maria has undertaken to find and bring in new scholars for the school."
"I hope she will be punctual in going herself, then," said Mrs. Englefield. "Shehasn'tbeen, this six months past, to my knowledge."
"Oh, but I am now, mamma," said Maria.
"She has undertaken to practise for the school singing."
"I didn't," said Maria. "I only said I would help in it."
"Your help will not be worth much without practising. She has promised to undertake temperance work, too.Howshe will manage it, I do not know; unless she is going to begin upon us here at home. We are all such hard drinkers."
"Almost all the Sunday-School are engaged to help in temperance work," said Maria, standing on her defence.
"How areyougoing to do anything?" her mother asked. "You have neither brothers, nor father, nor cousins, in danger, that you can go to work upon them. What are you going to do, Maria?"
"That is but the beginning, mamma," Anne went on. "Maria is also engaged to visit the sick and afflicted, and make soup and give medicine for them."
"Why, I did not, Anne!" Maria exclaimed again.
"What did you mean, then, by joining the 'Aid and Comfort' committee?"
"I did not say I would make soup, or give medicine. Everybody does not make soup."
"No; and so I thought that is just what the 'Aid and Comfort' committee agreed to do."
"And the doctors give the medicine," said Matilda. "Clarissa is on that committee too."
"We can go together," said Maria; "and we can find something to do."
"Something for somebody else to do," said Anne. "You can find who would like some soup, can't you?"
"There are next to no poor people in Shadywalk," said Mrs. Englefield. "I don't believe there is anybody in the village who would like some soup better than I should."
"There are several doctors," said Anne; "so I am afraid there are sick people occasionally. Else the doctors will soon be in want of soup. But, mamma,thatis not the whole of Maria's engagements. She has pledged herself to 'carry the message,' read the Bible, and distribute tracts."
"Don't you read the Bible now, Maria?" her mother asked.
"Oh yes, mamma," said Matilda. "This means reading the Bible to somebody who is blind, you know, or sick and can't read, or who doesn't know how."
"There are no such people in Shadywalk," said Mrs. Englefield, promptly.
"Shadywalk is a happy village then," said her sister.
"When do you expect to find time for all these things, Maria?" her mother continued. "Do you know what a state your bureau drawers are in, at this minute? You told me you had been too busy to attend to them. And the frock that you spilt ink on, the week before last, at school, you have not mended; and you need it—and you said you could not get a minute."
"I have been busy about something else, mamma," Maria said.
"That braiding. Yes. But there is always 'something else.' There are other things that ought to begin at home besides charity. Doyoubelong to this association, Matilda?"
"No, mamma," came in a low voice from the child.
"Why not?"
The answer was not ready.
"Have you joined it, Clarissa?" her mother asked.
"Yes, mamma."
"And what have you pledged yourself to do?"
"I think nothing, mamma, that I was not properly pledged to before."
"Such as what?"
"I gave my name for the visiting and helping sick and poor people; for the singing in the school;—I believe that is all, mamma."
"I shall not let you go where there is sickness," said Mrs Candy. "When did you pledge yourself to that ever?"
"When I took the vows of the Church, mamma," Clarissa said, with a little hesitation, "I suppose I engaged to do some of these things."
"Some of them; I have no objection to your singing as much as you like; but as to your going where there are fevers and bad air, and all that sort of thing, I should not be willing at all."
"There will not be much occasion for it in Shadywalk," said Mrs. Englefield. "We have few poor people; there are not many who have not friends of their own to take care of them."
"Anne and Letitia, you have nothing to do with all this?" their aunt asked.
"I have enough to do as it is, Aunt Candy," said Anne.
"And I don't like the new sorts of work, Aunt Erminia," said Letitia.
"I know you wanted to stand up with us this evening, though," said Maria. "You felt bad because you didn't."
This remark threatened to disturb the harmony of the party; so Mrs. Englefield broke it up, and sent everybody to bed.
"How do you like our Mr. Richmond, Clarissa?" she asked, as they were separating.
"I don't know, Aunt Marianne; it struck me he was something of an enthusiast."
"That is just what I think," said Mrs. Englefield.
"Those people are dangerous, Marianne," said Mrs. Candy.
The next day but one, in the afternoon, a little figure set out from Mrs. Englefield's gate on a solitary expedition. She had left her sisters and cousin in high debate, over the various probabilities of pleasure attainable through the means of twenty-five dollars. Matilda listened gravely for a while; then left them, put on her hood and cloak, and went out alone. It was rather late in the short winter afternoon; the slanting sunbeams made a gleam of cheer, though it was cold cheer too, upon the snowy streets. They stretched away, the white streets, heaped with banks of snow where the gutters should be, overhung with brown branches of trees, where in summer the leafy canopy made a pleasant shade all along the way. No shade was wanted now; the air was growing more keen already since the sun had got so far down in the west. Tilly turned the corner, where by Mr. Forshew's hardware shop there was often a country waggon standing, and always a knot of loitering men and boys gathering or retailing the news, if there was any; when there was none, seeking a poorer amusement still in stories and jests, mingled with profanity and tobacco. Tilly was always glad to have passed the corner; not that there was the least danger of incivility from any one lingering there, but she did not like the neighbourhood of such people. She turned up towards the church, which stood in one of the principal streets of the village. Matilda herself lived in the other principal street. The two were at right angles to each other, each extending perhaps half a mile, with comfortable houses standing along the way; about the "corner" they stood close together, for that was the business quarter, and there were the stores. Passing the stores and shops, there came next a succession of dwelling-houses, some of more and some of less pretension; in general it wasless. The new houses of the successful tradesmen were for the most part in the street where Matilda's mother lived. These were many of them old and low; some were poor. Here there was a doctor's shop; there a heap of dingy sheep skins and brown calf hides cast down at a door, told of the leather store; here and there hung out a milliner's sign. A few steps further on the other side of the way, a great brick factory stood; Matilda had no very distinct notion of what wares it turned out, but the children believed they were iron works of some sort. A cross street here led to side ways which extended parallel with the main thoroughfare, one on the north and one on the south of it, and which, though more scatteringly built up, were yet a considerable enlargement of the village. A little further on, and Matilda had reached the church; in her languagethechurch, though only one of several in which the villagers delighted. A great creamy-brown edifice, of no particular style of architecture, with a broad porch upheld by a row of big pillars, and a little square tower where hung a bell, declared to be the sweetest and clearest of all in the neighbourhood. So, many thought, were the utterances inside the church. Just beyond, Matilda could see the lecture-room, with its transepts, and its pretty hood over the door, for all which and sundry other particulars concerning it she had a private favour; but Matilda did not go so far this afternoon. Short of the lecture-room, a gate in the fence of the church grounds stood open; a large gate, through which waggons and carriages sometimes passed; Matilda turned in there, and picked her way over the ridgy snow down the lane that led to the parsonage.
The parsonage sat thus quietly back from the sights and noises of the street; a little brown house, it looked, half hidden in summer by the sweeping foliage of the elms that overarched the little lane; half sheltered now in winter by a goodly pine-tree that stood in the centre of the little plot of grass round which swept the road to the front-door. Wheels or runners had been there, for the road was tracked with them; but not many, for the villagers needed no such help to get to the minister, and there were few of the church people who lived at a distance and could leave their work and take their teams on a week-day to come a-pleasuring; and still fewer who were rich enough to do as they liked at all times. There were some; but Matilda ran little risk of meeting them; and so mounted the parsonage steps and lifted the knocker with no more than her own private reasons for hesitation, whatever those might be. She knocked, however, and steps carne within, and Miss Redwood opened the door.
"Well!" she said, "here's the first one this blessed afternoon. I thought I was going to get along for once without any one; but such luck don't come to me. Wipe the snow off, dear, will you, clean? for my hall's as nice as—well, I don't know what; as nice as it had ought to be. That will do. Now, come in, for the air's growin' right sharp. What is it, my dear?"
"Is Mr. Richmond at home?" Matilda asked.
"Well, I s'pose he is. I hain't hearn him nor seen him go out since noon. Do ye want to see him, or is it a message?—ye want to see him, eh. Well, I s'pose he'll see you—if he ain't too busy—and I don't know when he gets time for all he has to do, but he gets it; so I s'pose I had ought to be satisfied.Idon't, I know; but I s'pose men and women is different. Some folks would say that's a reason why men was created the first and the best; but I don't think so myself. And here I am an old goose, a-talkin' to little Tilly Englefield about philosophy, instead o' lettin' her into the minister's room. Well, come in, dear; round this way; the minister has taken a notion to keep that door shut up because of the cold."
Miss Redwood had not been idle during the utterance of this speech. First she had been shaking the snow from the door mat on which Matilda's feet had left it; then she seized a broom and brushed the white masses from the hall carpet out to the piazza, and even off the painted boards of that. Finally came in, shut the door, and led Matilda to the back of the hall, where it turned, and two doors, indeed three, confronted each other across a yard of intervening space. The housekeeper knocked at the one which led into the front room; then set it open for Matilda to go in, and closed it after her.
A pleasant room that was, though nothing in the world could be more unadorned. Deal shelves all around were filled with books; a table or two were piled with them; one, before the fire, was filled as well with papers and writing materials. This fronted, however, a real blazing fire, the very thing Miss Redwood had once been so uneasy about; in a wide open chimney-place, where two great old-fashioned brass andirons with round heads held a generous load of oak and hickory sticks, softly snapping and blazing. The sweet smell of the place struck Matilda's sense, almost before she saw the minister. It was a pure, quiet, scented atmosphere that the room held; where comfort and study seemed to lurk in the very folds of the chintz window-curtains, and to shine in the firelight, and certainly seemed to fill Mr. Richmond's arm-chair even when he was not in it. He rose out of it now to meet his little visitor, and laid study on the table. Of one sort.
"All's well at home, Tilly?" he asked, as he put her into his own chair.
"Yes, sir."
"And you do not come to me with any message but to see me yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's nice. Now while you are talking to me, I will roast you an apple."
Matilda looked on with great curiosity and as great a sense of relief, while Mr. Richmond took out of a cupboard a plate of apples, chose a fine one with a good bit of stem, tied a long pack-thread to this, and then hung the apple by a loop at the other end of the string, to a hook in the woodwork over the fireplace. The apple, suspended in front of the blazing fire, began a succession of swift revolutions; first in one direction and then in the other, as the string twisted or untwisted.
"Did you ever roast an apple so?"
"No, Mr. Richmond."
"It is the best way in the world—when you haven't got any other."
"We haven't got that way at our house," said Matilda; "for we have no fires; nothing but stoves."
"You speak as if you thought fires were the best plan of the two."
"Oh, I do, Mr. Richmond! I donotlike stoves at all. They're so close."
"I always thought stoves were rather close," said Mr. Richmond. "Now what did you come to see me roast apples for this afternoon? Did you come to keep your promise?"
"Yes, sir," Matilda answered, rather faintly.
"Are you sorry you made the promise?" Mr. Richmond inquired, looking at her. But the look was so pleasant, that Matilda's could not keep its solemnity. She had come in with a good deal.
"I don't know but Iwassorry," she said.
"And you are not sorry now?"
"I think not."
"That is all the better. Now what did you want to say to me, Matilda?"
"You know you made me say I would come, Mr. Richmond."
"Did I? I think not. I do not think Imadeyou say anything—do you think I did?"
"Well, youaskedme, Mr. Richmond."
"Just what did I ask you?"
"You asked me, if I would come and tell you—you said youwishedI would come and tell you—if——"
And Matilda made a great pause. The eyes of her friend seemed only to be watching the apple, yet perhaps they knew that her little lips were unsteady and were trying to get steady. He left his seat to attend to the roast; got a plate and put on the hearth under it; arranged the fire; then came and with his own hands removed Matilda's hood and loosened and threw back her cloak; and while he did this he repeated his question, in tones that were encouragement itself.
"I wished you would come and tell me if—if what?"
"Yes, Mr. Richmond—if I thought I could not do something that I thought—I ought."
"Yes, I believe that was it, Tilly. Now, to begin with one thing at a time, what do you think you 'ought' to do?"
"Last night, I mean, Mr. Richmond; I mean, the night before last, at the meeting."
"I know. Well, what did you think then you ought to do?"
"Mr. Richmond, I think, I thought that I ought to rise up when Maria and the others did."
"I knew you thought so. Why did you not, then, Matilda?"
"I couldn't."
"Do you know why you could not?"
Again there was difficulty of speech on the child's part. Mr. Richmond's saying that "he knew" she had had such feelings, was an endorsement to her conscience; and Matilda could not immediately get over a certain swelling in her throat, which threatened to put a stop to the conversation. The minister waited, and she struggled.
"Why couldyounot do what the others did, Matilda?"
"Mr. Richmond—I didn't want to do the things."
"What things? Bringing new scholars to the Sunday-School, for instance?"
"Oh no, sir, I wouldn't mind doingthat, or some other things either. But——"
"You mean, you do not want to pledge yourself to be a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ?"
"No, sir," after a pause, and low.
"Well, Tilly," said the minister, "I can only be very sorry for you. You keep yourself out of a great joy."
"But, Mr. Richmond," said Matilda, down whose cheeks quiet tears were now running, one after another; "don't you think I am very young yet to be a member of the Church?"
"Do you think Jesus died for you, Tilly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you believe He loves you now?"
"Yes, sir."
"You understand all about that. DoesHewant you to be His obedient child and dear servant?"
"Yes, Mr. Richmond."
"You know all about that, too. Can you think of any reason why you should for another year refuse to love Him, refuse to mind Him, and do all that your example and influence can do to keep others from loving and minding Him? When He so loves and has loved you?"
Tilly's little hands went up to her face now, and the room was very still; only the flames softly flickering in the fireplace, and the apple sputtering before the fire. Mr. Richmond did not say a word for several minutes.
"Mr. Richmond," said Matilda at last, "do you think anybody cares what I do?—when I am so little?"
"I think the Lord Jesus cares. He said nobody was to hinder the little children from coming to Him. And I would rather be in His arms and have Him bless me, if I were you, than be anywhere else, or have anything else. And so would you, Tilly."
"But, Mr. Richmond—it is because I am not good."
"Yes, I know it. But that is a reason for giving yourself to the Lord Jesus. He will make you good; and there is no other way."
But Tilly's trouble at this got beyond management. She left her seat and came to Mr. Richmond, letting his arm draw her up to him, and dropping her head on his shoulder.
"O Mr. Richmond," she said, "I don't know how!"
"Don't know how to give yourself to Jesus? Do it in your heart, Tilly. He is there. Tell Him He may have you for His own child. He is at the door of your heart knocking; open the door and bid Him come in. He will make it a glad place if you do."
"Mr. Richmond," said the child, with great difficulty between her sobs—"won't you tell Him that I will?"
They kneeled down and the minister made a short prayer. But then he said—
"Now, Tilly, I want you to tell the Lord yourself."
"I can't, Mr. Richmond."
"I think you can. And I want you to try."
They waited and waited. Tilly sobbed softly, but the minister waited still. At last Tilly's tears ceased; then with her little hands spread before her face, she said very slowly—
"O Lord, I am a naughty child. I want to be good. I will do everything that you tell me. Please take my heart and make it all new, and help me to be strong and do right. Amen."
They rose up, but Mr. Richmond kept the child within his arm, where she had been standing.
"Now, Tilly, how do we know that our prayers are heard?"
"God has promised, hasn't He, Mr. Richmond?"
"Where? in what words?"
Tilly hesitated, and then repeated part of the verse, "Ask, and it shall be given you. Seek, and ye shall find."
"And look here," said Mr. Richmond, half turning, so as to bring her and himself within reach of the Bible that lay at his elbow on the table—"see here, Matilda. Read these words."
"'If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it.'"
"And here,"—
"'Whatsover ye shall ask the Father in My name, He will give it you.'"
"Does Jesus ever break His promises?"
"No, Mr. Richmond; He can't."
"Then remember that, whenever you think of to-day, and whenever you feel troubled or weak.Youare weak, but He is strong; and He cannot break His promises. So you and I are safe, as long as we hold to Him."
There was silence a little while, and Mr. Richmond set the apple to twirling again. It had untwisted its string and was hanging still.
"I am to put your name now, I suppose, Tilly, among the names of our Band; am I?"
"Yes, Mr. Richmond."
"What work would you like specially to do?"
"I do not know, Mr. Richmond; I will think."
"Very well; that is right. And there is another place where your name ought to go—is there not?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Yes; among those who desire to be members of the Church; to tell the world they are Christ's people."
"Oh no, Mr. Richmond."
"Why 'oh no, Mr. Richmond'?"
"I am not good enough. I want to be better first."
"How do you expect to get better?"
Silence.
"I suppose your thought is, that Jesus will make your heart new, as you asked Him just now, and help you to be strong. Is that it?—Yes. And you do not expect to accomplish the change or grow strong by your own power?"
"Oh no, sir."
"Don't you think Jesus loves you now as well as He will by and by, and is as ready to help you?"
"Yes, Mr. Richmond."
"Then, Tilly, I call it just distrust of Him, to hold off from what He commands you to do, for fear He will not help you to do it. I would be ashamed to offer such an excuse to Him."
"But—has He commandedthat, Mr. Richmond?"
"He has commanded us to confess openly that we are His servants, hasn't He? and to be baptized in token of the change He has wrought in us, and as a sign that we belong to Him? How can we do either the one or the other without joining the Church?"
"I thought"—Matilda began, but seemingly did not like to tell what she had thought.
"Let us have it, Tilly," said her friend, drawing her closer to him. "You and I are talking confidentially, and it is best in those cases to talk all out. So what did you think?"
"I thought there were people who were the servants of Christ, and yet did not join any church," Matilda said softly.
"By not doing it, they as good as say to the world that they are not His servants. And the world judges accordingly. I have known people under such a delusion; but when they were honest, I have always known them to come out of it. If you give all you have to the Lord Jesus, you must certainly give your influence."
"But, I thought I might wait," Tilly said again.
"Till when?"
"I don't know," she whispered.
"Wait for what?"
"Till I was more like what—I ought to be, Mr. Richmond."
"Till you were more like the Lord Jesus?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you not think the quickest way to grow like Him would be to do and obey every word He says?"
Matilda bowed her head a little.
"You will be more likely to grow good and strong that way than any other; and I am sure the Lord will be more likely to help you if you trust Him, than if you do not trust Him."
"I think so too," Matilda assented.
"Then we will do everything, shall we, that we think our Lord would like to have us do? and we will trust Him to help us through with it?" Mr. Richmond said, with an affectionate look at the child beside him; and Matilda met the look and answered it with another.
"But, Mr. Richmond——"
"What is it?"
"There is one question I should like to ask."
"Ask it."
"Why ought people to be baptized?"
"Because our Lord commands it. Isn't that a good reason?"
"Yes, sir; but—what does it mean, Mr. Richmond?"
"It is a way of saying to the world, that we have left it, and belong to the Lord Jesus Christ. It is a way of saying to the world, that His blood has washed away our sins and His Spirit has made our hearts clean; or that we trust Him to do both things for us. And it is the appointed way of saying all this to the world;Hisappointed way. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now, do you not think that those who love the Lord Jesus, ought to be glad to follow His will in this matter?"
"Yes, sir," Matilda said again, raising her eyes frankly to Mr. Richmond's face.
"Would you be willing to be left out, when next I baptize some of those who wish to make it publicly known that they are Christ's?"
"No, sir." And presently she added. "When will that be, Mr. Richmond?"
"I do not know," he answered, thoughtfully. "Not immediately. You and I must have some more talks before that time."
"You are very good to me, Mr. Richmond," Matilda said, gratefully.
"Have we said all we ought to say this time? Are there any more questions to bring up?"
"Ihaven't any to bring up," Matilda said.
"Is all clear that we have been talking about?"
"I think so."
"Now, will you be good to me, and stay and take supper with me? That knock at the door means that Miss Redwood would like to have me know that supper is ready. And you shall have this apple we have been roasting."
"Mr. Richmond, I think mamma would be frightened if I did not go home."
"She does not know where you are?"
"Nobody knows," said Matilda.
"Then it won't do to let you stay. You shall come another time, and we will roast another apple, won't you?"
"I should like to come," said Matilda. "Mr. Richmond, didn't you say you were going to talk to the Band and explain things, when we have our meetings?"
"I did say so. What do you want explained?"
"Some time,—I would like to know just all it means, to be a servant of Christ."
"All it means," said Mr. Richmond. "Well, it means a good deal, Tilly. I think we had better begin there with our explanations. I shall not make it a lecture; it will be more like a class; so you may ask as many questions as you please."