Part 11

“No, it’s first catch Will Carter; and I rather think I can if I set about it right,” said Dick, musingly.

“Be wise as a serpent but harmless as a dove,” laughed Miss Marvin. “Fishers of men sometimes need to work as warily as those who go down to the sea in ships.”

Dick went around to Will’s that very night and began earnestly setting forth the advantages of the new class and the necessity of Will’s taking the lead.

“You know we’ve always depended on you for the reasoning out of things, and the making it interesting generally,” he said.

And it was true every word. Will always had his lesson well learned, was posted on the historical parts, could see straight through an argument, kept all the dates on his tongue’s end, and could ask questions by the half hour. It was only when they came to the practical parts he shrugged his shoulders and looked listlessly out of the window.

“The boys will all think as much again of the class if you get it up, and there’s no telling how much good you might do,” continued Dick; and to his great surprise Will raised no objection whatever. Whether Dick’s pleasant way of putting things, or the steady chirp-chirp of the cricket under the doorstep, had most to do with it, nobody knew.

He preferred, however, that Dick should see the other boys, and invite anybody he liked,—yes, Tom Lawrence, and even Jack Mullin, for all he cared.

Varney Lowe consented as soon as he heard Will had. Dick went to see Bill Finnegan; but the good, honest soul knew he wasn’t expected to have any opinion. He did not relish leaving Miss Marvin, but said he knew lots of fellows down by the Mills who ought to come only “they’d never hear to his askin’.”

“Show ’em to me. I’ll pitch into ’em,” rejoined Dick, hopefully. “I’ll come over to-morrow noon, and you and I together will fetch ’em, see if we don’t.”

He met Tom Lawrence next, and was quite taken aback by a prompt, decided “Not by a long shot!”

He had felt sure of Tom. How he did coax and persuade! What inducements he offered! How skilfully he parried every excuse! till at last Tom wound up with,—

“For pity’s sake, hush up! Go it is. You’re dead set, now, Dick, since you ‘begun over,’ and you ain’t none the worse for it either.”

Wasn’t that a compliment worth having?

“And I shall depend on you to bring Jack Mullin,” said Dick. “He and some of the other boys do just about as you say.”

Tom straightened as proudly as Will ever did. It is a weakness of human nature, generally, to prefer leading to being led.

“They’ll be on hand, trust me,” he said; and Dick went his way, so thoroughly happy he had to turn a somerset every other step. He must run around and see Robert Rand; but Rob wouldn’t care a straw,—he never said anything any way.

What was Dick’s astonishment when Rob declared his intention of leaving Sabbath School altogether. It took him so completely by surprise he could not think of a thing to say; he had never dreamed of opposition in that quarter, and just did the very first thing his Master put it into his heart to do. He threw both arms around his friend’s shoulder, and said very earnestly, “I’m so sorry, Rob, because I’ve been hoping this great while you’d be a Christian, too.”

And then he stood back, utterly confounded, to see the usually impassive Robert hurry off into the orchard and fling himself down on the grass, sobbing like a child. He followed him, half-frightened, half-hopeful. “What is it, Rob? Tell a fellow, can’t you?”

“It’s—you know—I didn’t suppose anybody cared. I’d have been glad to, if I knew how; but you never said a word, and she never even looked at me in particular.”

You could detect something of Nettie’s jealous disposition, but there was more of a real longing for personal help and sympathy which had been withheld. Even Miss Marvin, faithful Christian that she was, had, as too many of us do, looked into the eyes full of eager questioning, wilful defiance, or forlorn hopelessness, but had passed thoughtlessly by the dull, ordinary, well-enough boy.

“She didn’t mean to,—indeed she didn’t,” said Dick, slipping one hand into his friend’s; “and I never supposed you ever thought of the thing; but I have—prayed for you, Rob, lots of times; and only think, if there’s two of us to pray for the rest—oh, I’m so glad you’re really going to try!”

Was he going to? Had he really decided? People of Robert’s temperament seldom fully make up their minds without strong outside pressure. This, Dick’s earnest, taking-for-granted manner had furnished.

Almost before he knew it, they were going in Mr. Forbush’s gate. “Miss Marvin could tell him how, so much better,” Dick said. There seemed no way of backing out, even if Rob had wanted to, and he certainly went home that night more thoroughly in earnest than he ever was in all his life before.

V.

HOW FARMER VANCE REASONED.

“And as he reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come, Felix trembled.”

Mr. Vance was to take the new class in Sabbath School. He declared it was the most absurd thing ever thought of, but Mr. Sampson insisted. He knew the farmer to be a well-read man, and that, although but a learner himself in Bible lore, he had that quick, keen, sympathetic grasp of human nature which enables one to attract and influence others. Only Will Carter objected. He had supposed Mr. Sampson would take the class himself. What could Farmer Vance, who had only recently begun to attend church, teach a boy well versed in algebra, geometry, and all the ’ologies? Will made extra preparations for that first Sabbath, studied up on Biblical history, primed himself with contemporary events, and fully expected to utterly confound the plain farmer at the outset.

The latter had his hands full, to say the least,—what with the factory boys, to whom everything was new and strange; Tom and his set, who meant to have a good time out of it; stupid Bill Finnegan, indifferent Varney Lowe, and wise Will Carter,—but his ready tact, a suggestion here, an illustration there, a hand upon Jack Mullin’s knee when the latter’s risibles threatened to become unmanageable, a quiet deferring to Will’s gratuitous information, all together, maintained at least a show of interest and order. Very plainly, however, he considered contemporary events of minor importance. Will secretly chafed at the way everything drifted round to the one first, foremost thought,—Christ and Him crucified. Heretofore he had always been able to dodge the practical questions, but Mr. Vance made them all practical. The lesson was in the twenty-sixth chapter of Second Chronicles,—

“_Sixteen years old was Uzziah when he began to reign._”

“Just a year older than Dick and Will,—and only think how much more he knew!” said Robert Rand, so honestly even Mr. Vance smiled.

“Was knowing so much the cause of his prosperity, Robert? Read the fifth verse.”

“_As long as he sought the Lord, God made him to prosper._”

“Do you suppose the Jews invented the engines of war mentioned in the fifteenth verse?” interrupted Will.

“Possibly.”

“It seems we made a mistake when we named our Base Ball Club. It’s the Catapulta, you know; but the catapultæ were used for casting _darts_, and the balistæ for _stones_. Sometimes the stones weighed three hundred pounds. Rather awkward things, compared with weapons of war now.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Vance. “Men have spent a great deal of money and genius to perfect the art of killing each other. But some day—”

“Josephus says,” interposed Will, “that engines of this sort were used with tremendous effect in the siege of Jerusalem by the Romans. They would discharge stones to the distance of two furlongs. There was an elastic bar, you see, bent back by a screw or cable, with a trigger to set it free, and a sort of spoon towards the top to fling the stones. At the siege of Jotapa, they were sent with such force as to break down the battlements and carry away the angles of the towers. Both sides used them at the siege of Jerusalem.”

Here Tom Lawrence puckered up his mouth and rolled his eyes around in such mock amazement that a broad smile over-spread Bill Finnegan’s freckled face, and Jack Mullin giggled outright.

“The main point was, which side used them with the greatest effect,” said Mr. Vance, who had read Josephus thoroughly, but who had quite another thing in his mind. “By the way, Jack,” and he turned suddenly to that young scapegrace who was slyly slipping a bent pin in Will’s direction,—“I saw an enemy slinging stones, or something worse, at you the other day, and you not doing the first thing in self-defence.”

“Who?—me!—what?” stammered Jack. “Reckon there don’t nobody fire stones at this chap and not get as good as they send.”

“Yes, there’s an enemy who must have machines something like those Will has described. He begins with very small stones. You wouldn’t really think _Satan_ had anything to do with that little game of ‘toss-up’ you and Tom were having. He flings very little sins at first,—just a bad thought, a wrong desire,—and we think it’s all fun; but by and by there comes a three-hundred-pounder and takes men right off their feet, puts them in state-prison, or sends them to the gallows. We need something to hurl back in self-defence, you see. Do you remember what telling shots Christ sent against the tempter on that high mountain? _Bible truth!_ That’s what you want for ammunition, boys. Have plenty of that, keep close to your great Captain, and you are safe. Uzziah forgot that last part. Dick, tell in your own words what happened to him.”

“He grew proud as he grew great, and insisted on burning incense, which only the priest had a right to do, and God sent leprosy upon him.”

“Josephus says,” put in Will, “that there was an earthquake just at that moment, and a rent made in the temple through which the sun shone upon Uzziah’s face, and he was immediately struck with leprosy.”

“That should remind us of the day of judgment,” rejoined Mr. Vance, solemnly. “Then all the earth shall be shaken, and Christ, the Judge, shall sit upon His throne, the brightness of His glory far exceeding the sun; and in that clear light all who have not been washed in the blood of the Lamb will be shown covered with the dreadful leprosy of sin. It says of Uzziah not only that the priests thrust him out of the temple as unclean, but that he himself ‘hastened to go out,’ he was so ashamed and confounded. Just so sinners in that dreadful day will call on the rocks and mountains to fall on them and hide them. Will you, my boys, be of that number who must go away _forever_ from the presence of the Lord?”

The superintendent’s bell announced the closing exercises, and then the boys rushed noisily out.

“Every word forgotten already,” thought Mr. Vance, watching Tom and Jack go whistling down the street.

“What does make our Will so uneasy?” his mother said that night, as the former sat down to read, first on the doorstep, then in the garden, in the parlor, and lastly in his own room.

_She_ couldn’t hear the cricket, the bees, even the clock, saying over and over, “Shut out of heaven _forever_! Shut out of heaven _forever_,—_forever_,—_forever_.”

VI.

FARMER VANCE’S “LEADING.”

“Whereupon, O King Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision.”

“When one has a ‘leading,’ it is best to follow straight on, isn’t it, mother?” asked Farmer Vance, bringing in a basket-full of sweet corn for dinner.

“It’s the safest way, I suppose,” answered his wife, with a smile. She was busy over her ironing table, the week’s mending yet untouched, the fall sewing ready to step into line, corn and apples waiting to be dried, with no end of pickling and preserving. Her hands still kept time to the old tread-mill measure of household duties, but her heart had now a rhythm of its own. She could afford to smile,—to watch and even wait for God’s opportunities.

“It’s about those boys of mine,” resumed Mr. Vance, with a peculiar emphasis on the possessive case every Sabbath School teacher would do well to feel. “It seems clear to me that when folks haven’t an appetite for good, wholesome food (remember, it isn’t stomachs, it’s _hearts_ I’m talking about), you want to begin with something that’ll relish, and work round gradually to the right sort. In other words, if you want to get hold of a fellow’s heart, get a good grip of his hand first. Now, suppose I should take the whole class over to the beach for a couple of days, camping out, you know. It would be something of a treat to those factory boys, and I’ve an inkling young Carter wouldn’t object.”

“You couldn’t have thought of a better plan,” said Mrs. Vance, changing her irons. “Only do be careful! I’m so afraid of a sail-boat.”

“Oh! Griggs will take us out, and he is an old seaman. All the trouble is, everything is hurrying me just now,—corn, apples, and potatoes to be harvested. I don’t know how to spare a day, but we ought to go next week if we go at all, and I can’t help feeling it may help amazingly by and by. It’s what I call a ‘_leading_,’ and I take it, obedience comes next in order.”

“I don’t think people look for such ‘leadings’ as much as they might,” remarked Mrs. Vance, leaving her ironing to beat up a pudding.

“Don’t _obey_ them, you mean,” said Mr. Vance, stopping in the doorway. “That’s the point. It’s superstitious folks who keep looking and listening for them. I reckon they _come_ when we need them, and all we’re to do is to follow.”

A “leading” or nor, all the boys were delighted with the project. Will Carter pronounced Mr. Vance a “brick,” and the factory boys gave three cheers and a “tiger” when he came out of the office with a leave-of-absence for the whole half-dozen.

The appointed day was the very perfection of an Indian summer. They were on the road long before sunrise, the big moving-wagon having been duly packed with cooking utensils, bedding, and provisions the night before. There were sixteen in all, including Mr. Vance and the driver. They reached their destination in time to catch the fish for their dinner. Cooking it, eating it, getting up the tents, going in swimming, hunting for crabs, and strolling over the beach used up the afternoon. Everybody declared the sun had cheated them, and slipped out of sight an hour too soon.

And then, all the long, cool, delicious evening, they lounged on the rocks, telling stories, guessing riddles, singing familiar songs,—was there ever anything half so jolly?—with the round, full moon overhead and the great tranquil ocean spread out before them.

“And not the least bit of a preach,” thought Will, as he rolled himself up in his blanket and stretched out beside Dick, already sound asleep. “I had my suspicions he’d contrive to make us feel earthquake-y before he let us off for the night. But that little short prayer was well enough, and I certainly never heard anything like that one hundred and seventh Psalm. I wonder if it was the way he recited it, or having the ‘wonders of the deep’ right before us. You could almost see the ‘stormy winds’ lifting up those huge waves. And how grand it was when we all repeated together, ‘_Oh, that men would praise the Lord for His goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men!_’ I don’t see how Mr. Blackman can help believing there is a God. I wonder if he ever read that Psalm. There’s something in this religion. What a different boy Dick is! But then, there was room enough for improvement. Now, I’ve always done the best I could, unless it is about going to those meetings, and I mean to go some time when it comes right. I’ve really meant, ever since that first Sunday Mr. Vance talked to us, to think more about such things, and—What’s that? Somebody singing!”

VII.

ALMOST PERSUADED.

“Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Almost thou persuades me to be a Christian.”

Somebody was singing,—a rich, clear, tenor voice. Will could hear every word distinctly:—

“‘Almost persuaded’ now to believe, ‘Almost persuaded’ Christ to receive. Seems now some soul to say, ‘Go, Spirit, go thy way, Some more convenient day On thee I’ll call.’

“‘Almost persuaded,’ come, come to-day, ‘Almost persuaded,’ turn not away. Jesus invites you here, Angels are ling’ring near, Prayers rise from hearts so dear. O wand’rer, come!

“‘Almost persuaded,’ harvest is past, ‘Almost persuaded,’ doom comes at last. ‘Almost’ cannot avail, ‘Almost’ is but to fail. Sad, sad that bitter wail— ‘Almost, but lost.’”

“It must be somebody from those tents around the Point,” thought Will, turning over; “but what do they sing such doleful words for? I wish Dick would wake up, or else that I could go to sleep. That water makes me nervous,—such a steady swash, like a great sob somehow, or as if—”

Will buried his ears in his blanket and began counting backwards, to shut out the “sad, bitter wail” softly echoed by the waves as they chased each other over the moon-lighted beach.

VIII.

NEEDLE ROCK.

“What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.”

Griggs took them out sailing the next day, but was obliged to be back before noon to accommodate a second party; so Mr. Vance concluded to stay over another night, enjoy a sail by moonlight, and start for home early in the morning.

Meanwhile, he took one of the horses and set out to hunt up an old friend settled somewhere in the vicinity. The boys were to spend the time as they pleased, provided they kept out of danger. Half a dozen of them, headed by Jack Mullin, started on a tramp along shore, with their lunch in their hands. Two or three others borrowed a gun of Griggs and struck off inland.

“Let’s we have dinner over on that big rock,” suggested Dick. “The Point makes nearly out to it,—just one or two hops, and there you are.”

“Griggs says those low rocks and that strip of sand are all covered at high tide,” remarked Bill Finnegan.

“High fiddle-sticks!” said Will Carter, who never lost an opportunity of snubbing poor Bill. “Better wait till you’re asked for advice. We’ll dine on the peninsula, and if it changes to an island, so much the better. _I_ shouldn’t suppose such a swimmer would be _afraid_.”

Will could not forgive Finnegan for being the best swimmer in the party. Why couldn’t he have told he was born and brought up beside the water, and was as much at home in it as a water-rat?

Will had expected to lead off himself, most of the boys being novices, and chose to consider Bill’s accomplishments a personal grievance. Dick, on the contrary, was overjoyed to see how Finnegan “blossomed out,” as he termed it; dull, awkward, uncouth at home, down here among the rocks he was as ready and wide-awake as any of them.

“You know your father said we were to keep out of danger,” he remarked to Dick, as the latter began preparations for his picnic.

“Yes; but man alive! don’t you know the tide can’t come in in a minute? I don’t see any harm, only the trouble, and ‘many hands make quick work.’ Lend us a couple, won’t you?”

Needle Rock seemed especially suited to their purpose. There was a broad, shelving base large enough to accommodate them all comfortably on the shady side of the sharp, conical peak which gave the small promontory its name. They found a sort of natural fire-place on the opposite side, where they built their fire, broiled fish, and made coffee. If one was smoky and the other muddy, nobody considered it any objection, and nobody so much as looked at the sky, till a loud peal of thunder sounded just over their heads. They were on their feet in an instant. The sky was fearfully black.

“Take what you can and hurry over to the wagon!” cried Dick, seizing the coffee-pot and one lunch-basket.

“But the path—where is it? Oh! it’s all gone—all _gone_! We are drowned! We _are_ drowned!” and poor Robert ran this way and that, half frantic with fear.

“Don’t be a goose, Bob!” said Will, his own voice a trifle unsteady.

“I’m not sure it wouldn’t be a good thing if he was,” said Dick, taking a quick survey of the situation. “You were right, Finnegan; we oughtn’t to have come over here, but I meant to keep a good lookout.”

“Pho! all ’tis, we must climb up on that high shelf,” said Carter, carelessly. “Of course the rock is never half covered. Out of the way, Bill, unless you are too scared to move.”

Bill shut his teeth tightly together and moved a little nearer the edge. He had heard Griggs say the water sometimes rose to the very tip of the Needle. Most likely that was in a storm; but if the wind should go on increasing, and nobody knew where they were!

“We shall be ‘high’ if we aren’t ‘dry,’ up here,” called out Dick. “Only it’s a dreadfully narrow ‘shelf.’ Next time we’ll look twice before we leap.”

“Oh dear! the water’s clear up to our fire-place,” cried Robert, shivering with the rain and fright. “Don’t crowd so, Varney. What _shall_ we do if it comes any higher? Oh, I shall certainly blow off! Do get up here quick, Bill, so I needn’t be right on the edge.”

“He’s looking out for a more comfortable berth, where he won’t be crowded,” sneered Will, wedging himself into a corner.

“I’m going around the other side,” Bill spoke sharp and quick, and disappeared under the overhanging rocks.

“Come over to me, Rob,” said Dick. “There! brace your feet and you’ll be all right. It’s going to be more wind than rain, and if we only stick close—” but there was a tremor in his voice which silenced the oath on Tom Lawrence’s tongue, and sent a paleness over more than one cheek.

For the next fifteen minutes nobody spoke a word, or could have heard themselves if they had, it thundered so incessantly. The wind came in gusts, seeming to gather strength in each lull of its fury.

“How high is the water now?” asked Rob, when only the lashing of the waves broke the stillness. “Has it carried away the tea-kettle?”

“I guess it’s gone to sea by this time,” said Dick, trying to speak cheerily, although he shuddered at the steady rise of the angry waves towards their narrow refuge. Pretty soon Varney uttered a sharp cry as the white foam broke over his feet.

“Couldn’t a fellow swim ashore, if he knew how?” asked Tom, huskily.

Will Carter stood up and looked around.

“Not in such a sea as that, and there isn’t a boat in sight,” he said, shortly. “There’s no way; we might as well give up; it will be over our heads in less than an hour.”

He dropped down again, face to the rock. One loud, bitter cry for help broke from them all. The wind caught it up mockingly, shivered it into a hundred little echoes, and went shrieking away again. The boys crept still nearer together.

Suddenly Robert, who was clinging convulsively to Dick, cried out, “Say it over, Dick! Say it out loud! Will said there wasn’t _any_ way, and that’s so dreadful. Please, Dick!”

“I can’t think of the beginning,” Dick said slowly. “I learned it last winter, you know, but the third verse came to me when Will spoke. Perhaps I can think of the rest,” and in a voice low and tremulous at first, but growing stronger and clearer as the wind battled against it, he repeated,—

Once, tossed upon an angry, boiling sea, A boat was dashed upon a dreary shore; Heart-sick and like to die, his comrades three Cried, “Cuthbert, let us perish! hope is o’er.

“The furious tempest shuts the water-path; The snow-storm blinds us on the bitter land.” “Now, wherefore, friends, have ye so little faith?” God’s servant said, and stretching forth his hand,

He lifted up his reverent eyes and spake: “I thank Thee, Lord, the way is open there! No storm above our heads in wrath shall break, And shut the heavenward path of love and prayer.”

Sweet to me comes old Cuthbert’s word to-day, Sweet is the thought that Christ is always near; I seek Him by the ever-open way, Nor yield my courage to a shuddering fear.