Part 9

“Poor, low, ignorant people like you and me, Will,” said Miss Marvin, quietly. “_So_ poor, we have no right to a foot of God’s great earth nor one breath of His pure air, save as He suffers us to use it; so ignorant, we cannot trace one step of the way back to our Father’s house. I remember an anecdote like this:—

“‘Young Harry was sent on an errand one evening in early winter. After giving him his message his mother said, “Be sure you take the lantern with you, Harry.”

“‘“Bother the lantern!” answered the boy, gruffly and disrespectfully; and he started, muttering to himself, “What do I want with a lantern? I guess I know the way well enough!”

“‘Very soon Master Harry, in crossing the street, stumbled into a hole which had been made by a recent rain. By this fall he knocked the flesh from his shin-bone and covered his clothing with mud.

“‘On his way back he forgot the fence had fallen in near the edge of the ravine. As he groped his way along the bank, he fell over, and went sprawling to the bottom of the ravine.

“‘With much ado and after many bruisings, he got into the road once more; but when he finally reached his mother’s door, he looked more like a scarecrow than a living boy.

“‘The lantern would have saved him from all this: wasn’t he a foolish fellow not to take it?

“‘But what shall be said of those boys and girls who know the Bible to be the only lamp which can guide their feet safely through the paths of life to their home in heaven, and yet refuse to carry it! Are they not still more foolish?’”

* * * * *

“I remember a story something like that,” said Jenny King. “It said,—

“‘A boy was once sailing down a river in which there was a very dangerous channel. He watched the old steersman with great interest, and observed that whenever he came near a ball of painted wood, he changed his course.

“‘“Why do you turn out of your way for these painted balls?” asked the boy.

“‘The old man looked up from under his shaggy brows, too much taken up with his task to talk, and simply growled out, “Rocks.”

“‘“Well, I would not turn out for those bits of wood,” said the boy; “I would go right over them.”

“‘The old man replied only by a look. “Poor, foolish lad,” it said, “how little you know about _rocks_!”’”

“Yes,” said Miss Marvin, “many a poor soul has looked at the buoys in the Bible, pointing out some danger, and said, ‘I know better; I shall sail right along,’ and has gone down in a sea of darkness and desolation. Remember, too, a good sailor _studies_ his course: he is not content with a glance at the map or chart now and then. So, my dear boys and girls, let us _study_ God’s Word, searching in it for hidden treasures, for only those who find its pearl of great price can ever be truly rich or wise or happy. Sceptics and unbelievers seldom search the Scriptures. They deny without examination and reject without trial. Their Bibles have no ‘pins’ in them like the old lady’s, of whom I read not long since. As her sight began to fail, she found it hard to find her favorite verses; but she could not live without them; so what did she do? She stuck a pin in them, one by one, and after her death they counted one hundred and sixty-eight. When people went to see her, she would feel over the page after her pin, and say, ‘Read here,’ or ‘Read there’; and she knew pretty well what promise was by this pin and what by that.”

“I think Aunty McFane knows her Bible almost by heart,” said Susy, with a tear in her eye. “And did you ever hear her repeat that beautiful hymn? I learned it from her one day, it was so pretty.”

“Tell it to us, please. I think there will be just time enough before the bell rings.”

IX.

AUNTY McFANE’S HYMN.

“For there is one God and one Mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus.”

Weary of earth and laden with my sin, I look at heaven and long to enter in; But there no evil thing may find a home, And yet _I hear a voice that bids me come_.

So vile I am, how dare I hope to stand In the pure glory of that holy land,— Before the whiteness of that throne appear? _Yet there are hands stretched out to draw me near._

The while I fain would tread the heavenly way, Evil is ever with me day by day: Yet on mine ears the gracious tidings fall,— Repent, confess, thou shalt be loosed from all.

It is the voice of Jesus that I hear, His are the hands stretched out to draw me near; And His the blood that can for all atone, And set me faultless, there, before the throne.

’Twas He who found me on the deathly wild, And made me heir of heaven, the Father’s child; And day by day, whereby my soul may live, Gives me His grace of pardon, and will give.

Yea, thou wilt answer for me, righteous Lord! Thine all the merit, mine the great reward; Thine the sharp thorns, and mine the golden crown; Mine the life won, and thine the life laid down.

X.

HOW TO BE GOOD.

“Not slothful in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.”

“Oh, dear! I wish I had something to do,” sighed Maybee one afternoon. “I think it’s real mean for Tod to have the measles ’fore I catched ’em too; ’cause we could have played sick all together; and now, mamma stays over there and leaves me all alone—”

“That is just like _some_ little girls,—wanting to make their mothers all the trouble they can,” remarked Aunt Cynthia, severely. “Get your little chair and I’ll read you a story out of my basket.” There were always a great many slips of paper in the “patch-work basket,” mostly poetry, with now and then a story.

“Mamma always holds me,” pouted Maybee, dragging up her little rocker rather reluctantly.

“Such a great big girl! I should be ashamed. I never wanted to tire _my_ mother that way,” said Aunt Cynthia, turning over one paper after another.

“I don’t believe she ever wanted you to,” muttered Maybee, curling her head down on the sofa-pillow, and preparing to listen.

Aunt Cynthia put on her glasses, cleared her throat, and began:—

“‘Ma! get me the Bible, ma! I’m going to commence to be good, for there is a comet coming that’s going to strike the earth and burn it up!’ said little Frank one day, as he ran with great haste into the room where his mother was sitting.

“‘There is a Bible on the table, my son,’ said his mother; ‘but who has been talking with you about the comet?’

“‘Oh! I heard the men in the yard say so. Where shall I read? It has opened here itself. Shall I read aloud, ma?’

“Frank answered his mother’s question, and then without waiting for his mother to reply to what he had asked her, began to read from the book of Malachi as follows: ‘For behold the day cometh that shall burn as an oven, and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly shall be as stubble, and the day that cometh shall burn them up, saith the Lord of hosts.’ Here he paused, and seemed to be reading to himself; then in a manner more composed he said, ‘Is that about the comet, ma?’

“But his mother was prevented from replying by the entrance of her brother, who presently, noticing Frank was reading the Bible, inquired if he was studying his Sabbath School lesson.

“Frank replied that he was not, and added ‘I’m afraid the comet is coming to burn the earth, uncle.’

“‘And where is Charles?’ said his uncle. ‘Is he not afraid, too?’

“‘Charles is out in the yard piling wood. I told him he’d better come in and read the Bible, but he said pa had told us to pile the wood, and that he remembered his last Sabbath School lesson, and could think of that if he _wanted_ to, without reading the Bible; but I meant to be good, so I came right in as soon as I could. And now shall I call Charles, uncle?’

“‘Has he got the wood all piled?’

“‘I don’t know, uncle, but I don’t think he can have piled it all by this time.’

“‘And if he comes in, who will pile the wood?’ asked his uncle.

“‘I don’t know; perhaps pa will,’ said Frank, somewhat thoughtfully.

“‘And would it be better for your father to pile the wood than for his two little boys to do it?’ inquired his uncle.

“Frank waited awhile before he replied, and then said, in a tone of earnest surprise, ‘Why, Uncle Thompson, do you think it is being as good to pile wood as to read the Bible?’

“His uncle replied, ‘To pile wood when it is the proper time to pile wood is as much an act of goodness as to read the Bible in the proper time.’

“‘Why, uncle, I thought it was always proper to read the Bible at any time. Isn’t it?’

“‘The truths of the Bible you should have stored in your mind,’ replied his uncle, ‘and be always ready to act upon the precepts which it teaches; but _duty_ can never call you two ways at the same time, so there may be times when it is more proper to do something else than to read the Bible. As you have the Bible before you, you may turn to the sixth chapter of Ephesians and read me the first three verses.’

“‘I can tell without looking, uncle, for that was our last Sabbath School lesson. It is, “Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honor thy father and thy mother, which is the first commandment with promise. That it ‘may be well with thee, and that thou mayest live long on the earth.’” I said that last Sabbath to my teacher; isn’t that right, uncle?’

“‘Yes, you have the precept in your mind; you can repeat it very correctly. You can repeat the fifth commandment, too, can you not, Frank?’

“‘Yes, sir, I can say them _all_,’ replied Frank, in a very happy tone.

“‘And what does the _fifth_ teach you to do?’

“‘To obey my father and mother. Is _that_ right, uncle?’

“‘Yes, Frank. The Old Testament and the New give you the same instruction. Now, _when_ must you obey?’

“‘My teacher said we must obey when we hear the command.’

“‘Yes, that is the time; not like a little boy I knew of last winter, who went into the room where his mother was sitting, with a snowball in his hand which he was eating. His mother bade him put it into the urn, for she was afraid it would make him sick. He kept taking bite after bite, and at length, when asked which he loved best, the snowball or his mother, replied, “I love my mother best, but I can’t _eat_ my mother.” Then to please himself he dropped the small piece he had left into the urn. He might have said he loved _himself_ the best, for we always try to please those most that we love best.’

“‘That was _me_, uncle; I remember it,’ Frank replied. ‘And _can it be_, uncle, that my heavenly Father is as well pleased with me when I pile wood as when I read the Bible?’

“His uncle replied, ‘To perform any duty with the spirit of obedience is pleasing to your heavenly Father. “To obey is better than sacrifice,” and great knowledge of the Scripture without practising it cannot make a Christian any more than great knowledge of geography can make a voyager of one who never leaves his home. The supposition that a comet is about to destroy the earth is groundless; but if you fear God and keep His commandments, not forgetting to do your duty after you have closed your Bible, you will be prepared for any event that may await you. Do you understand me, Frank?’

“‘Yes, sir,’ replied Frank, smiling, ‘and I’m going to help Charles, and to tell him what you say.’

* * * * *

“There! isn’t that a nice story?” said Aunt Cynthia, complacently. “You see, what God wants is for every little boy, and girl, too, to mind their fathers and mothers. Praying and reading the Bible doesn’t do the least mite of good unless we do all our stents without fretting, and remember to hang up our hats, and when mother wants—”

“I don’t like morals stuck on behind,” said Maybee, with a defiant toss of her head. “It’s a good ’nough story, an’ I’d just as lieves not hear any more about it.”

XI.

BELL’S BIBLE READING.

“For our gospel came not unto you in word only, but also in power, and in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance.”

“Wasn’t it perfectly splendid?” said Bell Forbush, coming out of church.

“Did you think so?” queried Jenny King, stretching her neck for another glimpse of Miss Georgiana’s new fall hat. “I thought it looked for all the world like an L with a French roof, built right on to the back of her head.”

“Oh! I meant the sermon,” said Bell, coloring, with a consciousness how much more frequently it was bonnets than sermons she meant. “I do think it was lovely. Don’t you, Cousin Mate?”

“‘Whatsoever things are lovely, think on these things,’” returned Miss Marvin, smiling, and dropping behind to speak with Judy Ryan.

“Do you suppose we could read the Bible to poor folks and show them how to be real nice, as he said that beautiful young lady did?” resumed Bell, walking along with Jenny.

“I don’t know. It’s always ‘_beautiful_ young ladies’ in books. Don’t you remember in ‘Ministering Children’ about the ‘snow-white pony,’ and the children all running to meet her, and the old blind women so glad to see—hear her, I mean—”

“You know,” broke in Bell, “there’s lots of poor folks down to the Mills.”

“Yes; but they wouldn’t like it, I don’t believe; we’re so small.”

“Why, I’m most as tall as my mother, Jenny King; and besides, doesn’t Cousin Mate say the Bible can help everybody? That’s enough to convert them, of course.”

They stopped to ask Sue Sherman to join them.

“We’ll go separately, and see who reads the most chapters to the most folks,” said Bell.

“Does Miss Marvin approve?” asked Sue.

“Yes, indeed. She told us we ought to first,” returned Bell, enlarging a little upon her cousin’s suggestion.

They set out promptly Monday afternoon,—Sue with some misgivings, as Bell would not allow her to consult her mother, because no one was to know anything about it till all the folks down at the Mills began to come to church. Wouldn’t people be so surprised!

At the first house Bell found a big, red-faced woman, washing, with a dozen children, more or less, rolling around on the floor. “Wouldn’t you like to send the dear little things to Sabbath School?” inquired Bell, in her sweetest manner.

“Faith, an’ haven’t they a church of their own, an’ a praste to look after them, letting alone it isn’t your business at all, at all?” was the rather indignant response.

“Perhaps you would like to hear me read a chapter in the Bible,” persisted Bell, very graciously, at the same time drawing her light muslin dress away from the wooden chair one of the “little dears” pushed towards her, without the dusting process so common in stories.

“Get out wid your hiritic books, an’ you a turning up your noses at the likes of us!” snapped the frowzle-headed woman, facing her visitor with arms akimbo. Bell took a rather informal leave, and hurried on to the next house. A little, meek-faced woman, who had evidently been crying, opened the door.

“Shure, an’ I wish you’d do something to make my poor Tommy feel aisier! The docther says he’ll die for sure,” and she broke out in violent demonstrations of grief.

“I’m certain he’ll be glad to hear some of these beautiful verses,” rejoined Bell, opening her Bible,—“only,” she added, as a sudden thought struck her, “I hope it isn’t anything catching?”

“It’s some kind of a faver with a quare name. Poor little Tommy! he’ll be so glad to see somebody.” And the mother opened the door into a small, close, although passably clean room.

“I—I don’t believe I can stay now,” stammered Bell. “Here’s a nice tract. I really can’t stop.” And away she went, thinking to herself, “It may be the _yellow_ fever or something horrid, and I should certainly catch it. Dear me! look at the children’s heads in that large tenement house; it will be such a bedlam it’s no use to go in. And next comes Molly Dinah’s; she’s so dreadfully dirty, I shall just lay a tract right in at that open window.” As she did so, a coarse, tawdrily-dressed woman looked out of the house opposite.

“Molly’s not at home. Won’t you come in and wait, dear? It’s seldom so purty a face comes our way. An’ I should know you was a born lady just by your walk. Do sit down, miss,” and she wiped a chair with her ragged dress, after the most approved style.

Bell was on tiptoe at once. Here was just the opportunity.

“Would you like to hear a chapter from the Bible?”

“Sure, wouldn’t I? It’s long since the likes of me has been that lucky. You have beautiful eyes, miss, and such a lovely complexion!”

Bell, highly gratified, selected the one hundred and nineteenth Psalm.

“How beautifully you read!” exclaimed her listener when she had finished. “Haven’t you a bit of loose change a body could buy a sup of tea with? What with the hard times, it’s meself hasn’t tasted tea for months, an’ you see how the old room looks.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Bell, dignifiedly. “I was just thinking how much better it would be if only the windows were washed and those shelves cleared up. Your dress, too, is very ragged, and it doesn’t take money to keep ourselves clean and neat. _I_ am not allowed to drink tea, and—”

Presto! what a change! Bell was glad to get out of hearing.

“Is that you?” called Jenny King, from across the street. “How _do_ you make out?”

“I’ve called at four houses,” returned Bell, evasively.

“Honor bright? Why, I’ve been reading the whole time to one real old man. Had to holler like anything. I declare! here comes Sue with a big pail and a mite of a boy. Where have you started for now?”

“Berrying. Want to go?” laughed Sue.

“A queer way to read the Bible,” remarked Bell, loftily.

“Well, it all seemed to go together. I found a little girl with a sprained ankle and read her some Bible stories; one was about the healing of Jairus’ daughter, and she cried right out and said, ‘O mother! don’t you wish that Man would make me well? we want the berries _so_ bad!’ and I coaxed her to tell me all about it. Some crusty old woman has engaged to buy all the berries they will bring her every day for two weeks, and the money is to pay their rent; but she’s so fussy if they disappoint her one single night they’ll lose the chance. Saturday night Abby hurt her foot, and this little chap can’t go alone, although he’s a dabster at picking, aren’t you, Bub? To-day and to-morrow the mother has to wash for folks; after that she can go herself; so I’ve offered. Let’s all go and get them a lot.”

“The idea of _my_ picking berries to sell!” exclaimed Bell.

“Or to give away, either,” laughed Jenny. “Never mind, I’ll go with Sue, and you can call at all the other houses, you get along so fast, Bell.”

“I do believe that good Man sent you,” said little Abby, clapping her hands, when Sue came back with three well-filled pails.

“I think He did,” whispered Sue, with tears in her eyes. “And you must be all ready early in the morning, Jaky, before it is so hot.”

“And will you bring the Book and read another bit?” asked Jaky’s mother. “I’ve never believed a word of it before, but it sounded wonderful comfortin’ to-day with your doing and all. I’ll never say ’em nay again when they ask for the childers to go to Sabbath School.”

“It needed the berries and Bible both, didn’t it?” said Jenny, thoughtfully, as they walked home. “How came you to think to offer? I never should.”

Sue hesitated.

“I guess I know,” said Jenny, hurriedly. “You prayed beforehand, and I forgot all about it. I do believe that makes all the difference in the world.”

XII.

WHAT COUSIN MATE SAID.

“For the word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword.”

“I don’t think reading the Bible to folks is any sort of use,” said Bell, coming out on the piazza where her cousin was sitting, the next Saturday night.

“Have you been trying it?” asked Miss Marvin.

“Why, yes; last Monday I went all the whole afternoon, and I never saw such hateful, disagreeable people in all my life,—they didn’t seem to care the least bit; and then Sue and Jenny went off berrying—”

“I met Sue this afternoon, and she says some little boy and his mother are coming to Sabbath School to-morrow.”

“They are? Dear me, I couldn’t get a single one to say they would come. I don’t think the Bible is so very powerful.”

“Let me read you a bit of poetry,” said Cousin Mate, opening her book.

“Let me hear, too,” said Jenny King, coming up the path and sitting down on the steps.

“Thy Word, a wondrous guiding star On pilgrim hearts doth rise, Leads to their Lord, who dwells afar, And makes the simple, wise.

“Thy Word, O Lord! like gentle dews Falls soft on hearts that pine. Lord, to thy garden ne’er refuse This heavenly balm of thine. Watered for Thee, let every tree Break forth and blossom to thy praise, And bear much fruit in after days.

“Thy Word is like a flaming sword, A wedge that cleaveth stone; Keen as a fire so burns thy Word, And pierceth flesh and bone. Let it go forth o’er all the earth, To purify all hearts within And shatter all the might of sin.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with our Bible-reading,” said Bell, peevishly.

“I was thinking,” said Miss Marvin, “how carefully the gardener needs to loosen the earth around his plants to help the dew in its work; and how, although the sword may be keen and studded with jewels, there must be a strong, willing arm, obedient to a wise captain, before it can accomplish its whole mission.”

“But what has it to do with us?” repeated Bell, impatiently.

“Why, can’t you see?” said Jenny. “We didn’t do our part of the work right.”

“I should like to know why.”

“Well, for one thing, I forgot to pray,” said Jenny, hesitatingly; “and—well, to make folks love the Bible I guess you have to show them you love their bodies, somehow, don’t you, Miss Marvin?”

“Exactly. When God sent the apostles out to preach the gospel, He gave them, not only the Word, but power to heal the sick and work many miracles. They had also, what you forgot to ask for, the help of God’s Holy Spirit.”

“But you told me your own self about a man who found just a torn page of the Bible, and it made him a Christian,” said Bell, sulkily.

“Yes, God can make His Word accomplish what He will in any way He pleases. But _we_ need, when we use it, the Holy Spirit, and warm, sympathizing, helping, human hands as well.”

“I’m going to try again,” said Jenny. “I’ve been picking out some verses for my old man, and I’ve made him a little pocket for his spectacles; he said he was always losing them.”

XIII.

“CHRIST” OR “SELF.”

“For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus’ sake.”

“Let me read you something else, Bell, dear,” said Miss Marvin, after Jenny had gone. “Perhaps it will show you another reason why you met with so little success, last Monday.

“THE MASTER’S FACE.

“A great artist called together his friends to view a magnificent work, on which he had been long engaged.

“‘Tell me,’ he said to the friend on whose judgment he most relied, ‘what do you think is the best point in my picture?’

“‘O brother,’ said the enraptured artist, ‘it is all beautiful; but that chalice,—that is a perfect masterpiece, a gem!’

“Sorrowfully the artist took his brush and dashed it over the toil of weary days, and turning to his friends, he said, ‘O brothers, if there is anything in my piece more beautiful than the _Master’s face_ I have sought to put there, let it be gone!’”

* * * * *

“St. Bernard once preached an eloquent sermon which all the great and learned went away applauding; but he walked sadly home with downcast eyes, while occasional sighs revealed a mind deeply dejected.

“The next day he preached a plain but earnest discourse, which touched the hearts of many, but elicited no applause. That day his heart was glad and his countenance glowing. On being questioned why he should be sad when so applauded, and yet so cheerful when he received no praise, he answered, ‘Yesterday I preached Bernard; to-day, Jesus Christ.’