Chapter 8

A LETTER FROM ABROAD.

'They look like the gates in the City.'

Bobby and True were lying upon the grass under a shady group of trees. They had been out motoring with their father all the morning, and had stopped to have their lunch up a by-road. They had had a merry meal, and then after it was over Mr. Allonby told them they had better stay where they were whilst he took his motor back to the neighbouring village to get some slight repairs done to it.

'It is very warm, so stay here quietly, and don't wander far from this place, or I shall not find you again.'

He went. For a short time they amused themselves quietly by the roadside. Then they thought they would like to see where the road took them, and walked up it until suddenly they were stopped by some very tall white iron gates. They peeped through the bars of them. There was a small lodge inside, but there seemed no one about. A long, broad, beautifully-kept drive went straight up to a white, turreted house in the distance. It looked almost like a castle. They tried to open the gates, but they were locked. Then they threw themselves down upon the grass outside, and Bobby thoughtfully said, as he eyed the gates in front of them:

'They look like the gates in the City.'

'What city?' asked True.

'It's a Bible city. Do you know about the gates kept by angels? They lead up to heaven, and the road is just like that in there, only there are people walking up them in white dresses. We shall have to get frough them some day.

'It'll be very nice,' said True comfortably.

Bobby looked at her, and his mouth pursed itself up gravely.

'Everybodies don't get frough. Some are shut outside.'

'Oh! Why?'

'Because they haven't white dresses on. My grandmother has a beautiful Bible with beautiful picshers in it, and the picsher of the lovely gates says: "Blessed are they that wash their robes in the blood of the Lamb, that they may have right to the tree of life, and enter in frough the gates into the City." I learnt that tex'. Lady Isobel teached it to me.'

'What's the tree of life?' asked True.

Bobby pointed inside the gate to a big beech-tree halfway up the drive.

'It's like that, but it has lovely golden apples on it. And the angels stand at the gate, and won't let nobody frough with a dirty dress.'

True glanced at her brown holland frock, which was smeared with green.

'My frocks never keep clean after half an hour,' she said with a little sigh.

'You have to get a nice white frock from Jesus,' went on Bobby, pleased with his role as teacher.

'He washes your dirty one in His blood. You know, when He died on the cross, that's how He shed His blood. And it turns all dirty things white and clean. Lady Is'bel teached me it did.'

'I don't believe Jesus Christ really washes frocks,' said True. 'I've never heard He does. It would be--be like a washerwoman.'

Bobby leant across to her eagerly.

'You don't un'stand prop'ly. It's a inside white frock over our hearts. Nobody sees it but Jesus and the angels at the gate--and God. Our hearts are quite dirty and black till we ask Jesus to wash them and put the white dress on. Why, I had mine done long ago--d'reckly I heard 'bout it. You ought to have yours. You'll never get inside the gates if you don't, and it would be quite dre'fful to be shut out.

'When is it?' asked True, deliberating.

'When is what?'

'The gates being opened.'

'I think it's when you die, you want to get frough,' said Bobby.

'Then I can wait till I die!' said True.

'What a silly girl you are!'

Bobby's tone was almost contemptuous.

'I'm not silly.'

'Yes you are. Fancy waiting when you can have it now. Why, you might die in a hurry, and then Jesus might be doing something else, and mightn't come to you in time. I'm all ready now. The tex' says I've a _right_ to go in at the gates _now_, if I wanted to.'

He stopped talking, for up the lane came a carriage, and it stopped at the gates.

Both the children sprang to their feet. They saw a woman in a white apron hurry out from the lodge and open the gate; they saw the carriage pass through and the gates close again. Then Bobby spoke very solemnly:

'Did you see who was in the carriage? A lady in a _white_ dress, and she had a _right_ to pass frough.'

'You are a funny boy,' said True with a little laugh. 'She belonged to the house, and she's just going home.'

'Well,' argued Bobby, 'I belong to the golden City, and I shall have a right to go in--the tex' says so; and I shall be going home; because you know, True, God is my other Father, and God lives at home in heaven.'

There was silence, then True said:

'We had better go back to dad. I'll ask mother next Sunday about those gates, and see if you've told me true. She always talks good to me on Sunday afternoon.'

Bobby turned away from the white gates with reluctance.

'Would it be wicked to play at going in at those gates?' he asked. 'We might come another day by ourselves and try to get in.'

'So we will,' said True. 'It couldn't be wicked if we play what's in the Bible, because everything is good there.'

They returned to the spot where Mr. Allonby had arranged to meet them. He was just appearing along the road, and when they were tucked safely in the car again Bobby said:

'Who lives inside the big white gates up that road, father?'

'I don't know, my boy. I don't know this part of the country.'

'How far are we from home?' asked True.

'About twenty miles.'

The children sighed simultaneously. Then True said:

'We'll never get there, Bobby.'

'P'raps we shall pass some other white gates nearer home,' he suggested.

'Why do you want them?' asked their father.

Bobby laid his hand on his coat sleeve impressively.

'They're so like the gates into heaven, father.'

Mr. Allonby looked startled.

'Have you been there, sonny?'

'No; but I've seen them in a picsher.'

'Well?'

'I was splaning to True about them.'

Bobby was a wee bit shy of his father. He could not talk quite freely to him yet. He was so terribly afraid of being laughed at, and Mr. Allonby was not good at hiding his amusement at some of his son's quaint speeches.

'It's kind of Sunday talk,' put in True eagerly, 'about angels, and white dresses, and washing.'

'Ah!' said Mr. Allonby, 'then you must take your puzzles to the angel of our house. She will tell you all you want to know.'

'That's mother,' said True in a whisper to Bobby. 'She's father's angel. He is awful 'fraid she will get some wings and fly away one day.'

Other topics engrossed their small minds; but upon the next Sunday afternoon, when they were both sitting by Mrs. Allonby's sofa and she was giving them a Bible lesson out of her big Bible, True brought up the subject.

'Will you read us about the gates of heaven, mother? Bobby says he'll be let inside, and I shall be shut out.'

'No, I didn't.'

'Yes, you did.'

'We won't have any quarrelling. What do you want to hear about?'

'The gates,' said Bobby, 'the beautiful gates. It's the last page of the Bible. I know it is. Will you read, True, the tex' about having a right to enter? It begins, "Blessed----"'

Mrs. Allonby had no difficulty in finding it. She read very slowly.

'Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the City.'

'There!' said True, 'it doesn't say anything about washing, Bobby.'

Bobby looked sorely perplexed.

'Lady Is'bel teached it to me out of the Talian Bible. "Blessed are they that wash their robes in the blood of the Lamb, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in frough the gates into the City." That's my tex', I know it is.'

Mrs. Allonby smiled at his disconsolate face.

'It is another version, Bobby.'

'But isn't it true?' he questioned. 'You see it's so 'ticular to me, 'cause I've had my robe washed. I knows I have, and I thought I was quite ready to go in.'

'You're quite right, darling. Listen to this verse about the City. "There shall in no wise enter into it anything that defileth." No one can be allowed in if they are stained with sin, no dirt, no impurity. We must have had our hearts washed white before we can go in. Only Jesus can do this; but we must not think that is all we have to do. What makes our hearts dirty and black?'

'Being naughty,' said True.

'Yes. We must ask Jesus to help us do His commandments, so as to keep our hearts clean. The two go together; and it is very important they should. If Bobby says his heart is washed by Jesus, and then quarrels, and loses his temper and wants his own way, I shall know something is not right. Remember you must be washed, and you will want to be washed every day again and again, but you must try to keep clean by doing His commandments. Everyone you break leaves a stain upon your robe, and grieves your Saviour.'

'Oh dear, oh dear!' sighed Bobby, 'He'll get quite tired of me, I know He will. I think I'm much wickeder here than I was at grandmother's.'

'And I'm wickeder since you came to us,' said True, nodding her head at him. 'You do make me so awful angry by things you say!'

Bobby looked quite crushed.

'Isn't it quite certain I'll be let inside?' he asked.

Mrs. Allonby smiled.

'Thank God you can be quite certain of that, Bobby. It doesn't depend on what we do, but upon what Jesus did for us. Let me tell you a little story. Two little girls were going to be taken out to tea one afternoon with their mother. Their names were Nellie and Ada. They were dressed in clean white frocks, and told they might walk up and down the garden path till their mother joined them. "But don't go on the grass," she said, "or you may soil your frocks. It has been raining, and it is wet and muddy." For a short time they walked up and down the path as good as gold. Then Ada saw a frog hop away over the grass. She forgot her mother's command, and ran after it. The grass was slippery; she fell, and her clean frock was all smeared and spoilt by muddy streaks. Her mother came out and was very vexed. "Now, Ada, you will have to stay at home. I can't take you in a dirty frock. It will serve you right for being so disobedient." Ada cried and sobbed, and said she was sorry, and begged to be taken. But her mother said no. Then Nellie, who loved her sister, and was an unselfish little girl, said: "Mother, dear, do take Ada, she is so sorry; let me stay at home, and then she can wear my frock." At first the mother wouldn't hear of this, but Nellie begged so hard that at last she consented. Ada's dirty frock was taken off her and Nellie's clean one put on her. She went to the party and Nellie stayed at home. Now don't you think, as she walked along with her mother, that she would be very careful not to dirty Nellie's clean frock? I think she would be more careful than ever. Jesus Christ kept His robe pure and spotless. He never sinned at all, so His robe is put over us, and we can enter the gates. But oughtn't we to be very careful not to sin, just to show Him how we value our robe, how we love Him for being so kind and good to us?' Mrs. Allonby paused. Bobby nodded his head very solemnly at her.

'Me and Nobbles will 'member that story. I'll tell him it in bed. You know sometimes I make Nobbles do naughty things, but sometimes'--here the twinkle came into the brown eyes--'sometimes Nobbles puts naughty things in my head. He whispers them to me in bed.'

'That isn't Nobbles,' said True, in her downright fashion, 'that's the Devil, isn't it, motherums?'

'No,' asserted Bobby, 'it's Nobbles, all by himself. P'raps Satan may have whispered to him first. Shall I tell you what he wants me to do to-morrer?'

'Oh, do!' True's eagerness to hear Bobby's inventions got the better of her. Mrs. Allonby said nothing. She liked the children to talk freely before her, and she gained a good deal by being listener sometimes.

'You know those top pears on the wall what _won't_ fall down? Nobbles says if I get on a chair and reach up he'll hit them down, and then I can pick them up. We was finking about doing it first thing before breakfus' to-morrer!'

'But it would be _you_ that would do it; and dad said we weren't to touch them unless they were on the ground.'

'It wouldn't be me, it would be Nobbles,' insisted Bobby. 'I couldn't reach up half so high.'

'Then if Nobbles does it,' said Mrs. Allonby, very quietly, 'I shall have to punish him. I shall shut him up in a cupboard for a whole day.'

Bobby looked quite frightened.

'Me and Nobbles have never been away from each other, never once!'

'Then I should take care he does nothing naughty. After all, Bobby, darling, he can't do anything unless you help him, can he?'

'No,' said Bobby slowly; 'and if him and me knocked those pears down it would make a black mark on my robe, wouldn't it!'

'Indeed it would!'

'Then we'll 'cidedly not do it,' said Bobby with emphasis. 'I'm going to try hard to be always good--for evermore!'

It needed hard trying, poor Bobby found, especially when he and True both wanted their own way at the same time, and they could not make those ways agree. But gradually they learnt lessons of forbearance and patience, and mutually helped each other to be unselfish.

One morning Bobby had a letter brought him by the postman. He turned it over with the greatest pride and interest. It had been redirected to him by his grandmother.

'I've never had a letter from anybody,' he said.

'Oh, be quick and open it,' urged True, dancing round him. 'All sorts of things happen when you get letters. It might be from the King, or from a fairy godmother, or a princess!'

Bobby's fingers trembled as he opened the envelope.

'P'raps,' continued True, who was never wanting for ideas, 'you've got a fortune left you, and a lot of money will tumble out.'

But it was only a letter, and though the writing was very clear and plain, Bobby begged his father to read it to him.

The children had breakfast with their father always. Mrs. Allonby did not leave her room till later in the morning.

Mr. Allonby read the letter through, and Bobby leant forward in his chair listening to it with open eyes and mouth.

'MY DEAREST LITTLE BOBBY--

'Have you forgotten the sad lady in her garden, I wonder? The one you comforted by your sweet quaintness and loving-heartedness? I have often thought of you in this hot country, and now I am feeling rather sad again, I thought I would cheer myself up by writing to my little friend.

'I had such a happy time when I first came out, Bobby. Do you remember the picture of the golden gates? I found the little black children and women here were so interested in hearing about it that I set to work and drew and painted a big picture after the fashion of that beautiful one in your grandmother's Bible. I used to draw a good deal when I was a girl, but my attempt is very poor when I think of the original. Still the children here were so delighted with it that I wondered if you would be too. So I set to work to paint another, and this one is coming to you through the post. Perhaps Nurse will hang it up in your nursery for you. How is Nobbles? Give him my love. I hope he doesn't cut off the heads of the poor flowers now. He will be older and wiser I expect. Are you still sitting up in bed at night and fancying you hear your father's knock? Or do you sit in your apple-tree and think you see him coming along the road? How I hope he will arrive home one day and take you by surprise! I have not forgotten that I am to try to find him for you, and curiously enough I heard his name mentioned the other evening when I was dining with some old friends of mine. And who do you think was talking about him, Bobby? Your Uncle Mortimer. Isn't it funny that I should meet him out here? I knew him when I was a little girl, but of course he did not remember me. There was a Major Knatchbull, who had met your father in South America, but he had not seen him for several years. I told your uncle that I wanted to find your father, and then we discovered that we had both promised the same small boy to do so. How I hope we shall succeed in our quest! Now I must tell you why I am feeling sad. I have not been well since I came out here, and the doctors tell me that I must not stay in India. So that means I must give up my work, which I was beginning to love, and come back to my empty house and home. Will you come and comfort me if I do? It won't be just yet, for I shall stay out here till the rainy season is over. Good-bye, my darling. If you can write me a little