THE ONE GREAT NEED.
For this I know, whate'er of earthly good
Fall to the portion of immortal man,
Still unfulfill'd in him is God's great plan.
And Heaven's richest gift misunderstood,
Until the Word of Life—exhaustless store
Of light and truth—be his for evermore.
[Illustration] IN the homes of the poor, where the time of the elder
members of the family is precious, they being the bread-winners of the
household, the little ones learn to be useful very early. How often we
have known girls of six to take the entire charge of a younger brother
and sister, while many children of that age run errands, do simple
shopping, and make themselves of very real and substantial use.
Such was the case in the family of Jacob Jones. Jacob and Molly were
engaged in weaving the woollen cloth, so much of which used to be
made in Wales. Thus many of the household duties devolved upon Mary;
and at an age when children of richer parents are amusing themselves
with their dolls or picture-books, our little maid was sweeping, and
dusting, and scrubbing, and digging and weeding.
It was Mary who fed the few hens, and looked for their eggs, so often
laid in queer, wrong places, rather than in the nest.
It was Mary who took care of the hive, and who never feared the
bees; and it was Mary again, who, when more active duties were done,
would draw a low stool towards the hearth in winter or outside the
cottage door in summer, and try to make or mend her own little simple
garments, singing to herself the while in Welsh, a verse or two of the
old-fashioned metrical version of the Psalms, or repeating texts which
she had picked up and retained in her quick, eager little brain.
In the long, light summer evenings, it was her delight to sit where
she could see the majestic form of Cader Idris with its varying lights
and shadows, as the sun sank lower and lower in the horizon. And in
her childish imagination, this mountain was made to play many a part,
as she recalled the stories which her parents had told her, and the
chapters she had heard read at chapel.
Now, Cader Idris was the mountain in the land of Moriah whither the
patriarch was sent on his painful mission; and Mary would fix her great
dark eyes upon the rocky steeps before her, until she fancied she could
see the venerable Abraham and his son toiling up towards the appointed
place of sacrifice, the lad bearing the wood for the burnt-offering.
More and more vividly the whole scene would grow upon the child's
fancy, until the picture seemed to be almost a reality, and she could
imagine that she heard the patriarch's voice borne faintly to her ear
by the breeze that fanned her cheek—a voice that replied pathetically
to his son's question, in the words, "My son, the Lord will provide
Himself a lamb for the burnt-offering."
Then the scene would change; night was drawing near, and Cader Idris
assuming softer outlines, was the mountain where the Saviour went to
pray.
Leaving the thronging multitude who had been dwelling upon His every
word—leaving even His disciples whom He so loved, there was Jesus—alone
save for the Eternal Father's presence—praying, and refreshing thus His
weary spirit, after the work and trials and sorrows of the day.
"If I'd only lived in those days," sighed little Mary, sometimes, "how
I should have loved Him! And He'd have taught me, perhaps, as He did
those two who walked such a long way with Him, without knowing that it
was Jesus; only I think 'I' should have known Him, just through love."
Nor was it only the mountain with which Mary associated scenes from
sacred history or Gospel narration. The long, narrow valley in the
upper end of which Llanfihangel was situated, ran down to the sea at no
great distance by a place called Towyn. And when the child happened to
be near, she would steal a few moments to sit down on the shore, and
gaze across the blue-green waters of Cardigan Bay, and dream of the Sea
of Galilee, and of the Saviour who walked upon its waters—who stilled
their raging with a word, and who even sometimes chose to make His
pulpit of a boat, and preach thus to the congregation that stood upon
the shore and clustered to the very edge of the water, so that they
might not lose a word of the precious things that He spoke. It will be
seen, therefore, that upon Mary's mind a deep and lasting impression
was made by all that she had heard; and child though she might be in
years, there were not wanting in her evidences of an earnest, energetic
nature, an intelligent brain, and a warm, loving heart.
It is by the first leaves put forth by the seedling that we discern
the nature, and know the name of the plant; and so in childhood, the
character and talents can often be detected in the early beauty of
their first unfolding and development.
One afternoon, when Jacob and his wife were seated at their looms, and
Mary was sewing a patch into an almost worn-out garment of her own, a
little tap at the dour was followed by the entrance of Mrs. Evans, the
good farmer's wife, a kind, motherly, and in some respects superior
woman, who was looked up to and beloved by many of the Llanfihangel
villagers.
"Good day to you, neighbours!" she said, cheerily, her comely face all
aglow. "Jacob, how is your chest feeling? Bad, I'm afraid, as I haven't
seen you out of late. Molly, you're looking hearty as usual, and my
little Mary, too—Toddles, as I used to call you when you were not much
more than a baby, and running round on your sturdy pins as fast as many
a bigger child. Don't I remember you then! A mere baby as I said, and
yet you'd keep a deal stiller than any mouse if your father there would
make up a story you could understand, more particular if it was out
of the Bible. Daniel and the Lions, or David and the Giant, or Peter
in the Prison—these were the favourites then. Yes, and the history of
Joseph and his brethren, only you used to cry when the naughty brothers
put Joseph in the pit, and went home and told Jacob that wicked lie
that almost broke the old man's heart."
"She's as fond of anything of that sort now as she was then," said
Jacob Jones, pausing in his work; "or rather she's fonder than ever,
ma'am. I only wish we were able to give her a bit of schooling. It
seems hard, for the child is willing enough, and it's high time she
was learning something. Why, Mrs. Evans, she can't read yet, and she's
eight years old!"
Mary looked up, her face flushing, her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh! If I only could learn!" she cried, eagerly. "I'm such a big girl,
and it's so dreadful not to know how to read. If I could, I would read
all the lovely stories myself, and not trouble any one to tell them."
"You forget, Mary, we've no Bible," said Molly Jones, "and we can't
afford to buy one either, so dear and scarce they are."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Evans, "it's a great want in our country; my
husband was telling me only the other day that the scarcity of Welsh
Bibles is getting to be spoken of everywhere. Even those who can afford
to pay for them get them with difficulty, and only by bespeaking them;
and poor people can't get them at all. But we hope the Society for
Christian Knowledge in London may print some more soon; it won't be
before they're wanted.
"But with all this talk, Mrs. Jones," continued the farmer's wife, "I
am forgetting my errand in coming here, and that was to ask if you'd
any new-laid eggs. I've a large order sent me, and our hens are laying
badly, so that I can't make up the number. I've been collecting a few
here and there, but I haven't enough yet."
"Mary knows more about the hens and eggs than I do," said Molly,
looking at her little daughter, who had not put a stitch into her patch
while the talk about Bibles had been going on, and whose cheeks and
eyes showed in their deepened colour and light how much interested she
had been in what had been said.
But now the child started half guiltily from her low seat, saying,
"I'll get what we have to show you, Mrs. Evans."
Presently she came in with a little basket containing about a dozen
eggs. The farmer's wife put them into her bag, then patting Mary's pink
cheeks rose to take her leave, after paying for the eggs.
"And remember this, little maid," she said kindly, when after saying
good-bye to Jacob and Molly, she was taking leave of Mary at the door.
"Remember this, my dear little girl; as soon as you know how to read
(if by that time you still have no Bible) you shall come to the farm
when you like, and read and study ours—that is, if you can manage to
get so far."
"It's only two miles, that's nothing!" said sturdy Mary, with a glance
down at her strong little bare feet. "I'd walk further than that for
such a pleasure, ma'am." Then she added with a less joyful ring in her
voice, "At least I would, if ever I 'did' learn to read."
"Never mind, little woman! The likes of you wasn't made to sit in the
dark always," replied Mrs. Evans in her cheery, comfortable tones.
"The Lord made the want, and He'll satisfy it; be very sure of that.
Remember, Mary, when the multitude that waited on the Saviour were
hungry, the Lord did not send them away empty, though no one saw how
they were to be fed; and He'll take care you get the bread of life
too, for all it seems so unlikely now. Good-bye, and God bless you, my
child!" And good Mrs. Evans, with a parting nod to the weaver and his
wife, and another to Mary, went out, and got into her little pony-cart,
which was waiting for her in the road, under the care of one of the
farm-boys.
Mary stood at the door and watched their visitor till she was out of
sight. Then, before she closed it, she clasped her small brown hands
against her breast, and her thoughts formed themselves into a prayer
something like this:
"Dear Lord, who gavest bread to the hungry folk in the old time, and
didst teach and bless even the poorest, please let me learn, and not
grow up in darkness."
Then she shut the door and came and sat down, resolving in her childish
heart that if God heard and answered her prayer, and she learned to
read His Word, she would do what she could, all her life long, to help
others as she herself had been helped.
How our little Mary kept her resolution will be seen in the remaining
chapters of this simple narrative.
[Illustration: _Tail-piece from Coverdale's New Test., 1538,_
_in the Library of the Bible Society._]
[Illustration: LLAN-Y-CIL BAY, BALA LAKE.]