TWO MILES TO A BIBLE.
'Tis written, man shall not live alone,
By the perishing bread of earth;
Thou givest the soul a richer food
To nourish the heavenly birth.
And yet to our fields of golden grain
Thou bringest the harvest morn;
Thine op'ning hand is the life of all,
For Thou preparest them corn.
[Illustration] MR. EVANS'S farm was a curious old-fashioned place. The
house was a large, rambling building, with many queer ups and downs,
and with oddly-shaped windows in all sorts of unexpected places. And
yet there was an aspect of homely comfort about the house not always to
be found in far finer and more imposing-looking residences. At the back
were the out-buildings—the sheds and cow-houses, the poultry-pen, the
stables and pig-sties; while stretching away beyond these again were
the home paddock, the drying-ground, and a small enclosed field, which
went by the name of Hospital Meadow, on account of its being used for
disabled animals that needed a rest.
With the farmer himself we made acquaintance two years ago at the
meeting, when he spoke so kindly to Mary; and he was still the same
good, honest, industrious, God-fearing man, never forgetting in the
claims and anxieties of his work, what he owed to the Giver of all,
who sends His rain for the watering of the seed, and His sun for the
ripening of the harvest.
Nor did he—as too many farmers are in the habit of doing—repine at
Providence, and find fault with God's dealings if the rain came down
upon the hay before it was safely carried, or if an early autumn gale
laid his wheat even with the earth from which it sprang, ere the sickle
could be put into it. Nor did he complain and grumble even when disease
showed itself among the breed of small but active cattle of which he
was justly proud, and carried off besides some of his fine sheep,
destined for the famous Welsh mutton which sometimes is to be found on
English tables.
In short, he was contented with what the Lord sent, and said with Job,
when a misfortune occurred, "Shall we receive good at the hands of the
Lord, and shall we not receive evil?"
Of Mrs. Evans we have already spoken, and if we add here that she was a
true helpmeet to her husband, in matters both temporal and spiritual,
that is all we need say in her praise.
This worthy couple had three children. The eldest was already grown
up; she was a fine girl, and a great comfort and help to her mother.
The younger children were boys, who went to a grammar school in a town
a mile or two away: they were manly, high-spirited little fellows,
well-trained, and as honest and true as their parents.
Such, then, was the family into which our little Mary was welcomed with
all love and kindness. She was shy and timid the first time, for the
farm-house was a much finer place than any home she had hitherto seen;
and there was an atmosphere of warmth, and there were delicious signs
of plenty, which were unknown in Jacob Jones's poor little cottage,
where everything was upon the most frugal, not to say meagre, scale.
But Mary's shyness did not last long; indeed it disappeared wholly soon
after she had crossed the threshold, where she was met by Mrs. Evans
with a hearty welcome and a motherly kiss.
"Come in, little one," said the good woman, drawing her into the cosy,
old-fashioned kitchen, where a kettle was singing on the hob, and an
enticing fragrance of currant shortcake, baking for an early tea,
scented the air.
"There, get warm, dear," said Mrs. Evans, "and then you shall go to the
parlour, and study the Bible. And have you got a pencil and scrap of
paper to take notes if you want them?"
"Yes, thank you, ma'am, I brought them with me," replied Mary.
For a few minutes she sat there, basking in the pleasant, cheery glow
of the fire-light; then she was admitted to the parlour, where, on the
table in the centre of the room, and covered reverently with a clean
white cloth, was the precious book.
It must not be thought from the care thus taken of it that the Bible
was never used. On the contrary, it was always read at prayers night
and morning; and the farmer, whenever he had a spare half-hour, liked
nothing better than to study the sacred book, and seek to understand
its teachings.
"There's no need to tell you to be careful of our Bible, and to turn
over the leaves gently, Mary, I'm sure," said Mrs. Evans; "you would do
that anyway, I know. And now, my child, I'll leave you and the Bible
together. When you've learned your lesson for Sunday school, and read
all you want, come back into the kitchen and have some tea before you
go."
Then the good farmer's wife went away, leaving Mary alone with a Bible
for the first time in her life.
Presently the child raised the napkin, and, folding it neatly, laid it
on one side.
Then, with trembling hands, she opened the book, opened it at the
fifth chapter of John, and her eyes caught these words, "Search the
scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are
they which testify of Me."
"I will! I will!" she cried, feeling as if the words were spoken
directly to her by some Divine voice. "I will search and learn all I
can. Oh, if I had but a Bible of my own!" And this wish, this sigh for
the rare and coveted treasure, was the key-note to a grand chorus of
glorious harmony which, years after, spread in volume, until it rolled
in waves of sound over the whole earth. Yes, that yearning in a poor
child's heart was destined to be a means of light and knowledge to
millions of souls in the future. Thus verily has God often chosen the
weak things of the world to carry out His great designs, and work His
will. And here, once more, is an instance of the small beginnings which
have great results—results whose importance is not to be calculated on
this side of eternity.
When Mary had finished studying the Scripture lesson for the morrow,
and had enjoyed a plentiful meal in the cosy kitchen, she said good-bye
to her kind friends, and set off on her homeward journey, her mind full
of the one great longing, out of which a resolution was slowly shaping
itself.
It was formed at last.
"I 'must' have a Bible of my own!" she said aloud, in the earnestness
of her purpose. "I must have one, if I save up for it for ten years!"
And by the time this was settled in her mind the child had reached her
home.
Christmas had come, and with it some holidays for Mary and the other
scholars who attended the school at Abergynolwyn; but our little
heroine would only have been sorry for the cessation of lessons, had
it not been that during the holidays she had determined to commence
carrying out her plan of earning something towards the purchase of a
Bible.
Without neglecting her home duties, she managed to undertake little
jobs of work, for which the neighbours were glad to give her a trifle.
Now it was to mind a baby while the mother was at the wash-tub. Now to
pick up sticks and brushwood in the woods for fuel; or to help to mend
and patch the poor garments of the family for a worn, weary mother, who
was thankful to give a small sum for this timely welcome help.
And every halfpenny, every farthing (and farthings were no unusual fee
among such poor people as those of whom we are telling) was put into a
rough little money-box which Jacob made for the purpose, with a hole in
the lid. The box was kept in a cupboard, on a shelf where Mary could
reach it, and it was a real and heartfelt joy to her when she could
bring her day's earnings—some little copper coins, perhaps—and drop
them in, longing for the time to come when they would have swelled to
the requisite sum—a large sum unfortunately—for buying a Bible.
It was about this time that good Mrs. Evans, knowing the child's
earnest wish, and wanting to encourage and help her, made her the
present of a fine cock and two hens.
"Nay, nay, my dear, don't thank me," said she, when Mary was trying to
tell her how grateful she was; "I've done it, first to help you along
with that Bible you've set your heart on, and then, too, because I love
you, and like to give you pleasure. So now, my child, when the hens
begin to lay, which will be early in the spring, you can sell your
eggs, for these will be your very own to do what you like with, and you
can put the money to any use you please. I think I know what you'll do
with it," added Mrs. Evans, with a smile.
But the first piece of silver that Mary had the satisfaction of
dropping into her box was earned before she had any eggs to sell, and
in quite a different way from the sums which she had hitherto received.
She was walking one evening along the road from Towyn, whither she had
been sent on an errand for her father, when her foot struck against
some object lying in the road; and, stooping to pick it up, she found
it was a large leather purse. Wondering whose it could be, the child
went on, until, while still within half a mile from home, she met a
man walking slowly, and evidently searching for something. He looked
up as Mary approached, and she recognized him as Farmer Greaves, a
brother-in-law of Mrs. Evans.
"Ah! Good evening, Mary Jones," said he; "I've had such a loss! Coming
home from market I dropped my purse, and—"
"I've just found a purse, sir," said Mary; "is this it?"
"You've found a purse?" exclaimed the farmer, eagerly. "Yes, indeed,
my dear, that is mine, and I'm very much obliged to you. No, stay a
moment," he called after her, for Mary was already trudging off again.
"I should like to give you a trifle for your hon—I mean just some
trifle by way of thanks."
As he spoke, his finger and thumb closed on a bright shilling, which
surely would not have been too much to give to a poor child who had
found a heavy purse. But he thought better (or worse) of it, and took
out instead a sixpence and handed it to Mary, who took it with very
heartfelt thanks, and ran home as quickly as possible to drop her
silver treasure safely into the box, where it was destined to keep its
poorer brethren company for many a long year.
But the Christmas holidays were soon over, and then it was difficult
for Mary to keep up with her daily lessons, and her Sunday school
tasks, the latter involving the weekly visits to the farm-house for
the study of the Bible. What with these and her home duties, sometimes
weeks passed without her having time to earn a penny towards the
purchase of the sacred treasure.
Sometimes, too, she was rather late in reaching home on the Saturday
evenings, and now and again Molly was uneasy about her. For Mary would
come by short cuts over the hills, along ways which, however safe in
the daytime, were rough and unpleasant, if not dangerous, after dark;
and in these long winter evenings the daylight vanished very early.
It was on one of these occasions that Molly and Jacob Jones were
sitting and waiting for their daughter.
The old clock had already struck eight. She had never been so late as
this before.
"Our Molly ought to be home, Jacob," said Molly, breaking a silence
disturbed only by the noise of Jacob's busy loom. "It's got as dark
as dark, and there's no moon to-night. The way's a rugged one, if she
comes the short cut across the hill, and she's not one to choose a
long road if she can find a shorter, bless her! She's more than after
her time. I hope no harm's come to the child," and Molly walked to the
window and looked out.
"Don't be fretting yourself, Molly," replied Jacob, pausing in his
work; "Mary's out on a good errand, and He who put the love of good
things in her heart will take care of her in her going out and in her
coming in, from henceforth, even for evermore."
Jacob spoke solemnly, but with a tone of conviction that comforted
his wife, as words of his had often done before; and just then a
light step bounded up to the door, the latch was lifted, and Mary's
lithe young figure entered the cottage, her dark eyes shining with
intelligence, her cheeks flushed with exercise, a look of eager
animation overspreading the whole of her bright face and seeming to
diffuse a radiance round the cottage, while it shone reflected in the
countenances of Jacob and Molly.
"Well, child, what have you learned to-day?" questioned Jacob. "Have
you studied your lesson for the Sunday school?"
"Ay, father, that I have, and a beautiful lesson it was," responded the
child. "It was the lesson and Mr. Evans together that kept me so late."
"How so, Mary?" asked Molly. "We've been right down uneasy about you,
fearing lest something had happened to you."
"You needn't have been so, mother dear," replied the little girl, with
something of her father's quiet assurance. "God knew what I was about,
and He would not let any harm come to me. Oh, father, the more I read
about Him the more I want to know, and I shall never rest until I've a
Bible of my own. But to-day I've brought home a big bit of the farmer's
Bible with me."
"What do you mean, Mary? How could you do such a thing?" questioned
Molly in amazement.
"Only in my head, mother dear, of course," replied the child; then in a
lower voice she added, "'and my heart.'"
"And what is the bit?" asked Jacob.
"It's the seventh chapter of Matthew," said Mary. "Our Sunday lesson
was from the first verse to the end of the twelfth verse. But it was so
easy and so beautiful that I went on and on, till I'd learned the whole
chapter. And just as I had finished, Mr. Evans came in and asked me if
I understood it all; and when I said there were some bits that puzzled
me, he was so kind and explained them. If you like, mother and father,
I'll repeat you the chapter."
So Jacob pushed away his work, and took his old seat in the chimney
corner, and Molly began some knitting, while Mary sat down on a stool
at her father's feet, and beginning at the first verse, repeated the
whole chapter without a single mistake, without a moment's hesitation,
and with a tone and emphasis which showed her comprehension of the
truths so beautifully taught, and her sympathy with them.
"Mark my words, wife," said Jacob that night, when Mary had gone to
bed, "that child will do a work for the Lord before she dies. See you
not how He Himself is leading and guiding His lamb into green pastures
and beside still waters? Why, Molly, when she repeated that verse,
'Ask, and ye shall receive,' I saw her eyes shine, and her cheeks glow
again, and I knew she was thinking of the Bible that she's set her
heart on, and which I doubt not she's praying for often enough when we
know nothing about it. And the Lord He will give it her some day. Of
that I'm moral certain. Yes, Molly, our Mary will have her Bible!"
[Illustration: _"The Word of the Lord endureth for ever."_
_From a Bible in the Society's Library (C. Barker, 1585)._]