YOUTHFUL PROMISE FULFILLED.
Nurtured and nursed of Heaven, the blossom bloom'd,
Until an open flower
With buds around it, gazed upon the sun,
Or drank the shower;
Nor did forget, in this the blooming time,
The fragrance due
To Him who gives to Nature all her wealth,
To flowers their hue.
WHEN next we glance at our heroine of Llanfihangel, she is Mary Jones
no longer. A great change has come over her surroundings, and her
school work and her old home life with her parents are things of the
past. For she has married a weaver, Thomas Lewis by name, and is living
at the village of Bryncrug, near Towyn, not very far from Llanfihangel.
But the difference in circumstances has not changed the character of
Mary, save as the advancing summer may be said to change the fruit by
ripening it.
So dutiful and devoted a daughter as Mary had ever proved herself,
would hardly have left her parents while she could minister to the
wants of their declining years, work for them, and be their great joy
and comfort. So it is only reasonable to suppose that ere she married,
both good old Jacob and his wife had been laid to rest, and that Mary,
in casting in her lot with Thomas Lewis, whom possibly she had known
for many years, would be neglecting no duty that could be required from
a loving daughter.
But here, at Bryncrug, with a husband and children of her own, and the
care of a home for which she alone was responsible, with new duties,
and fresh cares, Mary's love for her Bible had grown, not diminished.
Other things had changed—companionships, home influences, claims,
interests—but the Sacred Word remained to her unaltered, except that
every day it grew more into her heart, and became more one with her
life, yielding her, in answer to careful study, and earnest prayer for
God's Spirit of enlightenment, deep meanings of truth and sweetness
which had hitherto been unperceived.
If Mary's life was a busy one during the years spent at Llanfihangel,
doubly so was her life here at Bryncrug. But the same quiet energy
and steadfastness of purpose for which she had ever been remarkable
still pervaded all that she did, making every duty, however humble and
homely, a service for Christ, while by her consistent Christian walk
and example she influenced for good all that were about her.
[Illustration: BRYNCRUG, NORTH WALES.]
If a neighbour's child wished to have a Sunday school lesson explained,
she invariably came to Mary, who could always spare a few minutes to
give the instruction that had been so precious to her in her youthful
days. And her intimate knowledge of the Bible gave her a very clear
way of explaining its truths, while her insight into character, and
her sympathetic nature, made her a wise counsellor and an acceptable
teacher.
If, again, a friend wanted a hint or two in the making of a new dress,
or advice as to the management of her bee-hives, Mary was always the
authority appealed to, as being the most capable, as well as the
kindest of neighbours, and ever ready to lend a helping hand, or speak
a helpful word.
Thus in Bryncrug she was winning for herself the love and confidence of
her fellow-creatures, and showing forth in life and character the glory
of that Saviour whose faithful handmaid she tried to be.
We have just alluded to the fact of her being an authority in the
management of bees, and she was justly considered so, as her success
with her own bee-hives sufficiently proved.
That success was simply remarkable, both as to the large number of
hives, and their profitable results.
The attracting power and influence which Mary seemed to exercise over
people appeared to extend even to her bees; but, be this as it might,
we are told that whenever she approached the hives, her reception by
her winged subjects was nothing less than royal, such was the loyalty
and enthusiasm of these sensible, busy little honey-makers.
The air would be thick with buzzing swarms, and presently they would
alight upon her by hundreds, covering her from head to foot, walking
over her, but never attempting to sting, or showing any feeling but
one of absolute confidence and friendliness. She would even catch a
handful of them as though they had been so many flies—but softly, so
as not to hurt them—and they never misunderstood her, or offered her
the slightest injury. In short, there seemed to be a sort of tacit
agreement between Mary and her bees, and they were apparently proud and
pleased that a part of what they were the means of earning should go
towards the support of God's work in the world. For Mary divided the
proceeds thus:
The money brought by the sale of the honey was used for the family and
household expenses, but the proceeds of the wax were divided among the
societies which, poor as she was, Mary delighted to assist.
Among these, foremost in her estimation stood the British and Foreign
Bible Society, with the establishment of which she had been so closely
connected, and she was never happier than when she could spare what for
her was a large sum, to help in sending the Word of God—so precious to
her own heart—over the world.
Mary was also much interested in the Calvinistic Methodist Missionary
Society—a Society founded by the denomination to which she had, for
so many years, belonged; and many a secret self-denial could have
borne witness to her generosity in giving of her substance for the
furtherance of the Gospel.
On one occasion we are told that, when a collection was made at
Bryncrug for the "China Million Testament Fund," in the year 1854,
a ten shilling gold piece was found in the collection plate, neatly
wrapped up between half-pence, and thus hidden until the money came to
be counted.
This was Mary's gift, the outcome of a loving, generous heart touched
by God's love and the spiritual wants of her fellow-creatures.
Mary was sitting at her cottage door one day, when a neighbour, Betsy
Davies, came up. "Good day, Mary," said she; "may I come and sit with
you for an hour this afternoon? I've a dress I must alter for my eldest
girl, and I don't see how to begin, so I thought may be you'd be good
enough to show me."
"Yes, that I will, with pleasure," replied Mary. "My children are all
at school, and my husband has gone to Towyn, so I have a quiet hour or
two before me. Let me see your work, Betsy."
Betsy Davies laid the garment over Mary; knee, and Mary's eyes, quick
and intelligent as ever, saw in a moment or two what was needed.
"That's not a difficult job," said she pleasantly, "nor yet a long one.
Just unpick that seam, Betsy, and I'll pin it for you as it ought to
be; then if you let down the tuck in the skirt, you'll have it long
enough, and as for the rent in the stuff, I think I've got some thread
about the right colour with which you can darn it up. I will show you,
my dear, how I darn my little Mary's dresses when she tears them, as
she does very often, playing with her brothers. Yours can be mended
just in the same way, and you'll see the place will hardly show at all."
When the two women had settled down to their work, Betsy said, "I wish
you'd tell me, Mary, how you manage to get on as you do. You can't be
rich people, your husband being only a weaver like mine and like most
of the others here, and yet you never get into debt, and you always
seem to have enough for yourselves, and what's more wonderful still,
you've enough to give away something too; I must say I can't understand
it!"
"I don't think there's anything very hard to understand," said Mary,
smiling. "If by great care and a little self-denial we can contribute
something of our substance to help on God's work, it is surely the
greatest joy we can have."
"Yes, that's all very well," replied Betsy, "but I never have anything
to contribute; and yet I haven't as many children as you, and so my
family and housekeeping doesn't cost so much."
"It's like this, Betsy dear," said Mary, "we ask ourselves—I mean my
husband, and my children, and I, all of us—'What can we do without?'
And one and another is willing to give up some little indulgence,
and so we save the money. This we put into a box which we call the
treasury, and whenever we add anything to what we keep there, we think
of the widow who cast into the treasury of the temple her two mites,
and of our Lord's kind, tender words about her."
"But what sort of things can you give up?" asked Betsy. "We poor folk,
it seems to me, don't have any more than just the necessaries of life,
and one can't give up eating and drinking, or go without clothes to our
backs."
"Yet I think if you consider a bit, you'll see there are some trifles
which are not really needful, though they may be pleasant," replied
Mary. "Now for instance, Thomas had always been used to a pipe and a
bit of tobacco in an evening after his work was done; but when we were
all wondering what we could give up for our dear Lord's sake, he said,
'Well, wife, I'll give up my smoke in the evenings.' And I tell you,
Betsy, the tears came into my eyes when I heard that, knowing that my
husband's words meant a real sacrifice. Then our eldest son, wishing to
imitate his father, cried out, 'And I've still got that Christmas box
my master gave me last winter, and I'll give that.' And Sally, she gave
up the thought of a new hat ribbon I'd promised her, and she sponged
and ironed her old one instead, and wore it, feeling prouder than if it
had been new. And as for little Benny, he was all one day picking up
sticks in the wood to earn a penny, and that was his gift."
"And you yourself?" asked Betsy, with interest.
"Oh, I have the wax that my bees make; and the money that I got by
selling that went into the treasury, as well as any other small sum I
did not actually need. And this I must say, Betsy, we have never really
suffered for the want of anything we have given to God; and He repays
us with such happiness and content as He alone can give."
"That I can well believe," rejoined Betsy, "for I never hear you
grumble, or see you look cross or discontented like the rest of the
neighbours, and as I do myself only too often. Well, Mary," she
continued, "I mean to try your plan, though it will come very hard at
first, as I'm not used to that sort of saving."
"I think I got used to it when I was a child, putting away my little
mites of money towards buying a Bible," rejoined Mary. "For six years I
put by all my little earnings, and since then it has come natural."
"You did get your Bible, then?"
"Yes, indeed; this is the very one," and rising from her seat Mary took
the much prized volume from the little table in the cottage, and put it
into her visitor's hands.
Betsy looked at it, inside and out, then handed it back saying, "I
really believe, Mary, that this Bible is one of the reasons why you
are so different from all the rest of us. You've read and studied and
learnt so much of it, that your thoughts and words and life are full of
it."
And Mary turned her bright dark eyes, now full of happy tears, upon her
companion, and answered in a broken voice—
"O Betsy dear, if there is a little, even a little truth in what you
kindly say of me, I thank God that in His great mercy and love He
suffers me, poor and weak and simple as I am, to show forth in my small
way His glory, and the truth of His blessed Word."
[Illustration: _Nunquam Frustra._ _"Never in Vain."_
(_From a Bible in the Society's Library._)]
[Illustration: RUINS OF MARY JONES'S COTTAGE.]