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
letter I shall be so glad to get it. Your Uncle Mortimer has just
asked me to go for a ride with him, so I must stop.
Your very loving friend,
ISOBEL GRANTHAM.'
'Well,' said Mr. Allonby, 'that letter comes from a nice woman, Bobby.
Who is she? And how many people have you set to work looking for your
missing father?'
Bobby looked up gravely.
'Only her and Master Mortimer. I likes them both 'normously. Isn't it
a long letter? And, oh dear! if she's home I shan't see her.'
'Would you like me to take you back to your grandmother?'
Bobby slipped down from his chair and caught hold of his father's hand
with imploring eyes.
'Father, dear, you won't do it, will you? You'll never let me leave
you?'
Mr. Allonby took him upon his knee and gave him one of his rare kisses.
'I'm afraid I'm not good enough to be your father, sonny. You expect
such a lot from me, and I can only give so little. I shall be a
terrible disappointment to you all round.'
But Bobby laid his curly head against his father's shoulder and clasped
him round the neck.
'I belongs to you, and you belongs to me,' he said, with infinite
satisfaction in his tone, and Mr. Allonby answered, with a little
embarrassed laugh:
'And finding's keeping, my little boy. We'll hold together for the
present, at any rate.'