In which Joe Wrag has a Vision.
They are going, only going,
Jesus called them long ago
All the wintry time they're passing
Softly as the falling snow.
When the violets in the spring-time
Catch the azure of the sky,
They are carried out to slumber
Sweetly where the violets lie.
As winter slowly wore away, little Nelly's health began to fail. She
seemed weary and languid, and poor little Benny was at his wits' end to
know what to get her to eat. After spending more than he could really
afford in something that he thought would tempt her appetite, he was
grieved beyond measure when she would turn away her head and say,
"I's very sorry for yer, Benny, but I canna eat it; I would if I could."
And he would be compelled reluctantly to eat it himself, though he would
not mind going without food altogether if only "little Nell" could eat.
But he comforted himself with the thought that she would get better when
the spring-time came, and the streets were dry and warm. He might get
her into the parks, too, and she would be sure, he thought, to get an
appetite then. And so he kept up his spirits, and hoped for the best.
"She's ripenin' for the kingdom," was Joe Wrag's reflection, as he
watched her pale face becoming thinner, and her great round eyes
becoming larger and more luminous day by day. "She belongs to the elect,
there ken be no doubt, an' the Lord don't intend for her little bare
feet to walk the cold, dirty streets o' Liverpool much longer. I reckon
she'll soon be walking the golden streets o' the shinin' city, where
there's no more cold, nor hunger, nor pain. I shall be main sorry to
lose her, bless her little heart, for I'm feared there's no chance of
me ever seein' her agin' when she's gone. I wonder if the Lord would
permit me to look at her through the bars o' the gate just for a minit
if I wur to ax Him very hard? 'T will be nice, anyhow, to think o' her
bein' comforted while I'm tormented. But it comes 'ard 'pon such as us
as don't belong to the elect, whichever way we looks at it."
Sometimes Joe would leave his home earlier in the afternoon than usual,
and getting a nice bunch of grapes, he would make his way towards
Nelly's stand as the short winter's day was fading in the west. He would
rarely have much difficulty in finding his little pet, and taking her up
in his great strong arms, he would carry her off through bye-streets to
his hut. And wrapping her in his great warm overcoat, and placing her on
a low seat that he had contrived for her, he would leave her to enjoy
her grapes, while he went out to light the fire and see that the lamps
were properly set for the night.
With a dreamy look in her eyes, Nelly would watch her old friend
kindling his fire and putting things "ship-shape," as he termed it, and
would think how well she had been cared for of late.
By-and-bye, when the fire crackled and glowed in the grate, Joe would
come into the hut and take her upon his knee, and she would lean her
head against his shoulder with a heart more full of thankfulness than
words of hers could utter. And at such times, at her request, Joe would
tell her of the mercy that was infinite, and of the love that was
stronger than death. She had only been twice to the chapel, for when
she and Benny went the following week they discovered that there was
no service, and so disappointed were they that they had not gone again;
for the chapel was a long distance from Tempest Court, and she was tired
when the day's work was done, and to go such a long distance and find
the doors closed was anything but inviting. So they had not ventured
again. But Nelly had heard enough from granny and while at the chapel to
make her thirst for more. And so Joe became her teacher, and evening by
evening, whenever opportunity presented, he unfolded to her the "old,
old story of Jesus and His love."
It made his heart ache, though, to talk of the "good tidings of great
joy," and think they were not for him. If the truth must be told, this
was the reason why he kept away from church and chapel. He had adopted
in early life the Calvinistic creed, and had come to the conclusion,
when about thirty years of age, that he belonged to the "eternally
reprobate." Hence, to go to church to listen to promises that were not
for him, to hear offers of salvation that he could not accept, to be
told of a heaven that he could never enter, and of a hell that he could
not shun, was more than his sensitive nature could bear.
And yet, as he repeated to Nelly the wonderful promises of the Gospel,
they seemed sometimes to widen out, until they embraced the whole world,
including even him, and for a moment his heart would throb with joy and
hope. Then again the bossy front of his creed would loom up before him
like an iron wall, hiding the light, shutting out the sunshine, and
leaving him still in "outer darkness."
One day Nelly rather startled him by saying, in her sweet childish way,
"I does like that word who-so-ever!"
"Do you?" said Joe.
"Oh, yes, very much; don't you?"
"Well, I 'ardly knows what to make on it."
"How is that, Joe?" said Nelly, looking up with a wondering expression
on her face.
"Well, 'cause it seems to mean what it don't mean," said Joe, jerking
out the words with an effort.
"Oh, no, Joe; how can that be?"
"Well, that's jist where I'm floored, Nelly. But it seem to be the fact,
anyhow."
"Oh, Joe! And would the Saviour you've been a-tellin' me of say what He
didna mean?" And a startled expression came over the child's face, as if
the ground was slipping from beneath her.
"No, no, Nelly, He could not say that; but the pinch is about what the
word do mean."
"Oh, the man in the chapel said it meaned everybody, an' I reckon he
knows, 'cause he looked as if he wur sartin."
"Did he, Nelly? Then perhaps he wur right."
"Oh, yes, it's everybody, Joe. I feels as if it wur so inside."
"Purty little hangel!" said Joe, in an undertone. "But there are
somethin' in the Book about 'out of the mouths of babes an' sucklings.'
I'll read it again when I gets home."
That night, as Joe Wrag sat in his hut alone, while the silence of the
slumbering town was unbroken, save for the echoing footfall of the
policeman on his beat, he seemed to see the iron wall of his creed
melt and vanish, till not a shred remained, and beyond where it stood
stretched endless plains of light and glory. And arching the sky from
horizon to horizon, a rainbow glowed of every colour and hue, and in
the rainbow a promise was written in letters of fire, and as he gazed
the letters burst forth into brighter flame, and the promise was this,
"Whosoever cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast them out." And over
the distant hills a great multitude appeared in sight--so many, indeed,
that he could not number them. But he noticed this, that none of them
were sick, or feeble, or old. No touch of pain was on any face, no line
of care on any brow, and nearer and yet nearer they came, till he could
hear the regular tramp, tramp of their feet, and catch the words they
were chanting as if with one voice. How thankful he was that the great
town was hushed and still, so that he could not mistake the words. "And
the Spirit and the Bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come.
And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the
water of life freely." And still nearer their echoing footfalls came,
when suddenly the glowing arch of fire in his grate fell together, and a
policeman passing his hut with measured tread, shouted,--
"Good night, Joe. We shall have a storm, I reckon; the wind has got up
terrible during the last hour."
"Ay, ay," responded Joe, rubbing his eyes and wondering for a moment
what had come over him.
"You seem hardly awake, Joe," laughed the policeman.
"Believe I 'ave nodded a bit," said Joe. "But, bless me, how the wind do
howl!"
"Yes, it'll be rough outside the 'bar,' I reckon. I hope we shall have
no wrecks. Good night."
"Good night," said Joe, as he staggered out of his hut to mend the fire,
which done, he sat down to reflect.
"Wur it a vision," he soliloquized, "or wur it a dream, or wur it
'magination? Wur it given to teach or to mislead me? But, lor', how
bright that promise did shine! I ken see it now. It are in the Bible,
too, that's the queerest part on it. An' how beautiful they did sing,
an' how they did shout out that part, 'Whosoever will.' Lor' bless us!
I can't get it out o' my noddle; nor I dunno that I want to, it's so
amazin' comfortin', and much more nearer my idear of what God ought to
be, 'cause as how there is no limit to it."
And Joe scratched his head vigorously, which was a sure sign that some
new idea had struck him.
"Well, bang me!" he ejaculated, "if I ain't floored again. Ain't God
infinite, an' if that be the case He must be infinite 'all round.' An'
that bein' so, then His power's infinite, and His marcy's infinite, an'
His love's infinite, an' He's all infinite. No limit to nothin'. An' if
that be so, it don't square nohow with His love an' marcy stoppin' just
at the point where the elect leaves off an' the reprobate begins."
And Joe took a long iron rod and stirred up the fire until it roared
again, muttering to himself the while. "Well, if I ain't completely
banged. I'll ax little Nell. I b'lieve she knows more about it now than
I do, by a long chalk."
By this time slates and chimneypots began to drop around him in a
decidedly dangerous fashion, and he had again to seek the shelter of his
hut. But even there he did not feel quite safe, for the little wooden
house rocked and creaked in the might of the storm, and threatened to
topple over altogether.
There was no longer any chance of meditation, so he had to content
himself listening to the roar of the storm. Sometimes he heard its voice
moaning away in the distant streets, and he wondered where it had gone
to. Then he heard it coming up behind his hut again, at first quietly,
as if meditating what to do; then it would gather strength and speed,
and he would listen as it came nearer and nearer, till it would rush
shrieking past his hut, making it creak and shiver, and once more there
would be a momentary lull.
And so Joe waited and listened through the wild solemn night, and longed
as he had rarely done for the light of the morning to appear.