physical and material well-being of her family made far more prominent
than the development of a life hid with Christ in God? Had not the
very smoothness and prosperity of her life, and her self-complacency
in her own good management, been a snare to her? Her husband, good and
kind as he was, was, she knew, wholly engrossed with the things of
this life; and her boys--steadier, she often thought with pride, than
half the boys of the neighbourhood--had never yet been made to feel
that they were not their own, but bought with the price of a
Saviour's blood. Such higher knowledge as Bessie had was due to Miss
Preston, for, like many mothers, she had not scrupled to devolve her
own responsibilities on the Sunday-school teachers, and thought her
duty done when she had seen her children, neatly dressed, set off to
school on Sunday afternoon. And the little ones she had just left
asleep--had she earnestly commended them to the Lord, and tried to
teach them such simple truths about their Saviour as their infant
minds could receive?
All these thoughts came crowding into her mind, as they sometimes will
when the voice of the Spirit can find an entrance into our usually
closed hearts; and she shrank from the thought of the account she
should have to give of the responsibilities abused, the trust
unfulfilled. Happily, she did not forget that "if we confess our sins,
He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins;" and that quiet hour
of meditation, and confession, and humble resolve was one of the most
profitable seasons Mrs. Ford had ever known. For God, unlike man, can
work without as well as with outward instrumentality.
When the others returned from church, it was with some surprise that
Mrs. Ford heard from Bessie the words of the text.
"I heard Mr. Raymond preach from that same text long ago, just after
we were married, John," she said.
"Well, if you remember it, it's more than I do. But if he did preach
the same sermon over again, it is well worth hearing twice."
"Yes, indeed," said his wife. "I wish I had minded it better. It would
have been better for us all if we had. Bessie, are you too tired to
read a chapter as soon as the boys come in? We don't any of us read
the Bible enough, I'm afraid."
And Bessie, struck by something unusual in her mother's tone and
manner, cheerfully read aloud, at Mrs. Ford's request, the thirteenth
of Matthew and the tenth of Hebrews, although the tempting
Sunday-school book still lay unread on the table up-stairs.
IV.
_Nelly's Sunday Evening._
"Oh, say not, dream not, heavenly notes
To childish ears are vain,--
That the young mind at random floats,
And cannot catch the strain."
In the meantime let us go back to Nelly Connor, and see how _she_
spent her Sunday afternoon.
When she had wistfully watched the last of the groups of children
disappearing in the distance, she walked slowly away toward her
"home"--a dilapidated-looking cottage in a potato patch, enclosed by a
broken-down fence, patched up by Nelly and her new mother with old
barrel-staves and branches of trees. The outdoor work which fell to
her lot Nelly did not so much dislike. It was the nursing of a
screaming baby, or scrubbing dingy, broken boards--work often imposed
upon her--which sorely tried her childish strength and patience.
Nelly found the house deserted. Sunday being Mrs. Connor's idle day,
she usually went to visit some of her friends in the village, taking
her children with her. A piece of bread and a mug of sour milk on the
table were all that betokened any preparation for Nelly's supper; but
she was glad enough to miss the harsh scolding tones that were her
usual welcome home.
Nelly sat down on the doorstep to eat her crust, watching, as she did
so, a little bird which was bringing their evening meal to its
chirping little ones in a straggling old plum-tree near the house. For
in animal life there is no such discord as sin introduces into human
life, marring the beauty of God's arrangements for His creatures'
happiness. Then, having nothing to keep her at home, she took up her
dingy, tattered straw hat, and strolled slowly along towards the
village, keeping to the shady lanes on its outskirts till she came out
upon the fields across which Bessie had taken her way home.
On her way she passed Mr. Raymond's pretty shrubbery, and stood for a
while quite still by the white railings, looking at the group
within--Lucy and her cousin sitting under the trees on the green turf,
with Harry and the rabbit close beside them. Nelly thought she had
never seen anything so pretty as Stella, with her rose-leaf complexion
and sunny golden hair. The two might have served a painter for a
contrast, both as to externals and as to the effect of the surrounding
influences which mould human life: the one, from her cradle so
tenderly and luxuriously nurtured, petted, and caressed; the other,
accustomed from her earliest years to privation and hardship, to harsh
tones and wicked words, to all the evil influences which surround a
child left to pick up its education on the city streets. Strange
mystery of the "election of circumstances!"--one of the strangest in
our mystery-surrounded life, never to be cleared up till all crooked
things shall be made straight. Only let the privileged ones, whose
lines have fallen in pleasant places, remember that "to whom much is
given, of them much shall be required."
A forlorn little figure Nelly looked as she strolled along the
field-paths which Bessie had taken an hour before. But she did not
trouble herself much about externals, except when in company with
others whose better attire made her painfully conscious of the defects
in her own; and being of a nature open to every impression from
surrounding objects, she was at that moment far from being an unhappy
child. It was not often that she was completely free to wander at
will; and the fresh breezy fields, the sweet scents of the clover and
the pines, the blue rippling river, and the cows that looked calmly at
her with their patient, wistful eyes, were all novelties to the town
child, whose first summer it was in the country. Some faint
recollections she still had of the grassy slopes of her native hills,
in the days of her early childhood; but since then all her experiences
of summer had been the hot, hard pavements and stifling dust of a
large city.
She had never before extended her wanderings in the direction of Mill
Bank Farm so far as to reach the ravine through which the little
stream flowed into the river; and now, when she came to the edge of
the steep slope and looked down into the luxuriant depth of foliage
and fern and ragged moss-clad rock, she felt a sense of delight more
intense than Bessie Ford or Lucy Raymond, familiar all their lives
with such scenes, had ever experienced. She stood spell-bound at
first, and then, scrambling down among rock and fern, reached the
little stream, and was soon wading about in its bed, enjoying the
sensation of the soft, warm water flowing over her bare feet, and
pulling the little flowering water-plants that raised their heads
among the moss-grown logs and stones which lay in the bed of the
stream. Then she began to climb up on the other side, stopping to
examine with admiring eyes every velvety cushion of moss, and cluster
of tiny ferns, and fairy-like baby pine or maple, and picking with
eager hands the wild roses and other blossoms which she espied among
the tangled underwood.
At last, tired with her wanderings, and with hands full of her
treasures, she threw herself down on a bed of dry moss that carpeted
the top of a high bank of rock which overlooked the river winding away
beneath, while overhead, through the feathery sprays of the long,
straggling pine boughs, the slanting sunbeams flickered on the turf
below.
There, in that solitary stillness--all the stiller for the confused
murmur of soft sounds, and the fresh, sweet breath of the woods
perfuming the air--unaccustomed thoughts came into the little girl's
mind,--thoughts which, in the din and bustle of the city, where the
tide of human interests sufficed to fill up her undeveloped mind, had
scarcely ever entered it. But here, where the direct works of God
alone were around her, her mind was irresistibly drawn towards Him of
whom Miss Preston had told her, that He had made her and all she saw
around her, and who lived, she supposed, somewhere beyond that blue
sky. With so many pleasant things around her, the thought of their
Maker was pleasant too. But then Miss Preston had told her that God
loved what was good, but hated what was bad; and did not her new
mother constantly tell her she was a "bad child?"--an accusation in
which her conscience told her there was much truth. So God could not
love her, she thought.
But Miss Preston had said that God did love her--that He cared for her
continually, and wished to make her good and happy--that He had even,
in some strange way which she could not understand, sent His Son to
die for her, that she might be made good. It was all new and strange,
but she had faith in Miss Preston; and because she had told her, she
believed it must be true, that she, who had come to think
herself--poor child--too bad for any one to care for, had really a
great, kind Friend near her, though she could not see Him, and loving
her more than the mother whose warm caress she could still remember.
It was an idea that might seem beyond the grasp of a poor untaught
child, were it not that He who reveals Himself to babes and sucklings
can speak to the heart He has made in ways beyond our power to trace.
The idea in Nelly's mind of that wonderful love which she so sorely
needed, was more enlightened than many a philosopher's conception of
divinity, and the dark eyes filled with tears as a half-formed prayer
awoke from her heart to the loving Jesus, who, Miss Preston had told
her, would hear and answer her.
And who could doubt that He did hear and answer the desolate,
uncared-for child, scarcely knowing as yet what "good" meant, since
her knowledge had been only of evil! Her conscience, however, was not
dead, though neglected; she knew at least what "wrong" was, and felt
she must leave off doing it if the Saviour was to be her friend. But
how should she be able to leave off her bad, idle ways, and become a
good, industrious girl, such as her new mother said most of the little
girls in Ashleigh were? Then she remembered the words which Miss
Preston had made her repeat, "Looking unto Jesus," and "I lay my sins
on Jesus," and that Miss Preston had told her she must ask Jesus to
take away her sins and make her good. But she thought the right place
for speaking to Jesus must be in the church, as most of the people she
had known in the city used to go to church "to confess," and she
supposed that must have something to do with it.
Just then she saw the Fords passing at a little distance on their way
to church, and it occurred to her that she would go too; and perhaps
Jesus would hear her there, and show her how she was to be made good.
So she started up, and was speedily on the other side of the ravine,
almost overtaking the Fords before they reached the village. The
service was beginning when she crept stealthily into one of the
farthest back seats, half afraid lest she was doing wrong in thus
trespassing where she had no right. Then, crouched in a corner, with
her face bent forward and her elf-locks half covering her eyes, she
listened with intense earnestness, trying to take in all she could of
what was so new, yet already not unfamiliar to her, and half disposed
to think that the kindly-looking gentleman who stood there and spoke
in such solemn tones might be Jesus Himself.
Let not the more favoured ones, on whom from their cradles the blessed
light of divine truth has steadily shone, smile at this poor child's
ignorance, but rather try to show their gratitude for higher
privileges, by seeking to impart some of the light shed on them so
abundantly to those who are still wandering in darkness.
On Nelly's listening heart Mr. Raymond's sermon did not fall so
fruitlessly as some might have expected. For God is, for all, the
hearer and answerer of prayer, and He never leaves unheard the weakest
cry to Him. As the lonely child once more sought her comfortless home,
she felt a stirring of new hope within her, and scarcely minded her
mother's rough words when she demanded, "What have you been doing out
so late? No good, I am sure!"
Mrs. Connor had been enlarging, among sympathizing friends, on the
hardship of her having to support her husband's child when he did so
little himself for his family. "My goodness! all he gives us wouldn't
half pay Nelly's board," she had declared; and as her grievances were
still fresh in her mind, she greeted her step-child with even more
asperity than usual.
But as Nelly crept away to her hard little bed, perhaps some angel,
sent to minister to the motherless child, may have known that the
"good-for-nothing," ignorant little girl, oppressed with the feeling
of her own sinfulness, and full of the thought of her new-found
heavenly Friend, was nearer the kingdom of heaven than the petted,
admired, winning Stella Brooke, who had never yet learned her need of
the Saviour, who came "not to call the righteous, but sinners to
repentance."
V.
_Strawberrying._
"Why should we fear youth's draught of joy,
If pure, would sparkle less?
Why should the cup the sooner cloy
Which God has deigned to bless?"
The "strawberry picnic" proposed by Alick Steele had been fixed for
the following Tuesday should it prove fine. Alick and Fred had been
over at Mill Bank Farm, and the younger Fords had agreed to meet them
at the ravine, with their contribution of milk and cream, and various
other things which Mrs. Ford's zealous housewifery would not be
prevented from sending, though Fred assured her that it was
unnecessary.
"I know what young folks can eat, Mr. Fred," she replied, "and you may
as well have plenty;" and Alick laughingly assured her she was quite
right. Alick Steele, or the "young doctor," as his old friends now
began to call him, had been an acceptable guest at many a picnic and
merry-making, but he had never entered into anything of the kind with
more spirit and zeal than he now threw into this simple gypsying
excursion with his country cousins.
"He's no end of a fellow for a picnic," declared Harry
enthusiastically, "and ten times as good as Fred;" the quiet nature of
the latter always shrinking from any unusual bustle, while Alick's
unfailing flow of animal spirits found a congenial outlet in any
little extra excitement, especially when it was connected with the
procuring of enjoyment for others. He and Harry were busy all Monday
in exploring the ground and selecting the most eligible place for the
repast; and Harry averred, when they returned home, that they would
have a "splendid time" next day, if it were only fine.
Next morning opened as fair and bright as the excursionists could
desire,--not too hot, but tempered by a pleasant breeze--"just the day
for the woods, and not too rough for the water." For Stella had
manifested such consternation at the idea of going through the
pasture--"cows always frightened her so"--that, notwithstanding the
raillery and the representations of Alick and Harry, it was evident
that her pleasure would be spoiled if she were obliged to go by the
field-path. Alick therefore had good-naturedly hunted up a boat, which
would save them a long dusty walk by the road, and greatly enhance the
pleasure of the excursion, besides carrying the "_impedimenta_," as
Fred classically termed the baskets of provisions. Marion Wood, a
playmate of Lucy's, was to accompany them in the boat, while Mrs.
Steele and the boys walked across the fields.
As soon as the early dinner could be got over, the boat's cargo was
taken on board, the passengers embarked, and after some little screams
from Stella, who had a habit of being "nervous," the little bark shot
off, swift and straight, impelled by Alick's firm, skillful strokes.
The water-party reached the mouth of the ravine considerably sooner
than the others; and while awaiting their arrival, Alick rowed them to
a little fairy islet near the shore, where they landed to explore it,
and twine their hats with the graceful creepers and ferns growing
among its rocks. Then re-embarking, they floated at leisure up and
down the glassy shaded water, fringed with tall reeds, the girls
alternately trying their hands at the oars, till a shout from Harry
and the waving of handkerchiefs announced the arrival of the rest of
the party.
The strawberry-pickers had soon begun their search. Fred, who
preferred rowing to strawberry-picking, undertook to take charge of
Harry, who was as eager for the water as a young duck; while Mrs.
Steele, taking out her knitting, sat down beside the baskets under a
spreading oak, on a knoll overlooking the river, to wait until there
should be a demand for tea.
Very quickly the time sped away, while the children pursued their busy
but not laborious quest of the tempting berries, half hidden under
their spreading leaves; and many an exclamation, half of annoyance,
half of amusement, was uttered as one of them made a dart at a bright
spot of crimson, fancying it a rich cluster of berries, and finding
only a leaf.
"Why in the world do strawberries have red leaves, I wonder!"
exclaimed Harry, who, tired at last of boating, was pretending to help
them, though they all declared he ate as many as he picked.
"To inure you to the disappointments of life," responded Alick
oracularly. "You'll find, as you go along, there are more red
strawberry leaves than berries all through."
And Alick half sighed, as if he had already learned the lesson by
experience.
"There's one thing, Alick, of which that remark doesn't hold good,"
remarked Fred to his cousin in an undertone. "My father says _that_
sheet-anchor will bear us up through all the disappointments of life;
and I believe it."
"Well, very likely you're right,--well for those who can feel it so.
But at present I can't say I belong to that happy number. Some time or
other, perhaps. You know my head has been full of all sorts of ologies
except theology for a good while back."
"The 'more convenient season,' Alick," replied Fred, with a half
smile.
"Here, a truce to moralizing. Who's got the most strawberries? The
premium is to be the finest bunch in the collection," shouted Alick.
And after the prize had been with much ceremony and mirth adjudged to
Bessie Ford, it was time to think about tea.
"Come," said Alick, "shoulder arms, that is, baskets, and march!"
All were very ready to obey Alick's word of command, and the merry
party were soon collected around the snowy tablecloth spread on the
turf, on which Mrs. Steele had arranged the tempting repast of pies
and cakes, curds and cream, to which a fine large dish of
strawberries--a contribution from the farm--formed a tempting
addition.
Fred, at his aunt's request, asked a blessing, and then the good
things were welcomed by the appetites sharpened by fresh air and
exercise; and the feast was enlivened by the innocent glee and frolic
which usually enliven such simple country parties, unfettered by form,
and unsophisticated by any of the complications which creep into more
elaborate picnics. Even Stella, though she felt the whole
affair--especially the presence of the farmer's children--rather below
her dignity as an embryo city belle, gave herself up unrestrainedly to
the enjoyment of the occasion, and was more natural and free from what
Alick called "airs" than she had been at any time during her visit.
But the party were quite unconscious that they were watched, through
the thickly drooping boughs of a large hickory, by a pair of bright,
dark eyes, which were wistfully regarding them. The eyes were those of
Nelly Connor, who, having been unexpectedly left free that afternoon
to follow her own devices, had wandered away in the direction of the
spot which had so fascinated her on Sunday.
When the tea was fairly over, and cups, dishes, and other
paraphernalia were being packed up by Mrs. Steele and the girls,
Stella, who, not being inclined to assist in such a menial occupation,
was wandering aimlessly about, made a discovery.
"Oh, Lucy," she exclaimed, coming hurriedly up to her, "there is such
a ragged, bold-looking little girl sitting over there! She has been
watching us the whole time."
"Well, her watching wouldn't hurt us," said Lucy, smiling at her
cousin's consternation. "I hope she was pleased with what she saw.
Why, it's Nelly Connor!" she added as the little girl emerged from her
hiding-place. "What can have brought _her_ here? I'll get Aunt Mary to
give her something to eat. I daresay she's hungry enough, for Miss
Preston told me she didn't think her new mother gave her enough to
eat."
"I think she ought to be scolded and sent away," said Stella
decidedly. "You are just encouraging her impertinence in coming here
to watch us."
But Lucy had already run off to her aunt, and was soon carrying a
plate heaped with good things to the astonished Nelly, who, frightened
at being discovered, and at Stella's frowning looks, was thinking how
she might make good her escape. Stella had only spoken as she had been
accustomed to hear those around her speak. She had been brought up to
look upon poverty and rags as something almost wicked in themselves,
and had never realized that feelings the same as her own might lie
under an exterior she despised. She had never been taught the meaning
of "I was a hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave
me drink." Lucy, on the contrary, had been taught to consider it the
highest privilege and gratification to impart a share of the bounties
bestowed upon herself to the poor and needy whom our Saviour has left
as a legacy to His followers, and had already tasted the happiness of
lightening somewhat the load of poverty and hardship which press upon
some during all their lives.
She soon reassured Nelly, and had the satisfaction of seeing her
enjoy the food with the zest of one to whom such delicacies were rare
indeed, and whose appetite was very seldom fully satisfied at home.
She explained to the rest that Nelly was in her class at Sunday
school; and Stella mentally put it down as another objection to going
there, that it involved the possibility of such undesirable
acquaintanceships. Alick was much interested in the little wanderer;
and even after the rest had set off towards the farmhouse, which they
were to visit before returning, he remained beside her, drawing from
her, bit by bit, her touching history, until she began to remember how
late it was, and started homeward, much astonished and cheered by the
kindness and sympathy she had met with.
Alick found the rest of the party exploring the farmyard, admiring the
cows, particularly Mrs. Ford's sleek, glossy black favourite; while
Harry was, to his intense delight, cantering up and down the road to
the gate, on the stout little pony which the farmer usually rode to
market.
As there was a full moon, there was no hurry about returning; and on
the arrival of Mr. Raymond, who had walked over to meet them, Mrs.
Ford insisted on their coming in for a while. And before they took
their leave she brought out her large family Bible for evening
worship, with the request that Mr. Raymond would read and pray before
his departure; "for," she said, "I know we don't mind these things
half enough, and we'd be all the better of a word or two from you."
Mr. Raymond read the last chapter of Ecclesiastes, making a few brief
but impressive comments on the insufficiency for true happiness of the
enjoyments which this life can furnish, fair and good gifts of God
though such enjoyments may be. "The time would come, even in this
life," he said, "when the joys of this world would be found wanting.
And after this life, what would be their condition who had made this
world their portion, and had 'not remembered their Creator in the days
of their youth?'" Doubt-less the thought of his own youthful circle,
and of the strong, ruddy young Fords, all so full of health and life
and joyous spirits, was strongly upon him when he dwelt so earnestly
upon the words: "Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart
cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thy heart
and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these
things God will bring thee into judgment."