VOICES IN THE FOREST.
MEANWHILE the children had gone home, only to find no May there, while
nurse and Lucia still searched and searched fruitlessly.
At last they thought that perhaps the little girl had also gone home,
and so they set out to see, Lucia hardly bearing to tear herself away
from the forest, lest the child should be there after all.
But no May was at home; and now what was to be done?
Evan and Mrs. Giah had prepared tea. And after snatching a few hasty
mouthfuls, it was decided that the whole party should go back again and
look anew, Mrs. Giah promising to communicate with the cottagers near,
and beg them to help too.
What Lucia and nurse passed through in those hours only those know who
have had a lost child.
Lucia had found time to fly up to her room, and had thrown herself
on her knees, asking with earnest supplication that May might be
preserved, and that they might be led to her. And when she came down,
and they all started together, nurse was surprised at the quiet
calmness which shone in her face.
"Why, Miss Lucia," she said, "one would think Miss May was found, to
look at you."
"God knows where she is," answered Lucia softly, "and I have asked Him
to show us."
Nurse shook her head gloomily. She had not an ever-present help to go
to, and could not share Lucia's trust.
The children were told to keep in sight of the road which ran through
the forest and led finally to their cottage, while nurse and Lucia
searched among the trees, calling till their voices were hoarse, and
watching the sun go down with hearts that sank too—at any rate nurse's
did. As to Lucia, she kept on saying to herself, "God knows where she
is," and so went on with renewed strength.
At last little May heard in her dreams the sound of loved voices
calling her name.
She turned round with a start, and was wide awake all in a moment.
Could it be? Could it? Then in one instant she heard Evan say, "Perhaps
she's up this hill." And then Queenie's sweet little head came in view
over the top, and she was found.
Evan took her hand without a word, and led her back to the road, which
was close to them. Had not Lucia enjoined him not to scold his poor
little sister, for had she not been punished enough already?
Then they all walked soberly home in the twilight, Evan sending forth
many a shrill sound from his whistle, which echoed back through the
trees as the agreed signal that all was well.
Nurse heard it, and hurried towards home.
Lucia heard it, and her heart sent up its grateful praise for the
answered prayer.
"My Father did know," she said joyfully.
May was found, and now the seekers began to realize that they were
tired out.
Slowly and wearily they all made their way back to the cottage.
Lucia's first feeling after her thankfulness, had been one of vexation
that May could have been so naughty, but ere it reached her lips she
was stopped by the remembrance that "all we like sheep have gone
astray," and the thought softened her heart towards her little sister,
and enabled her to go over to her side and take her hand in hers.
May gave one glance of surprise, and then nestled against her very
softly.
"We must talk about it, dear, when we get back," said Lucia; "just now
I am so thankful that you are safe, and we are all so tired—"
"I know," murmured May humbly. "I never meant to be naughty."
But when they had got home, and had eaten their tea, and had been put
to bed by nurse and Lucia together, May ventured to draw her sister
close, and whisper—
"I wanted you to talk to me. You said mother would have been very
grieved if she knew I had been so naughty."
"So I did, May; but mother would forgive you I know, if you are sorry."
Lucia sat down on the edge of the bed, and May climbed up into her
arms, resting on her shoulder ever so lovingly.
"You see, May," said Lucia gently, "I am afraid that your being so fond
of doing something different from the others led you to be disobedient.
You knew you were none of you to go away from the rest."
"It wasn't that exactly," whispered May humbly.
"What was it then?"
"I wanted to see the Queen."
Lucia paused. Could she call that any harm, she who loved the Queen so
dearly?
"But we must not do wrong, even for a right and nice purpose," she said
slowly.
"Was it wrong?"
"Yes, it was disobedient; that's where the wrong was, May. Oh, May, I
do want you to think of pleasing Jesus our Saviour more than anything!
Did you think of whether He would like you to do it?"
"No," said May, shaking her head, "I never do think of that."
Lucia was silent a moment.
"Would you not like to?" she said at last.
May nodded.
"It's because you've been so kind," she said, squeezing her sister very
tight. "I am sorry now. And, Lucia—"
"Yes, dear?"
"I said what wasn't quite true—twice."
"Did you, dear?"
"Yes; I told the others I was only going over there; and so I was, and
yet it wasn't quite true, because I meant to go a good way, you see!"
"Yes, I see that. Satan is so glad to trip us up like that. He assures
us it is true, and then he mocks us by reminding us it was not."
May nodded again, and then went on—
"And I told you I did not mean to be naughty; but I do believe I knew
I ought not to have gone away, only I wanted so much to see the Queen
that I would not let myself think."
Lucia pressed her closely.
"Dear little May! What a mercy it is for us, who do so many wrong
things, that God can forgive us because Jesus bore our punishment."
"Yes," whispered May.
So Lucia put her back tenderly into bed, and then she went into her own
room, and knelt down and humbly thanked God that He had made a way of
escape for us guilty lost ones to come back to His bosom; that He is
"just, and yet the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus."
Lucia would not have believed, had she been told, the difference this
episode would make in all their feelings.
May was an altered child. Instead of being always not to be found, she
was generally at her side, trying to please her in many little ways,
and showing her gratitude and love by every means in her power.
And as for herself, never before had she felt so small in her own eyes.
The thought of her answered prayer, the thought of May's generous
confession, humbled her to the dust; and then the thought of His
goodness, who had wrought both by His love, lifted her up and sent her
on her way rejoicing.