THE HAUNTED ROOM.
"You will be disappointed if you expect too much," said Agnes, holding
the door in her hand and looking into five eager faces congregated on
the landing.
"Let us in, then, and we'll tell you!" answered Hugh, a tall boy of
about fifteen. "You are as bad as the 'penny-a-liners,' who pile up the
interest to the end of the chapter, and then leave you in the lurch!"
Agnes laughed a little at that, as she threw open the door of the
chamber in their uncle's old house, which, for many a day, had had the
repute of being haunted.
She and her two sisters, with her brothers John and Hugh, had come to
spend a fortnight of their Christmas holidays in this old-fashioned
abode, where every corner seemed to have a history, if not a mystery;
and Agnes Headley, ever on the look-out to do a little work for her
Heavenly Master, found that she could carry out, in her present weird
surroundings, a thought she had long had in her mind.
"Come here, Florence," she said, holding out her hand to a little
cousin, who, like themselves, had come for a visit; "if you are at all
nervous, we will got the lamp—only—"
Florence disdained to acknowledge herself nervous, and was sure she
should not be frightened; so, taking her cousin Minnie's little soft
hand, she entered the moonlit room with the rest, wondering what Agnes
would have to show them so very particular.
"Though this is uncle's haunted room, I must explain to you that we
have nothing to do with it for that reason; but, as what I have to show
you is kept here, I thought we could not have a better place in which
to have our little talk."
"But we can't see anything," said Minnie, squeezing Florence's hand
very hard. "I wish you would strike a match, Agnes."
"All in good time, Minnie. Here, John, light the lantern, and let us
see what there is to be seen."
John, the eldest brother, though not in the secret, knew from
experience that Agnes generally had something pleasant in her little
preparations, and took the lantern from her hand to do as she desired.
When its fitful gleams shone out in the haunted chamber, the young
people looked round curiously, not without a certain creepiness in
their hair and a shiver down their backs.
The room was not very large, but was gloomy and dark; the corners
were unlighted, and the moonlight shining along the floor was almost
brighter than the rays of the shaded light in John's hand.
At one end some garments hung against the wall, and, as their eyes
grew accustomed to the shadows, they could see dimly the shapes of
old-fashioned armour, swords, and spears, arranged in set patterns,
against the oak panelling.
In one corner a knight, with a coat of mail, stood up gaunt and still,
his visor down, his hand clasping his sword, his foot advanced, as if
ready to step forward to the fight.
"I don't like it much, Agnes," whispered Minnie, clinging to her side.
"I wish you would not make it so dark."
"There is nothing in the world to be afraid of," said her sister, "and,
if you will come here between me and Alice, you will feel all right,
shall you not? But, if you are afraid, I will take you downstairs
again, only I did want you to hear about it, too, Minnie."
The little girl was reassured by the loving arms wrapped round her, and
by the warm kisses pressed on her flushed cheeks.
"That knight in armour, who looks so terrible there," explained Agnes,
"is not a real man, though he has on real armour, which was used in
real warfare, long ago. So, before I tell you my story, Minnie and
Florence shall have a good look at him to make sure that it is only a
wooden man, and not a hero of bygone ages come to life again."
Florence laughed a little nervously as she advanced to where John's
light shone brightly, but she was sufficiently courageous to touch the
steel-clad foot with her hand, and to peep up earnestly to see if there
might be any face behind those iron bars.
But no eyes looked out from the dark cavity, and no movement came
from those rigid arms. Florence stepped back to Minnie's side with a
whispered:
"It's all right, Minnie; you needn't be one bit afraid—he's not real."
"Now for the story!" said Hugh, who had been impatient all this time,
if not to get it over, at any rate to find out what it was.
"Come, then," answered Agnes, turning towards the window, and pointing
to an old-fashioned settle covered with a warm rug. "Sit down here,
opposite to the old knight, and I will tell you what I have been
thinking about."
They quickly obeyed, and now Minnie could feel her two sisters on
either side of her, and could gaze up at the familiar face of the clear
moon, she began to feel enough at home to enjoy herself.
"You remember," began Agnes, "that when Uncle Hugh came home from
India, he bought this old house, furniture, pictures, and all, with
that money which had been unexpectedly left him?"
"Yes—yes," broke from several lips.
"The first day after we came, he called me into his library, and said
that he intended to make me a present of one of the old curiosities it
contained, and wished me to say what I would like best, reserving to
himself the right of altering my choice should it fall upon something
he could not part with."
"I was greatly at a loss, as you may suppose; but ever since I had seen
those knights standing in the hall downstairs, I had had an idea which,
if he were willing, could now carry out; so I told him, if it were not
too much to ask, to make me a present of one of his armed knights!"
"You may guess that he had a good laugh at my request, but all the
same, he granted it."
Hugh and John felt as if they would have been very delighted to have
had the chance themselves of such a gift, but before they could say
anything beyond a low exclamation of surprise, Agnes went on—
"I asked him if he would be hurt if I did just as I liked with my
knight; but very soon I found I had to take him into my confidence: so
he knows all about it, and approves."
"Well?" asked Alice.
"My thought was this, as I stood and looked that first morning on those
motionless figures, dressed in armour, that had been used, now only
shadows, as it were, of what once had been—that each one of us living
and breathing, and enjoying life had a set of armour which we ought to
put on, but which often lay hidden away, rusty and useless, because we
disregarded the message our great Captain had sent us—sent to each one
who loves and serves Him—'Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of
God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and, having done
all, to stand.'"
"Oh, I see now!" said John.
"You do not see all," answered Agnes, gently. "That old knight in the
corner is not my knight, for I have pulled mine to pieces."
"Have you?" asked Hugh, regretfully.
"Yes," said Agnes. "Here is his armour, hanging up against the wall.
I asked Uncle if I might divide his armour between us six, and he
willingly gave me leave. Now, what I want to know is this—which of us
is willing, earnestly and faithfully, to take his or her share of this
invisible armour, and begin this very day to clasp on one piece at any
rate, that so we may make the first step towards 'taking unto us the
whole armour of God.'"
"But, Agnes," objected John, "many of us—all, I hope—have taken the
great step of enlisting under the Captain; you do not mean that?"
"Oh no," answered Agnes quickly, "we are all soldiers; but we fail to
put on the armour God has appointed in order that we may be able to
stand! We walk along satisfied in our own strength, far too often."
"Oh, that's all right," answered John earnestly. "I was only afraid
lest for the sake of an illustration, and a very nice idea, Agnes, any
one might forget for a moment that, ere we can be soldiers, we must be
redeemed by precious blood."
"I did not mean that," said Agnes, "but was thinking of ourselves,
because I hope we all home been washed in that precious blood."
"Then what is it you want us to undertake so seriously?" asked Hugh
from his dark corner.
"I want us all to choose a piece of this spiritual armour—not because
one piece will do, but because one piece is better than none; when
we have got used to our one piece, we shall begin to think of trying
another!"
"All right," answered Hugh. "Go ahead, Agnes."
"Who will try to wield the sword—the sword of the Spirit?"
"I don't mind having that," said John. Agnes got up and crossed the
room, taking from the wall the sword which hung there.
"But this is not intangible," said John, hesitating.
"Only that something tangible may remind us—"
"For my own, or lent to me?" he asked. "For your own. Now, Hugh, you
may choose, there are five more things."
"What will you have, Agnes?"
"The one that is left; Hugh, choose!"
"I'll have the breastplate of righteousness, then; for I suppose you
mean to take the Scripture list?"
"You have guessed quite right. Alice, what for you?"
"I'll have the truth one."
"That's the coat of mail, 'loins girt about with truth.' Florence, what
would you like?"
"I don't remember the meanings exactly," answered Florence shyly, "but
I like the helmet. What is it, Agnes?"
"'The hope of salvation,' joy now and always; do you like that,
Florence?"
A very soft little "That will do for me!" came up from a very faithful
little heart.
"Now, Minnie?"
"Might I have the shield? 'The shield of Faith.' But there'll be
nothing nice left for you, Aggie!"
"The very thing is left for her that is most suitable!" exclaimed Alice
warmly.
"Her 'feet shod with the preparation of the Gospel of peace.' Agnes is
a thorough peacemaker, and she loves to tell people about the Gospel of
peace, too."
"So I do; but not half as I ought," answered Agnes, lifting down the
pieces of armour and handing each to the various possessors.
"They will serve as reminders, 'with a vengeance,'" said Hugh. "Where
shall we put them?"
"I mean to hang mine up at home over my mantelshelf," said Agnes. "It
will be quite an ornament, and if—"
"Yes," said John, taking up the word. "If we think of them, and by and
by take unto us the whole armour of God—"
"Agnes' kindness and thought for us will not be in vain," added Alice,
kissing her warmly.
"To-morrow," said Agnes, "we will have some more talk about our
different pieces of armour, for it will be easier to us to use what God
has provided, if we can understand the sorts of weapons which will be
used against us."
"Oh! Tell us now, Aggie," exclaimed her little sister.
"Not to-night; let us go downstairs now, and try to make the evening
bright to uncle Hugh."
The young people carried their armour to their respective rooms,
placing it in full view on chests of drawers, bureaus, &c., each
touched with Agnes' unselfishness, which had caused her, in that house
full of treasures to choose something which she meant but to receive
and then to give away.
When they reached the drawing-room, their uncle met them at the door
with an unusually bright look on his face.
"Agnes," he said, leading her up to an easel, which stood under the
chandelier in the middle of the room, "I have looked out another little
treasure for you, in remembrance of your knight! I felt, after what we
talked about yesterday, that it ought to belong to no one else."
When Agnes reached the easel, what was her surprise to see a beautiful
oil painting of a soldier, clad in armour, kneeling before his
sovereign, receiving from his hands the victor's laurels and rewards!
His face, patient with many a hardship, holy with many a self-denial,
earnest with many a purpose, radiant with many a victory, his face
touched the hearts of the lookers on, all fresh from Agnes' earnest
words, and a silent sort of awe fell upon them, as they thought of what
they had undertaken, and of what the end would be.
Their uncle's voice, gentle and solemn, broke the pause—
"'I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept
the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness,
which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day.'"
"I cannot attempt to thank you," said Agnes in a low voice, putting her
hand in her uncle's, "but—"
"Don't try to, my dear. Rather would I thank you for having turned my
haunted chamber into an armoury of light!"
That night as Hugh, the last of the party, crossed the hall on his way
to bed, he paused by the marble pillars and looked round.
The moon had left the windows of the haunted chamber, and had come
round to the front, where it streamed along the pavement, touching the
feet of the gaunt knights, and casting fairy shadows from the ferns and
palms between which they stood.
"'The whole armour of God,'" he murmured softly, "I wonder how long
I shall be before I have strength to buckle it all on? But I'm glad
there are those words: 'I can do all things through Christ which
strengtheneth me!'"
* * * * * *
"Agnes, the best thing you can do is to come into the haunted room and
tell us what you promised," said Hugh one evening soon after the giving
out of the armour. "We could not have a better place to sit, and we
shall be uninterrupted."
"I do not mind, if you all like it best," answered Agnes. "When shall
we begin?"
"No time like the present," said John, laughing, and taking his sister
round the waist; "we will lead the way, Agnes, and face the haunted
room altogether, if need be!"
The rest soon followed; and before long all were seated by the window,
where the first rays of the moon were peeping in, instead of leaving
it, as they had been a few days before.
"Well, Agnes?" began Alice.
"I daresay some of you have thought of your pieces of armour since we
had our other talk?" asked Agnes.
"I've thought ever so much," said Hugh.
"So have I," pursued Agnes, "and I think we had better begin in the
order in which we find the list in Ephesians. Who is it who has the
coat of Mail—Truth? 'Loins girt about with truth'?"
"That is my piece of armour," answered Alice. "What have you to tell us
about that, Agnes?"
"It seems to me that truth is a sort of strengthening of our minds; as
in the East they would gird up their encumbering robes, so as to walk
along more bravely in a difficult path. Do you think of it like that,
Alice?"
"Yes," answered her sister. "I was reading these words on Sunday:
'Grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.' I suppose that has something to
do with my piece of armour."
"Of course it has!" exclaimed Agnes eagerly. "And it is so difficult to
combine those two things in the same person—grace and truth. People can
be truthful, but they find it very hard to be gracious also; or they
are so gracious that they fail to be truthful."
"I don't see how you mean," said Hugh.
"In this sort of way," answered Agnes. "One day lately, I heard a girl
say something like this: Oh, you know, she asked me how I liked her
drawing, and I said it was sweetly pretty; but really, you know, it was
not a bit nice, nor a quarter as well done as so-and-so's.'"
"Oh, Agnes! You did not hear me say that!" exclaimed Alice, shocked.
"No, not you; but every day we hear this sort of compromise. If that
girl I spoke of, had been taxed with not speaking the truth, she would
have answered: Well, it was very pretty, or, if I didn't think so, she
did, and that made it quite true.'"
"I would not have said such a thing for the world," exclaimed Alice.
"I am sure you would not; but I find, for myself, that these
difficulties meet one at every step, and that our being 'girt about
with truth' is an everyday necessity."
"I'm sure it is," said John, "in a hundred ways. If we look-out for
them, they will come to us fast enough, and we shall get used to
watching ourselves."
"Is that all about Truth?" asked Florence.
"Not half enough, but you must think it out for yourselves; we shall
not have time to-night for more than a few suggestions. We must now
proceed to the 'Breastplate of Righteousness.'"
"That's mine," said Hugh.
"All of us need it," answered Agnes, "for I think it is one of our best
weapons against Satan."
"How?" asked Hugh.
"Don't you see that it is only as we carry the 'Breastplate of
Righteousness' we can face Satan boldly, without fear?"
"But," said Hugh, very soberly, "I don't always feel bold when I meet
Satan, for he often accuses me, and I have nothing to say!"
"Yes," answered Agnes, "and that is the very reason, I believe, why our
God has provided the Breastplate of Righteousness—not ours but His—the
perfect righteousness of Christ, in which we may face all our foes with
calm confidence. Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect?'"
"That is a nice thought," said Hugh heartily; and Agnes, glancing up at
the moment, saw the moonbeams resting on a very bright, earnest face,
in which a look of peace had taken up its abode.
"It strikes me, we shall find all we need, every piece as we come to
them," said John.
Agnes smiled to herself, and then Minnie, who was looking up in her
eyes, said, "Shall we, Aggie?"
"I should not wonder," she answered.
"But what comes next?" asked Minnie.
"'Shod with the preparation of the Gospel of peace,'" said John. "That
belongs to Agnes, and it suits her."
"I wish it did," she answered; "but I have thought of it like this. To
have feet always ready to do our Lord's bidding; to go everywhere, not
with our own poor, bare, tired feet, but shod with His Gospel of peace;
a covering which will make us welcome wherever we go."
"What next, Agnes?" asked Hugh.
"'The Shield of Faith,' Minnie's great piece of armour."
"Yes, that's mine," nodded Minnie.
"Here we come across another reference to the power of Satan," said
Agnes, "and you see there is no disgrace in taking refuge under the
Shield. Satan hurls darts at those who are bearing God's name, and
carrying His armour, and he hopes by their terrible fiery nature to
beat down the combatant. But our Captain, who has not sent us out to
battle unarmed, has provided a shield, which not only protects us from
the fiery darts, but actually quenches them! The Shield of Faith.
Minnie, whatever people say as you go on in life, whatever Satan may
say, take your Shield of Faith and answer, 'If God be for us, who can
be against us?' 'He that believeth shall not make haste.'"
"I never knew what it meant before," said Minnie.
"If you think it over, you will find that Jesus is your Shield in more
ways than you can count; but I must leave you to find these out for
yourselves. I think the other thought is the main one in our present
subject."
"Florence's Helmet is next," remarked Hugh, as Agnes paused.
"Yes—the crowning of all—the hope which lifts the head proudly before
every foe. Salvation! Victory at last; no defeat or dismay for those
who trust Him. 'Take the Helmet of Salvation,' and the joy of the Lord
shall be your strength!"
"Oh, Agnes," whispered Florence, "how nice!"
"And then," pursued Agnes, "the last equipment must be taken in hand,
and never put down till the fight is fought. 'Take ... the Sword of the
Spirit, which is the Word of God.'"
"I often think how our Lord conquered Satan when He was on earth. Don't
you remember that at every attack, He answered him by the Word of
God? Satan hates to have Scripture quoted to him. He knows its power,
and would by every device urge the soldier to lay down this powerful
weapon. But let us all be too wary for this. Let us brighten our Sword
ere we go to bed; let us grasp it afresh when we rise in the morning;
let us wield it in our hearts and in our lives all day, that so the
Word of Christ may dwell in us richly, and we may be able to fight the
good fight of faith."
Agnes paused, and all her listeners were silent.
"Do you catch my meaning, dears?" she asked gently.
"Oh yes, Agnes," answered several voices, and then John spoke earnestly.
"Agnes, there's one thing I've learned from what you have been saying
(besides many other things). As you went along, I came to this
conclusion—"
"Well, John dear?"
"That, though our one piece of armour will be a first-rate reminder all
through this New Year, the upshot saying is this—we must take unto us
the whole armour, or we shall not be able to stand!"
"Rather," corrected Agnes, earnestly, "that we may be able to stand!
You are quite right, John, it is the whole armour of God which we need."