FRUIT AT THE MILLS.
"Well, then, Ray, good-bye until Monday. We shall see you then?" Mr.
George Woodhull said, as the boy stepped into a boat at the Long Point
Farm wharf, and took up the oars.
"Yes; if nothing happens, you may look for me Monday night after
school," Ray replied, dipping the oars into the water, and pulling
slowly away toward Afton.
Four months have passed since the events recorded in the last chapter,
and Thanksgiving is just at hand. Those months have been marked by
faithful toil on the part of Ray. Immediately after his trial he had
taken up his work again at Long Point Farm, and had gone steadily
on also with his studies. When September came, and the fall term of
school began, he went to the principal of the Afton Graded School, and
was examined for entrance to the senior class. The examination was
so successful that when Mr. Greenough, the principal, found the boy
could not enter the school before the winter term, he himself proposed
that he should come up to the village once each week for recitation,
and under his own immediate supervision keep on with his class. Ray
had gladly accepted the offer, and, while he neglected no farm duty,
he had through all the fall carried on his studies so assiduously
that the week previous to the opening of this chapter he had passed
an examination which warranted Mr. Greenough's remark a day or two
after to Mr. Carleton: "If my other boys don't look out, that young
Branford will take their laurels away from them. His indomitable will
has carried him successfully through what few boys would have dared to
undertake."
Ray's eight months with Mr. Woodhull were now completed, but he had
arranged with his employer to live with him during the winter months,
doing chores and working on Saturdays for his board, and going morning
and night to and from school. This undertaking would have at the very
outset disheartened a less courageous lad; still it was not so hard a
task as it at first sight appeared. It was not over three miles across
the bay to Afton, and in good weather, until winter closed it up, Ray
could go over to the village by boat. When once the bay was frozen
over, he could skate across; and at the times when he could not do
either of these Mr. Woodhull had promised him a horse, and Mr. Carleton
had an extra stall in the parsonage barn where the horse could be kept
during school hours. Nor would the gallop of seven miles through the
wintry air be otherwise than beneficial to the general health of the
lad.
So this new arrangement was to go into effect on the following Monday,
when the winter term of school began. Meantime, Ray decided to spend a
few days with his old friends at the Black Forge Mills. He had made a
few brief visits there during the months he had been away, but this was
to be his first extended stay. He had found that, notwithstanding his
new associations and arduous cares, there was still in his heart a deep
interest for his old friends at the Forge. He had a deep yearning in
his soul that many of his old associates might come to Jesus. For them
and his immediate home friends he had prayed constantly; but of late he
had felt that the gulf between him and them was daily widening.
"I must see them occasionally, and let them see that I neither forget
them nor lose my interest in them, if I am to do them good," he
thought. And for this reason he had planned this visit to his old home.
He little knew how great the spiritual results of that visit were to be.
It was early morning when he bade Mr. Woodhull good-bye at Long Point
Farm wharf. The day was crisp and cold, but pleasant, and he rowed
briskly, as he got out on to the bosom of the bay, to keep himself
warm. The waves were not high, and under his vigorous strokes the light
boat shot rapidly forward. Instead of running into the dock at Afton,
he pulled along the shore to the mouth of the stream on which the Black
Forge Mills were situated. It was high water, and he was able to row
up within a few rods of his father's door. Pulling the boat well up on
the bank, and fastening it securely to an adjacent tree, he walked on
to the house.
He opened the door without knocking, and entered. Betsy was busy at the
stove, and turned hastily to see who had come. She gave a glad cry when
she saw him.
"Oh, Ray! is it you? And you have come to spend Thanksgiving with us,
haven't you?" she eagerly asked.
"Yes," he answered; "are you glad I've come?"
"I guess we are; I mean all of us. Do you know, George and the girls
have seemed so different lately. They go to the mission chapel with me
quite often now, and I hope soon, the girls, at least, will go with me
up to the church. Only yesterday we were talking about you, and they
all said they hoped you would come home for Thanksgiving. I told them
you would. They asked me how I knew, and I told them I had asked the
Lord to bring you, and I knew you would come. They laughed and said if
you came they would believe God answered prayer, and now they'll have
to; I'm so glad."
Ray smiled: "I thought you had been praying for me to come, and as
to-night is the night for the prayer meeting at the chapel, we'll try
to get them all out. With whom do you leave the children?"
"Some one of us has to stay with them. If you can get all the others to
go, I'll stay at home; but if father won't go, and I hardly think he
will, then he'll look out for the children for me. He has done it once
or twice lately. He hasn't been drinking near so much since the boys
were arrested."
Ray now sat down by the fire, talking busily with Betsy, as she went
on with her work, or chatting with the children as they played about
the floor. Almost before he realized it was noon, the whistle of the
mills blew, and a few moments later his father and brother George and
the three sisters came in. He was surprised at the cordiality they all
manifested, and when they learned he had come to be with them over
Thanksgiving, they all looked over at Betsy and laughed.
"I have told Ray," she said, "and he says you must all go with him to
the chapel to-night."
"You will, won't you?" Ray asked, looking around upon all.
Not a single one gave a direct answer, and yet none of them refused to
go. The father gave a sniff, but said nothing. George laughed a little,
and said: "We might have expected that would be the first thing we'd
hear. Betsy and he'll never rest till we are all Christians."
"Never," said Ray, earnestly.
The oldest sister looked over at Ray, a deep yearning manifest in her
eyes, and, with some show of emotion, remarked: "It's a very little
favor for his coming home."
The younger sisters laughed, and replied in concert: "If you'll be our
beau, perhaps we will go."
When the hour came for the service, however, all but the father got
ready to accompany Ray. "No, I shan't go," he said gruffly to Betsy's
inquiring as to his going; "but you may. I'll take care of the
children."
It was but a short distance to the chapel, and on their arrival they
found quite a number already gathered. Others kept coming, and soon
the room was quite full. It had been the custom for Mr. Carleton, or
some brother from the home church, to come down to the Forge and take
charge of this Wednesday evening service. But the hour arrived for the
meeting, and passed, and no one came. There had evidently been some
misunderstanding about the leader, or else he had been unexpectedly
detained. Fifteen minutes after the usual hour, Mr. Jacob Woodhull, who
was present, came from his seat, to where Ray was sitting. He talked a
few minutes with him, and then Ray arose and went quietly forward to
the desk. He began the service, and proceeded along in the usual order
without the slightest hesitation or embarrassment. His Scripture lesson
was the tenth chapter of Romans, and his brief remarks were based upon
the very first verse: "Brethren, my heart's desire and prayer to God
for Israel is, that they might be saved." He spoke first of Paul's
great anxiety for his own countrymen--that they might be saved. "He
_desired_ it. It was the longing of his heart. The _desire_ because a
_prayer_. He could contain himself no longer. The burden had become
too great. He now cried unto God. He did more. Wherever he went we find
he first preached that gospel to his unbelieving brethren. He saw to it
that they heard the message of salvation, and had the opportunity to
accept it _if they would_."
"Making an application of this truth to myself," he said, "I, as a
Christian, ought to desire and pray for the salvation of all of you
here at the Forge whom I have been accustomed to associate with; and I
do and have. If you only knew how great my anxiety is, how earnestly
I have asked God for this very thing, I do believe some of you would
come."
As he went on, an earnestness took possession of him which held the
fixed attention of that people who knew him so well.
It was a plain, simple talk, but it had a marked effect upon his
hearers. From the human side, the very fact that Ray was one of their
number led them to listen to him with unusual interest. There was not
a single one in that audience who did not know Ray's past life, and
not a single one that for a moment doubted the change in him; and when
he told, in his quiet, earnest way, what had wrought the change, they
gave him their respectful attention. From the divine side, God was
working in and through that boy. He spake as "moved of the Holy Ghost."
The Spirit taking the circumstances, the place, the hearers, and the
instrument under his control, moved on with a quiet but irresistible
power to the accomplishment of his work. And when, at the close of a
half hour of testimony and prayer, Ray asked: "Isn't there some one
here to-night who wants Jesus for his Saviour?" the fruit of the Spirit
began to appear.
From one of the forward seats a great, burly, rough man slowly arose,
and electrified those present by the emphatic declaration: "I'm tired
of sin. I want to believe in my mother's God." He was known as "Sailor
Jack," and his history was a strange one. At the age of seventeen he
had run away from a Christian home, and had shipped on board a South
Sea whaler. Forty years passed away. The Christian father had gone to
his reward. The Christian mother still lived; and, at the ripe age of
ninety-four, she awaited her summons home. "I shall not go," she said,
again and again, "until Jack comes home. I shall see him once again ere
I die, and he will meet me in heaven. God has heard my prayers, and I
have the assurance of the answer in God's own time." Finally there came
a sickness to the old saint, that the friends gathered about her knew
was unto death; but her faith faltered not at all. One evening, as she
sat bolstered up in bed, she suddenly seemed to be listening, and then
exclaimed: "There is Jack's step. He is at the door. I knew I should
see him before I went home." Those about her thought she wandered in
mind; but to comfort her, they went and opened the outer door. A
large, burly man who stood hesitatingly upon the steps now entered,
saying: "They tell me mother is still alive. May I see her?" Jack had
come.
The mother never knew, in this world, the story of that son's
wanderings, or the desperate wickedness of his life. She lived only
long enough to assure herself that it was her own son Jack, to speak to
him of God's promise, and her expectation of meeting him beyond; and
then she went on to the heavenly mansion prepared for her. But others
soon heard that wayward son's story, and had proof of his evil life and
heart. He had sailed on nearly every sea; he had been guilty of nearly
every crime. Three months before he had been in the diamond fields
of South Africa, and one day had the good fortune to find a number
of gems, of a size and quality that at once lifted him from the most
abject poverty to comparative wealth. That night, as he lay in his rude
tent, his thoughts, for the first time in years, wandered back to the
home of his boyhood. As he told of it in after years, a voice seemed to
suddenly say unto him, "Go home! Go home!" The next morning he left for
the nearest seaport, took the first ship that sailed for England, and
from there sailed for his native land, arriving home in time to see his
mother die.
Since her death he had gone on in his bold, wicked life, utterly
regardless of man or God. Even among the hard characters at Black
Forge he was regarded as a hopeless case. When now he arose in that
little meeting, and declared he wanted to believe in his mother's God,
there was a hushed stillness not unlike that when the Spirit brooded
over the darkness and void at the beginning, and out of which he was
soon to call forth light and life. This stillness was broken by Jacob
Woodhull dropping suddenly down upon his knees, and with deep emotion
asking the Saviour to hear and answer this penitent man's request.
They had been playmates together--he and this wicked man; they had sat
on the same bench at school. Mr. Woodhull knew of the mother's faith
and the mother's prayers for this son. He asked that the hour when
that mother's prayers were to be answered might be at hand, and that
the mother's mantle might now fall upon the son, making him a living
witness of Christ's power to save even the vilest sinner that would
come unto him. A number of others, at the close of this prayer, arose
and declared their determination to go unto Jesus, who alone had "the
words of eternal life," and among the number was Ray's oldest sister.
The next morning Ray and this sister attended the Thanksgiving service
at the First Church, and as they started for home at the close of the
meeting, Mr. Carleton joined them, and walked a ways with them.
"I owe you an apology, Ray," he said, "for throwing the meeting last
night on your hands. By some strange inadvertence I forgot that I had
not provided a leader for it, but it was well. God knew where the one
to lead that service was, and I have already learned of the wonderful
power he there displayed. This is the sister, I believe, who desired to
find Christ. May I ask if she is at peace?"
"Yes, sir," she timidly replied. "Ray talked and prayed with me after
the service, and I do feel that I have given myself to Jesus, and that
he has accepted me."
"I am very glad to hear it," Mr. Carleton responded, "and I shall be
glad to help you in any way that I can, to a fuller understanding of
what it is to follow him." Then to Ray: "How about Sailor Jack?"
"He is completely in the dark," Ray answered. "I was over to see him
early this morning, and found that Mr. Woodhull had been with him all
night, but no light or peace had yet come. His great trouble seems to
be that he has already sinned away his day of grace. I wish you might
see him; possibly you could help him."
"I will try and see him soon," answered his pastor; "but how about your
taking the four o'clock preaching service on Sunday at the Forge? It
would be a great relief to me if you would do it, and you seem to have
a strong hold upon that people."
For a moment Ray seemed on the point of refusing; then he asked,
softly: "Do you think Jesus would like to have me do it, Mr. Carleton?"
"I think he is always pleased to have us do the work that lies at our
hand for him, and which we _can_ do; nay, more: I think he requires it
of us," said the minister.
"I will do the best I can, sir," replied Ray, humbly.
It was a full house that Ray was called to face Sunday afternoon, for
it had become generally known that he was to conduct the service. Even
Mr. Branford, Ray's father, had slipped in through the door at the last
moment and taken a rear seat, as if almost ashamed to be seen in the
Lord's house. Ray conducted the service in a way very similar to that
he had followed the Wednesday evening before, only he now talked a
little longer, and this time it was from the words: "Jesus Christ, the
same yesterday, to-day, and forever."
It was a helpful, comforting, all-powerful Saviour whom he presented
to those listening ears, and not one went away without feeling, that
to that young Christian heart, at least, he was all he had pictured
him. At the close of the service a number of those who had risen on
Wednesday, stayed behind to tell of a new-found hope; but though
Sailor Jack tarried with the rest, he, to every question asked him,
only answered: "I am shut up in a darkness that is blacker than night.
Not a ray of light comes to me. I can only feel I am fast sinking in
despair."
"Why not hold another service to-night, Ray?" asked Mr. Woodhull. "It
seems to me the interest manifested warrants it."
"Very well," replied Ray. And notice was at once sent out among the
people announcing the fact, while he went up to the parsonage to
apprise Mr. Carleton of the liberty he had taken.
"I am sure you have done wisely, Ray," his pastor heartily replied.
"Very few of the Forge people come up to our service, anyway, and I
think myself this work ought to be followed up for a while. Will you
give notice that services will be held there every night this week,
and that you, on next Sunday afternoon, will lead the services again?
I know your arrangements for the week will not permit you to be there,
but I will go down, and take some of our church people with me."
The evening service was not unlike the afternoon one. Ray spoke from
the words: "Whosoever, therefore, shall confess me before men, him will
I confess also before my Father which is in heaven. But whosoever shall
deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in
heaven."
Sailor Jack sat in the front seat, and never took his eyes from Ray
while he was speaking. As soon as he had finished, the man jumped to
his feet, and turning around so as to face the audience, exclaimed:
"I see it all now. All my life I have been denying Jesus, and of
course he has been denying me; and he isn't going to confess me till
I first confess him. So here, now, before you all who know just how
wicked I have been, I declare that Christ is the Son of God; that he
came into this world to save sinners of whom I am chief. But even I
am not beyond the reach of his power. For he has promised, 'him that
cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.'" And he sat down with his
face fairly reflecting the peace which had come into his soul.
Ray had hoped that his brother George, and his other sisters might,
on this evening, manifest a desire to be reconciled unto God through
Christ. Betsy and his older sister and he had all prayed for them, but
none of them arose with those who asked the prayers of Christians.
While rejoicing, therefore, that others were coming, Ray felt he still
had much to keep him humble and prayerful; he could not be satisfied
until all of his own home friends had found Jesus.
He was somewhat elated, an hour or so later, to have his brother George
come up to his room, for he thought it must be that he had come for
spiritual help. When he had closed the door, however, George said in a
whisper:
"I came up here, Ray, to talk with you about Tom and Dick; you know,
after their examination, they were taken over to the county jail to
wait their trial before the higher court."
"Yes," replied Ray, sadly; "I was over to see them once, but they
would hardly speak with me. What of them? Their trial comes off next
week."
"No, it don't; for they escaped from the jail Thanksgiving night, and
got on to an outward-bound ship for South America before the officers
could overhaul them," explained George. "I heard of it only this
afternoon, and haven't told any of the others yet."
"I am sorry," said Ray, thoughtfully; "for I had hoped their term in
prison might be helpful to them. I am afraid now they will make bad,
wicked men. How thankful you ought to be, George, that you didn't go
along with them that night!"
"Yes," admitted George; "it was the thought of Betsy that led me
to refuse. I tell you, Ray, she is a Christian wife, if there ever
was one. I have tormented her awfully, and she has borne it just as
patiently as any one could. Never a bitter word out from her. But I'm
through with that, and drinking, too." And he whistled softly.
"Why not, George, come clear over to the Lord's side? Do you know,
Betsy and I have prayed that you might?"
"Yes," replied George; "I have known it a good while, and, Ray, I do
want to come. I wish I had been as brave as Sailor Jack to-night. Won't
you pray for me?"
With a glad heart Ray knelt there and prayed for that brother. Nor did
he forget the father and sisters, and the two wayward ones off on the
great sea at that hour, fugitives from man's justice, but unable to
escape the justice of God. When they arose, George shook hands with him
convulsively, and then hastened to his own room.
"Slowly they are coming, Lord, to thee," Ray murmured, as he got into
bed. "Give me the faith to pray and labor for all until they too call
thee Lord."
The next morning, Ray had a little talk with Betsy before he hastened
off to school. He found George had told her of his desire, and the two
had a little prayer meeting in that kitchen for him, and the other
members of the household still unsaved. Was it strange they arose with
the conviction that their prayers would be answered? Not in the light
of those words of the Master: "Again I say unto you, That if _two_ of
you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it
shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven."
The answer came speedily, too, for a portion of the household, since
before the week was out George and the two sisters came boldly out on
the Lord's side; then the brothers and sisters joined their prayers for
the salvation of the father, and the two wanderers in a foreign land.
The prayers were heard. The cry of faith always is. But God's time had
not yet come.