THE LAST YEAR AT EASTON.
When Ray reached Clinton Academy, he found a note awaiting him from
the merchant whose deformed son he taught. It simply requested that he
should call at the merchant's place of business as soon as possible
after his arrival. So, early in the afternoon, Ray went down to the
city. He found the merchant in his office, and was received with some
show of cordiality.
"I am glad to find you have returned, Mr. Branford," he said, "and have
sent for you to see if you would be willing to take another scholar
in addition to my son. I have a widowed sister, who has now returned
to Easton and will make my house her home. She has a daughter but two
months younger than my boy, who is a cripple; was made so by the same
accident that deformed her cousin. By the way, has Louis ever told you
how he came to be deformed?"
"No, sir," Ray answered. "I have purposely avoided asking him anything
about it. I knew he was extremely sensitive, and so have tried to draw
his thoughts away from his deformity, and teach him to believe that the
all important thing is a beauty of soul."
The merchant nodded approvingly, and then told the story of the
accident: "It was the summer Louis was four years old. My sister was
visiting us with her little girl, and my wife, who was living then,
spent much time riding about the city and its suburbs with her and the
two children. I had a new coachman, but he seemed to be thoroughly
reliable, and I had no thought of danger, though I knew the horses were
exceedingly high-spirited. It seems, however, that the fellow drank
occasionally, and one morning, when my wife had ordered the carriage to
be driven around to the door for a ride, she found that he was tipsy.
At first she thought of postponing the drive. Would that she had done
so! But it was the last opportunity my sister would have to ride out,
as on the morrow she was to return home, and they had arranged an
excursion to Weetunk Lake, five or six miles from here. Finally, much
against her better judgment, my wife decided to go.
"They reached the lake, and were riding along a steep bank on the
west side, when, for some unaccountable reason, the horses became
frightened, and the driver in his drunken condition was unable
to manage them, and down the bank they plunged. The carriage was
overturned and crushed against some trees, while the liberated horses
and driver were hurled down into the lake. They escaped serious injury,
as also did my wife and sister. But both children were caught under
the broken carriage; and, when removed, it was found that my boy's
back was injured, and one limb of my sister's little girl was wrenched
almost from its socket: one was deformed, the other crippled for life."
"Yet how merciful was it that their lives were spared!" remarked Ray.
"Merciful!" cried the merchant, with intense bitterness. "A strange
mercy, it seems to me. Why, I am more merciful than that! If I could,
I would not have allowed a defect, nor a pain to have come to my
beautiful child."
"God never does wrong," replied Ray, simply; "and even inscrutable
providences are overshadowed by mercy, though we may not see it."
"It would take a great deal to make me believe that," muttered the
merchant.
Ray forgot that the gentleman before him was Mr. Grafton, the proudest
and richest merchant in the city. He forgot for the moment that he was
father to his pupil, and the very man who, if offended, could take from
him the very means by which he hoped to pay his way in the academy. He
forgot that he was perhaps trespassing upon the valuable time of the
merchant, and that his own business with him was not yet completed. I
say Ray forgot these things; perhaps it would be more correct to say
that he lost sight of them for a time, because a more important thing
had already taken possession of his mind. He remembered only that
the man before him had questioned the wisdom and mercy of the God he
loved and served. Had he a right to let this fact go unnoticed? Would
he not, in a sense, be denying his Lord if he did? Whatever others may
have thought under the circumstances, this was the view Ray took of the
case; therefore, he said, politely, but firmly:
"I beg your pardon, sir, but may not God in his wisdom know better than
we what is best for us; and may he not in his mercy, knowing just what
is before us, send a light affliction upon us to save us from a more
terrible evil that otherwise would have befallen us?"
"How do you make that out?" asked the merchant, partly in surprise and
partly in curiosity. Surprise that this young man should have dared
to take up the gauntlet many an older Christian would have entirely
ignored; curiosity as to how he would defend himself now that he had
assumed the task.
"Well," said Ray, boldly, "if a robber should seize in your house a
casket full of rare jewels, would you not justify one who should rescue
them, even though in this process the casket should be marred?"
"I rather think I should," the merchant answered.
"Perhaps," said Ray, "God wrought thus with your boy; and the casket
was marred that the gem might be saved. Neither I nor you may
understand it, but it will bring vast comfort to believe it."
"Perhaps it may be so," replied the merchant, thoughtfully. "The boy
has unusually deep religious impressions for one so young. He is like
his mother in that. Since her death I have perhaps allowed myself
to grow too bitter and hard of heart." Then, as if ashamed of his
acknowledgment, he said, somewhat brusquely: "How about taking the
extra scholar? Of course, you are to have double pay."
"Indeed, sir; I had not expected that," said Ray, gratefully. "You pay
me very liberally, and I am willing to take your niece without extra
compensation."
"I am very pleased with the progress Louis is making, and he is very
much attached to you. If you only do as well with the two, we shall be
abundantly satisfied. We shall insist, however, upon your taking double
pay," responded Mr. Grafton, turning to his desk.
"Thank you, sir," answered Ray, rising to go. "And you are not offended
at my defense of One who is dearer to me than aught else."
Again Mr. Grafton looked curiously at him. "You have done no
harm, young man, if you have done no good," he grimly replied.
"Good-afternoon, sir."
"Good-afternoon," replied Ray, leaving the office with a great wish in
his heart that he could have plead better the cause he had espoused;
but though he did not know it, he had exerted an influence that day
destined yet to produce important results.
The weeks glided swiftly by. The fall term at the academy ended just
before Thanksgiving; the winter term began immediately after. Ray's
pay from his two pupils enabled him now to be entirely independent of
his friends; in fact, he was saving something toward his prospective
college course.
Early in the beginning of the new year, a well-known evangelist,
and one whose fame as a successful Christian worker was in all the
churches, visited Easton. Union services were held in the largest hall
of the city, and though the evangelist remained but a short time, an
unprecedented religious awakening took place. Religion became the theme
of conversation on the streets, at the places of business, and in the
homes. With the departure of the evangelist, the churches, dividing the
city into districts, vigorously carried on the work.
In the suburbs of the city, near the academy, was a young but growing
church. Here Ray, on coming to Easton, though he did not sever his
connection with the First Church, Afton, had made his religious home.
He became a teacher in the Sunday-school. He frequently led the prayer
meetings; and so efficient had he proved himself in all religious work,
that when this thorough awakening on the part of the churches came, Mr.
Gage, the pastor of the young church, pressed him into full service. It
fell upon Ray to take charge of the evening services whenever Mr. Gage
was detained elsewhere.
One evening when he was in charge of the services, he was quite
surprised to see Mr. Grafton, the merchant, some time after the meeting
had begun, enter the room and take a back seat. Ray knew that the
chapel was the nearest place of worship to the merchant's palatial
residence, but he had never known him to enter its doors before.
Indeed, he seldom ever went to church anywhere, and when he did, it
was at one of the most aristocratic and fashionable churches farther
down town. This made his entrance into the chapel now all the more
noticeable. He paid the strictest attention to the remarks and prayers
of those who took part in the services, and even once or twice added
his deep bass to the familiar songs that were sung. Near the hour for
closing he arose, and said:
"I arise to-night not because I can testify to the saving grace of the
Lord Jesus Christ. I know nothing about it. In fact, I do not even
understand it. I believe intellectually in the existence of a God, and
in Jesus Christ as his Son. I am willing to admit that, the Bible is
his book. Farther than that, I cannot honestly say I am now prepared to
go. But I would like to know what it is to have Jesus for an intimate
and personal friend, such as many here to-night have testified he is to
them. I would like to know that I am saved. I would give all I am worth
to-night to know that peace which is said to pass all understanding."
He paused, and made as though he would sit down; then he went on,
hurriedly:
"For weeks, yea months, I have been in a state of unrest. Ever since
the day the leader of this meeting had the courage to speak to me in
my office in defense of his Lord, I may say I have had no peace. The
burden is getting too great for me to bear. I feel I must have light
soon, or I shall sink in sheer despair."
Amid a marked stillness that had fallen over the meeting at this
unexpected circumstance, some one began to pray. It was Mr. Gage, the
pastor, who had entered the room in time to hear Mr. Grafton's words.
When his fervent appeal that God would give this man light for Jesus'
sake had ended, and the meeting had closed, Mr. Grafton thanked the
pastor somewhat haughtily for the interest he had manifested for him,
and immediately left the room. When Ray entered the street, however, he
found the merchant waiting for him.
"Mr. Branford," he asked, "are you willing I should walk up to the
academy with you?"
Ray gladly consented, and they walked on for a short distance in
silence. When far enough from all others to be unheard, the great man
inquired:
"Would it be asking too much, Mr. Branford, for you to tell me as
simply as possible how I am to be saved?"
This man, who had been so haughty when in the presence of others, was
very humble now.
"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved," replied
Ray, quickly. And then he silently asked the Master to help him in
leading this anxious soul to him.
"Yes; I know," said the merchant. "I have studied those words for
weeks. But what do they mean to you?"
"Taking Christ at his word; accepting just what he offers. He tells us
that he came to die as our substitute, and, if we will only believe it,
he will hold that relation to us. We are to believe it, and show our
faith by living up to the fact," said Ray.
The word "substitute" caught Mr. Grafton's attention.
"Substitute!" he exclaimed. "How is he our substitute? How can he be?
That is just where my difficulty lies."
Ray gave a deep sigh. How he wished for Mr. Carleton, or even Mr. Gage,
to have been there just then! He felt so unable to cope with this
great truth, and make it plain to this haughty inquirer; and yet it is
doubtful if any one else could have helped the great man at all. He
would not have listened to any one as he did to that lad.
"I admit," said Ray, slowly, as though measuring every word, "that
there are difficulties in the way of our comprehending just _how_ such
a thing could be; but shall we for that reason reject it? We have the
fact. May we not accept it and act in accordance with it, even if we
do not fully understand all about it? How many times, Mr. Grafton,
we do that very thing with reference to the things of this life. I
noticed, when down at your office, that you had direct telegraph
connection with some of our large cities. Electricity is the agent
that you employ to transmit your messages. Do you understand just the
nature of it? Why is it that it has such a strong affinity for some
things that they become first-class conductors, while other things are
as perfect non-conductors? Some things about it you understand; some
things about it are still a mystery. But you accept the fact that it
will transmit your message, and make use of it daily in your business;
and it accomplishes your purpose.
"Now, I admit that the idea of 'God manifest in the flesh,' and
becoming a substitute for sinful man, is surrounded with great
difficulties. Paul himself has written: 'And without controversy great
is the mystery of godliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified
in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on
in the world, received up into glory.' But the fact is indisputable.
Before you came into the meeting to-night I had read for our evening
lesson the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah. It is wonderful how the idea
of Christ as a substitutionary sacrifice for sin is brought out there
in nearly every verse. If not so, what are you going to do with such
passages as these: 'Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our
sorrows'; 'He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for
our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with
his stripes we are healed'? No other ultimate thought could the prophet
have had in mind but that the Messiah of whom he here speaks was to die
in the sinner's stead.
"Turning to the New Testament, we find its confirmation in _the way_
Christ died, and in declarations like these: 'For when we were yet
without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly.' 'God
commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us.' 'He tasted death for every man.' 'He was made
a curse for us.' Great as may be the mystery of it, here is an
indisputable Scriptural fact. Those who have accepted it, and used it
according to direction, and with the proper instrument of faith, have
found it to accomplish their purpose, just as much as the subtle and
mysterious current you call electricity when properly used produces its
expected results. Take him at his word, and see if he does not do just
as he promises.
"Pardon me for speaking plainly, but do not hope to go to Jesus,
feeling that you are Mr. Grafton, the leading and most influential
merchant of Easton, and that you would like to have him do you the
honor of becoming your substitute. But go to him as Mr. Grafton the
sinner, who must perish except he shall save, and there humbly plead
his own promise, 'in nowise to cast out them that come unto him.'"
It was a plain, bold speech; but Ray, with no thought of anything but
this man's great need, spoke with all that earnestness and eloquence
for which he was noted, and Mr. Grafton listened with the profoundest
attention. They had now reached the academy, and Mr. Grafton stopped.
"Light is coming," he said. "It ought to, with such plain preaching as
you have done. God bless you, and please pray for me." And he turned
and walked rapidly away.
The very next evening, however, he was at the meeting; and, rising, he
made an humble confession of Christ, that touched every heart there.
This was not entirely unexpected to Ray, though, for that afternoon,
when he had gone at the usual hour to teach his pupils, he had been
greeted by Louis, with the words:
"Oh, Mr. Branford, my papa loves Jesus now, and he is going to attend
the same chapel where you go; and Aunt Amy will go too, and they say
Susie and I may join the Sunday-school. Aren't you glad?"
Ray was indeed glad; and not long after Mr. Grafton and his sister
united with that young, struggling church. They came there, moreover,
to be earnest workers for the Master, and their great wealth from that
hour was also consecrated to the Master's use.
So busy now was Ray with his studies and his work for the Lord, that
almost before he could realize it was possible the last of May had
come, and with it the closing examinations of the year. When these were
over, it was found that Ray not only led his class, but that he held
the highest rank ever attained by any graduate of the institution.
Edward Lawton ranked second, and once more the two friends were
brought into the same relation at their graduation--Edward taking the
salutatory and Ray the valedictory.
Mr. Phillips, the principal, had looked forward to this commencement
with commendable pride. He felt that his two leading scholars would
honor him and the institute not only by their high scholarship and
their earnest Christian character, but also as eloquent and forcible
speakers. Particularly was this true of Ray. He had already developed
rare ability as a writer and a speaker. His thoughts were always fresh
and original, and his language appropriate and well chosen, while he
possessed a voice of marked richness, flexibility, and power. He knew
that the fame of both these lads had already gone out from the school,
and would doubtless draw a host of the friends of the academy together
on the graduating day.
Nor was he mistaken. The day dawned as bright and beautiful as a June
day well could, and the audience filled the academic hall to its
fullest capacity. Among those who were gathered there might have been
noticed quite a number who are old friends of the reader. From Afton
there were Mrs. Lawton and Daisy, Mr. and Mrs. Carleton, Mr. and Mrs.
George Woodhull, Jacob Woodhull, Miss Squire and her eccentric father,
who had lost none of his interest in Ray. Mr. Greenough, Mr. Shephard,
Mr. Bacon, Dr. Gasque, and Sailor Jack had also come. From Wenton were
all the Branfords, and with them was Captain Tom, who had arrived from
his first voyage as commander of a ship, just in time to run up with
the others to Easton. All of these, of course, had special reasons for
being interested in the two who bore off the chief honors of the day.
But there was another, an aged gentleman, who sat in the very front
seat of the hall, and listened with rapt attention to the two lads
as they gracefully took their places, and eloquently and forcibly
delivered their addresses. It was Mr. Swinburne, older and feebler
by four years now than when Ray had first met him at the university
grounds of a neighboring metropolis, but still quite hale and hearty
for his fourscore years. What he thought of the lads may be seen by an
interview he sought with them a few hours later.
"Young gentlemen," he said, shaking hands cordially with them, "I
listened with great pleasure to you to-day. I was even more pleased to
learn from your principal the marked position you have held throughout
your course of study as followers of Jesus. I have heard of a certain
set of resolutions you placed above your study table, on coming
to this institution, and thus at the outset of your academic life
took a position for the Master which by his grace you have steadily
maintained. Now I have a favor to ask of each of you. I understand you
will in the fall enter the university of which I am a graduate. I have
there, as here, established scholarships to which I still hold the
right to appoint the recipients. Two will be vacant at the beginning
of the next academic year. May I have the privilege of naming you two
young men as the ones who in my humble judgment are worthy to receive
their benefits?"
With grateful thanks the two friends accepted the kind old gentleman's
offer, and he departed with an air that seemed to imply he had been
favored, not that he had conferred a favor.
"Well, chum," remarked Ray, when they were alone, "I do not see but
both of us have a fair outlook for our college course. Thanks to our
friend Mr. Swinburne, our tuition and room rent are provided for, and
only our board and incidentals remain. Surely, with our experience
here, we have no reason to falter in the undertaking."
"That is so," said Edward, thoughtfully, "and I think I shall be able
to go through college without any help from mother. We have friends in
that city, and through them I hope to secure employment for you as well
as for myself."
"Always thinking of me, Ned," said Ray, throwing his arm affectionately
around his chum; "but we will borrow no trouble. Those same old rules
shall go to the university with us; the same principles shall actuate
our hearts; we shall look ever to the same Master for his guidance
and blessing. Why need we then have any fear? His name to us is
Jehovah-jireh--the Lord will provide."
"Amen," said Edward, gently and reverently. And then the two passed out
from those academic halls to new duties and a new phase of life.