A SUMMER'S VACATION.
Ray and Edward left Easton on the same train with their Afton and
Wenton friends. All, in fact, had taken seats in the same car, and
a bright, merry, vivacious company they made. Captain Tom Branford
had reversed the seat in front of Mr. Squire and his daughter, and
was apparently listening with marked attention to the old general's
vehement praise of an institution that had been wise enough to confer
its highest honors upon two Afton boys; but in reality he was studying
the daughter's fair face with an admiration so manifest she could not
have failed to detect it, had she not been engrossed by another matter
quite outside of herself. Her thoughts were on her "two boys," as she
called them, and remembering what they, by divine grace, had become,
she "thanked God and took courage" for those of her class who were
still unsaved.
Mr. Carleton, Mr. Bacon, George Branford and Sailor Jack had taken
seats somewhat apart from the others, and the four were busily engaged
in talking over some matter in low, earnest tones. Edward Lawton
and his mother, Mr. and Mrs. George Woodhull, and Jacob Woodhull
formed another group, and their conversation was with reference to
the latest rumor on the streets of Afton--namely, that iron ore in
paying quantities had been found in the hills back of that village,
and that parties interested desired to buy the old Forge site and
water privilege, that they might establish a smelting furnace and iron
works there. For three of this group there was special interest in
this rumor; for if true, it meant unexpected financial gain to them.
Mrs. Lawton and Edward knew that the sale of the Black Forge water
privilege and tenement houses would bring them no small sum, from a
property that for four years had been absolutely non-productive; while
Mr. Jacob Woodhull knew that he was by far the largest owner of the
wild and rugged tract on the mountain where the ore was said to have
been discovered. The shrewd old gentleman admitted to Mrs. Lawton that
negotiations had already been entered into with him for the purchase
of this land, and that on his acceptance of the liberal offer made him
there would be no doubt but that the Black Forge property could be sold.
Doctor Gasque, Mr. Shephard, Mrs. Carleton, Mrs. Bacon, Mrs. George
Branford, and the others of the vivacious company were grouped on both
sides of the aisle near the centre of the car. Ray occupied a seat
with Daisy Lawton, near enough to the others to join in the animated
conversation, yet far enough away for him and his fair companion
to occasionally converse in low tones of the studies each had been
specially interested in during the past year--of the work each had
tried to do for the Master, and of the hopes they had of greater
spiritual growth and higher usefulness in that Master's service.
"Shall you, when your studies are completed, choose work on the home or
some foreign field?" Daisy had asked, with unusual interest.
"I have not decided," Ray answered. "I do not think much about that
yet. I am just trying to do each day's work for Jesus as it comes. I
simply want him to show me the work; and whatever it is, or wherever it
is, I am ready to go." He had special reason to remember those words at
a later period.
The car they were on went through to Afton without change, and the
minutes passed away so swiftly and pleasantly, it seemed almost
incredible when the brakeman announced that the next station would be
Afton. At this announcement, however, Mr. Carleton arose from his seat,
and came along where Ray and Daisy were sitting.
"Miss Daisy," he asked, somewhat roguishly, "is Ray going to stop at
Afton, or is he going on to Wenton to-night?"
A slight flush passed over the fair face, but she frankly replied: "He
stops at Afton to-night, I believe, sir."
"I might have known it," remarked Mr. Carleton, with an emphasis that
changed the slight flush on her face to the deepest crimson; then
to Ray: "Will you come up to the parsonage before you go on down to
Wenton? There is a matter I wish to talk over with you."
"Certainly, sir; shall I disturb you if I come up early in the morning?
I want to go on down to Wenton in the afternoon so as to see Tom for a
while before he goes back to his ship."
"Any time after nine and before twelve will do," responded Mr.
Carleton, going on then to where his wife and Mrs. Bacon were sitting.
Ray turned to his companion: "What plan have my Afton friends arranged
now?" he asked.
"How should I know?" she answered, demurely. Ray looked down into the
bright eyes that gazed up into his, but if they knew what the matter
was that Mr. Carleton desired to "talk over," they kept their secret
well. He could not even tell whether the fair girl before him had any
knowledge of that matter or not, though he strongly suspected she had.
"My friends mean to ruin me by doing too much for me," he finally said.
"Few would think so, judging from the effect of the past favors on you,
sir," she remarked, significantly.
Ray's face grew thoughtful instantly. "I have tried to show them I
appreciated their favors in the only way I could--by making the most
of myself," he replied.
"No one who knows you can doubt that," she responded, with tones of
mingled admiration and pride, while a bright smile came to her lips
and a far-off look to her eyes, as though she had thought of something
peculiarly pleasant to herself.
He had no time to reply, for the train was at the Afton station, and he
assisted Mrs. Lawton and Daisy to a carriage, while Edward looked out
for the baggage; then all drove off toward the Lawton cottage. As they
turned on to the avenue, General Squire's handsome equipage dashed by
them, and to Ray's astonishment he saw his brother Tom sitting opposite
the general and his daughter, evidently on his way to the Squire
mansion for the night. The comical look that passed over his face at
the discovery was evidently noticed by Tom, who raised his hat with a
remarkable flourish in return. Possibly Miss Squire had also noticed
the expression on Ray's face, for she looked up toward the young man in
front of her with an amused smile.
Not far from nine o'clock the next morning Ray rang the door bell at
the First Church parsonage, and was immediately shown to Mr. Carleton's
study. That gentleman on his entrance whirled around in his study
chair, and asked: "Ray, what are you going to do this summer?"
"Anything I can find to do," replied Ray, taking an easy chair, and
looking over to his pastor with a smile.
"Well, I've got work for you," continued Mr. Carleton; "or, rather, the
Lord has work for you at Wenton."
"What is it, sir?" Ray asked, with some idea now of what the matter to
be "talked over" was.
"You know," explained Mr. Carleton, "that I have, since the
organization of the church there, been the acting pastor. I have gone
down to them at least once in two months, have secured them occasional
supplies, and baptized the new members; but I cannot with my work here
do the work that ought to be done down there. In consultation with Mr.
Bacon, your brother George, and Sailor Jack, all of whom have a deep
interest in the little church there, I find we have but one opinion.
It is that I should still keep the oversight of the church, but that I
should be provided with an assistant. I have named you as the one whom
I prefer for that position, and the officer's of the Wenton Church have
approved my choice.
"The plan I have in view is this: You are to go there and preach to
that people at least once each week, and conduct such other services as
in your judgment are for the best interest of the field. You will do
such pastoral work as seems to you will be the most efficacious in the
reaching of that people. At times when an ordained minister is needed
there, you will simply change with me for the day. If the plan proves
successful, this will be your work throughout your college course, as
you can readily come down from the city Saturday afternoons and return
Monday mornings in time for your studies. Whenever the work is too hard
for you, we will lighten it so you need in no way neglect your college
duties. A compensation sufficient to meet all of your actual wants
will be paid by the church, and it seems to me there are two marked
advantages from the plan: the church will have fuller services than
it can secure in any other way until it becomes strong enough for a
settled pastor, and you, on the other hand, under my direction and with
my help, will be gaining an experience that will be invaluable in your
life work. Were you younger, I should have hesitated to suggest such a
plan to you, but with your age, and an unusual maturity even for your
years, I can see no harm to yourself in this undertaking, while there
will evidently be much that will be advantageous. Should you need a
little time to think this over, it will be given you; but doubtless you
can even now tell how the plan impresses you."
"I am ready to do any work for my Master," Ray replied. "It may be
poorly and feebly done; but it shall be the _best_ I can do. Any time
in the judgment of yourself and the Wenton people it would be wiser for
you to have some other assistant, I will lay down the work. When shall
I begin?"
"This coming Sunday, if you can get ready for it," answered Mr.
Carleton; "and now let us ask the Lord to bless our arrangement."
The two knelt there and prayed together with an earnestness and faith,
which can only come from hearts fully consecrated to the Lord, and that
desire to know and do his will.
"I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me," Ray
solemnly affirmed, in inspired words, as he laid his hand in his
pastor's for a moment before going.
"Amen," heartily assented Mr. Carleton, warmly shaking the proffered
hand, and adding, as a parting benediction: "He shall give his angels
charge concerning thee, to keep thee in all thy ways."
Ray entered into his appointed work with a joy such as he had never
known before. It seemed a little nearer the goal for which he was
striving than anything he had yet undertaken. He prepared himself as
carefully as possible for his pulpit ministrations, and then left
his notes behind and talked to his hearers as the Spirit gave him
utterance. His messages came warm from the heart, and they went to the
heart. The little church took on new life. Its members were aroused to
activity. The unsaved were visited and prayed with. The result proved
that the Spirit could work upon the hearts of men even in the summer
months, and during the vacation season. Many came inquiring the way of
salvation; nor did they inquire in vain. Early in August Mr. Carleton
came down, and spent a Sunday at Wenton, and baptized a score of
believers, while Ray went up to Afton to supply the pulpit of the First
Church.
He had many misgivings as to his fitness, and acceptableness to his
hearers; but when Mr. Carleton arranged the exchange, he did not make
a single objection. It was a part of his work, and he accepted it with
the determination to do the best he could. Mrs. Carleton was out of
town, and the parsonage was closed; so he went to his Afton home at the
Lawton Cottage for entertainment over Sunday.
"I tell you, Ned," he said to Edward, when they went to their room that
night. "I have the biggest undertaking on my hands for to-morrow I ever
had, but I shall not shrink from it. What I dread most, however, is
that some may remember their old prejudices of four or five years ago,
and refuse to listen to the message I bring."
"I do not believe there is any of that old and foolish prejudice left
in the whole town," Edward answered. "Mr. Carleton told me that he had
not arranged this plan of work for you without consulting the officers
of the church, and that the proposition had first come from them to
have you come here when he might be away. I believe you will have a
full house to-morrow, and that they will listen to you with even a
deeper interest than they would to an entire stranger."
The morrow proved Edward right, so far as outward appearances could
indicate the hearts of the people. They filled the whole house, and
gave Ray the most courteous and marked attention, both morning and
evening.
He chose for his text in the morning the words found in John 11:6:
"When he had heard therefore that he was sick, he abode two days still
in the same place where he was." Why God delays in answering our
requests was his theme; and he suggested three reasons, each of which
found its illustration in the experience of those sisters of Bethany.
With a wealth of illustration from the history and experience of God's
people that was hardly to be expected from so young a preacher, he
developed his theme, speaking also with a simplicity and earnestness
that held the undivided attention of his hearers to the close.
But it was the evening discourse that made the strongest impression
upon the First Church people. An audience larger if anything than that
of the morning had gathered. Ray's text was from John 13:8: "If I wash
thee not, thou hast no part with me," and his theme was: "Christ a
necessity of humanity." Its need of cleansing, its inability to cleanse
itself, and therefore the absolute necessity of its resorting to Jesus
Christ, "who taketh away the sin of the world," were the three points
he presented with real earnestness, freshness, and power.
Ray came down from the pulpit to receive the hearty commendations of
many who, previous to this, had never been especially demonstrative
toward him. Slowly he made his way to the vestibule to find a number
of his old school friends waiting to speak with him. He delayed a
few minutes to return their greetings; then he said to Daisy Lawton,
who was among them: "Miss Daisy, shall we go now?" She at once took
his arm, and they entered the street. His act gave occasion for many
significant looks and remarks from those who had witnessed it. "I
wonder if they are engaged?" "What a handsome couple?" "And so suited
to each other!" passed from lip to lip. Meantime, he and Daisy, utterly
unconscious of the train of remarks they had set in motion, were
going slowly up the avenue toward the cottage. She was telling him
how she had enjoyed _that_ sermon, and with the familiarity of an old
friend was suggesting here and there an improvement in the thought and
utterance of the young preacher. As he listened to her, there suddenly
came over him the consciousness that not only his happiness, but his
greatest usefulness depended largely upon that fair girl's walking by
his side through life. They had now reached the cottage porch, and
turned for a moment to look off toward the hills rising quite abruptly
just back of them. Then a sudden resolve came to Ray. He would settle
this important question before he returned to Wenton on the morrow.
"Daisy," he said, "I have not been upon the hills for several years,
and to-morrow, before I return to Wenton, I believe I will go up there.
Could you arrange to go with me?"
Was there something in his tones that revealed the purpose hidden in
his heart? Or had that address, "Daisy," instead of "Miss Daisy," as he
had always addressed her before, suggested to the young girl why it was
he asked this favor? They are wrong who say, "Love is always blind."
Love is sometimes keen-eyed, and detects readily what other eyes have
not begun to discern. It was so now. A great hope came to that young
girl at his words, simple as they were. Her heart was thrilled with
a joy that no words could express, and a great light came into the
eyes that looked up into his, as she answered, so tremulously as not
to escape his notice: "Certainly, Ray, if you wish it." And then she
turned, and quickly fled into the cottage.
As early the next morning as the walking through the fields would
permit--for there had been a heavy dew--Ray and Daisy started up
the hillside. It was a long and fatiguing tramp, but Ray helped his
companion over the more difficult places; and not far from an hour
after they started, they reached the plateau near the top of the hill
overlooking the town and the bay. They rested a few minutes here, and
then, at Ray's suggestion, passed around the edge of the hill until
they reached a large, shelving rock, from which they could see not
only the village and the water, but the site of the Black Forge Mills.
Here they sat down, and gazed about them for a time in silence. There
were the ruins, about to rise, phœnix like, from their ashes; for the
smelting company had already purchased the property. Yonder, in the
distance, was Long Point farm, where Ray had spent so many happy hours,
and where he had begun his upward course toward an education and his
life work. Right at their feet, seemingly, was the First Church, where
he had first confessed Jesus, and where he had preached the day before.
"Who would believe," he said, breaking the long silence, "that six
years ago I was at work in the mills at the Forge--a wild, reckless,
godless boy. Did Mr. Carleton ever tell you how I stoned him the first
time he visited the mills?"
"He didn't," Daisy answered, with a quick laugh; "but Edward has.
Doesn't it seem funny now?"
"Yes, it does now to laugh over it; and I'm not sure but that was my
very first step toward my present life, strange as it may seem. Do
you know I have not been up here since I went down to Long Point farm
yonder to work? Can it be possible that it is five years ago?"
"And yesterday you preached very acceptably for the First Church
people," added Daisy, gleefully. "Ray Branford, the stone-throwing
rascal, has in a little over six years become Mr. Ray Branford, the
preacher. What a cause for wonder!"
"Behold what God has wrought," said Ray, gratefully. Then he turned and
took the little hand of that fair young girl in his. "Daisy," he went
on, vehemently, "my whole life is known to you. Nothing is hid. What
I was, you know; what I am, and what I hope to be by God's grace, you
also know. One thing only have I kept from you. So long have I loved
you I can hardly tell when that love began. Perhaps it was when you
stood on the wharf and called me back to give me those skates. Again
and again have I been on the point of declaring my love. I can refrain
no longer. I know my happiness and my usefulness depends largely
upon--yea, _wholly_ upon your walking through life by my side as my
wife. Tell me, darling, is my love returned?"
As he began, those bright eyes had drooped, a quick flush had swept
over her face, and the little hand he held trembled in his grasp. As he
closed, her head dropped upon his shoulder, and she burst into tears;
but they were tears of joy.
"What is it, Daisy?" he asked, anxiously, throwing his strong arm
around her, and drawing her a little closer to him, "do you not love
me?"
"Oh, Ray," she exclaimed, smiling through her tears, "I have loved you
so very, very long, and I have been afraid you did not love me as I
loved you. I knew you cared for me as you might for a sister, but I
knew I loved you more than all others beside. Not until last night did
I feel sure you loved me as you do, and I thought you would speak to me
to-day of this. I cannot tell you how unworthy I feel to help you in
your life work; but truly, darling, I will be the best little wife and
helpmeet for you that I, with God's help, can be."
For answer, he pressed the first kiss he had ever given her upon her
lips; and then he said, gently: "Shall we not ask Jesus to bless us
in our love, and to grant us many years together in his work, Daisy?"
Then they knelt while Ray prayed with a fervor and faith he had never
manifested before, after which they slowly started down the hillside on
their return to the village.
They immediately sought Mrs. Lawton, and with his arm thrown around the
blushing girl, Ray manfully told his story, and asked for the mother's
sanction and blessing.
"Just as if I hadn't seen this and expected it for years," she
answered, as she kissed them both. "It is, I believe, of the Lord,
and why should I say it nay." And she wisely rose and left the lovers
together. Edward found them in the parlor a little later; and evidently
his mother had told him something of the condition of things, for he
walked directly over to the loving pair, and kissing Daisy, he took Ray
by the hand. "My more than brother," he said, "there is nothing I would
withhold from you. Nor do I know of any one more worthy of the dearest
sister on earth. God bless you both." And he, too, left them alone.
Ray took an afternoon train for Wenton because his work called him,
rather than because he desired to go. Both Edward and Daisy had
accompanied him to the depot, and as he bade them good-bye and took his
seat in the cars, he felt there was nothing now to mar his happiness or
lessen his usefulness. But in spite of himself the divine words would
come to his mind with a persistency that was almost startling: "He that
loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that
loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me."