one of you. He shed His blood on Calvary's cross to keep every man from
hell who surrenders to Him in true repentance. Then He does another thing!
His Holy Spirit takes away the bad habits of every man who surrenders to
Him. He said once, 'If the Son shall make you free, ye shall be free
indeed!' Now you look well at me! You know what a terrible temper I had.
You've tried your best in these past weeks to make me angry but you haven't
succeeded. That's a miracle in itself. You can say what you like to me now
but you won't make me lose my temper. That's not to my credit, let me tell
you! It's God Himself who's done something that I don't yet clearly
understand. The money I earn, I dump it all in the wife's lap, for I know
she can handle it better than I can! Then there's another thing! When I get
up in the morning now, I ask God to help, and He does it. When I go to bed
at night, I pray again. Let me tell you, if I should die I'll go to heaven,
and there I'll meet my dear old mother, for it's not what I've done, it's
what _He's_ done! It isn't that I'm any better than any of you. No! There
isn't one of you as bad as I was," he continued, "but if God was able to
change and pardon a beast like me, He can surely do the same with all of
you. So what I say is, why don't you all do just the same as I've done?
Surrender yourselves into Christ's hands!"
Little by little, seeing it was useless to try to bring the Breton back
into his old ways, his tormentors were silenced at least, and a life of new
activities commenced for the former drunkard.
"You certainly appear to be quite happy," said Paula, as we passed the
Breton's garden one evening where he was whistling merrily at his work.
"I certainly am that," said he, raising his head. "There's just one weight
on my heart yet, however."
"And what's that?" Paula's voice was sympathetic.
"It's that I cannot read."
"But I didn't think that that fact interested you very much."
"Yes, I know, Mademoiselle, but I didn't comprehend what I had lost, but
now I'd give my left hand if I could only read."
"Poor Breton," I said. It seemed to me we were a bit helpless before such a
problem.
"It isn't that I want to become a fine gentleman, and all that"; and the
Breton turned to address me also--"It's simply that I want to be able to
read the Great Book that tells about God and His Son Jesus Christ. Also I
would like to help my children that they might have a better chance than
hitherto I have given them. But there you are! I'm just a poor ignorant
man, and I suppose I always shall be."
"Well," said Paula, "why don't you attend the night school?"
"No, Mademoiselle," and the Breton shook his head; "that's all very well
for the young fellows who have learned a little something and wish to learn
a bit more. But me!--at my age!--and I don't even know the letter A from B,
and I have such a dull head that I would soon tire out the best of
teachers."
"Well, supposing I tried teaching you?" said Paula timidly.
"You, Mademoiselle!" cried the Breton stupefied, "you to try such a thing
as to teach me!"
"And why not, if my uncle should let me?"
"Well, Mademoiselle, that would be different. I believe that with you to
teach me I might be able to learn," and the Breton leaned on his spade for
a moment.
"You are so good and kind and patient, I would not be afraid of your making
fun of my stupid efforts. But there, there's no use thinking about such a
thing, for I'm sure the master would never permit it."
* * * * *
In fact, it did take a good deal to persuade my father, but Paula won his
permission at last.
The Breton came every Saturday night Teresa complained a bit at first,
seeing her kitchen turned into a night-school for such a rough ignorant
workman, but "for Jesus Christ's sake," as Paula said, she had finally
become resigned to it.
It was both pathetic and comical to see the efforts which the poor Breton
made as he tried to follow with one great finger the letters which his
young teacher pointed out to him. He stumbled on, making many mistakes but
never discouraged. Sometimes the sweat poured from him when the task
appeared too great for him. At such times he would put his head in his
hands for a moment, and then with a great sigh he would start again.
At the end of a month he had learned the alphabet and nothing more, and
even then he would make mistakes in naming some of the letters.
"Oh, let him go!" said Teresa; "He's like myself. He'll never, never
learn."
But Paula's great eyes opened wide.
"Why! I simply can't abandon him unless he should give it up himself.
Besides, have you forgotten, Teresa, what it cost me to learn to sew? But
in the end I did learn; didn't I?"
So Teresa was silenced. But once the Breton had conquered this first
barrier to learning his progress was truly surprising. In the factory his
"primer" was always with him. At lunch hours he would either study alone,
or he'd persuade a fellow-worker more advanced than himself to help him
with his lesson. Paula was astonished to see how quickly she could teach
him a verse in the New Testament or a Waldensian hymn she had learned in
the valley back home.
Nevertheless a week or two later she noticed that he seemed to be a bit
distraught, and she feared he was getting weary of his task.
"What's the matter?" she finally asked him.
"Oh, nothing," and the Breton grinned rather sheepishly.
"Tell me, Breton, what's on your mind?"
He "guffawed" loudly as he replied. "You'd make fun of me sure, if I told
you--and with good reason!"
"I never make fun of anybody," said Paula reproachfully.
"No, Mademoiselle, I ought to know that better than anybody else! Well,
perhaps it might be well to tell you. If you must know it, it's this. There
are many, I find, that wish they could be in my place tonight"
"In your place tonight! I'm afraid I don't understand," said Paula.
"Well, you see, I've got four or five of my old comrades who also want to
learn to read."
"What's that you say?" Teresa said, leaving her knitting to stand in front
of the Breton.
"It's true enough, Mademoiselle Teresa, and when you come to think of it,
it's not a bit strange. Down at the factory they all know how different and
how happy I am. And how they _did_ make fun of me when I started to learn
to read; just as they jeered at me when Jesus Christ first saved me and I
learned to pray. But now some of them, seeing how happy I am, also want to
learn to read, and who knows but some day they will want to know how to
pray to the Lord Jesus also."
Paula's face took on a serious expression--finally, however, she slowly
shook her head.
"You know, with all my heart, I'd just love to see it done; but it's
perfectly useless, I suppose, even to think of it," she said sadly.
"That's what I thought too," said the Breton; "I'm sorry I spoke about it"
"Well, I don't know," continued Paula. "Perhaps if uncle could arrange
somehow--I remember when I was quite small, back there before I left the
valley, my dear god-mother had a night-school for laboring men. It was just
lovely. They learned to read and to write and to calculate. Then
afterwards, each night before they went home they would sing hymns and read
the Bible and pray."
"Yes, that's all very well," said Teresa, "but your godmother was a whole
lot older than you are."
Then turning to the Breton she said, "Why don't you tell your friends to go
to the night-school in town?"
"Well," said the Breton, "I know that they learn 'many things there, but
they don't teach them about God. However, as I said before, I'm sorry I
mentioned the thing. Let's not speak any more about it"
"Well," said Paula, "I know what I'm going to do. I'll speak to the Lord
Jesus about it."
And Paula kept her promise.
One morning, Teresa usually not at all inquisitive, could not seem to keep
her eyes off a certain little group who were engaged in moving out of one
of the "Red Cottages" across the road. More than once she paused in her
work of tidying up the house to peer out of one window or another.
"That's the very best of all the 'Red Cottages,' and they're moving out of
it" remarked Teresa finally.
"Of what importance is that?" I said to her rather sharply. I was washing
windows, and that task always made me irritable.
"I've got a certain idea!" Teresa said.
"Tell me your big idea," I said.
"No! You go ahead and wash your windows. I'll tell you tomorrow."
The next day I had forgotten Teresa and her "idea." As I started for school
she called after me, "Tell Mademoiselle Virtud, your teacher, that I want
to see her just as soon as possible I have to speak to her about
something."
In a flash I remembered what had happened the day before, and I guessed at
once her secret.
"Teresa!" I cried, "I've got it now! You want Mademoiselle Virtud to occupy
the house across the road. Oh, that'll be just wonderful!"
Teresa tried to put on her most severe air, but failed completely.
"Well, supposing that's not so!" she said, as with a grin she pushed me out
of the door.
Mademoiselle Virtud came over that very afternoon. I hadn't been mistaken.
She and Teresa went immediately across the road to see the empty house, the
owner having left the key with us. At the end of a half-hour they returned.
"It's all arranged," and Teresa beamed. "She's coming to live here right
across the road. I've thought of the thing for a long time, and now at last
the house I wanted is empty. Monsieur Bouché has promised to fix the fence
and put a new coat of paint on the house, and with some of our plants
placed in the front garden, it will be a fitting place for your dear
teacher and her Gabriel to live in."
"You'll certainly spoil us!" said Mlle. Virtud. "What a joy it will be to
leave that stuffy apartment in town. And Gabriel is so pale and weak! This
lovely air of the open country will make a new boy of him!"
It was a wonderful time we had, arranging things before our new neighbors
moved in. Teresa bought some neat linen curtains for the windows of the
little house. Paula and I gathered quantities of flowers from our garden
and placed them over the chimney-piece, and on the bedroom shelves and in
the window-seats--and how the floors and windows did shine after we had
finished polishing them!
When our teacher arrived in a coach with Gabriel packed in among the usual
quantity of small household things of all kinds, great was her gratitude
and surprise to find, in the transformed house, such signs of our care and
affection for her. It was indeed the happiest moving day that could
possibly be imagined. There wasn't a great quantity of furniture, and in an
hour or so after our new neighbors' arrival we had everything installed in
its proper place, to say nothing of the bright fire burning in the tiny
grate and the kettle singing merrily above it. One would hardly have
dreamed that it had been an empty house that very morning. Even Louis who
had come home for a week-end holiday had sailed in and worked with us in
putting the little cottage in order.
That night the newly-arrived tenants ate with us, after which Louis carried
Gabriel pick-a-back to his new home across the road.
Our teacher's prophecy regarding Gabriel was a correct one. Day by day he
grew stronger. Teresa looked out for him during school-hours, and with his
bright happy ways he soon became a great favorite with the neighborhood
boys.
* * * * *
"Tell me, Paula," said my father one evening, "how is the new pupil coming
on?"
"Which new pupil?" our cousin said as she came and stood by my father's
chair, where he sat reading his paper.
"The Breton, of course. Surely you haven't more than one pupil?"
"For the present, no!" she answered, with a queer little smile on her quiet
face.
"For the present, no." repeated my father; "and what may that mean?"
Paula rested her cheek against the top of my father's head.
"Dearest uncle," she said, "will you please grant me a great favor?"
"Now, what?" said my father--and the stern, serious face lighted up with a
smile.
"You see, the Breton has almost learned to read, and it would be just
splendid if some of his old comrades and his two sons could learn too."
"Oh, Paula, Paula!" said my father--"where is all this going to end?"
But Paula was not easily daunted, especially when the thing asked for was
for the benefit of other people.
"Now, why won't you let me teach them, dear uncle?" She came and kneeled at
my father's feet, and took both his hands in hers.
"But you're only a very young and very little student, Paula. You must be
taught yourself before you can teach others." My father's voice was very
tender, but firm as well, and it didn't look to me as if Paula would win.
She said nothing in reply, but stayed kneeling there at his feet with those
great appealing eyes of hers fixed on his face.
"We shall see, we shall see," said my father gently, "when you've finished
your own studies. Besides I think you're reasonable enough to see that such
a task along with your studies would be too big a burden for a child like
you. I could not let you take this up."
"I suppose you're right, dear uncle," said Paula humbly, as she rose and
rested her head against my father's shoulder, "and yet if you could only
know how happy it would make the Breton and his comrades. And besides," she
added, "I had fondly hoped that if I could have taught them, they would
learn much about the Lord Jesus and take Him as their Saviour, as the
Breton has done."
"You seem to think of nothing but how to serve your 'Lord Jesus,'" and
there was a wistful sort of tone in my father's voice.
"Well, am I not His servant?"
"No!" said my father, "I'd call you a soldier of His, and one that's always
under arms!"
"That's because I have such a wonderful, such a kind, and such a powerful
Captain. I wish everybody might come to know Him! And to know Him is to
love Him!"
There followed a moment of silence, so solemn, so sweet, that it seemed as
if a Presence had suddenly entered, and I personally felt my soul in that
moment suddenly lifted toward God as it had never been before. And as I
looked at Paula standing so humbly there her eyes seemed to say: "Oh, my
uncle, my cousin, would that you, too, might love Him and receive Him as
the Saviour of your soul!"
"Listen, Paula," my father said; "will you leave the Breton and his friends
and his sons in my hands for the present?"
Paula looked at him searchingly for a moment, as if trying to find out what
was in his mind.
"Of course!" she finally said.
"Well, then, just rest content. I'll try to see the thing through somehow.
If I'm not very much mistaken, these protegés of yours will have very
little to complain of."
"Oh, uncle dear!" shouted Paula, delighted, "what are you planning to do?"
"I don't know yet exactly, but I've thought of something. No! No! Don't try
to thank me for anything, for I don't know how it will come out. But," he
smiled as he laid his hand on Paula's head, "you certainly have a method of
asking for things that I don't seem to find any way to refuse you."
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NIGHT SCHOOL
For the first time in my life a great secret had been confided to me. Of
course, I felt quite proud that they had considered me important enough to
be a sharer of the secret. But my! What a struggle it was not to tell
Paula!
In a few days it would be Paula's fifteenth birthday, and the whole family
seemed endued with the same idea, to make it an especially happy and
unforgettable occasion.
Paula must have suspected something with all the coming and going; the
whispering and smothered giggles in corners, etc., but she wasn't the kind
to pry into other people's affairs, and so, no matter what she may have
thought, she kept her own counsel.
On the morning of the great day, which to our great satisfaction, came on a
Sunday, Paula was quite a bit surprised to find that Mlle. Virtud and
Gabriel had been invited over to breakfast; but aside from that occurrence
there was nothing unusual as yet to indicate that we were celebrating
Paula's birthday.
When the meal was finished, however, my father folded up his napkin, and
with an air of mock gravity said, "Why, let me see, this is Paula's
birthday; isn't it? I suppose Paula's been wondering why there were no
gifts piled up on her plate. You see, Paula, we've all combined on the one
gift, but it's too big to put on the dining-table. However, it's not far
away. Let's all go and have a look at it together."
He led the way out of the house and across the road, and we all followed.
I presume the neighborhood received quite a shock of surprise to see such a
procession of folks coming out of the big house. Many came and stood in
their front door-yards to view the unusual sight, for instance, of Louis
with his arm linked in that of our old servant Teresa, and Paula herself on
our father's arm, and the rest of us strung out behind.
We finally stopped in front of Mlle. Virtud's newly-painted little house,
with its tiny garden in front in all the splendor of its spring dress.
"Come in, Paula," said our teacher of former days. "Your present is in here
in this front room."
We all followed after Paula, eager to see the result of her inspection of
the "present."
Paula took one step, and then stopped on the threshold.
"What do you think of your birthday present, Paula?" said my father. "Do
you think the Breton and his comrades will be content to come here to study
and to leam to sing, etc., in this room?"
"Oh, uncle dear!" and that was all she could say as she embraced and kissed
him with a gratitude we all knew well was too deep for mere words to
express.
Suddenly Louis pulled her hair a bit, saying, "Well, how about the rest of
us. Aren't you going to thank us too? There are a lot of folks here that
have had a share in this business."
Paula gave him a smile in which she included all of us in her thankful joy
and gratitude.
"Why!" said Paula, "this was the room everybody thought was useless, and
which was in such bad condition that the landlord didn't think it
worthwhile to fix up!"
"Yes," said my father; "it's the very room. I confess one would hardly
recognize it, but when Monsieur Bouché understood what it was to be used
for, he went to unusual trouble to fix it properly. You'll have to thank
him especially, Paula. He has a reputation of being not always so amiable."
"I will take him a lovely bunch of flowers," said Paula.
"Humph!" said Louis, "I'm sure I don't know what he'd do with them. He
doesn't often get flowers from his tenants."
Paula walked about the room as in a dream, examining everything.
The table in the center had been loaned by Dr. Lebon. The lovely red
curtains were a present from Mlle. Virtud. Rosa and Louis had given the two
long benches on each side of the table. My father had given the
school-books, and I had bought pencils and copy-books from my monthly
allowance. It was all very simple and severe, but to Paula's eyes these
gifts brought together in the little whitewashed room seemed to her quite
wonderful.
"Look up there," said Louis, "you haven't seen that yet," and Paula saw
hanging from the ceiling a fine new lamp to which a white paper seemed to
be tied. Louis reached up and took down the paper for her, and she read as
follows: "In great gratitude from the Breton."
"Now, look here," said Louis, "you don't need to weep over it! The Breton
is only grateful for all you've done for him. Thanks to you, he's been able
to save up a little money lately instead of spending it all on drink.
"Now, look here," he continued, "you don't need to weep to an elaborately
embroidered motto on the wall containing the Lord's words to the weary ones
of earth. 'Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest.'"
"Oh, it's all too much!" said Paula completely overcome. "How can I thank
you all for what you've done?"
"Your gratitude and happiness is sufficient reward for us," said my father.
"I don't know what put the idea in our heads. I suppose you will say it was
God, and perhaps you are right. All I know is that I spoke to Mlle. Virtud
of your desire to have a night-school for the Breton and his friends, and
then spoke to others about it and--well, now you've seen the result. You
owe most of your thanks to Mlle. Virtud who brought the thing about and
gave us the use of the room."
"Which room," said Mlle. Virtud, with a dry little smile, "had no value
whatsoever, you'll remember."
"And another thing," said my father, "she is the one who has taken over the
responsibility of the night-school. Otherwise I could not have permitted
you to take up such a task. Then Rosa is going to help when she can, and
Lisita has an idea she can do something also."
"And I," said Louis, "where do I come into the picture?"
With a grin my father turned to his son, "That's where you're only in the
background for once."
It was decided, in accord with Mlle. Virtud, to have classes twice a week.
Thursdays would be for reading, writing and arithmetic, and Sundays would
be a time for learning songs and for putting their studies into practice by
reading in the Bible, and, for what several had been asking, namely, to
learn how to pray.
If the Breton was a model scholar, this could not be said of his two
younger sons. These boys appeared to be much below the average in natural
intelligence, besides the fact that their ordinary educational
opportunities had, as in the case of Joseph, their older brother, been
decidedly neglected. Their father had compelled them to attend the
"night-school," but apparently they didn't seem to grasp what it was all
about. Without any apparent cause they both would suddenly duck down below
the table to hide their merriment. Whatever story, no matter how
interesting, was read aloud, they didn't appear to comprehend a word of it,
and if a chapter from the Bible was read they either showed elaborate signs
of boredom or else they would doze in their seats. Paula would gaze at them
sadly--her young heart was grieved at such colossal indifference.
The three comrades of the Breton, however, were decidedly different, taking
up their studies with great eagerness and listening well to everything that
was read aloud.
"It's a whole lot better here than spending our money at the liquor shop,"
they would say with a smile of satisfaction.
"I'll say so," the Breton would chime in. "I'll tell you what, comrades, if
I'd known only before all that one gains in Christ's service, I would have
started long ago on this new life with Him."
The happiest and most beloved of all in the school was Gabriel. He was so
happy that he was able to come in and study with the others; and when it
came to singing, his marvelously fresh and clear tones outclassed them
all--that is, all but one.
I seem to hear yet those lovely hymns that were sung with such sincerity
and heartiness--but the voice that rang clear and true above all others is
now mingling its notes with the choirs of heaven.
CHAPTER SIX
THE HOUSE OF GOD
It was vacation time--in August. Teresa said she had never seen a dryer or
a hotter summer in her whole existence. Gabriel and his sister had gone to
visit their family in the country and we had our usual "red letter" time at
Grandmother Dumas' house. We had returned from our visit greatly
refreshed--all except Paula, who seemed to have lost somewhat of that
perpetual happiness which, when she appeared on the scene had always been
such a tonic to us all. She had tried her best not to show it, but she gave
us all the impression that she tired very quickly.
"I think the reason you tire so soon is because you're growing so quickly,"
said Teresa. Paula laughed and said that that wasn't her fault.
One morning my father seemed to be looking at her more intently than usual.
He finally said, "You're not feeling well; are you, Paula?"
"I'm all right, dear uncle," she said. "Sometimes I get a bit tired. I
think it must be the heat."
"But, my dear child, you hardly eat anything at all, and you've lost those
roses in your cheeks."
He still continued looking at her--then suddenly he said, "I'll tell you
one thing that I think would please you very much. Do you know what that
would be?"
"What, sir?" and Paula seemed to regain all her usual animation.
"I think," said my father slowly in a low voice as if talking to himself,
"I think you"--and he paused a moment--"What would you say if you were to
go to church with Celestina on Sundays?"
"Oh, dear uncle, could I really go?" Paula jumped to her feet excitedly.
"Yes, I think I'll let you go--and"--again he hesitated a bit--"if Teresa,
Rosa and Lisita wish to, they may go along too."
"And you, dear uncle, will you not come with us?" questioned Paula, as she
looked into the sad, stern face that had softened considerably of late.
"We shall see, we shall see. But you'd better not count on me. My, oh, me!
Just see! Those roses have all come back again!"
"Well, but you don't know how happy you've made me!" said Paula as she
fairly danced out of the house with me to tell the news to Celestina.
"Well," said Celestina, "all I can say is that the Lord heard my prayers
and yours, dear Paula. It's the great weapon of the weak and needy, and in
fact can be the power to serve all and anyone who will surrender themselves
and all they are into the hands of the Saviour."