It was Sunday afternoon, and the house seemed very quiet, Lulu thought
as she laid aside the book she had been reading and glanced at Grace,
who lay on the sofa near by, her eyes closed and her regular breathing
telling that she slept.
Lulu stood for a moment gazing tenderly at her sister, then stole on
tiptoe from the room, down the broad stairway into the hall below, and
to the library door.
“I hope papa is there and alone,” she was saying to herself, “I know
Mamma Vi’s lying down with the baby, and Max is in his own room.”
The door was ajar; she pushed it a little wider open and peeped in.
A hasty glance about the room told her that she had her wish. Her
father sat in an easy chair by the open grate, his face turned toward
her, and did not seem to be doing any thing, for he had neither book
nor paper in his hand, but his eyes were fixed thoughtfully upon the
fire.
“Papa,” she said softly.
He looked up and greeting her with an affectionate smile, held out his
hand.
“Am I disturbing you?” she asked as she accepted the mute invitation,
hastening with quick, eager steps to his side.
“No, not in the least; I was just thinking about you and wanting you
here on my knee,” drawing her to it as he spoke.
“Oh how nice of you, papa,” she exclaimed, putting her arm round his
neck and gazing with shining eyes into his face. “I came because I was
just hungry for loving and petting!”
“Were you?” he asked, hugging her close and kissing her several times.
“Well, you came to the right place for it; I have no greater pleasure
than in loving and petting my children. But how came you to be so
hungry for that kind of fare? you have not been very long without it.”
“No, sir; I was on your knee awhile last night, and had a kiss this
morning; but that kind of hunger comes back very soon, papa; and its
only your love and petting that can satisfy it. I hardly care to have
any body else pet me. Oh I’m so glad you’re not like Anne Ray’s father!”
“Who is Annie Ray, and what is her father like?” he asked with an
amused smile.
“She’s a girl that went to the same school I did when I lived with Aunt
Beulah, and one day when we were taking a walk together I was telling
her about my father being far away on the sea, and how I longed for
you to come home, because it was so nice to have you take me on your
knee and hug me and kiss me.
“Then she sighed and the tears came into her eyes, and she said ‘Oh,
how I’d like it if my father would ever do so to me! I’d give ’most any
thing if he would; but he never does; even when I’ve been away on a
visit for two or three weeks he only shakes hands when we meet again.
“‘He isn’t a cross father; he always gives me plenty to eat and good
clothes to wear, and sometimes a little pocket-money; but I’d rather do
without some of those things if he’d hug and kiss me instead.’
“So I asked her, ‘Why don’t you go and kiss him? that’s the way I do to
my father, and he always looks pleased and kisses me back.’
“‘Oh, I wish I dared!’ she said, ‘but I don’t for I am afraid he
wouldn’t like it.’”
“I should be more grieved than I can tell if I ever had reason to think
one of my children felt so toward me,” the captain said, stroking
Lulu’s hair caressingly, while his eyes looked fondly into hers.
“You need never be at all afraid, daughter, to come to your father to
offer or ask for a caress.”
“Unless I’ve been naughty?” she said, half inquiringly, half in
assertion.
“No, not even then, if you are ready to say you are sorry and do not
intend to offend in the same way again.
“I noticed that you were unusually quiet on the way home from church;
would you like to tell me what you were thinking about?”
“First about what the minister had been saying, papa; you know he
reminded us that this was the last Sunday of the old year, and said we
should think how we had spent it and repent of all the wrong things and
resolve that with God’s help we would live better next year.
“So I tried to do it. I mean to think how I’d been behaving all the
year; and I found it had been a very, very bad year with me,” she went
on, blushing and hanging her head: “all that badness at Viamede was
after New Year’s day was past, and then I did such a terrible thing at
Ion.
“O, papa, I most wonder you can be fond of me though I am your very own
child!” she exclaimed, her head sinking still lower, while her cheeks
were dyed with blushes.
“My darling, I too am a sinner,” he said with emotion, holding her
close to his heart; “I too have been taking a retrospective view of
the past year, and I am not too proud to acknowledge to my own little
daughter that I fear that I have sinned even against her.”
She lifted her head to look into his face in wide-eyed astonishment.
“Yes,” he sighed, “I have been recalling the rebuke I administered to
you the first time we met after the baby’s sad fall, and it seems to me
now that my words were unnecessarily severe, even cruel.
“I had just come from my apparently dying babe and its heart-broken
mother, and dearly as I have always loved my eldest daughter, my anger
was stirred against her at that moment, as the guilty cause of all that
suffering and distress.
“But I ought to have seen that she was already bowed down with grief
and remorse, and have been more merciful. My dear child, will you
forgive your father for his extreme severity?”
“No, papa, I—I can’t,” she murmured, her head drooping so low again
that he could not see the expression of her countenance.
“You can not?” he sighed, in surprise and disappointment; “well, my
dear child, I can hardly blame you, and I certainly would not have
you say what you do not feel; but I had hoped your love for me was
sufficient to prompt a different reply.”
“Papa, you don’t understand,” she cried, suddenly lifting her head,
throwing her arms round his neck and laying her cheek to his. “Its
because I’ve nothing to forgive. I deserved it all; every word of it;
you had a right to say those words too, and they did me good, for it
has helped me many a time to conquer my temper—thinking how dreadful
to be any thing but a blessing to you, my own, dear, dear, _dearest_
father!”
“Thank you, my darling,” he responded, in moved tones; “and now when
death has parted us there will, I trust, be no sting for the survivor
in the memory of those words, as I felt that there surely would be if
they were left unretracted.”
“Papa, don’t talk of death parting us,” she said in tremulous tones, “I
can’t bear to think of it.”
“I hope we may be long spared to each other,” he returned with grave
tenderness.
“Do you mean you’re sorry for having punished me, too, papa?” she asked
presently.
“No,” he said, “because that was in obedience to orders, therefore
undoubtedly my duty and for your good.”
“Yes, sir; I know it was, and I know you didn’t want to do it, but had
to because we must all do what the Bible says.”
“Yes, because it is God’s word, the only infallible rule of faith and
practice.”
“What does that mean, papa?”
“Infallible means not liable to err; faith is what we believe; practice
what we do, and we must study the Bible to know both what to do and
what to believe.”
“It is an inestimable blessing to have such an unerring guide that
following its directions we may at last reach the mansions Jesus has
gone to prepare for his redeemed ones. Oh that I could know that my
Lulu’s feet were treading that path—the straight and narrow way—that
leads to eternal life!”
“Papa, I do mean to be a Christian some day.”
“How long are you going to live?” he asked with grave seriousness.
She looked up in surprise. “Why, papa, I don’t know.”
“No, nor do I; God only knows when he will call for you, or me, or any
other of his creatures, and if we are taken away from earth without
having accepted his offered salvation through the death and merits of
his son Jesus Christ, our opportunity to do so will be gone forever;
the door of heaven will be shut upon us never to open again. Knowing
this, how can I be other than very anxious and troubled about my dear
child, while she continues to neglect this great salvation?”
“I wish I was as good as you are, papa,” she said, nestling closer in
his arms.
“My dear child, ‘There is none that doeth good, no, not one.’ ‘All our
righteousnesses are as filthy rags’ in the sight of God, and it is only
when covered by the spotless robe of Christ’s righteousness that we
can stand in his sight.
“It is offered to all, but only those who accept it can be saved; and
no one can tell when, for him or her, the offer will be withdrawn.”
“By death coming, do you mean, papa?”
“Yes; or by God saying of that one, ‘Ephraim is joined to his idols;
let him alone.’ It is a fearful thing to be let alone of God; for Jesus
said, ‘No man can come to me, except the Father which has sent me draw
him.’”
“Papa, how can we know if He draws us?”
“When we feel any desire to come to Jesus, when something—a still,
small voice within our hearts—urges us to attend at once to our
salvation, we may be sure that God the Father is drawing us, that the
Holy Spirit is calling us to come and be saved.
“And none need fear to be rejected; for Jesus says, ‘Him that cometh to
me I will in no wise cast out.’”
“Papa, do you think I’m old enough?”
“Old enough to begin to love and serve God? Are you old enough to love
and obey me, and to trust me to take care of you?”
“Oh, yes indeed, papa! It seems to me I’ve always been old enough for
that.”
“Then your question needs no further answer; if you can love, trust and
obey your earthly father, so can you your heavenly Father also.”
“But I just can’t help loving you, papa,” she said, giving him another
hug and kiss, which he returned, asking, “Why do you love me, daughter?”
“Oh, because you are my own father, and take good care of me, and give
me every thing I have, and love me too; and because you’re so good and
wise and kind.”
“And have you not all those reasons for loving your heavenly Father? He
created you; therefore you are more his than mine; he has only lent you
to me for a time; his kindness and his love to you far exceed mine, and
my wisdom is not to be compared to his.”
“But, papa—”
“Well, daughter?” he said inquiringly, as she paused, leaving her
sentence unfinished.
“I don’t think I can be a Christian with such a dreadful temper as I
have. I shouldn’t think the Lord Jesus would want me for one of his
children.”
“My dear child, the more sinful we are the more we need him to save us;
don’t you remember that the angel said to Joseph, ‘Thou shalt call his
name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins’?
“And he himself said, ‘I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to
repentance.’”
“But, papa, oughtn’t I to conquer my temper first? I—I’d be a
disgraceful kind of a Christian with such a bad, bad temper.”
“No, my daughter; ‘If you tarry till you’re better, you will never come
at all.’ God’s time is always ‘Now.’ Come at once to Jesus and he will
help you in the hard struggle with your temper.”
Violet’s entrance at that moment put an end to the conversation.
“Ah, Lulu,” she said pleasantly, “you have been having a very nice time
with papa all to yourself, I suppose?”
“Yes, indeed, Mamma Vi,” returned the little girl, as the captain
gently put her off his knee, that he might rise and hand his wife a
chair. “Papa, shall I go now and see if Gracie is awake and wanting me?”
“Yes,” he said, glancing at his watch, “it is nearly tea-time.”
“How fond the child is of her father,” remarked Violet, smiling up into
her husband’s face as Lulu left the room.
“And her father of her,” he responded. “I should count myself a rich
man with one such child; but with four, and a peerless wife beside, I
am richer than all the gold of California could make me without them.”
“It is nice to be so highly appreciated,” she said, with a bright,
winsome smile, “and I’m not the only one who is, for I’m perfectly
sure that I drew the very highest prize in the matrimonial lottery.”
“I am to understand from that that I, too, am appreciated? Yes, I have
no doubt that I am, at my full value,” he said.
“Little wife, I hope you find your new home not less enjoyable than the
old, which I know was an exceedingly happy one to you.”
“I have always had a happy home, but never a happier than this that my
husband’s love and care have provided, and which they make so sweet and
restful!” she answered.
“O Levis, what a joy this newly expired year has brought me! I had not
dared to look forward to a home with you for many years to come! I had
thought of it as a great blessing that might come to me in middle life,
but not in my young days.”
“Ah, God has been very good to us,” he exclaimed, feelingly. “I trust
we have many years to live and love together on earth, and after that a
blessed eternity in the better land.”
“Yes,” she responded, “how that blessed hope—making even death only a
temporary separation—adds to the joy of mutual love! It is dear mamma’s
great comfort in her widowhood.”
“Yes,” he said, “what an evident reality it is to her that her husband
is not dead but only gone before, and that they will be re-united one
day, never to part again. Dearly as she no doubt loved him, and sorely
as she must miss him at times, her life seems to me serene and happy.”
“It is,” said Violet; “her strong faith in the wisdom and love of her
heavenly Father makes her days to be full of peace and content.”
Presently the summons to tea brought the family all together; except
the baby, who was still too young to know how to conduct herself at the
table.
But she too was with the others when they gathered in the library, upon
the conclusion of the meal.
She was the center of attraction, amusing parents, brothers and sisters
with her pretty baby ways, till carried away to be put to bed.
Then Grace was drawn lovingly to her father’s knee, while Max drew his
chair up close on one side, Lulu hers on the other.
“Now we will have our texts,” the captain said, touching his lips to
Gracie’s cheek. “What is yours, Max?”
One of the captain’s requirements was that each of these three children
should commit to memory a text of Scripture every day, which texts were
recited to him at morning family worship. On Sunday evening each had a
new one, and all they had learned through the week were recited again,
and then their father talked familiarly with them about the truth
taught in the passages they had recited; for all were upon one and the
same subject, selected by him before hand. But the texts were left to
the choice of the children themselves.
God’s love to his people and to the world, was the subject at this time.
“The new ones first, papa?” asked Max.
“Yes; and we will take the others afterward.”
Then Max repeated, “God so loved the world that he gave his only
begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but
have everlasting life.”
Then Lulu, “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved
us, and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins.”
Now it was Gracie’s turn.
“We love him because he first loved us.”
Her face was full of gladness as she repeated the words in clear, sweet
tones. “I do love him, papa,” she added. “Oh, how could I help it when
he loves me so?”
“Yes; strange that such wondrous love does not constrain every one who
has heard of it to love him in return,” responded the captain; and then
he repeated a text. “Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love;
therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.”
“Papa,” said Lulu, “that verse reminds me of something the minister
said in his sermon this morning about God never leaving or forsaking
any body that trusts in him. But then afterward he told about a poor
dying woman that he went to see once, so very, very poor that she had
hardly any furniture in her room, and nothing to eat, nothing but rags
to wear or to lie on for a bed; and yet she was a Christian woman, and
said it was like heaven there in her poor, wretched room, and she was
just as glad as could be because she was going to die and go to heaven.
Papa, I don’t understand; it does seem as if she was forsaken when she
was so very poor that she hadn’t any thing at all even to eat.”
“Forsaken, daughter, when she was so full of joy in the consciousness
of Christ’s love and presence, and the certainty that she would soon
be with him in the glorious home he has gone to prepare for his own
redeemed ones?”
“Oh, I didn’t think of it in that way!” said Lulu. “Jesus was with her,
and so she was not forsaken.”
“I don’t think it made much difference about her being so poor,”
remarked Max, “when she knew she was just going to heaven. What good
do riches do when people are dying? they know they have to leave them
behind. I’ve read that when Queen Elizabeth was dying she was so
unwilling to go that she cried out, ‘Millions of money for an inch of
time!’ She was dying in a palace with every thing, I suppose, that
riches and power could give her, but who wouldn’t rather have been in
that poor Christian woman’s place than in hers?”
“Who indeed?” echoed the captain; “in the dying hour the one question
of importance will be, ‘Do I belong to Christ?’ for ‘There is none
other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.’
Only those who have been washed from their sins in his precious blood,
and covered with the robe of his righteousness—who are loving and
trusting in him, will be saved.”
The children finished the recitation of their texts, said their
catechism also, to their father, then for an hour or more their voices
united in the singing of hymns, Violet accompanying them upon a parlor
organ.
Family worship closed the day for the children; their bedtime had come.
“Papa, it has been a nice, nice Sunday—this last one in the old year!”
Gracie said, as he was carrying her up to her room. “I hope all the
Sundays in the new one will be ’most ’zactly like it.”
“And so do I,” chimed in Lulu, who was close behind them. “It has been
a very nice Sunday. I’m glad its ’most over though, because I’m in
ever such a great hurry for to-morrow to come. Papa, I really can’t
help thinking about the fun we’re going to have.”
“You can help talking about it though, my child,” he said, “and
can try to turn your thoughts upon something more suitable for the
Sabbath-day.”