WORK.
"O thou whose call our hearts has stirr'd!
To do thy will we come."
"I'm here," began Mabel Wynn, in her bright way, presenting herself
promptly the next Sabbath at the superintendent's desk. "You know I am
a fresh recruit. I shall make a poor show, but I'm ready for drill.
Where shall I go?"
Mr. Clarke looked at her earnestly for a moment. He knew her only as
the daughter of the richest man in Westville, a man who was prompt to
serve Christ with his money, but whose time, strength and influence
were given to the world. He knew that Mabel came to church regularly,
dressed handsomely, and was a sort of a leader among the young ladies.
He knew, too, that she was a professed friend of Christ, but he did not
know the earnest and unselfish purpose of her heart to work for the
Master. Mrs. Wynn called her daughter odd. "One of Mabel's freaks," or
"just one of her odd whims," she would explain to her friends.
If to live for a purpose, if to do one's work with earnestness, if
to seek out opportunities for doing good, if to carry the spirit of
Christ into every day's living—in short, if to be a sincere, consistent
Christian, if this is to be odd, then Mabel was odd. As a child she had
been a Sunday-school scholar, but as she grew up, she had yielded to
her mother's persuasions and discontinued her attendance.
"It was such an inconvenience," explained Mrs. Wynn. "So tiresome to
remain after service, and such a trouble to send back the carriage.
Thomas did not like it at all."
But now Mabel determined that circumstances must yield; fortunately
Thomas had departed, and a very obliging Michael reigned over the
stables.
Thus she stood ready and willing, while Mr. Clarke deliberated a
moment. His first impulse was to send her to Dr. Eaton's class of
young ladies, and this was just what she expected—indeed she had
at first intended to take her place there at once, but some of her
mother's teachings in regard to observing the proprieties under all
circumstances, impelled her to report herself at headquarters. But
they were short of teachers; so many of those who had come in for the
first time, had asked for a scholar's place, that old classes were
overflowing and new ones had to be formed.
While Mr. Clarke deliberated, a scene of confusion across the room
attracted his attention. A thought struck him. "Who knows but she
may be able to do something with those boys? Anyway they must have a
teacher to-day." And with a smile for the eager face before him, he
nodded in the direction of the five unruly boys.
"Mr. Clarke," began Mabel, then stopped suddenly.
"Well?"
"Nothing. I forget that it is my business to obey a superior officer.
I'll go."
As the opening exercises went on, Mabel had time to still her throbbing
heart and lift her soul to God for help. She had not thought of
becoming a teacher at once, and what to say or do first, was a puzzling
question. She tried to remember what they did in those days so long
ago when she went to Sunday-school. Then she tried to recall some of
the instructions of the past week, but she could think of nothing that
would exactly fit the case. Dissimulation was no part of her nature,
and when the time came, she turned toward the class; but what a class
it was!
Five bright-looking boys, combed and brushed and neatly dressed, but
the element of quietness seemed entirely wanting. There they were—five
bobbing heads, five pairs of elbows pushing this way and that, five
pairs of shuffling feet, five pairs of eyes and ears, open and eager
to take in any sight or sound that might be turned into fun. Evidently
they understood all the boy-tricks in the catalogue. Now and then a
head would be thrown back with a peculiar spasmodic jerk, and when the
cause was looked for, another boy's arm would be found quietly resting
upon the back of the seat, thrown lovingly around his neighbour's.
Of course the owner of the arm had nothing to do with it. Suddenly
the small boy at the end of the seat found himself on the floor, a
concerted pushing along the line having brought about the catastrophe.
There were pinching and nudging and treading upon toes, and winking
and laughing, and much whispering. Altogether a scene of disorder. And
these five active, eager minds were to be fed—those five souls to be
led to Christ! What a work for some earnest disciple! No wonder that
Mabel's heart almost quailed. But she said, simply and frankly,—
"Boys, Mr. Clarke has sent me here to be your teacher to-day, but I
am not prepared to teach the lesson, and I don't know the ways of the
school. You will have to teach me, I guess. How many have learned the
lesson? All of you?"
There seemed to be something remarkably fun-provoking in the question,
for the boys were very merry over it.
"Dear me, how they do act!" thought Mabel. "What shall I do with them?"
But she kept all signs of her dismay out of her face, and put the
question to them individually.
Perry Morse "hadn't looked at it." Henry Trafton "had not been there in
a good many weeks, and didn't know what the lesson was." Lewie Amesbury
had learned it. Herbert Bradford and Duncan McNair had only looked it
over a little.
"Very well, Lewie, then you are the one to lead off. The rest of us
will open our Bibles and do the best we can with reading and looking
out the references."
But it turned out that there was no Bible in the class, except Mabel's.
Here was a new trouble—no lesson, and no books to refer to! The next
expedient was for the teacher to read a paragraph, and request the
class to repeat it in concert; but their attempt to do this created
much merriment, and seemed to attract the attention of those around
them; so that plan was abandoned, and she simply read over the whole
lesson, and tried to give a paraphrase of it. Then to Lewie,—
"What struck you most in the lesson?"
At this Henry giggled and whispered.
"Say, Lewie, do you hit back when you are struck? Fighting ain't
allowed here."
Lewie gave a reproving nudge at his neighbour's sides, and looked
steadily at his boots. Evidently he had not learned the lesson with
reference to ideas, and Mabel was obliged to make her own points,
and, as she afterward said, they were too hastily whittled to be very
pointed. Yet the time slipped away pleasantly, and Mabel's parting word
was—
"Well, boys, I'm glad I came. We've had a nice time; at least I have.
Now, won't you study up the lesson for next Sabbath, and be sure to
bring your Bibles?"
Mr. Clarke always kept an eye on those boys, and as he glanced towards
them now and then he saw that they were a trifle less restless than
usual, and that one or two seemed somewhat interested in what the
teacher was saying. That was all he saw. He had been praying for a
teacher for that very class, all the while trying to pick one according
to his own idea of fitness, and one after another had failed until he
almost despaired. As yet he had no thought that God had sent this young
girl as the answer to his prayers, and during the week that followed
this first Sabbath of Mabel's teaching, he sought out one whom he
fancied would fill the place, and urged him to take the class, but was
met by a decided refusal; and so it came about that another Sabbath
found them teacherless. They were all prompt. Three of them had their
Bibles. Perry Morse had forgotten his. Henry Trafton never owned one.
"I wonder who we'll have to-day?" said Perry.
"I don't know. Maybe Professor Mills," answered Duncan, while a laugh
went round at the Professor's inability to cope with their fun-loving
propensities.
"I wish we could have Miss Wynn," said Lewie.
"Oh, yes!" said Henry, sneeringly. "You like her, of course. She
praised you a little."
"She didn't do any such thing. I'll leave it to the boys if she said
one word that sounded like it," answered Lewie, with some spirit.
"Well, she looked it, anyway; but you needn't get wrathy over it. I
don't care if she did, you are welcome."
"Don't quarrel," said Herbert; "I liked Miss Wynn because she didn't
put on airs and pretend to be so very wise. She just talked pleasant,
and the kind of talk that a fellow could understand. I vote for Miss
Wynn."
"Well, Herb, go and ask Mr. Clarke, before he picks out somebody with a
face as long as your arm and a voice to match."
Mabel had chanced to meet Dr. Eaton at the door and accepted his
invitation to take a seat in his class, and here Mr. Clarke sought her.
"Dr. Eaton," he said, "those boys want Miss Wynn. I am sorry to take
her away, and glad, too."
The colour mounted quickly to Mabel's forehead, and she exclaimed,—
"Why, Mr. Clarke, I really don't know how to teach."
"Can't help that! They want you, and if they can't have what they want,
they won't stay."
"Miss Wynn," said the superintendent, when Sunday-school was over that
day, "you'll have to keep that class!"