DECISIONS.
"All to leave end follow Thee."
THERE were many changed households in Westville. Perhaps nowhere was
the change more marked than in the homes of the Lorings and the Knapps.
"How much they need Christ," was Mabel's thought months ago; but now He
is with them an ever-present Friend and Helper.
At the Lorings's, the proud and haughty father has become a humble
learner at the feet of the Great Teacher, led there through sorrow and
bereavement. Willy's short life had not been fruitless. He brought a
blessing to the home he left so early, and where his were the only
prayers ever offered. The family altar has been established, the lonely
mother is comforted, and Louise rejoices in her Saviour's love.
At the Knapps's, there is peace and harmony. The children are obedient
and respectful, the tried mother has found a rest, and the stern
father, remembering God's patience and long-suffering as exercised
toward him, has grown more gentle and forbearing toward his children.
Mr. Earle's request that Willy and Helen should remain at home with the
little ones while their parents came to church gave Helen much trouble.
What! Stay at home from those precious meetings! How could she get
on without the help and instruction which she found there? Mr. Earle
could not have thought how much she loved to be there, nor how much
she needed to hear him talk. She carried a very sober face to school
the next morning, and brought it home with her at night—at least she
started with it. She stopped a few minutes at Mr. Trafton's, and while
Alice went to get a book for her, she sat in Henry's room.
"You find the meetings very pleasant, do you not?" he said.
"Oh, yes, indeed. I wouldn't miss them for anything."
"Ah!" returned Henry, smiling, "I've missed a great many; but I have
had some meetings here a great deal more precious than any I ever
attended anywhere else."
"Why, do you ever have a meeting here?" asked Helen.
"Yes," he replied, still smiling. "When the rest are away, my Saviour
meets me here, and teaches and comforts me. If one can go to church, of
course he can't look for a blessing by staying at home; but if kept at
home by sickness or duty to others, Christ will not forget, especially
if the sacrifice be a willing one. Alice is calling you."
"What a patient boy Henry Trafton is," thought Helen; "and how
perfectly happy he looked when he talked about the visits of his
Saviour. I wonder—I will!"
"Mother," she said, on reaching home, "I'll stay at home tonight, and
you can go to church."
"And if father will go with you, I'll stay, too," added Willy.
Mr. Earle had not forgotten to send a special reminder to Mr. Knapp's
shop that afternoon, and God blessing the efforts put forth in his
name, both parents were ere long rejoicing in sins forgiven, and Helen
felt that she had gained by her sacrifice.
And where was the son and brother while these at home were coming
within the fold? To show that he was not forgotten, I copy a part of a
letter written about this time.
"WESTVILLE.
"MY DEAR ARTHUR:—I have in my possession a little note which you
wrote to me two years ago. In it you say, 'I think I love Jesus.
I am trying to follow the White Line.'
"My dear boy, are you still following on? I have feared much for
you. I know very little of your associations and habits; but, oh, I
do know that temptation must come to every one, and that we all need
to be faithful and on our guard. Sometimes the tempter creeps in
under disguises, and we fail to recognise him until we have fallen.
My dear Arthur, I want you for Christ, I want you to be a comfort to
your parents, a help to your brothers and sisters, an example to your
companions, a blessing to the world. Are you? Are you doing God's work?
You remember what I used to tell you about honouring Christ everywhere,
at home, in the street, in places of business, as well as in the
sanctuary. If we love Him we shall delight to do Him honour.
"If you have drawn back, if you are not following Christ, let me
entreat you to no longer tamper with your salvation. It would be a
terrible thing to slide back a little too far, to be a little too late.
Don't risk your soul in that way. I have wished that you were here
while so many are coming to Christ; but He is just as near to you where
you are, if you will only reach out and take hold of his outstretched
hand. Will you?
"I do not know just how to advise you because I know so little of your
life at present. It may be that you do not always find your associates
pleasant. It may be that they are not always safe companions. Shun
their evil ways, seek opportunities to do them good, but beware of
following their examples. It may be that your employers sometimes seem
hard or unjust. Let me say that the world is full of just such little
fretting things, and if we allow them to fret and annoy us, we shall
never have a moment's peace. We are never going to find a place here
that will be free from annoying circumstance. And it is just in this
way that we prove that we are one with Christ. If we bear our trials,
do our work, taking the good and ill together, as coming from our
Father's hand, accepting with a spirit of obedience and consecration
whatever comes to us, we shall find our hearts growing restful. Then
shall our lives be peaceful and full of good works.
"Your friend,
"MABEL MCNAIR."
To this letter Arthur made answer:—
"DEAR TEACHER:— . . . I do not dare to call myself a disciple, though
I think I do love the Saviour. But I wander so often and so far. It seems
that I have no strength to resist temptation, and yet if it were not
for Christ's love drawing me back, I must have gone to ruin long ago.
I wish I could cut loose from my sins, but it does seem sometimes as
though Satan was determined to have possession. I have no time to grow
in grace, for I am continually wandering and then repenting. I should
like to make a public profession of my love for Jesus, but I dare
not, I should so soon dishonour the name. I am not worthy to take the
Christian name. I belong to a Bible class here, but it is not like the
dear little class in Westville. I miss the Saturday evening talks.
"Do you think that Christ will accept me? Dare I come to his Supper?
I should like to come home in the spring, and join the church with the
rest, if I was only fit. I know you pray for all of us boys. I wish
we were all following. Will you pray especially for me, that I may be
strengthened to resist temptation?
"Your loving pupil,
"ARTHUR KNAPP."
A long letter was written in response to this, but I will quote only a
sentence or two:—
"My dear boy, the only fitness required for the step you desire to
take is a humble, childlike trust in Christ. If you feel your own
weakness, remember in Him is strength; if you realise that you are
sinful, remember that it was to save a lost and sinful race that He
came; if you feel that you really love the Saviour, and that He is
your only hope, you need not fear to come."
With great hesitation, with many doubts and fears, Arthur came. Mabel
rejoiced, though her joy was dimmed by the thought of the two who would
not come, and she prayed as she had often before—
"My whole dear class for Jesus!
Oh, let not one be lost."
Tom and Herbert had many long talks during the visit of the former.
Very soon after his conversion, Tom had asked, "Lord, what wilt Thou
have me to do?" And the answer had come to him as it comes to all who
ask in sincerity. By his providence and by his spirit God had said,
"Go, proclaim the gospel of my Son, Jesus Christ."
In the experience of the last few months, and, indeed, in his whole
Christian life, Herbert began now to see a hand pointing him to the
same course; and his talks with Tom, their comparison of experience and
feelings, had strengthened his growing conviction that his early choice
of a life-work had been a mistake.
Tom had gone. Mr. Bradford and Herbert were busy at the office, Herbert
writing in the private office, his father talking with clients in the
outer room. Presently a low, soft voice attracted the attention of the
copyist.
"I am looking for work," said the lady to whom the voice belonged,
and whom Mr. Bradford recognised as the daughter of a once wealthy,
but lately insolvent manufacturer. "My penmanship has always been
considered as something remarkable for an unprofessional; and my choice
of work would be something which would call this one talent into use. I
have called to ask you if you do not need a copyist."
Mr. Bradford began a reply to the effect that he was sorry, but for the
present his son was acting in that capacity; but was interrupted by a
call from the inner office.
"Father! Excuse the interruption, but will you step here? I am quite
ready," he continued, in a low voice, "to resign in favour of Miss
Dean. I—in short, I have decided to accept your offer of a college
course."
"And give up a business life?"
"Yes; that is—I think I must be about my Master's business."
"Ah! The ministry?" questioned Mr. Bradford.
"Yes, sir. I think I ought. You do not object?"
"No," a little doubtfully. "I knew Mr. Earle had his eye upon you."
"Mr. Earle! He has never spoken a word to me about it. I was going to
consult him this afternoon; but I should have spoken to you first, if
Miss Dean had not called."
Mr. Bradford had been sincerely sorry; and now he was sincerely glad,
because of the answer he had to give the waiting lady, and as Miss
Dean herself was very glad to hear the favourable decision, there were
several persons in that very desirable state of mind.
To tell the truth, Herbert had anticipated some little opposition upon
his father's part. He had been bent upon a mercantile life, and had
with some difficulty won his parents' consent, and he expected to be
accused of fickleness. Then he fancied that he had foreseen several
arguments which his father would use to prove that he should study law,
in case he made a change, and he had prepared himself to answer these;
but to his surprise, he had no use for his counter arguments. As Mr.
Bradford hinted, he was not unprepared for this announcement, and he
was not so worldly as to wish to keep Herbert from the path of duty.
"It seems strange," said Herbert, in the course of his talk with Mr.
Earle, "that, if you had this in mind, you should never have spoken of
it to me."
Mr. Earle smiled.
"I knew the matter was in safe hands. I might be mistaken, and I was
sure that if the Lord really wanted you for this work, he would make it
known to you in his own good time."
As I am writing of decisions, I will record one more. I have somewhere
said that Nick Turner was an out-and-out loafer. He worked when obliged
to, and the rest of the time, he smoked, drank, and gambled. His father
was a well-to-do farmer, living half a mile from the village. Kindly
old Mr. Turner and his sweet-faced wife were growing old and sad faster
than their years warranted. Years do not bow one down to the earth like
the carrying of a heavy heart; and what burden can weigh heavier upon a
parent's heart than the living death of the first-born?
Nick's help upon the farm counted for very little; consequently his
father was astonished at a remark he made one morning.
"Father, if Gibbs wants Jonas, you may as well let him go. I'll take
his place for the summer. I would like to go West next year, if you
will help me off; but for the present, you may depend upon me."
"Can I depend upon you?" asked the father gently, but meaningly.
"Yes, sir. I think so. You know that I am not just the boy I was a few
weeks ago. At least I hope so."
"Yes; I know. I know, Nicholas, that you are not the same. Thank God
for it. I only meant—Well, I am afraid you will get tired of work; and
it will be bad for me to lose the chance of keeping a steady hand. But
if you say you'll stick to it, I'll trust you. Thank God, I have my boy
back again."
It was a simple affair that took Herbert Bradford out to the farmhouse
one afternoon two months previous to this conversation. The apples
from the Turner orchard were famous, and Mr. Bradford had sent Herbert
out to engage a few bushels, to be brought in when convenient. Yes,
they could spare a few, the old man said, and Nicholas might as well
drive down then, and Herbert could ride with him. That was the young
Christian's opportunity, and out of the few earnest words spoken during
that drive grew the little talk that ended with, "Thank God, I have my
boy back again!"