_The Knife-grinder_.
The only person in the house, except the man and his wife, was a young
domestic servant, a Soldier of The Salvation Army. Her employers were
generally drinking when they were not asleep, and the drinking led to the
most dreadful quarrelling. Disgusting orgies of one kind or another were
of almost daily occurrence, and such, visitors as came to the house only
added fuel to the fiery furnace of passion and frenzy through which the
girl was called to walk.
Since that happy Sunday afternoon two years ago, when she gave herself to
God in the wholesome village from which she came, the meetings and the
opportunity, given her by The Army, of doing some work for other souls had
been a bright light in her life. Little by little religion had come to
have for her something of the same meaning it had for St. Paul: though I
fear she knew very little of St. Paul, or of the great and wise things he
wrote--domestic service is seldom favourable to the study of the
Scriptures. But the same spirit which led the great Apostle to confer not
with flesh and blood, and which took him into Arabia before he went to
Jerusalem, was leading this quiet, country maiden to see that to be a
follower of Christ means something more than to win a fleeting happiness
in this life and a kind of pension in the next. She was beginning to
understand that to be really Christ's means also to be a Christ; that to
be His, one must seek for the lost sheep for whom He died. And so Rhoda--I
call her Rhoda, though that was not her name--when she found to what sort
of people she had, in her ignorance of the great city, engaged herself,
had set to work to seek their salvation.
Many very good people would probably think that she would have been a
wiser girl to have gone elsewhere--that the risks of such a position were
very great, and so on. No doubt; but the light of a great truth was rising
in Rhoda's heart and mind. She perceived in her very danger an opportunity
to prove her love for her Saviour by risking something for the souls of
those two besotted creatures, for whom she dared to think He really died.
And so, day after day, she toiled for them: night after night she prayed
for them. And in her sober moments the wreck of a woman, her mistress,
wept aloud in her slobbering way, and talked of the days long, long ago,
when she, too, believed in the things that are good.
The first flush of novelty in the sense of doing an unselfish thing for
God wore away, and presently Rhoda's real trial began. The drinking and
fighting grew worse, and the difficulty of getting out to a meeting grew
greater. Gradually the weary body robbed the struggling soul of its time
to pray; and, worst of all, by slow degrees Rhoda's faith was shaken, for
her prayers, her agonising prayers, on behalf of those dark souls were
only too manifestly not answered. Was it worth while, after all, troubling
about sinners? Was it her affair? Why should she care? Of what use could
it be to become an Officer, in order to seek the many, if God did not
hearken to her cry for the few?
One day the Captain of the Corps to which Rhoda belonged called, and
seemed grieved with her for neglecting the meetings. This was a heavy
blow. She could not or would not explain, and when that night, in the
midst of a drunken brawl, her master struck her in the face, heart and
flesh both failed, and she determined to say no more about salvation, and
to abandon all profession of religion.
That night seemed long and dark, and when at last sleep came, the pillow
was wet with tears of anguish, of anger, and of pride.
"Scissors to mend! to mend! to mend!" The monotonous calls of London
hawkers are a strange mixture of sounds--at one moment attractive, at
another repelling; they are, perhaps, more like the cry of a bird in
distress than anything else.
Rhoda looked at her wood-chopper as the knife-grinder came nearer to the
house, and as he passed beckoned him, and gave it to him. She made no
remark. He was rough and grimy, and his torn coat gave him an appearance
of misery, which his face rather belied. She was miserable enough, and
made no reply to his cheery "Good morning!"
Presently the axe was sharpened, and the man brought it to the door. She
paid him.
"Thank you," he said. And then, with kindly abruptness--"Excuse me, but I
see you have been crying. Do you ever pray?" And, after a silence, "God
answers prayer, though He may not do it our way. _He did it for me._
I was a drunkard, but my mother's prayers are answered now, and I belong
to The Salvation Army. Do you know any of them? Oh, they just live by
prayer!"
Rhoda stood in silence listening to the strange man till she ceased to
hear him, and looking at him till she ceased to see him! Another Presence
and another Voice was there.
_It was the Christ_.
Rhoda was delivered. She is still fighting for souls, and loves most to do
it where Satan's seat is. But the knife-grinder never knew.