AFTER TWENTY YEARS.
IT is twenty years since all this happened, and yet the twenty years
have passed away so fast that I can hardly realize that they have gone.
I can scarcely bring myself to believe that I have lived so many years
in this pretty cottage with my dear old friend, Jem Bagot. Our life
here has been so peaceful, so far removed from the bustle and constant
stir of the busy town, so little has happened to mark the time, or to
make any break in our quiet lives, that the days and weeks and months
and years have gone by as swiftly as I think days and weeks and months
and years could possibly go.
When I had been three years at Grassbourne, my mistress offered to keep
her promise, and to find me a situation as footman; but I was so happy
here, and Bagot and his wife were good enough to say they were so fond
of me, that my mistress very kindly said I might still stay on with
her, if I would like to do so.
Very soon after this, Bagot had a terrible attack of rheumatic fever,
and during his long illness I took entire charge of the garden and
hothouse, and then, when Bagot got better, he was very weak and feeble,
and could not have managed to keep pace with the work, if he had only
had a young, inexperienced boy to help him.
And so it came to pass that I never left Grassbourne, and now Bagot is
getting old and infirm; he is seventy-five years old, and he can do no
hard work. But I have stepped into his place, and he enjoys helping me,
and doing any little job which he can manage without tiring himself.
Dear old Bagot, I believe he loves me as much as if I were really his
own son. Ever since his wife died—and she has been dead now more than
ten years—he has leaned on me more than ever. He felt her death very
much.
"The missus and me always pulled together, Peter," he said, as he cried
like a child on the night she died; "it was a long pull, and a strong
pull, and a pull both together, it was, and the boat went bravely over
the waves. But now, my lad, it has landed her on the other shore, it
has; and how I shall ever pull on without her, Peter, it beats me to
think."
"But the Lord is in the boat, Bagot," I said. "He won't leave you to
pull on alone."
"You 're right there, Peter," he sobbed, "you are. I was forgetting
that, like an old foolish-headed fellow, I was; but I wish, Peter—I
can't help wishing, my lad—that we had both got to the shore together."
I did all I could to cheer him and to comfort him when we were left
alone together. And when Kate came, the old man felt he had a daughter
as well as a son to take care of him. I never saw any two people take
to each other so well as Bagot took to Kate, and Kate took to Bagot. He
wanted to go away when he knew I was going to be married, but I would
not hear of that, and Kate would not hear it either, and we could not
be a happier little family than we are now.
Bagot's great pleasure is in the children. Little Jude and the tiny
Kitty are his constant playmates, and they follow him about wherever
he goes. Little Kitty is wild with joy whenever she hears Bagot's step
coming in from his work, and she toddles to meet him, and climbs up
into his arms, saying, "Dear daddy Baggy, dear daddy Baggy."
My mistress has aged very much since I first came to Grassbourne. Her
hair is growing white now, and her face has lost much of the beauty
which made her so much admired when she was younger; but sometimes I
think she looks more like an angel now than even when first I saw her.
She is twenty years nearer the end of the journey now, and the twenty
years of patient waiting, the twenty years of busy working, the twenty
years of discipline in the Lord's school of sorrow, the twenty years of
learning daily more and more of His love, have all left their mark upon
her, and have made her even more beautiful in the eyes of those who
know her best, than she was in those by-gone years.
I sometimes think the waiting time may not be much longer for her now;
it seems, at times, as if a gleam of glory from the Heavenly City were
shining on her face, and I tremble as I think that the gates may even
now be opening to let her in. I tremble for ourselves, and for all
those whom she helps, and teaches, and comforts; but I can but rejoice
for her, if the wilderness way is growing shorter, and the welcomes in
the Father's Home are drawing nearer.
Yet the thought often comes to me, "Oh that we could all go together!
Oh that, instead of the Master's voice calling us one by one, instead
of the terrible parting with one dear one after another, as they go
gladly at the sound of His voice, He would come again, and receive all,
all to Himself, He would appear to gather together in one His children
scattered abroad, and that we, all of us together, might gladly go,
hand in hand, to meet Him!"
The "Rules for To-day" still hang over the chimney-piece in their old
place, and we are still trying; by God's grace, to carry them out in
our daily lives. And the blessed hope of the Lord's appearing still
stirs us up to live very near to Him, and to keep very far from sin,
and still comforts and cheers us in all the sorrows and anxieties of
our every-day life.
My old home has been broken up a long time now. My poor mother died
the same year as Mrs. Bagot, and she rests from her labors in that
Home where the weary are at rest. My brothers are all doing well for
themselves, and have wives and families of their own.
My father gave up the business when Salome married, and went to live
with her. He often comes over to see me, and the quiet of this country
place is a great enjoyment to him. He is as silent as ever, and it is
amusing to see him and Bagot sitting together over the fire. They have
quite renewed their old friendship, and are very fond of each other;
but when they talk together, it is an equal division of labor, for
Bagot does all the talking, and my father does all the listening, and
yet it seems to give them both the greatest satisfaction.
Salome came over to see us last week with her little girl, and in the
evening I drove them to Calvington in the light cart. It was Salome's
birthday, and she came over to see me for her birthday treat, for she
and I love each other as much as ever.
It was a lovely evening, and as we drove along the sun was setting
behind the distant hills. The sky was full of glory, golden clouds
floated along in the deepest blue, like islands of glory on an azure
sea, and then there were deep rose-colored and crimson clouds beyond,
which looked like the glorious shores of this lovely sea, and which
were constantly changing, both in form and color.
We were in good time, and we pulled up in a quiet bit of the road, and
looked at the sunset.
"Don't you think it will look something like that, Salome," I said,
"when the Lord comes?"
"I was just thinking so, Peter," she said. "When I was a child, ever
after you and I heard that sermon on my birthday, whenever such a sky
as that came, I thought it was the Lord coming in glory."
"But He hasn't come yet," I said, with a sigh.
"No," answered Salome, "not yet, Peter.
"'But the Day is nearer now,
Far nearer,—
And the signs of His approach
Far clearer!'"
"That's a very comforting thought, Salome," I said.
"You would like that hymn, Peter," said my sister. "I had a copy of it
given me the other day, and I will send it to you."
And this morning the hymn arrived, and I have just been reading it to
Bagot and Kate.
"'YE SEE THE DAY APPROACHING.
"'When we were little children, and heard of Jesus' love,
We often wished that He would come, and take us all above.
But the Day is nearer now,
Far nearer,—
And the signs of His approach
Far clearer!
"'And oft, with childish fancy, at the closing of the day,
We hoped that in those golden clouds the King was on His way.
But the Day is nearer now,
Far nearer,—
And the signs of His approach
Far clearer!
"'Lord, we are growing older, those days and years are fled;
And time and change have done their work; and some we loved are dead.
But the Day is nearer now,
Far nearer,—
And the signs of Thine approach
Far clearer!
"'Lord, make us ever ready, as each day hurries by,
To raise the welcome shout of joy,—"The Lord our King is nigh!"
But the Day is nearer now,
Far nearer,—
And the signs of Thine approach
Far clearer!'"
"Amen," said Bagot, when I had finished reading. "'Even so, come, Lord
Jesus.'"
THE END.
University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.