heavenly vision.”
“When one has a ‘leading,’ it is best to follow straight on, isn’t it,
mother?” asked Farmer Vance, bringing in a basket-full of sweet corn
for dinner.
“It’s the safest way, I suppose,” answered his wife, with a smile. She
was busy over her ironing table, the week’s mending yet untouched, the
fall sewing ready to step into line, corn and apples waiting to be
dried, with no end of pickling and preserving. Her hands still kept
time to the old tread-mill measure of household duties, but her heart
had now a rhythm of its own. She could afford to smile,—to watch and
even wait for God’s opportunities.
“It’s about those boys of mine,” resumed Mr. Vance, with a peculiar
emphasis on the possessive case every Sabbath School teacher would
do well to feel. “It seems clear to me that when folks haven’t an
appetite for good, wholesome food (remember, it isn’t stomachs, it’s
_hearts_ I’m talking about), you want to begin with something that’ll
relish, and work round gradually to the right sort. In other words, if
you want to get hold of a fellow’s heart, get a good grip of his hand
first. Now, suppose I should take the whole class over to the beach for
a couple of days, camping out, you know. It would be something of a
treat to those factory boys, and I’ve an inkling young Carter wouldn’t
object.”
“You couldn’t have thought of a better plan,” said Mrs. Vance, changing
her irons. “Only do be careful! I’m so afraid of a sail-boat.”
“Oh! Griggs will take us out, and he is an old seaman. All the trouble
is, everything is hurrying me just now,—corn, apples, and potatoes to
be harvested. I don’t know how to spare a day, but we ought to go next
week if we go at all, and I can’t help feeling it may help amazingly by
and by. It’s what I call a ‘_leading_,’ and I take it, obedience comes
next in order.”
“I don’t think people look for such ‘leadings’ as much as they might,”
remarked Mrs. Vance, leaving her ironing to beat up a pudding.
“Don’t _obey_ them, you mean,” said Mr. Vance, stopping in the doorway.
“That’s the point. It’s superstitious folks who keep looking and
listening for them. I reckon they _come_ when we need them, and all
we’re to do is to follow.”
A “leading” or nor, all the boys were delighted with the project.
Will Carter pronounced Mr. Vance a “brick,” and the factory boys gave
three cheers and a “tiger” when he came out of the office with a
leave-of-absence for the whole half-dozen.
The appointed day was the very perfection of an Indian summer. They
were on the road long before sunrise, the big moving-wagon having been
duly packed with cooking utensils, bedding, and provisions the night
before. There were sixteen in all, including Mr. Vance and the driver.
They reached their destination in time to catch the fish for their
dinner. Cooking it, eating it, getting up the tents, going in swimming,
hunting for crabs, and strolling over the beach used up the afternoon.
Everybody declared the sun had cheated them, and slipped out of sight
an hour too soon.
And then, all the long, cool, delicious evening, they lounged on the
rocks, telling stories, guessing riddles, singing familiar songs,—was
there ever anything half so jolly?—with the round, full moon overhead
and the great tranquil ocean spread out before them.
“And not the least bit of a preach,” thought Will, as he rolled himself
up in his blanket and stretched out beside Dick, already sound asleep.
“I had my suspicions he’d contrive to make us feel earthquake-y before
he let us off for the night. But that little short prayer was well
enough, and I certainly never heard anything like that one hundred
and seventh Psalm. I wonder if it was the way he recited it, or having
the ‘wonders of the deep’ right before us. You could almost see the
‘stormy winds’ lifting up those huge waves. And how grand it was when
we all repeated together, ‘_Oh, that men would praise the Lord for
His goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men!_’ I
don’t see how Mr. Blackman can help believing there is a God. I wonder
if he ever read that Psalm. There’s something in this religion. What a
different boy Dick is! But then, there was room enough for improvement.
Now, I’ve always done the best I could, unless it is about going to
those meetings, and I mean to go some time when it comes right. I’ve
really meant, ever since that first Sunday Mr. Vance talked to us, to
think more about such things, and—What’s that? Somebody singing!”
VII.
ALMOST PERSUADED.
“Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Almost thou persuades me to be a
Christian.”
Somebody was singing,—a rich, clear, tenor voice. Will could hear
every word distinctly:—
“‘Almost persuaded’ now to believe,
‘Almost persuaded’ Christ to receive.
Seems now some soul to say,
‘Go, Spirit, go thy way,
Some more convenient day
On thee I’ll call.’
“‘Almost persuaded,’ come, come to-day,
‘Almost persuaded,’ turn not away.
Jesus invites you here,
Angels are ling’ring near,
Prayers rise from hearts so dear.
O wand’rer, come!
“‘Almost persuaded,’ harvest is past,
‘Almost persuaded,’ doom comes at last.
‘Almost’ cannot avail,
‘Almost’ is but to fail.
Sad, sad that bitter wail—
‘Almost, but lost.’”
“It must be somebody from those tents around the Point,” thought Will,
turning over; “but what do they sing such doleful words for? I wish
Dick would wake up, or else that I could go to sleep. That water makes
me nervous,—such a steady swash, like a great sob somehow, or as if—”
Will buried his ears in his blanket and began counting backwards, to
shut out the “sad, bitter wail” softly echoed by the waves as they
chased each other over the moon-lighted beach.
VIII.
NEEDLE ROCK.
“What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.”
Griggs took them out sailing the next day, but was obliged to be back
before noon to accommodate a second party; so Mr. Vance concluded to
stay over another night, enjoy a sail by moonlight, and start for home
early in the morning.
Meanwhile, he took one of the horses and set out to hunt up an old
friend settled somewhere in the vicinity. The boys were to spend the
time as they pleased, provided they kept out of danger. Half a dozen of
them, headed by Jack Mullin, started on a tramp along shore, with their
lunch in their hands. Two or three others borrowed a gun of Griggs and
struck off inland.
“Let’s we have dinner over on that big rock,” suggested Dick. “The
Point makes nearly out to it,—just one or two hops, and there you are.”
“Griggs says those low rocks and that strip of sand are all covered at
high tide,” remarked Bill Finnegan.
“High fiddle-sticks!” said Will Carter, who never lost an opportunity
of snubbing poor Bill. “Better wait till you’re asked for advice. We’ll
dine on the peninsula, and if it changes to an island, so much the
better. _I_ shouldn’t suppose such a swimmer would be _afraid_.”
Will could not forgive Finnegan for being the best swimmer in the
party. Why couldn’t he have told he was born and brought up beside the
water, and was as much at home in it as a water-rat?
Will had expected to lead off himself, most of the boys being novices,
and chose to consider Bill’s accomplishments a personal grievance.
Dick, on the contrary, was overjoyed to see how Finnegan “blossomed
out,” as he termed it; dull, awkward, uncouth at home, down here among
the rocks he was as ready and wide-awake as any of them.
“You know your father said we were to keep out of danger,” he remarked
to Dick, as the latter began preparations for his picnic.
“Yes; but man alive! don’t you know the tide can’t come in in a minute?
I don’t see any harm, only the trouble, and ‘many hands make quick
work.’ Lend us a couple, won’t you?”
Needle Rock seemed especially suited to their purpose. There was a
broad, shelving base large enough to accommodate them all comfortably
on the shady side of the sharp, conical peak which gave the small
promontory its name. They found a sort of natural fire-place on the
opposite side, where they built their fire, broiled fish, and made
coffee. If one was smoky and the other muddy, nobody considered it any
objection, and nobody so much as looked at the sky, till a loud peal of
thunder sounded just over their heads. They were on their feet in an
instant. The sky was fearfully black.
“Take what you can and hurry over to the wagon!” cried Dick, seizing
the coffee-pot and one lunch-basket.
“But the path—where is it? Oh! it’s all gone—all _gone_! We are
drowned! We _are_ drowned!” and poor Robert ran this way and that, half
frantic with fear.
“Don’t be a goose, Bob!” said Will, his own voice a trifle unsteady.
“I’m not sure it wouldn’t be a good thing if he was,” said Dick, taking
a quick survey of the situation. “You were right, Finnegan; we oughtn’t
to have come over here, but I meant to keep a good lookout.”
“Pho! all ’tis, we must climb up on that high shelf,” said Carter,
carelessly. “Of course the rock is never half covered. Out of the way,
Bill, unless you are too scared to move.”
Bill shut his teeth tightly together and moved a little nearer the
edge. He had heard Griggs say the water sometimes rose to the very tip
of the Needle. Most likely that was in a storm; but if the wind should
go on increasing, and nobody knew where they were!
“We shall be ‘high’ if we aren’t ‘dry,’ up here,” called out Dick.
“Only it’s a dreadfully narrow ‘shelf.’ Next time we’ll look twice
before we leap.”
“Oh dear! the water’s clear up to our fire-place,” cried Robert,
shivering with the rain and fright. “Don’t crowd so, Varney. What
_shall_ we do if it comes any higher? Oh, I shall certainly blow off!
Do get up here quick, Bill, so I needn’t be right on the edge.”
“He’s looking out for a more comfortable berth, where he won’t be
crowded,” sneered Will, wedging himself into a corner.
“I’m going around the other side,” Bill spoke sharp and quick, and
disappeared under the overhanging rocks.
“Come over to me, Rob,” said Dick. “There! brace your feet and you’ll
be all right. It’s going to be more wind than rain, and if we only
stick close—” but there was a tremor in his voice which silenced the
oath on Tom Lawrence’s tongue, and sent a paleness over more than one
cheek.
For the next fifteen minutes nobody spoke a word, or could have heard
themselves if they had, it thundered so incessantly. The wind came in
gusts, seeming to gather strength in each lull of its fury.
“How high is the water now?” asked Rob, when only the lashing of the
waves broke the stillness. “Has it carried away the tea-kettle?”
“I guess it’s gone to sea by this time,” said Dick, trying to speak
cheerily, although he shuddered at the steady rise of the angry waves
towards their narrow refuge. Pretty soon Varney uttered a sharp cry as
the white foam broke over his feet.
“Couldn’t a fellow swim ashore, if he knew how?” asked Tom, huskily.
Will Carter stood up and looked around.
“Not in such a sea as that, and there isn’t a boat in sight,” he said,
shortly. “There’s no way; we might as well give up; it will be over our
heads in less than an hour.”
He dropped down again, face to the rock. One loud, bitter cry for help
broke from them all. The wind caught it up mockingly, shivered it into
a hundred little echoes, and went shrieking away again. The boys crept
still nearer together.
Suddenly Robert, who was clinging convulsively to Dick, cried out, “Say
it over, Dick! Say it out loud! Will said there wasn’t _any_ way, and
that’s so dreadful. Please, Dick!”
“I can’t think of the beginning,” Dick said slowly. “I learned it last
winter, you know, but the third verse came to me when Will spoke.
Perhaps I can think of the rest,” and in a voice low and tremulous at
first, but growing stronger and clearer as the wind battled against it,
he repeated,—
Once, tossed upon an angry, boiling sea,
A boat was dashed upon a dreary shore;
Heart-sick and like to die, his comrades three
Cried, “Cuthbert, let us perish! hope is o’er.
“The furious tempest shuts the water-path;
The snow-storm blinds us on the bitter land.”
“Now, wherefore, friends, have ye so little faith?”
God’s servant said, and stretching forth his hand,
He lifted up his reverent eyes and spake:
“I thank Thee, Lord, the way is open there!
No storm above our heads in wrath shall break,
And shut the heavenward path of love and prayer.”
Sweet to me comes old Cuthbert’s word to-day,
Sweet is the thought that Christ is always near;
I seek Him by the ever-open way,
Nor yield my courage to a shuddering fear.
The storm may darken over land and sea,
But step by step with Christ I walk along.
Dear Christ, the storm and sun are both of Thee,
And Thou, Thyself, art still my strength and song!
IX.
THE RESCUE.
“He bringeth them unto their desired haven.”
Dick sprang suddenly to his feet. “There’s something—I do
believe—yes, it is—it _is_ a boat. Call, boys, as loud as you can!
_All_ together, _now_!”
The wind stripped the frail sound into shreds, but all the same the
boat came steadily that way, and was evidently making directly for them.
Brave Bill Finnegan, when he disappeared behind the rocks, had stopped
only long enough to pull off his clothes and cast one quick, appealing
glance up into the blackened sky, with a thought of Him who he had
been told could still even the raging sea; then he struck out into the
boiling, seething waters. It was their only chance. Help, if it came
at all, must be summoned. He might reach the shore, and he might not,
but he would make the attempt. What a plaything he was for the mad
waves! How they whirled and tossed him, blinded him with the spray,
deafened him with their roar, strangled him, chilled him, laughed him
to scorn!
But his strong muscle and early training stood him in good stead now,
although it was some minutes after he was seemingly flung upon the
shore before he could more than crawl out of reach of the cruel water.
He climbed the cliff at last, and fortunately found Griggs close by,
in a sort of shanty, taking a smoke with two other brawny-armed,
bronzed-faced seamen. In less time than we can tell it, although not
without some growling about the foolishness of boys in general and the
fool-hardiness of Bill in particular, the three were on their way to
the Needle. Bill insisted on going back with them, but was peremptorily
ordered up to the house, where he was taken in hand by Mother Griggs,
sent to bed, dosed with hot drinks and rubbed with warm flannels till
even his anxiety for the boys was lost in a sound sleep.
When he opened his eyes they were all there. Dick sprang on the low
couch, and gave him a suffocating hug. Mr. Vance leaned over, with
tears in his eyes, and said, “How shall we ever thank you, my brave
boy!” Then Tom and Varney and the rest crowded up, laughing, talking,
sobbing,—a little hysterical yet, in spite of Mother Griggs’ herb teas
and hot baths.
The clouds were all piled away in the southwest, their gold and crimson
linings fluttering in the sunset; the tired waves rolled heavily in,
scattering pearls and diamonds over the black, pitiless rocks; the moon
crept quietly up in the background: but a sail was out of the question
even had any one felt inclined. Robert and Bill were content to lie
quietly on their couches; none of the others were apparently the worse
for their exposure. Mother Griggs insisted on making a chowder for
the entire party; Griggs himself regaled them with “yarns” about life
in mid-ocean; but it was a very quiet evening, and the talk would
continually drift back to the day’s adventures.
“Cur’us, ain’t it, now, how things work round?” said Griggs. “I’d a
good mind as ever I had to eat to put in at Long Wharf where I left
t’other party, and wait till the blow was over,—I could see it comin’;
but Larkins an’ Sam wanted to git on towards home. Ef we hadn’t, ye
see, there wouldn’t a been a man anywheres round. It’s what _I_ call
cur’us.”
Bill looked up eagerly at Mr. Vance.
“I see Mother Griggs’ garden survived the shower,” the latter remarked
carelessly, going to the window; “I expected to find it washed away,
lying on a slope so. Ah! there is a sort of breakwater to turn the
freshet. How fortunate that should be there, in the nick of time!”
“Guess I think too much of my wife’s posies not to look out for the
wash,” said Griggs, slapping his own knee approvingly. “I fixed that
there thing more’n a month ago on purpose.”
“And don’t you suppose the God who rules the tempests loves His
creatures enough to provide a way of escape from any or all dangers?”
“Well, now, you’ve come it over me slick,” said Griggs, taking out his
pipe, and thoughtfully wiping his mouth.
“And not only from temporal dangers,” continued Farmer Vance, “but he
has also provided a ‘way of escape’ from temptation, sin, and death.”
“I’ve allus reckoned there _was_ a God,” said Griggs, slowly. “One
can’t live close t’ the sea and disbelieve that there; an’ I’d like to
believe He ’tends to things down here, but it never struck me jest so
afore. Take an early start to-morrow, sir?”
“We must have a short sail first, to leave a pleasant taste of old
ocean in our mouths,” rejoined Mr. Vance, smiling; “and now, boys,
before we separate” (half of them were to sleep in the big covered
wagon and the others on Mother Griggs’ kitchen floor), “let’s have our
Psalm again. I don’t believe anything could express our feeling like
that grand one hundred and seventh”; and in a voice slightly tremulous
he began,—
“_Oh, give thanks unto the Lord for He is good_;”
and, as they had done the night before, but with a far different
understanding of its meaning, the boys joined in the refrain,—
“_Oh, that men would praise the Lord for His goodness
and for His wonderful works to the children of
men._”
Once and again and again; but after the words—
“He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up
the waves thereof.
“They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths.
“Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth
them out of their distresses.
“He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are
still.
“Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them
unto their desired haven,”—
one and another voice trembled and broke. Even old Griggs
cleared his throat suspiciously.
Mr. Vance quietly added the last verse,—
“Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, even they shall
understand the loving-kindness of the Lord,”
and with a short, simple prayer, closed a day the events of which no
one of them could ever forget.
Even old Griggs would never again look out anxiously over the stormy
seas, without a thought of the words—
“So _He_ bringeth them unto their desired haven.”
X.
WILL’S DEBT.
“I am debtor both to the Greeks and to the barbarians, both to
the wise and to the unwise.”
“I’m sorry, Bill, and _so_ ashamed.”
Will Carter said that, sitting beside Bill Finnegan, in the big covered
wagon. The others had all jumped out to run up the last, long hill on
their way home.
Finnegan’s pale face flushed scarlet. Will had not spoken to him the
night before, had avoided him all that day, and his quick Irish blood
had felt it keenly.
“It was downright mean, the way I treated you,” Will continued, “and
meaner still not to have owned up sooner, and before the boys too. I’ll
do it yet. Only say you forgive me, Bill, and if there’s anything in
the world I can do for you—ever, please let me. I shall never forget
you just the same as saved my life.”
Bill was looking back, out of the carriage. “It’s queer, folks do
forget—that,” he said, absently, and then, flushing more deeply, he
continued hurriedly, “I didn’t mean—I was thinking—it’s all right,
Carter, an’ you needn’t never say no more about it, afore the boys nor
no time. ’Twas just as much for Number One you know, what I did; and
them other things ain’t worth minding, now. Only if—maybe, you could
help me a bit; you know how so much better.”
“About lessons?” asked Will.
“Well, no, not exactly; I’m dull enough at them, but it’s the
‘_understanding_,’ I’m thinking about; because I ain’t the least bit
‘_wise_.’ I’m going to try all the same, though.”
“Try what?” asked the other, in surprise.
“Why, the ‘way,’—provided, you know. It come all plain to me last
night, after Mr. Vance had prayed, and we’d all got quiet, how we
belonged to whoever made us, an’ if the waves obeyed Him, it was
certain we’d ought to; and if we was so thankful to Him for taking us
out of danger yesterday why didn’t we thank Him for keeping us out
every day? I never had, you see; an’ it struck me we should call it
mighty mean in folks to take so much kindness from one another and
never say ‘Thank ’ee.’ And then I thought if this great, kind God had
provided a ‘way,’ why shouldn’t folks choose to go in it; there can’t
be a better one. I’d always supposed being a Christian meant sort of
giving in to a Master, knuckling right under, and never having your
own way nor nothing. I think people do have an idea it’s a come-down
to pray and all that, don’t you? I did, anyhow; and when I see how,
instead, it was Him doing all those ‘wonderful works’ for us, and we
just turning our backs on the way He’d provided,—why, I made up my
mind I’d turn right square round. That’s all there is to it, ain’t it?
to begin I mean; and if you’d tell me what comes next.”
“You’re a great ways ahead of me now,” said Will, thoughtfully. “I
haven’t even made up my mind.”
It was Bill’s turn to look surprised.
“I believe I’ve felt a good deal about it as you have,” continued Will,
“as if it was something beneath me; but you’ve made out it is mean and
ungrateful _not_ to be a Christian. I thought it would be giving up
a great deal, and you talk as if it was just stepping into the best
possible ‘way.’”
“Well, isn’t it, don’t you think?” asked Bill, earnestly.
“Why, yes, it does look so; but what are you going to do about
‘conviction’ and ‘change of heart,’ and lots of things nobody can
understand?”
Bill shook his head.
“I don’t even know what they mean; all I know is, I’d ought to serve
Him that made me an’ takes care of me, an’ I mean to. O Mr. Vance,
won’t you tell us how ’tis?”
That gentleman had looked in at the back of the wagon, but seeing the
two boys in earnest confab had quietly withdrawn; now, however, he
climbed in.
That he made plain things even plainer may be inferred from the happy,
hopeful look that replaced the puzzled expression on Bill’s face. Will
drew quietly back when the noisy crew came trooping in, and scarcely
spoke till they were nearly home. Then he leaned forward, and under
cover of the loud talking, said quietly, “It’s queer, Bill, but you’ve
set this thing straight for me, and helped me make up my mind at last.
That leaves me doubly in debt, you see.”
“No, oh no, indeed!” returned the other, earnestly. “It was all Mr.
Vance.”
“Well, both of you together, then; but remember, old fellow, I’m ‘yours
to command’ for life, or ought to be, whatever this old proud heart of
mine may say to the contrary.”
“And we’ll both be _His_ ‘to command’ _always_,” said Bill, his plain,
homely face glowing with the thought.
XI.
MR. BLACKMAN.
“I am ready to preach the gospel to you that are at home also,
for I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ.”
“I hope the c’mmittee’s satisfied now,” sputtered Maybee. “They’ve got
a degraded school, with me in one room and Tod in another. I don’t
care! Mr. Blackman’s gone to the ’cademy, and we have wimmins to teach
us. Mine has curls, and Tod’s hasn’t, and mine prays a real nice little
prayer before she says ‘Our Father.’ Mr. Blackman never said only that,
quick’s ever he could,—Amen! ring-a-ling-a-ling, right along together,
as if it didn’t mean nothing ’tall.”
Maybee was right. “Our Father” had no meaning to Mr. Blackman.
Dick and Will, who were both trying to be Christian boys now, were
talking it over one day. “It isn’t so much what he _says_,” Dick
remarked, “as the feeling he gives you that the Bible and such things
are of no account, anyhow.”