"AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE BRIGHT."
Meantime Flossy Shipley came to no place where her heart could rest. She
went through that first day at Chautauqua in a sort of maze, hearing and
yet not hearing, and longing in her very soul for something that she did
not hear--that is, she did not hear it distinctly and fairly stated, so
that she could grasp it and act upon it; and yet it was shadowed all
around her, and hinted at in every word that was uttered, so that it was
impossible to forget that there was a great something in which the most
of these people were eagerly interested, and which was sealed to her.
She felt it dimly all the while that Dr. Eggleston was speaking; she
felt it sensibly when they sang; she felt it in the chance words that
caught her ear on every side as the meeting closed--bright, fresh words
of greeting, of gladness, of satisfaction, but every one of them
containing a ring that she could hear but not copy. What did it mean?
And, above all, why did she care what it meant, when she had been happy
all her life before without knowing or thinking anything about it?
As they went down the hill to dinner, she loitered somewhat behind the
others, thinking while they talked. As the throng pressed down around
them there came one whose face she instantly recognized; it belonged to
the young man who had spoken to her on the boat the evening before. The
face recalled the earnest words that he had spoken, and the tone of
restful satisfaction in which they were spoken. His face wore the same
look now--interested, alert, but _at rest_. She coveted rest. It was
clear that he also recognized her, and something in her wistful eyes
recalled the words _she_ had spoken.
"Have you found the Father's presence yet?" he asked, with a reverent
tone to his voice when he said "the Father," and yet with such evident
trust and love that the tears started to her eyes.
She answered quickly:
"No, I haven't. I cannot feel that he is my Father."
They went down the steps just then, and the crowd rushed in between
them, so that neither knew what had become of the other; only that
chance meeting; he might never see her again. Chautauqua was peculiarly
a place where people met for a moment, then lost each other, perhaps for
all the rest of the time.
"I may never see her again," Evan Roberts thought, "but I am glad that I
said a word to her. I hope in my soul that she will let Him find her."
If Flossy could have heard this unspoken sentence she would have
marveled. "Let Him find her!" Why, she was dimly conscious that she was
seeking for Him, but no such thought had presented itself as that God
was really seeking after her.
She went on, still falling behind, and trying to hide the rush of
feeling that the simple question had called forth. She was very quiet
at the dinner table; she was oblivious to steel forks or the want of
spoons; these things that had hitherto filled her life and looked of
importance to her had strangely dwindled; she was miserably
disappointed; she had looked forward to Chautauqua as a place where she
could have such a "nice" time. That word "nice" was a favorite with her,
and surely no one could be having a more wretched time than this; and it
was not the rain, either, over which she had been miserable all day
yesterday, nor her cashmere dress; she didn't care in the least now
whether it cleared or not; and as to her dress, she had torn her silk
twice, and it was sadly drabbled, but she did not even care for that;
she wanted--what? Alas for the daughter of nominally Christian parents,
living among all the privileges of a cultured Christian society, she
_did not know what the wanted_.
Dr. Calkins had one eager listener. If he could have picked out her
earnest, wistful eyes among that crowd of upturned faces he would have
let old Socrates go, and given himself heart and soul to the leading of
this groping soul into the light. As it was he hovered around it,
touching the subject here and there, thrilling her with the
possibilities stretching out before her; but he was thinking of and
talking all the while to those who had reached after and secured this
"something" that to her was still a shadow. Now and then the speaker
brought the quick tears to her eyes as he referred to those who had
followed the teaching of his lips with sympathetic faces and answered
the appeal to their hearts with tears; but her tears were different from
those--they were the tears of a sick soul, longing for light and help.
The entire party ignored the evening meeting. Marion declared that her
brain whirled now, so great had been the mental strain; Ruth was loftily
indifferent to any plan that could be gotten up, and Eurie's wits were
ripe for mischief; Flossy's opinion, of course, was not asked, nobody
deeming it possible that she could have the slightest desire to go to
meeting. In fact, Eurie put their desertion on the ground that Flossy
had been exhausted by the mental effort of the day, and needed to be
cheered and petted. She on her part was silent and wearily indifferent;
she did not know what to do with her heavy heart, and felt that she
might as soon walk down by the lake shore as do anything else; so down
to the shore they went, and gave themselves up to the full enjoyment of
the novel scene--an evening in the woods, great, glowing lights on every
side, great companies of people passing to and fro, boats touching at
the wharves and sending up group after group to the central attraction,
the grand stand; singing, music by thousands of voices ringing down to
them as they loitered under the trees on the rustic seats.
"I declare, it must be nice in heaven for a little while."
It was Eurie who made this somewhat startling discovery and announcement
after a lull had fallen upon their mirth.
"Have you been there to see?" illogically asked Marion, as she threw a
tiny stone into the water and watched the waves quiver and ripple.
Eurie laughed.
"Not quite, but this must be a little piece of it--this music, I mean. I
am almost tempted to make an effort after the real thing. How
exquisitely those voices sound! I'm very certain I should enjoy the
music, whether I should be able to get along with the rest of the
programme or not. What on earth do you suppose they do there all the
time, anyway?"
"Where?"
"Why, in heaven, of course; that is what I was talking about. I believe
you are half asleep, Flossy Shipley; you mustn't go to sleep out here;
it isn't quite heaven yet, and you will take cold. Honestly, girls,
isn't it a sort of wonderment to you how the people up there can employ
their time? In spite of me I cannot help feeling that it must be rather
stupid; think of never being able to lie down and take a nap!"
"Or read a novel," added Marion. "Isn't that your favorite employment
when you are awake, Eurie? I'm sure I don't know much about the
occupations of the place; I'm not posted; there is nothing about it laid
down in our geography; and, in fact, the people who seem to be expecting
to spend their lives there are unaccountably mum about it. I don't at
this moment remember hearing any one ever express a downright opinion,
and I have always thought it rather queer. I asked Nellie Wheden about
it one day when she was going on about her expected tour in Europe. She
had bored me to death, making me produce all my geographic and historic
lore for her benefit; and suddenly I thought of an expedient for giving
myself a little peace and a chance to talk about something else. 'Come,
Nellie,' I said, 'one good turn deserves another. I have told you
everything I can think of that can possibly be of interest to you about
Europe; now give me some information about the other place where you are
going. You must have laid up a large stock of information in all these
years.'"
"What on earth did she say?" Ruth asked, curiously, while Eurie was in
great glee over the story.
"She was as puzzled as if I had spoken to her in Greek. 'What in the
world can you be talking about?' she said. 'I'm not going anywhere else
that I know of. My head has been full of Europe for the last year, and I
haven't talked nor thought about any other journey.' Well, I enlightened
her as to her expectations, and what do you think she said? You wouldn't
be able to guess, so I'll tell you. She said I was irreverent, and that
no one who respected religion would ask such questions as that, and she
actually went off in a huff over my wickedness. So, naturally, I have
been chary of trying to get information on such 'reverent' subjects ever
since."
Whereupon all these silly young ladies laughed long and heartily over
this silly talk. Flossy laughed with the rest, partly from the force of
habit and partly because this recital struck her as very foolish. Every
one of them saw its inconsistent side as plainly as though they had been
Christians for years; more plainly, perhaps, for it is very strange what
blinded eyes we can get under certain systems of living the religious
faith.
Presently the society of these young ladies palled upon themselves, and
they agreed one with another that they had been very silly not to go to
meeting, and that another evening they would at least discover what was
being said before they lost the opportunity for getting seats.
"Stupid set!" said Eurie "who imagined that the crowd would do such a
silly thing as to rush to that meeting, as if there were nothing else
to do but to go flying off for a seat the moment the bell rings? I
thought there would be crowds out here, and we would make some pleasant
acquaintances, and perhaps get a chance to take a boat ride."
And so, in some disgust, they voted to bring the first day at Chautauqua
to a sudden close and try tent life.
Silence and darkness reigned in the tent where our girls had disposed of
themselves. It was two hours since they had come in. It took more than
an hour, and much talking and more laughter, not to mention considerable
grumbling on Ruth's part, before everything was arranged to their
satisfaction--or, as Ruth expressed it, "to their endurance" for the
night.
Three of the girls were sleeping quietly, their fun and their
discontents alike forgotten, but Flossy tossed wearily on her bed,
turned her pillow and turned it back again, and sought in vain for a
quiet spot. With the silence and the darkness her unrest had come upon
her again with tenfold force. She felt no nearer a solution of her
trouble than she had in the morning; in fact, the pain had deepened all
day, and the only definite feeling she had about it now was that she
could not live so; that something must be done; that she must get back
to her home and her old life, where she might hope to forged it all and
be at peace again.
Into the quiet of the night came a firm, manly step, and the movement of
chairs right by her side, so at least it seemed to her. All unused to
tent life as she was a good deal startled she raised herself on one
elbow and looked about her in a frightened way before she realized that
the sounds came from the tent next to theirs. Before her thoughts were
fairly composed they were startled anew; this time with the voice of
prayer.
Very distinct the words were on this still night air; every sentence as
clear as though it had really been spoken in the same tent. Now, there
was something peculiar in the voice; clearly cut and rounded the words
were, like that of a man very decided, very positive in his views, and
very earnest in his life. There was also a modulation to the syllables
that Flossy could not describe, but that she felt And she knew that she
had heard that voice twice before, once on the boat the evening before
and once as they jostled together in the crowd on their way to dinner.
She felt sorry to be unwittingly a listener to a prayer that the maker
evidently thought was being heard only by his Savior. But she could not
shut out the low and yet wonderfully distinct sentences, and presently
she ceased to wish to, for it became certain that he was praying for
her. He made it very plain. He called her "that young girl who said
to-day that she could not think of thee as her Father; who seems to want
to be led by the hand to thee."
Did you ever hear yourself prayed for by an earnest, reverent, pleading
voice? Then perhaps you know something of Flossy's feelings as she lay
there in the darkness. She had never heard any one pray for her before.
So destitute was she of real friends that she doubted much whether there
were one person living who had ever before earnestly asked God to make
her his child.
That was what this prayer was asking. She lifted the white sleeve of her
gown, and wiped away tear after tear as the pleading voice went on.
Very still she was. It seemed to her that she must not lose a syllable
of the prayer, for here at last was the help she had been seeking,
blindly, and without knowing that she sought, all this long, heavy day.
Help? Yes, plain, clear, simple help. How small a thing it seemed to do!
"Show her her need of thee, blessed Jesus," thus the prayer ran. And oh!
_hadn't_ he showed her that? It flashed over her troubled brain then and
there: "It is Jesus that I need. It is he who can help me. I believe he
can. I believe he is the only one who can." This was her confession of
faith. "Then lead her to ask the help of thee that she needs. Just to
come to thee as the little child would go to her mother, and say,
'Jesus, take me; make me thy child.'" Only that? Was it such a little,
_little_ thing to do? How wonderful!
The praying ceased, and the young man who had remembered the stranger to
whom God had given him a chance to speak during the day, all unconscious
that other ear than God's had heard his words of prayer, laid himself
down to quiet sleep. Flossy lay very still. The rain had ceased during
the afternoon, and now some solemn stars were peeping in through the
chinks in the tent and the earth was moon-lighted. She raised herself on
one elbow and looked around on her companions. How soundly asleep they
were!
Another few minutes of stillness and irresolution. Then a white-robed
figure slipped softly and quietly to the floor and on her knees, and a
low-whispered voice repeated again and again these words:
"Jesus, take me; make me thy child."
It wasn't very long afterward that she lay quietly down on her pillow,
and earth went on exactly as if nothing at all had happened--knew
nothing at all about it--even the sleeper by her side was totally
ignorant of the wonderful tableau that had been acted all about her that
evening. But if Eurie Mitchell could have had one little peep into
heaven just then what _would_ her entranced soul have thought of the
music and the enjoyment there? For what _must_ it be like when there is
"joy in the presence of the angels in heaven"?