ON THE ROCK.
About a fortnight after my father arrived, we were surprised one Monday
morning by another visit from old Mr. Davis. His son-in-law had asked
him to come to tell my grandfather that he had received a letter with
regard to the little girl who was saved from the _Victory_. So he told
my father and me as we stood on the pier; and all the way to the house I
was wondering what the letter could be.
Timpey was running by my side, her little hand in mine, and I could not
bear to think how dull we should be when she was gone.
'Why, it's surely Mr. Davis,' said my grandfather, as he rose to meet
the old gentleman.
'Yes,' said he, 'it is Mr. Davis; and I suppose you can guess what I've
come for.'
'Not to take our little sunbeam, sir,' said my grandfather, taking
Timpey in his arms. 'You never mean to say you're going to take her
away?'
'Wait a bit,' said the old gentleman, sitting down and fumbling in his
pocket; 'wait until you've heard this letter, and then see what you
think about her going.'
And he began to read as follows:
MY DEAR SIR,--I am almost over
powered with joy by the news received by
telegram an hour ago. We had heard of
the loss of the _Victory_, and were mourning
for our little darling as being amongst the
number of those drowned. Her mother has
been quite crushed by her loss, and has
been dangerously ill ever since the sad intelligence
reached us.
'Need I tell you what our feelings were
when we suddenly heard that our dear child
was alive, and well and happy!
'We shall sail by the next steamer for
England, to claim our little darling. My
wife is hardly strong enough to travel this
week, or we should come at once. A thousand
thanks to the brave men who saved
our little girl. I shall hope soon to be
able to thank them myself. My heart is
too full to write much to-day.
'Our child was travelling home under the
care of a friend, as we wished her to leave
India before the hot weather set in, and I
was not able to leave for two months. This
accounts for the name Villiers not being on
the list of passengers on board the _Victory_.
'Thanking you most sincerely for all your
efforts to let us know of our child's safety,
'I remain, yours very truly,
'EDWARD VILLIERS.'
'Now,' said the old gentleman, looking at me, and laughing, though I saw
a tear in his eye, 'won't you let them have her?'
'Well, to be sure,' said my grandfather, 'what can one say after that?
Poor things, how pleased they are!
'Timpey,' I said, taking the little girl on my knee, 'who do you think
is coming to see you? Your mother is coming--coming to see little
Timpey!'
The child looked earnestly at me; she evidently had not quite forgotten
the name. She opened her blue eyes wider than usual, and looked very
thoughtful for a minute or two. Then she nodded her head very wisely,
and said,--
'Dear mother coming to see Timpey?'
'Bless her!' said the old gentleman, stroking her fair little head; 'she
seems to know all about it.'
Then we sat down to breakfast; and whilst we were eating it, old Mr.
Davis turned to me, and asked if I had read the little piece of paper.
'Yes, sir,' said my grandfather, 'indeed we have read it;' and he told
him about Jem Millar, and what he had said to me that last morning. 'And
now,' said my grandfather, 'I wish, if you'd be so kind, you would tell
me _how to get on the Rock_, for I'm on the sand now; there's no doubt
at all about it, and I'm afraid, as you said the last time you were
here, that it won't stand the storm.'
'It would be a sad thing,' said old Mr. Davis, 'to be on the sand when
the great storm comes.'
'Ay, sir, it would, said my grandfather; 'I often lie in bed at nights
and think of it, when the winds and the waves are raging. I call to mind
that verse where it says about the sea and the waves roaring, and men's
hearts failing them for fear. Deary me, I should be terrible frightened,
that I should, if that day was to come, and I saw the Lord coming in
glory.'
'But you need not be afraid if you are on the Rock,' said our old
friend. 'All who have come to Christ, and are resting on Him, will feel
as safe in that day as you do when there is a storm raging and you are
inside this house.'
'Yes,' said my grandfather, 'I see that, sir; but somehow I don't know
what you mean by getting on the Rock; I don't quite see it, sir.'
'Well,' said Mr. Davis, 'what would you do if this house was built on
the sand down there by the shore, and you knew that the very first storm
that came would sweep it away?
'Do, sir!' said my grandfather, 'why, I should pull it down, every stone
of it, and build it up on the rock instead.'
'Exactly!' said Mr. Davis. 'You have been building your hopes of heaven
on the sand--on your good deeds, on your good intentions, on all sorts
of sand-heaps. You know you have.
'Yes,' said grandfather, 'I know I have.'
'Well, my friend,' said Mr. Davis, 'pull them all down. Say to
yourself, "I'm a lost man if I remain as I am; my hopes are all resting
on the sand." And then, build your hopes on something better, something
which _will_ stand the storm; build them on Christ. He is the only way
to heaven. He has died that you, a poor sinner, might go there. Build
your hopes on Him, my friend. Trust to what He has done for you as your
only hope of heaven--_that_ is building on the Rock!'
'I see, sir; I understand you now.'
'Do that,' said Mr. Davis, 'and then your hope will be a sure and
steadfast hope, a good hope which can never be moved. And when the last
great storm comes, it will not touch you; you will be as certainly and
as entirely safe in that day as you are in this lighthouse when the
storm is raging outside, because you will be built upon the immovable
Rock.'
I cannot recollect all the conversation which Mr. Davis and my
grandfather had that morning, but I do remember that before he went away
he knelt down with us, and prayed that we might every one of us be found
on the Rock in that last great storm.
And I remember also that that night, when my grandfather said good-night
to me, he said, 'Alick, my lad, I don't mean to go to sleep to-night
till I can say, like poor Jem Millar,
'On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand.'
And I believe that my grandfather kept his word.