"And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away."
Onward sped the busy days, until at last there came an evening which made
it exactly three years since Edward had first set foot in Albany. They
had been years of wonderful progress to him. He had gone on steadily with
his evening studies; he had been an eager pupil, and Ray had been a
faithful teacher. This evening he sat in the library waiting for Ray, but
he had a very troubled face. Once more he took Kitty's long letter out of
his pocket. Kitty wrote long letters once in two weeks, but it was a rare
thing to have a postscript added by his mother. He turned to this and
read it again; it was a very kind one. They were doing well now, so she
wrote. Her health was very good, now that she slept quietly at night;
and just here Edward knew there had come in a heavy sigh, because there
was no constant coughing to disturb her rest. She had steady work, and
could support Kitty and herself nicely without his help; he must keep
what he earned for himself after this. "Kitty says you want to go to
school," so the letter ran; "if you do, save up your money for that. Your
poor father had a notion that you would make a scholar; I think it would
please him if you did."
Surely he could not wish for a kinder, more thoughtful letter than this;
coming from his _mother_, too! she must have changed much, as well as
himself. But this very letter had greatly unsettled his quiet life; the
old longing to give himself up to study, to prepare for the ministry, had
broken loose, and well-nigh overwhelmed him with its power. He wanted it,
oh, so much! it had grown strong, instead of weak, during these three
years. But what to do, and how to do it? That was the question. Certainly
he was not prepared to answer it. If he stayed where he was, led his busy
life all day in the store, how was he ever to go through with the
necessary course of study, which it was high time he commenced in
earnest? If he left them, these dear friends, who had taken him into
their home and hearts, and made him feel like one of thorn, how was he to
live while he studied? How, indeed, could he study at all? The truth was,
Edward, calling to mind Mr. Holbrook's lecture that last evening in the
home prayer-meeting, and his resolution taken then, thought that the
stone was ahead of him no longer, but that he had walked _close_ up to
it, and could not take another step because of it, and very large and
impossible to move did it look to his shortsighted eyes.
Just as he was growing hopelessly moody, Lay came in, and settled himself
among the cushions, rather wearily.
"Ray," said Edward anxiously, "you are not well enough for lessons
to-night."
"No," answered Ray, smiling, however, as he spoke; "I think I am not,
because I want to talk instead. I am full of a scheme which needs your
help; for once we'll let the lessons go. It is an age since I have heard
anything concerning your plans; you have not given up your desire for the
ministry, I hope?"
"No, Ray; I shall never give that up."
"I thought not; it would not be like you. That being the case, isn't it
time to do something definite?"
"Time, certainly," Edward answered gloomily; "but what's to do?"
"That brings me to the unfolding of my scheme. Edward, do you know
that it was my lifelong desire to reach the point towards which you
are looking?"
"_No_," said Edward, with pitying interest; "I never thought of it."
"Well," and Ray smiled sadly, "it is so; and I hope you may never know
how hard it is to have to give up such a wish. I cannot say that I did
actually give it up entirely until very lately. I gave up all study three
years ago, and came home to regain strength! _you_ know how well I have
succeeded in that." And Ray pressed his thin, wasting hand across his
damp forehead. "It is all over now, _utterly_." The hand did duty now for
a moment, shading his eyes from the light. Presently he spoke more
cheerily. "All over for myself, but not for you; so, Edward, what I want
to say to-night, in brief, is this: You have talents, perseverance, and
health; I have money,--the four combined cannot fail to speed you in your
work. What say you?"
"I--I don't understand you," Edward spoke, in complete bewilderment.
"Let me speak more plainly. I want you to go now, _immediately_, to some
good preparatory school, thence to college, thence to the seminary, and
the means wherewith to do these three important things shall be at your
disposal. Isn't that plain?"
"Why," said Edward, "I don't know what to say; I am too much astonished,
and--and thankful."
"Then you will do it?"
"Only,--Ray?"
"Well?"
"Isn't there a right kind of pride, about being helped in these things?"
"There is a great deal of wrong kind of pride. Let me show you;" and he
sat up and spoke eagerly. "It is right and honourable for people to help
themselves in this world, but very vain and foolish to refuse help which
would greatly aid the cause that they profess to have at heart. You see
how it is: God has given me money; I am ready and waiting to give it back
to Him. I would gladly give myself to Him in the ministry; I have longed
and prayed for this; but He has seen fit not to answer as I wished. I
have no strength to give; you have, and are ready to give it. Do you
think God would be less pleased with the offering if we united it, thus
giving me a chance to do something?"
"No," said Edward, speaking very slowly; "only, I had hoped to
accomplish my plans without help from any one but God."
Ray leaned back again among the cushions, and spoke wearily,--
"That is, you prefer to be a great many years longer in preparation than
you need be, and have about half as much strength finally as you would
have, had you not overworked, rather than give me a chance to do what I
could, since I cannot do what I would."
"But, Ray, there are plenty of people to help, even if you do no more for
me. The world is full of poor young men, struggling to get an education."
"Yes, that is so; and I suppose you would enjoy helping some young
man out in Oregon, of whom you had never heard, quite as well as you
would me."
Edward came quickly to the sofa where Ray was lying, and laid his hand
tenderly over the closed eyes.
"Ray, there is nothing in the world I would not do for you."
"Will you let me help you into the ministry, as rapidly as money
_can_ help?"
"I will be glad to; it is a great, noble offer, and I thank you from my
heart. You mustn't think that I don't; only I thought--perhaps"
"I know," said Ray, for Edward had stopped doubtfully; "I understand just
how you feel; but I _do_ think the feeling, in this case at least, is
wrong; and, my dear brother, you will be glad when you know how thankful
you have made me."
"Yes; and after all you will not be doing any more for me--you
_can't_--than you have done. I think money is very little, compared with
that. Ray," and Edward sank down among the cushions in front of him, "I
do believe you are more to me than any other human being ever will be."
Ray smiled, quite as if he did not think so, but would not unsay it
for anything.
"It is all right," he said gently, after a little silence. "I think you
will do so much more than I ever _could_ have done. God bless you, my
dear brother!"
After that Edward went up to his room, got out his little red Bible,
his precious lamp, and, opening at the history of the rock-bound grave,
read on until he came to the verse, "And when they looked, they saw
that the stone was rolled away." Around this he made heavy marks with
his pencil, thinking, meantime, that the angel of the Lord was still at
work on earth.
"Bob," said Edward, stopping before Bob's counter, two days after this
matter was settled, "I am going to start for home in the morning."
"Are you, though?" Bob answered eagerly, stopping his work to take the
sentence in fully. "My! I wish I was going along, just to see what folks
would say."
"About _you_, do you mean?" said Edward, laughing, and thinking
wonderingly, as well as joyfully, of the change which there had been in
Bob Turner.
Bob had a counter too, and was no longer an errand-boy; there had very
rarely been known such a rapid promotion in that store; but the truth
was, Mr. Minturn had early learned that Bob Turner was destined to be,
not a minister, nor a lawyer, not even a scholar, but a thorough,
energetic, successful merchant. He had no sooner made this discovery than
he determined to give the boy a chance.
So Bob had earned a name and a place in the store, and was a general
favourite with the other clerks, and was beginning to have customers who
sought him out, and liked to make purchases of him. More than all, Bob
was an earnest Christian; his loving tenderness for, and almost worship
of, Ray Minturn, kept him from being much led into temptation, and his
influence over the younger clerks was growing to be for good. He was
destined to be more popular than Edward had been; for Edward had risen
too rapidly, and was too much at home with the entire Minturn family, not
to be looked upon with some degree of envy.
"Well, Tip,"--Bob had never learned not to say Tip, and probably never
would, but Edward had long since forgotten to care,--"tell every one
at home that I'm well and happy, and never want to see one of them
again. I don't believe I have a friend there: anyhow, I know I don't
deserve to have."