THE HAPPY SUNDAY EVENING.
Sunday afternoon passed away very rapidly to Lucy. She spent the
time while her brother and sister were at church in reading a little
book which Rosa had lent her.
As the children sat together in the twilight, after tea, Rosa said to
Lucy, "We used to call you baby and pet at first: do you know when we
began to call you Lucy?"
"Not till I was two months old, I've heard father say."
"Yes; I well remember the morning that you took your new name,"
continued Rosa. "It was a bright day in June. Dear mamma was so
kind and cheerful then. I can see her now as she came in to
breakfast, so slender and pale, and yet with such a calm, happy look
on her face.
"'You must call the baby Lucy after to-day,' she said to me, as I
kissed her that morning.
"'And why, dear mother?' I asked.
"'Because she is to be baptized to-day, and take Lucy for her
Christian name,' answered our mother.
"'But why is the baby to be baptized?' I childishly asked. She took
no notice of my question then; but after breakfast was over, she
called me to her side, and said, 'Shall I tell my little girl a
story?'
"'Oh, do!' I answered, and she began.
"'There was once a little child who lived in a very small cottage,
with a scanty grass plat before it. This child had a pet lamb, of
which she was very fond. She loved it so dearly that she often sat
on the door-step and anxiously thought how she should ever be able to
keep it from harm as it grew older, and would be tempted to run away
from the cottage, around which there was not even a light paling.
Then winter must come, and how would the poor little lamb be
protected from the storm?
"'These thoughts were one day in the child's mind, when an old
traveller came to the cottage door, and said to her, "I have a
message to you, dear child, from the shepherd who feeds his flock on
yonder green hill. He has noticed you and your little lamb, and he
wants to be a friend to you. He knows that you will never be able to
keep your pet from harm, although you love it so tenderly; and he
bade me say to you, that he is willing to take your lamb to be one of
his flock, to feed in that green pasture and drink from the clear
stream that is ever flowing there. It shall be safely gathered to
his fold when the storms of winter beat, and shall be guarded from
all cruel beasts. You can see it every day, and caress it, though
you must never try to lead it away from him. Shall we go together
and lead the little lamb to the kind shepherd?"
"'"Yes!" shouted the child, joyfully; and she took the old
traveller's hand, and gently led the lamb away by the blue ribbon
that was about its neck.
"'It was but a short distance they had to go, yet the traveller found
time to tell the child, as they walked together, that if her lamb
learned to know the shepherd's voice, and follow him, he would take
it some day to a beautiful land, where it could hunger and thirst no
more; where there would be no more storms, nor cruel beasts, and
where she might meet it and dwell for ever with the kind shepherd and
his blessed flock.
"'The child did not see the kind shepherd; but the peaceful sheep,
feeding on the delicate food, or lying beside the clear water, were
there, and she did not fear to leave her pet among them. Day by day
she saw her lamb grow stronger and happier, and more pure and gentle,
and she rejoiced that she had placed it among the favoured flock.
"'One day the little child grew dizzy and faint: all things around
her seemed fading from her sight, and her dim eyes could only see a
strange figure which seemed beckoning her away.
"'Then at her side she heard the voice of the old traveller who had
visited her before: "Fear not," said he; "you are going to the
beautiful land where the kind shepherd dwells." Then a pang shot
through the heart of the child, for she thought of the lamb that she
must leave behind her. The traveller guessed her thoughts, and
answered, "Your little lamb is in the care of the kind shepherd!"
Then the eyes of the child were bright, and she said, "I don't fear
for my little lamb: I am happy that I placed him where he will be so
tenderly cared for, when I did not know that I so soon must leave
him. May he learn to know the kind shepherd's voice, and follow him,
that we may meet again in the beautiful land."
"'The cottage was soon all silence: the child no longer went singing
from room to room, but she was happy, far away in the blessed land
which the kind shepherd prepared for his faithful flock.'"
"'Did the little lamb go to meet her there?' I asked, as dear mamma
stopped as if she had finished the story.
"'I cannot tell you, Rosa,' she answered, and fast the tears fell
from her eyes. 'By the lamb I mean your little sister, and the kind
shepherd is the Saviour, to whom I am to give her to-day. God only
knows whether our little Lucy will reach the blessed land.'
"'But you are not going away, mamma, as the child did,' I said, my
eyes, too, filling with tears, for I too well understood her meaning.
"'Perhaps not very soon,' she answered, and smiled away her tears."
Lucy was still silent, and Rosa went on, for both Harty and Lucy were
earnestly listening.
"When you were carried up the aisle, dear Lucy, all in your white
clothing, you seemed to me like the little lamb of which mother had
spoken, and I felt that you were being received into the flock of the
kind shepherd. You smiled when the water was sprinkled on your
forehead, and I was so glad, for that made you seem willing to be
placed in His care."
Lucy listened to the story of the child and the lamb; and when she
heard its explanation her heart was full, and she inwardly resolved
that she would try so to follow the Saviour here, that she might join
her mother at last in His blessed land. As Rosa recalled the
circumstances of her Baptism, she for the first time realized that it
had really happened, that her name had been really given by her
"sponsors in Baptism."
"Was I there too?" asked Harty, beginning to be restless, as there
was a short pause.
"Yes, indeed! and so eager to see the ceremony that you climbed on to
the seat, and leaned forward to look until you fell with a loud
noise, just as the baby was being carried out of church. You always
were a noisy fellow," said Rosa, as she laid her hand affectionately
on her brother's clustered curls.
"Did I cry?" asked Harty.
"No; you thought yourself too much of a man for that, even then; and
how fondly, proudly, mamma looked at you, as you closed your little
lips and stood up without a sound, though there was a bright red mark
on your forehead where you had struck it."
It seemed strange to Harty that he was willing to sit still and
listen to a girl; yet he found a pleasure in being with Rosa
different from any he had ever felt. He had always been quite
indifferent as to what Lucy thought of him, but that Rosa should not
be pleased with him was a very unpleasant idea. As a child he had
tenderly loved his mother; and when she was taken from him, a blank
had been left in his heart which had never been filled. Now half the
charm of Rosa's society consisted in her being able to speak of that
mother, and revive his now fading remembrance of her.
"Come," said Rosa, "let us say our Catechism together: I will ask the
questions, and we will all repeat the answers."
Lucy was delighted at the idea, and readily joined her voice with
Rosa's. She found it difficult to keep with her sister in reciting,
as Rosa repeated her answers slowly, as if she really meant what she
was saying. As she pronounced the words, "a member of Christ, a
child of God," she looked meaningly at Lucy; and then it flashed
through the little girl's mind, that she was indeed the child of God,
as her sister had said; His child, not only because He had made her,
but because she had been made His by Baptism; and again she resolved
to be His "loving, obedient child."
At first Harty did not join in saying the Catechism; he had for some
time given up the practice as a thing only for such children as Lucy;
but when he saw that Rosa did not think it beneath her, as they came
to the Apostles' Creed his voice mingled with the others. Rosa took
no notice of it save that she placed her hand in his, and they went
on. In some of the long answers Lucy faltered, and Harty halted
entirely; but Rosa smoothly continued until they could again join
her. As Harty repeated the once familiar words, he recalled the time
when he had learned them from that mother who was now a saint in
Paradise. With those familiar words returned the precious lessons of
love and holiness which she had spoken, but which he had forgotten
amid the sport and recklessness of boyhood.
When they had finished, he was quite softened, and his voice was very
gentle as he replied to Rosa's proposal to sing, "Yes, if I know
anything you do."
Lucy was fond of music, but she could not sing: she laid her head on
her sister's lap, and listened to the simple hymns with a feeling of
peace and happiness. Another and another hymn was sung, until, at
last, the clock struck nine.
"Nine o'clock," said Harty, "and Lucy not in bed! what would Mrs.
Maxwell say to that?"
Lucy had been fast asleep, and was not a little frightened when she
heard it was so late. She took a candle immediately, kissed her
sister and wished her good night. Oh! what pleasure it gave her when
Harty said, "Me, too, if you please," and really looked fondly in her
face.
That night she forgot to look for robbers; she was too happy to think
of them; but she did not forget the many blessings of the day when
she repeated her usual thanksgiving. The same prayers she had often
said she used that evening; but they went up from her heart, and were
received in heaven for the Redeemer's sake.