The doctor came the next day, just as Bacha Filina had expected him.
He came in his coach as far as the sheepcotes, and before Ondrejko
realized it, he carried away his mother, and also Bacha Filina. Before
they went they arranged for Ondrejko to remain longer with Bacha, and
he would go to his mother only for visits.
"Palko, take the boys," commanded Bacha, "and go with them somewhere
in the woods where nobody will interfere, and pray that the Lord God
may help us to successfully arrange for what we have before us."
So they prayed, and believed that the Lord Jesus heard them.
Late in the evening, Bacha returned. The boys were already asleep. In
the morning he told them that everything that could be done yesterday
was carried out successfully, but that there was another matter which
would take about a week before they could know how it would turn out,
so they must keep on praying.
And what a week it was! The boys never lived through another like it.
Sometimes they were with Ondrejko at his mother's. Again she came to
the sheepcotes, and when she remained till the evening she loved to
spend the night in the wooden hut. Aunty used to return before the
evening in the company of Petrik. He loved to do this, because he
always got a very good supper there. Then Ondrejko slept with his
mother. How beautiful that was! She sat on his bed, told him many good
things, petted, and kissed him till he fell asleep. In the morning
again, he woke her up early. He jumped from his bed, threw his arms
around her neck and timidly kissed her beautiful lips. What beautiful
moments these were! Ondrejko was allowed to accompany his mother even
when Bacha Filina took her to show her all three sheepfolds. They
walked together over the clearings, looked at the herds of sheep, and
spoke with the herdsmen. She was so friendly and kind to them. On the
other hand, this helped to improve her health. After such a walk
she ate and slept very well. Ondrejko was glad that she liked Bacha
Filina. He treated her very nicely, just like a lady, as if she were
his own daughter. On Saturday Ondrejko went with his mother to the
cottage. There he was to have dinner with her. Both of his comrades
were invited for the afternoon, and with them, of course, came Dunaj
and Fido, but the cat was not afraid of them, and when they saw this
they let her alone.
The boy ran joyfully into the room, but on the doorstep he halted,
because his beautiful mother sat at a table. In her hand she held a
long letter ready for the mail, and she cried. Oh, how bitterly she
cried! She was cheered up when he ran to her and began to hug and kiss
her; she returned his kisses but did not stop crying. "Why do you cry
so much, my mother?" he said sadly. "What is it about?"
"About myself, my loved one, because I am very bad."
Ondrejko would not admit that. To him, a mother seemed like an angel,
but Palko had read only yesterday the saying: "THEY ALL HAVE SINNED
AND COME SHORT OF THE GLORY OF GOD," and added that so long as one
does not realize this and thinks himself good enough, the Lord Jesus
cannot save him, because only sick ones need a doctor; and Bacha
Filina had added that only the Holy Spirit can bring a soul to such
conviction. It must be then, that the Holy Spirit had begun to teach
his mother also. Surely the Lord Jesus would soon find her!
"Why do you think, mother, that you are bad?" the boy timidly asked.
"Because I have a very good father, and have grieved him very much.
Look, Ondrejko; I have written now for the first time in many years."
"And surely you have asked his forgiveness? Have you not?"
"Yes, I did; but is it possible to forgive such a sinner?"
"The father forgave his prodigal son because he loved him," the boy
said seriously. "Did your father love you also, my mother?"
The lady sighed sadly, but did not cry any more.
"He would surely receive you if you would return home."
"I will see if he will answer me, and what he will say."
"Mother, was not your father my grandfather?"
"Yes, my darling; and if the good Lord grant that I may be able to
count you all my own, and you will be only mine, then we will go
together, and you will help me to ask him. He will surely not refuse
you; you will understand one another better, because you both love the
Lord Jesus and you are His sheep."
The boy rejoiced. The grandfather loved the Lord Jesus! "How glad I
am! Oh, then he will surely forgive you."
They could not continue their talk because Aunty Moravec called them
to dinner, which was very good. Joe came after dinner; he was carrying
cheese to town and stopped to ask if there was anything to be mailed.
The lady gave him her letter, and Aunty a slip and money to buy
various things at the stores, with a big piece of cake to eat on the
way. From the lady he received money to buy cherries for himself and
the boys, if there were any good ones.
That afternoon it was quite jolly in and about the cottage when the
comrades came. Ondrejko was glad that his mother was so joyful. She
taught them all kinds of nice games. She even went with them on the
"Old Hag's Rock," and there Palko had to tell her also how he found
his Sunshine Country. That interested her very much. He recalled
twice, how he was lost as a small child and grew up with strange
people, and how the Lord Jesus took care that he came again to his
parents. A whole book could be written about how he fared in the
world.[A] Madame Slavkovsky was very much interested in that. When
they later walked to the sheepcotes, all along the way she asked about
Palko's mother, who in her sorrow for the lost boy also lost her
reason till she finally found him and the Lord Jesus returned her son
to her. They did not realize how quickly they came to the huts.
[Footnote A: See the first part of "The Sunshine Country."]
It was a beautiful evening; the sunset covered the sky with its rosy
curtains. The sun sank behind the mountains, and as if in parting
kissed the valleys and the people, and especially seemed to kiss the
beautiful lady who sat by the open fire in deep thought.
"If you can sing so beautifully," begged Palko, "and many people went
to hear you, we also would like you to do so. Sing for us, if you
please."
"Oh, Palko." The lady shook her head. "You wouldn't like my song.
Besides you wouldn't understand me. I sang mostly in English, Italian,
but also in Czech, but the text of these songs would not fit in with
this sacred evening closing around us. But because I would like to
reward you, Palko, for so beautifully relating your experiences, let
me just think a moment."
They waited; and it was so quiet around them that they could almost
hear one another breathe; and in the distance the bells of the flocks
tinkled.
Finally, she lifted her head. "After all, I remember something, and it
is in the Slovak language. Once I learned this song about the sea,
and when I sang it, thousands of people wept. It is a ballad about a
shipwrecked vessel. Would you like to have me sing it?"
"Yes, yes," they all cried. Bacha had just arrived and sat among them.
What a beautiful thing it is when the Creator puts such a voice in the
human throat that no bird or instrument can equal it! You can hear
everything in such a voice: the ringing of gold and silver, the
moaning in the tops of the pines when they move in the wind; the
babbling of the brooks as well as the roar of a great cataract--yes,
everything!
"Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness,
No shelter or help is nigh;
"Carest Thou not that we perish?
How canst Thou lie asleep,
When each moment so madly is threat'ning
A grave in the angry deep?"
Sweetly, yet mysteriously and sadly, the notes of the song floated on
the evening breeze down to the valley. Once, when the lady tried the
song for the first time, thousands of people cried. Today only a small
company of listeners cried, but I think that even the woods and the
brooks and everything round wept also. Above all of them wept Bacha
Filina. Palko who sat next to him laid his arm around his neck and
cried with him. He understood him. Thus perished once the ship that
carried Stephen. It sank in the terrible depths with him. In vain they
waited, in vain they called. Uncle Filina would never see him again.
The boys did not dream, nor the helpers of Bacha, that anything
existed as beautiful as that which was hidden in the lady's throat.
You could almost hear the crashings of the breaking ship, and feel the
hopelessness of the situation. It ended like sad, soft wailings of the
perishing ones. The lady noticed the weeping her song had awakened.
She realized that it would not be easy to stop it. Then she did
something which that very morning she would have been in doubt that
she would be able to do. She sang a song hidden in her memory from her
old home, and which she had hated with her whole heart, because she
could not forget it.
"My faith looks up to Thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary,
Saviour Divine!
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away,
Oh, let me from this day
Be wholly Thine!
"May Thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart,
My zeal inspire!
As Thou hast died for me,
Oh, may my love to Thee,
Pure, warm, and changeless be,
A living fire!
"While life's dark maze I tread,
And griefs around me spread,
Be Thou my guide;
Bid darkness turn to day,
Wipe sorrow's tears away,
Nor let me ever stray
From Thee aside.
"When ends life's transient dream,
When death's cold, sullen stream
Shall o'er me roll;
Blest Saviour, then, in love,
Fear and distrust remove;
Oh, bear me safe above,
A ransomed soul!"
Perhaps nowhere and never before, were those beautiful lines sung so
impressively. When she stopped, Bacha Filina stood near her and very
seriously said, "Thank you, Madame Slavkovsky, for that precious song.
You have shown me great kindness thereby. Your beautiful ballad opened
a deep wound in my heart which was not quite healed. It almost seemed
that I must die because of it, but this holy song healed it again. God
bless you for it! But one thing I must ask you: let us write this song
down, and you must teach us the melody that we may cheer ourselves
with it in life and death."
The lady promised, but asked that they might now read the Word of God,
as she felt tired. They did this very gladly, and in a little while a
wonderful quietness reigned.
"Listen, Steve," said Joe to his comrade; "In the castle they said
that when the lady went home after singing in the theatre that
gentlemen unhitched the horses from her carriage, and hitched
themselves to it and thus drew her along. I am not surprised. Really,
when she sings, she can do anything with a person."