IS GOD GOOD?
During these dark days Neighbour Bessie was a constant visitor, and she
never came without seeking to bring some brightness, though mostly it
was in the form of fun. Sometimes it jarred on Phebe when she first came
in, but invariably Phebe was found enjoying the fun before Bessie left.
Bessie was in high feather when Phebe told her in neighbourly confidence
that an old great-uncle, recently deceased, had left her the freehold of
a meadow at Edenholme, a place four miles from Hadley.
"Do you mean to say you are a landed proprietress?"
"Yes, if you care to put it in that grand style."
"Of course I do--style is everything. But really to be serious, I should
like to see this estate of yours!"
"Estate! Just one field, with one solitary donkey, perhaps, in it."
"Well, let's make the dear donkey's acquaintance, anyhow. Could we not
drive there? Couldn't Darling Jones drive you and me, and let's have
half-a-day's holiday? Now, do, there's a dear! I'm sure I'm losing all
my complexion because I never get an outing."
"I do wish you wouldn't call that young man by that foolish name.
Suppose he should overhear you?"
"That would be perfectly lovely! He'd put his hand on his heart, and say
'Somebody loves me!'" and Bessie put herself in the supposed tragic
attitude.
"You are a dreadful girl. Now, just for a punishment Reynolds shall
drive us."
"Then you consent to go?" and Bessie's eagerness confirmed Phebe in her
suspicion that it was simply a ruse to get her out.
However, the drive was taken and enjoyed. Instead of the donkey being
found in the meadow, there was a blind child groping about on hands and
knees for flowers and grasses. "Just look there!" exclaimed Bessie,
quite philosophically; "and yet with two eyes of quite the proper sort
and power, most of us miss heaps of flowers we might gather."
The meadow was close by a small railway station soon to become an
important junction, a new line being under construction which would run
into it from quite an opposite direction.
Reynolds drove them to the other side of the line, where some hundreds
of men were at work on a long tunnel. The curious little wooden houses
in which some of the men lived were inspected, and Phebe had quite a
long chat with one of the "gangers."
On their return home Bessie informed Mrs. Colston that the "estate" had
some "park-like stretches," and was quite "a suitable site for a summer
holiday with the help of a tent." "But it is a shame," she went on,
"that it is not on the other side of the railway. Why, if that meadow
had only been near that tunnel the railway folks would have given ever
so much for it. Don't you think it is too bad?"
"No, I don't."
"You don't! Wouldn't you like Mrs. Waring to make an honest bit of
money?"
"Of course I should. But if it would have been better for the meadow to
have been where you wished it, it would have been there, no doubt about
that."
"Do you think, then, that whatever is, is best? But I don't see how you
can. I didn't have any breakfast this morning. Mother said I was in one
of my tantrums. Suppose I was; but I can tell you it wasn't the best
thing for me."
"Perhaps it just was; but I cannot say positively about your affairs,
because I don't know that you come under the same list as mistress
does."
"What list is that?"
"The list of Christians. You know 'whatever is _is_ best' for them.
Perhaps it doesn't seem so at the first, but God makes it so sooner or
later."
"He doesn't do so, then, for everybody?"
"No, I don't think so; I can't see how they can expect Him to."
"It's a bad look-out for me, then, Mrs. Colston," and the girl looked
her frankly in the face. "I often wish I were a Christian; but there, I
never shall be."
"Why not, Bessie, dear? Tell me what is your difficulty."
"I can't give up my nonsense and fun; it's no good, I couldn't be
serious like Mrs. Waring is for anything. And then," dropping her voice,
"mother would never believe I was trying to be good, no, not if I tried
like an archangel."
"What your mother believes, or doesn't believe, shouldn't come into the
question, dear. It's the Lord's opinion of us we've got to trouble
about. But you make a great mistake if you think you've got to give up
fun, so long as it's innocent fun. Why, I believe God is often
disappointed in His children because they're such a long-faced, sour
lot; I do indeed."
But just then Mrs. Marchant sent in a message that Bessie was wanted at
once.
That same evening Phebe was called into the grocery department to see a
woman who particularly wished to speak to her. She was a very
forlorn-looking being, and seeing the marks of tears upon her face Phebe
invited her into the parlour, placing a chair for her by the fire, for
the evening was chilly.
"I've come to ask you, Mrs. Waring, if you will come and see my husband.
I do believe he is dying."
"But why do you want me to see him?" Phebe was feeling very bewildered.
"Why not get a doctor? I'm not even a nurse."
"Oh, it's not that. I've got a doctor for him; he wants to talk to you.
It's him that sent me to ask you."
"But why does he want to see me?"
"I asked him if I should get anybody to come and pray to him, and he
said as how he didn't want no parsons a-bothering of him, but he would
like Mrs. Waring to come, for," in quite a whisper, "he's mortal afeared
of dying."
"He wants me to come in place of a minister?" said Phebe with a gasp.
"How does he know me? How did he come to ask for me?"
"Why, you know he used to go a good deal to 'The Rose in June,' and they
was a-talking about you there one night--he told me so when he came
home--as how you shut your shops early on Saturday 'cause you were
particular about Sunday. One of your shopfolks said so to somebody. And
my Jim said as how you must be one of the right sort, for your religion
cost you summat. That's how it is. He's talked about it a lot of times;
and one night some of the men that goes to 'The Rose in June' came to
have a look at you."
Phebe smiled. "I should like to help your husband all I could," she
said, "but I am quite unfit to talk to a dying man. Why not let me send
for one of our good ministers? Or, I will ask my friend if she will go."
"I'm sure he won't see anybody else," the woman exclaimed, but Phebe was
out of hearing. Presently she returned, saying in a very quiet voice
that she would accompany her home at once. Nanna had firmly refused to
go, saying it was a distinct call from God to Phebe herself, and that it
would be wicked to disobey.
So in great fear and trembling Phebe went.
The man was lying on a wretched bed, evidently very weak, but with no
signs of death about him. After inquiring as to how he felt Phebe
started straightway by telling him how unfit she was to help anybody,
being only a learner herself, and her very simple straightforwardness
drew the sick man all the more to her.
"But, look here, missis," he said, turning on his elbow eagerly towards
her. "You can help me all I want, and I'd rather have you than one of
them preaching chaps as is paid to do it. What I wants to know is this:
Do you think as how God is good and only does good things?"
Phebe paused for a moment, and while she hesitated the man was keenly
watching her, with great hungry-looking eyes.
"I want my answer to be perfectly true," she replied, "that is why I
waited."
"I know it'll be true," said the man.
Is God good? What about the taking away of her child! Could she say to
this hungry, seeking soul He was not good? A thousand times, _No_--that
she could never do. "I have been in great trouble lately--for more than
a year the way has been very dark"--there was a choke in her voice.
"I guessed so," said the man softly.
"But God _is_ good," her voice was clear and firm again. "Yes, He is
good; I have found Him so over and over again. We judge Him too quickly
so often, and so often blame Him for what comes through the sins of
other."
"There's so many queer things in the world," said the man, "that it
seemed to me there couldn't be a good God."
"It's the men and women who are queer."
"But, look here, if He's really good, will He take pity on a poor chap
like me, who's been such a wicked 'un, and only comes to Him when he's
not got nobody else to go to?" There was a depth of yearning in the
voice.
"Before I answer that question I should like you to answer me one,
because I cannot know your heart as God does. Suppose, now, God was to
give you back health, how would you treat God then?"
"Ah, now, missis, I must take time to think, as you did." Then, after a
pause: "I'd stand by Him, blest if I wouldn't!"
"And leave off going to the public-house and lead a straight, clean
life?"
"Yes, I would, if only He'd make me downright sure He wiped off all old
scores agen me. Will you ask Him to?"
"Yes, I will."
"But I mean here--now!"
To pray in public! She had never done such a thing in her life! Again
came the feeling of fear, but again it was conquered. Kneeling down by
the side of the bed, with the man's hand in hers, and the man's wife
kneeling by her side, she slowly, in short sentences, asked for just
what the man needed, and under his breath he repeated every word she
said. If the man had never heard of Jesus, and what Jesus had done for
him, he learnt it from that prayer, and grasped the truth for himself.
"Now," said she, as she rose from her knees, "I believe you are going to
get better."
All the way home her thoughts dwelt on the fact that she had publicly
testified to the goodness of God. "After that," she said to herself, "I
must not grieve any more after my darling. It must have been right for
her to go, since God is good. To doubt that will make me a liar, and my
life, too, must show I do not doubt it; but, oh, that I might catch a
glimpse of her just for a minute!"
It was a trembling Phebe who left home--a radiant Phebe returned. Nanna
could not understand the change, but when she heard the story she
exclaimed: "There now, that's always the way! If ever you want help, go
and help somebody else. I do declare it was the Lord Himself who got you
to commit yourself in that way. He just cornered you for your own
deliverance."
It was a hard, strenuous life that Phebe Waring led day by day. An hour
was spent in the business every morning before breakfast, and till the
last shutter was up at night she was still at her post. But never a day
passed without some portion of it being entirely given up to
sunny-haired little Jack. There was no piece of work done in which she
did not lend a hand, and not only was there in every department every
evidence of fair and honest dealing, but the utmost economy was also
studied, down to the tying of string and the folding up of paper.
Economy is not the sign of a small mind, but waste the sign of a mind
with empty corners.
As the new year approached Reynolds asked if there was to be any
stocktaking, and, if so, on what lines it should be done? The truth was
Phebe had not thought of this, but did not think it necessary to say
so. After due deliberation the whole affair was arranged, and when she
cast up her accounts, to her great astonishment she found there had been
considerable advance made--and this in spite of the extra help employed,
the purchase of a horse and cart, and several improvements which had
been made in the premises. "Is not that splendid!" she said to Nanna, as
all the figures were explained. "I shall give a good bonus to Reynolds,
for he deserves it; and Jones must have something, too. If I go on at
this rate I shall some day be a rich woman! Think of that! God is indeed
good!"
"Ah, dearie, it's easy to say 'God is good!' when the balance is on the
right side, but what must please Him best is when we can say it just as
trustfully when the purse is empty."
The truth was, Nanna was just a wee bit afraid lest her darling should
not stand the test of wealth. She remembered an old story about a play
which used to be enacted at country fairs in the days when the Quakers
were so bitterly persecuted. Among the _dramatis personae_ came the evil
one, who, in the course of a speech, made these remarks: "Let these
Quakers alone; it's no good hunting them down. This is my plan: God is
sure to prosper them in basket and in store, because they serve Him
faithfully; then when they are rich, that will be my time. I shall be
sure to get them then."
"God keep her from the snare of riches!" was the old woman's fervent
prayer.