LOVE'S HOSPITAL
There often came back to Phebe's mind the prayer she offered just after
her engagement, "Dear Lord, make me a true Christian, and help me to be
perfectly willing to let Thee do it in whatever way Thou thinkest will
be best for me." It was one of the few-remembered prayers; they are but
few in anybody's experience. Our prayers are too often to us but as
yesterday's faded rose-petals.
She was not quite so sure to-day she could pray that prayer truthfully
as when it was first framed. But there was this comfort, she had no
desire to take herself from beneath the moulding Hands.
Nanna was inwardly very indignant at the treatment Phebe had received,
not that her teaching and her own private experiences did not agree, but
she was one of those women who have to do a certain amount of boiling
over and exploding before a calm level is obtained. She was, however,
mostly wise enough to let this exciting process be carried on in
private. She was a perfect tower of strength to Phebe; indeed, it would
be impossible to reckon up all Phebe owed to her, and Phebe was quite
aware of this, often saying that Nanna was the clever one who made the
plans, while she was only the humble one who carried them out.
"Look here, dearie," Nanna said, when she could trust herself to speak
with calmness, "I say, and say it with all deliberateness, it was wicked
to shut that door on you like that. If that man thought you were unfit
to mix with those girls he should have first been quite sure of the
grounds he was acting on. But, never you mind; mark this, and mark it
well, man never shuts one door, but God opens another, and a bigger one,
too. Men shut the door of the Ephesus Church against John, but look what
a mighty big one God opened for him into Heaven! And it's the same
to-day. So, you be on the look-out--I mean to--and see who sees it
first. I told Bessie this, and she says she'll buy a spy-glass for one
eye and a telescope for the other. I wonder if that girl will ever sober
down!"
"She will make a fine woman some day."
"There's the making of a fine woman in her, and she's certainly on the
mend."
Bessie overheard Phebe one day referring to Mrs. Colston's leadership,
whereupon that young lady remarked she ought to be called "teacher," and
all the others in the house "disciples."
It was at the tea-table. David Jones quietly observed, "You never hear
of women disciples."
"Yes, you do," snapped Bessie; "if you had ever read Grecian history,
you would never have made that remark. Besides, women deserved the name
of 'disciple' more than those men did who followed Jesus; they saw to
His wants, if they did nothing more; it only mentions once that the men
ever did so, and then it took the whole twelve of them to go and buy a
meal, leaving the tired Jesus all alone, not even one there to get a
drink for Him."
"Better take care, Jones," said Reynolds, "you'll be sure to get the
worst of it."
"Yes, of course you will," said Mrs. Colston; "there are too many nasty
little things said now-a-days about women. The other day I heard some
one say he wished Satan had gone for Job's wife, but he knew better. I
felt like calling out."
"But then she was really a bad one," said Jones.
"Indeed, she was not. That's just it; so often wrong judgments are
passed on women." (Nanna had wanted to bring out this little speech for
some time, and quite blessed Bessie for the opportunity she had made.)
"That poor woman bore without a word being recorded against her, the
loss of children and property, and it was only when she saw her husband
stricken that she rebelled, and then she didn't say half the bad things
as Job did a bit further on. Yet Job's held up for admiration, and the
poor wife for execration. I tell you it's not fair."
"I should think not, indeed," chimed in Bessie.
"Now, is it?" asked Mrs. Colston, turning to the young men. They both
agreed it was not. "Then do be careful," she continued, "both of you,
whenever you are tempted to say sneering things about women." Phebe had
left the table at the commencement of the conversation, which made it
still more easy for Nanna to send home her message. There was one
splendid thing about her: however cutting her rebukes might be, she
always gave them in a bright, nice manner; as Bessie said, she always
used the biggest spoon she could get--inferring that the pill was nearly
lost in the amount of jam she used.
Both the young fellows knew her words had a special significance; they
were not at all offended, but rather, on the contrary, a fresh feeling
of chivalry was stirred in their hearts towards their young mistress,
"The Little Missis," as she was so often called. David Jones was even
beginning to think there was a halo round everybody's head in that
establishment, except his own, and a double halo round Bessie's, in
spite of her snaps. If he had known all that took place in that little
homestead he would have had a still more brilliant vision of glory--if
even he had known the significance of the silver stars, one of which was
found in a conspicuous place in every room, he would have felt like
taking off his boots, for he was both impressionable and by nature
devout. But not even Nanna knew till long afterwards what those stars
meant, though she had a pretty shrewd guess about them.
As can be easily imagined, Phebe's life was a lonely one. The fact of
her husband cutting himself off from her in such an abrupt fashion was
quite enough to bring about this loneliness. There was not even
companionship through the pen; she had answered both Ralph's letters,
and still continued to write, giving him all particulars of the
business, trying to put as much love into the letters as she could truly
find echo in her heart, but no further replies came. All was a blank.
And then there was the further loneliness all souls find the nearer they
get to God. True, she had her sister, and Nanna, and sunny Jack, and
Bessie; but these only touched the outer part of her being. We stand as
units before God, and the more we understand our relationship to God the
more we realise the soul's loneliness from the human side--a loneliness
which draws us nearer and nearer to God.
Phebe often wished she could constantly remember the presence of God
with her, but sometimes for a whole day she would forget Him, and she
knew that was the reason why so often she failed, and the peace was
broken. Prayer came very naturally to her when anything was wanted, but
she felt that was not sufficient.
"What do people do who have bad memories?" she asked herself. Then came
thoughts of strings round fingers and knots in handkerchiefs, but these
seemed childish. One day the words, "When they saw His star," were very
much with her, and the thought came, "I wish I could always see His
star!" and this was followed by what she thought a bright idea. She
would make a number of silver stars and place one in each room, shops
and sale-room included, where she could not fail to see them; no one but
herself need know their meaning, and they would continually remind her
of His presence until she had trained herself to do without their help.
The plan was carried out. There was nothing in it anybody could object
to; there was nothing of the fetish, nor crucifix, nor altar about it.
Many an eye was raised up to those stars; the children were especially
fascinated by them, and the shop was even spoken of by some as "The shop
of the silver star," but none guessed their meaning. Reynolds was quite
in the dark; though he often watched his mistress fix her eyes on them,
he never came near the secret. Most people thought they were only in the
nature of decoration. How often we draw near to holy places without even
a thrill or look of wonder!
And the stars helped her greatly. I do not say she never forgot, but
every little help we can secure along life's way to bind us to the
Divine we should make the most of and rejoice over.
Even sharp-eyed, sharp-witted Bessie, who was now a real member of the
circle, did not guess their meaning. Perhaps this was because she was so
full of her own good-fortune that she was not keen on anything else just
then, and when her first joy had cooled somewhat, the sight of the stars
had become too familiar to excite comment.
For a long time Mrs. Colston and Phebe had been of the opinion that
Bessie would never make much progress while under her mother's roof.
Both mother and daughter loved each other (there was no doubt about
that), but they did not rest each other. Mrs. Marchant was a fretful
woman; family cares had shattered her nerves; Bessie was all
alive--"life in every limb" was intensely true about her three times
over--and so they constantly irritated each other.
As Bessie was washing up the tea-things one day, feeling very
down-hearted, even dropping a tear now and again, she thought she would
banish her gloom with a little song, and so piped up on her loudest key:
"I'm sweeping through the gates;"
not remembering more than one verse, the chorus was repeated several
times.
"Sakes alive!" screamed out the mother from the kitchen, "do stop that.
Do, for goodness' sake, finish your sweeping, girl, and get through the
gates and stop there!"
"I only wish I could," replied Bessie, but not loud enough for the
mother to hear.
Soon after that she noticed her brother's jacket had slipped off a chair
in the kitchen, where he had thrown it, and while she was sitting
mending some stockings, she saw something moving on it. For a minute or
two she kept a most careful watch, then cautiously picked the coat up
and hung it at the back of the door. When her brother came to put it on
she gave a nervous little wriggle on her chair, but said nothing.
At supper-time there was quite an explosion, the brother declaring she
had put a black-beetle in his pocket, in spite of knowing how much he
dreaded them; he had drawn it out with his handkerchief at a
choir-practice, right in front of all the boys.
"I never did!" protested Bessie.
"You had something to do with it, I'm sure; else why did you so
carefully hang my jacket up, without a word of fault-finding?"
"I saw it walk into your pocket; that's a very different thing from
putting it in," the girl frankly explained.
Instead of the mother seeing any fun in the situation, and quietly
pointing out where fun ends and unkindness begins, and forgetting the
many practical jokes Bessie herself had good-naturedly endured at the
hands of her brother, she literally stormed at Bessie, declaring she
should leave home at once and be put to some business.
Phebe hearing of all this, offered to take Bessie, to which the mother
readily agreed. So it was a very short journey indeed Bessie took from
home.
Deep down in her heart the girl was very grieved at the way she had left
home, but outwardly kept her usual brightness, and was indeed truly
delighted at now really being "one of the company."
"If ever I get rich," she exclaimed, "and have a coat-of-arms, I shall
have a black-beetle on my quarterings, for it was a black-beetle which
carried me here; a fine old ebony coachman! Oh, Mrs. Waring," and a sad
note came into the girl's voice just then, "life often seems to me such
a tangle and jingle!"
"Does it, dear? It has often seemed the same to me." Just then she
caught sight of the star--she must not lose an opportunity--"but we must
do our best to turn it into a song. We'll try together, won't we?"
A squeeze of the hand was all the answer Bessie was able to give.
It is strange that though we stand as units before God, the soul's
progress can only be definitely marked by its relationship to others. By
the way Phebe treated those who came under her influence was one test of
her advance.
The only objection Nanna raised to this addition to the family was the
fear lest Bessie and Jones should be thrown too much together.
"You must have noticed how she has ceased calling him 'Darling.'"
"They are less likely to come together if they are constantly in each
other's society than if they only saw each other occasionally," was all
Phebe said.
"I really think," remarked Nanna, "this house ought to be called a
hospital for sick souls. First of all, you take this lonely soul in----"
"Why, it was you who took me in," interrupted Phebe.
"All lonely and forlorn," calmly continued Nanna, unheeding the
interruption; "then Jones comes along, sore wounded in the battle, and
now there's this poor young thing taken in with a broken wing. It's
really nothing short of a hospital."
"Well, then," replied Phebe, "we'll call it Love's Hospital."