_RELIEF OBTAINED._
The night having passed, in the morning the missionary felt satisfied
that he could not find his way back to the settlement which he had
left. For a time he tried to find the old road by which he had come;
but failing in this, he directed his steps eastward. His bewilderment
having entirely left him, his heart was joyous and his step light.
Although the people of the settlement to which he was returning, were
comparatively strangers to him, he felt assured that many of them were
Christians more than in name, and others who did not bear that name
were kind-hearted and charitable. Here was a work for him to do.
The day was rapidly advancing; and the elastic step of the morning had
slackened to a laborious effort to reach his destination.
Hark! What sound is that? The tinkling of a bell! He now knew that he
was nearing the settlement. Pushing on, he saw to his right several
openings, and beyond smoke curling up. He at length reached the gate
leading into the yard in front of a farm-house. Everything had a neat
and comfortable appearance. That he might here obtain relief, was now
his ardent desire.
A dog that lay before the door, observing the stranger at the gate,
offered a decided resistance to his entrance. The attention of Mr.
Brown, the farmer, was thus attracted, and coming out of the house to
see what was the matter, he was struck with the forlorn appearance of
the stranger; and with feelings of pity invited him in. The kind look
and cordial welcome touched the missionary’s heart, and it was with
difficulty that he kept back the tears. Taking up his satchel, Mr.
Brown led the way into the house, and introduced him as “a suffering
stranger.”
After a few remarks respecting his present situation, he commenced to
relate what had befallen him during the past few days. The whole family
gathered round to hear his pitiful story; and all were greatly moved by
the recital of his sufferings.
“You must now lie down and rest,” kindly insisted Mrs. Brown. “I have a
comfortable bed prepared for you in the adjoining room. Henry, my boy,
will you show the way?”
Henry was a lad about ten years old. A look at his open, honest face at
once prepossessed you in his favor. He immediately did what his mother
desired.
“Mother,” said little blue-eyed Eliza, as soon as the stranger had
disappeared, “who is this sick man, and what has he got in his satchel
there in the corner?”
“Why, my dear child,” replied her mother, “you should never ask two
questions at once. Answering your last question first, I do not know
what is in the satchel, nor should my little girl be curious about that
which does not concern her. As to the man, he is the missionary who
traveled through here last week, trying to get up a Sunday-school in
our neighborhood.”
“A Sunday-school, mother! School on Sunday! Why he must be a wicked man
to keep school on Sunday! I don’t want to go.”
Her mother never having been in a Sunday-school herself, scarcely
knew how to explain to her daughter the difference between it and an
ordinary day school. So she simply said:
“It is not a school like ours down at the ‘Cross Roads,’ but one in
which we read the Bible, and sing and pray, and are taught to love the
Saviour.”
“O, mother!” exclaimed the child, “then I would like to go. Do tell
the man to have one in our school-house. Will you mother?”
“Yes, child, I will ask him if he gets well again.”
“I hope he will get well soon,” said Eliza, and bounded off to tell
Henry the news. He saw her coming, and as her manner showed that she
was greatly pleased, he called out in one breath,
“What have you got? Who gave it to you?”
“I have nothing,” she replied; “nobody gave me anything.”
“Yes there did,” said Henry.
“No there didn’t,” curtly answered Eliza.
“What tickles you so then,” rejoined Henry in a milder tone.
By this time Eliza’s ardor was quite dampened by Henry’s manner, so she
merely replied:
“I will tell you to-morrow,” and then left him.
But Henry did not feel like waiting. No sooner was she gone than he
again sought her, more anxious than ever to know what had so excited
her.
“I will tell you,” she said, “if you won’t be so cross to me next
time,” evidently feeling that she had the advantage of him.
“I wasn’t cross. I’ll always be good and nice,” said Henry, glad to
come to terms, for he felt very curious.
Eliza then sat down and told him all that her mother had said about the
Sunday-school, occasionally adding an exclamation of her own to make it
seem more important.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]