The Clouds begin to Break.
Abe had not long laboured in the coal-pit before all about him began to
feel he was a good man. He did not hide his light from anyone, masters
or men, and though they may not have followed his godly example and
Christian counsel, they all respected him for his pious and consistent
life among them.
It so turned out that one day the foreman ordered all the men to stay
and work overtime at night, in order to complete some important matter
which they had in hand. This was a terrible blow to Abe, for it was
his class-night, and he had never yet missed that means of grace, nor
would he, if he could by any possibility get there; but now, what was
he to do? He felt it was his duty to obey his master, and take his
share of the extra work if required; on the other hand, his heart
yearned for the fellowship of saints: how dear that little classroom
seemed to him then. All the day his mind dwelt upon the subject; he
fancied his own accustomed seat empty, and his leader and classmates
wondering why he was not there; he prayed earnestly for deliverance
from this snare, and yet saw no way of escape. Evening came, and the
usual hour for leaving work, but no bell rang the men out; on they all
went at their task, and Abe along with the rest, yet all the time he
was groaning in spirit; half an hour passed away, when the foreman came
in. He was a hard, resolute man, that seemed to have neither fear of
God nor devil before his eyes. "Abe Lockwood," said he, "isn't this
thy class noight?" Abe looked up in an instant, and replied, "It is."
"Drop thee wark this minute and go then; if I'm going to hell, I won't
hinder another man from trying to get to a better place," and before
Abe could find time to thank him, he was gone again. In a twinkling
Abe was out of the place, and away over Almondbury common, like a fleet
hound just slipt from the leash. He went to his class-meeting and was
very happy there, but he did not forget in his own happiness to pray
for the man who in this instance had bowed to the better spirit within
him, and shown him such a mark of favour.
There is a heart in every man, however hard he may be, and when once
the Spirit of God assails that heart, He may break it, or at least
reason it into submission. We don't know all the power that God has,
nor the many ways in which He can exert that power on the minds of men;
we often hinder its operation by our want of faith. O Lord, increase
our faith! Then "all things are possible to him that believeth."
For some time Abe continued working at the coal-pit. Although he made
no complaints, he greatly disliked the employment, and looked forward
with intense longing to the time when he could again return to his own
calling. He told the Lord all his heart upon this subject, and often
implored Him to lift him out of the pit and bring him again to the
employment that was more congenial to his feelings. Nor did he pray in
vain, as the following incident will show:--One day a gentleman came to
the pit, and said, "Have you got a man here called Abe Lockwood?" On
being answered in the affirmative, he expressed a wish to see him. Abe
was at once communicated with, and fetched out of the place where he
was working. On seeing him all begrimed with coal-dust, the gentleman
said, "I'm sorry to see thee like this, Abe; I have been troubled about
thee for some time."
"Have you, haa's that, maaster?"
"Why, I hardly know, but I have felt for many a day that I ought to
come and offer thee work in my place, and now I've come, and if thou
wants to leave here, I will find thee something to do in my mill."
Abe's grateful heart was almost in his throat; his eyes swam in tears,
his face beamed with smiles, and he shouted, "Hallelujah! When mun I
come?"
"Come at once if you can."
"All roight," said he, "I can leave here ony time. I'll come i' th'
morning; bless th' Lord! I knew my Father would foind me another job
somewhere."
That night he went home singing with the usual lump of coal on his
head. When he got into the house he threw it down with a crash that
startled Sally, his wife. "There," he said, playfully pretending to be
vexed, "I'll fetch thee na moor coils on my yead, so thaa needn't
expect it."
"What's matter wi' the' naa?" she said, looking at him.
"I tell the' I'll fetch the' na maar coils," he responded, rubbing his
scalp as if it hurt him.
"Well then, we may as weel let t' fire goa aat first as last," rejoined
the good wife, a little ruffled.
"Noa thaa shalln't. I loike a gooid foire as weel as onybody; and if
thaa grumbles ony maar, I weant go to th' pit agean."
Sally looked hard at him for a moment or two, and in spite of the thick
layer of coal-dust on his face, she could see there was a smile just
underneath struggling to burst through. "What dost ta mean?" she said,
half laughing herself.
"Mean!" exclaimed Abe, jumping from his seat, and seizing hold of her
hand, "Mean! Why, I mean that I've done with coil-pit; the Lord has
gotten me a job in Huddersfield at my own wark, and I'm goin' in th'
morning, bless th' Lord!"
Sally smiled, wiped her eyes, and said quietly, "Well I niver; aye, but
I am glad; come and get thee teaa, my old collier." And that night
there was sunshine in Abe's cottage hours after the great orb of day
had gone down and left the world in darkness.